Live to Fly Another Day Page 16

  I had to keep climbing Mount Everest!

  I filled the teakettle with water, needing some serious caffeine if I was going to stay up all night searching for Grandma’s record. If I couldn’t find it, then I had to figure out a way to get a work visa. Or maybe I’d quit work and enroll at Trinity College. It sounded like a student visa was easier to get than a work one. Forget the fact that I’d just started paying on my student loan this month.

  The door slowly opened. Mac trotted inside and hopped up onto the couch. Declan walked in carrying the leash, not having made it outside. He peered cautiously over at me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll return the furniture. I just want you to be able to do your genealogy research without worrying about bills. I’m financially in a place to help you. I wasn’t with Shauna, and I regret not supporting her when she wanted to quit her job and pursue her passion. She loved painting more than anything, more than I did.”

  Eyes watering, I walked over and hugged Declan. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out about everything right now.” I drew back. “The only good thing that has happened today is I remembered Andy called.”

  Declan’s gaze narrowed. “That’s a good thing, is it? When was this?”

  “He called my parents’ house for me. My mom told me when she got to England. I honestly had so much else going on I forgot all about it.”

  His lips curled into a smile. “That’s brilliant ya forgot.”

  I nodded. “It is.”

  “Gonna ring him back, are ya?”

  “No. I don’t give a crap what he has to say.”

  The teakettle whistled.

  I went over and grabbed two of Grandma’s cups from the shelf. “That would have been so cool if I’d found a Flannery’s teacup at Nicole’s shop. I don’t plan on researching my Flannery line for a while—I have all the family I can handle for now. But it still would have been cool.”

  “Knowing their factory was near Arklow is a great start. Your great-granny was likely born in the area.”

  What if Grandma had been born in Arklow?

  My gaze darted to Declan. “What if my grandma’s mother, Mary, had gone home to give birth because she’d been having complications? Or she’d been visiting her parents and my grandma came earlier than expected? Just because my grandma’s siblings were born in Killybog doesn’t mean she was for sure.” Nicholas and I had both done a countrywide search of civil indexes, but nothing had jumped out at us. However, I hadn’t spent much time searching outside of County Westmeath.

  Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

  Declan and I booted up our laptops and frantically typed away, searching genealogy sites and indexes. After an hour of trying various spellings and birth years, I came across a possibility. “Here’s a Bridget Clauffey born in Arklow, January to March 1916. What if the name is supposed to be Coffey?”

  “Not familiar with Clauffey. Once knew a Claffey.”

  “It’s just an index. Doesn’t list parents’ names.” I searched for other Clauffeys born in Arklow the years surrounding Grandma’s birth year. “Not one other Clauffey was born anywhere near that date in Arklow.” A sense of excitement zipped through me. “What if this is it? I need to get a copy.”

  “Let’s find the registrar’s office in County Wicklow.” Declan typed away on his laptop. “Bray. Just south of Dublin.”

  “If the original certificate has the wrong surname and doesn’t note Mary’s maiden name, maybe my grandma’s baptismal record would have the correct names. The Catholic parish records are only online for Wicklow until 1900. We’ll have to go to the church in Arklow to search the originals.”

  “I’ll go to Bray tomorrow and if necessary make a trip down to Arklow,” Declan said.

  My heart raced. I wanted to call in sick so I could go with Declan and be there when he found Grandma’s records. So we could celebrate together.

  I smiled. “Let’s celebrate.”

  “Grand idea. Fancy a pint with Gerry?”

  “I’m sure he’s drinking to Rachel’s call right now, but I’d rather celebrate alone.” I gave him a flirty smile, grasping hold of his hand. We walked past Mac snoring on the couch and over to our new bed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following morning I wanted to hop off the bus on the way to work and Uber it back home to go with Declan to County Wicklow. He’d be waiting at the door when the registrar’s office opened. I tried not to be overly hopeful in case it wasn’t Grandma’s birth record, but my gut told me it was. I couldn’t let a little thing like a name documented or transcribed incorrectly dampen my spirits. Or the fact that Grandma hadn’t lived in County Wicklow.

  Besides historical records often being incorrect, what about family lore? How often was that wrong? Nigel’s family believed their ancestor was of royalty when he’d actually been shipped off to prison. What if Gretchen’s grandpa wasn’t from Germany? He could have lived in Germany but not been born there. I needed to search birth records for the surrounding countries.

  I had a passion for ancestry research. I merely lacked experience. Yet Nicholas Turney had way more experience than me and hadn’t considered the fact that Grandma could have been born in Arklow. Or maybe he’d searched the Arklow records but Clauffey hadn’t jumped out at him as a possibility. Like Rachel said, it’d taken years for her to become a skilled meeting planner, a job she wasn’t passionate about. Maybe it wouldn’t take me quite as long to become skilled at a job I was passionate about.

  I took the plunge and e-mailed Nigel, tactfully dropping the bomb about his convict great-grandpa, whose ethnicity was still a mystery. He could decide whether or not to tell his mom. I owed him the truth.

  My phone rang. Mom.

  Had George shared my letter with her and she was calling to yell at me? I debated answering the call, not wanting to let any negative energy zap my positive attitude.

  I took a deep breath, then answered with a perky hello.

  Mom was sobbing on the other end.

  “What’s wrong? Is George okay?”

  She inhaled a shaky breath. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  She guessed so?

  “Then why are you crying?” Was she disappointed in me over the letter? Had I made my mom cry? My chest tightened.

  “He’s better physically, being released tomorrow, but I’d hoped he’d be better emotionally by this morning. He’s…just not who I thought he’d be.”

  Anger growled at the back of my throat, and I tightened my grasp on the phone.

  “Where’s Rachel?”

  Mom sniffled. “Getting us tea. I’m in the restroom.”

  That reminded me of my previous job, having to hide out in hotel bathrooms for a moment of peace to regain my sanity.

  “You and Rachel should do something fun today. How about going to that cute little café in Dalwick? Sit on a bench by the river and read a book. Do something relaxing.”

  She blew her nose. “That might be a good idea.”

  “Tell George you’ll see him later. You don’t owe him an explanation.”

  We didn’t owe George a damn thing!

  My entire body trembled with anger. As if I hadn’t felt bad enough over George’s scene at the hospital yesterday. Rather than hopping an Uber back home to join Declan to County Wicklow, I wanted to hop a ferry to England and give George a piece of my mind.

  “Thanks, dear. I feel better. Sorry to call when you’re probably on your way to work. Didn’t mean to get your day off to a bad start.”

  I wanted to tell her that this would hopefully turn out to be my best day in a long time. Yet I didn’t want to give her even a glimmer of hope in the off chance it ended up not being Grandma’s birth record.

  I’d given her way too much hope about her half brother, and look how that had turned out.

  * * *

  I arrived at work a half hour early, determined to put the bounce back in my step after Mom’s phone call. In less than two hours, Declan would have Grandma�
�s birth record in hand. Rather than reading through the proposal I’d received from a Florence hotel, I found myself on Scotland’s record site, searching for a James McKinney born to a Richard and Mary.

  “How’s the incentive planning going?” Gemma said behind me.

  Startled, I lowered my laptop screen. Crap. I spun around in my chair to find her red lips curled into a smirk.

  “Great. Should have estimated budgets done by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest.”

  Her cheeky smile faded. “Mr. McHugh would like to see you in an hour.” She strutted off in her green dress and heels.

  Not even Gemma was going to burst my bubble today.

  My boss undoubtedly wanted an update on the incentive trip and to verify that I hadn’t been on vacay in England. I three-hole-punched the contracts I’d printed and added some additional paperwork to fill up a medium-size binder, proving I’d been hard at work.

  An hour later, I was seated in front of the CEO.

  “We’re having to change the incentive dates to September,” he said. “Sorry about that after all the information you’ve collected.”

  Ugh. So I’d have to contact twenty-two hotels to verify availability and rates for the new dates?

  My phone dinged. It had to be Declan. Few people texted me. My heart raced, and my fingers itched to reach down and slip the phone from my purse.

  “I know you wanted to plan the Kerry meeting, but I feel you should hand it off to Gemma. She’s at a bit of a lull at the moment. I think it’s best to have the meetings evenly distributed. I’m afraid I may have overestimated our need for a full-time planner.” His phone rang, and he excused himself to answer it.

  Was he going to fire me?

  Rather than panic racing through me, excitement flittered around my chest like a hummingbird on steroids. I wouldn’t actually get fired but rather let go due to an insufficient workload. I needed to create cards for my genealogy business and have Gerry distribute them to fellow pub owners. And Nicholas Turney mentioned a local B and B referred people to him for ancestry research assistance. I could reach out to B and Bs. I needed to build a website…

  The CEO finished his call. “So for now the position will be more part time. Eventually it will grow into full time, and then we can hire you as a Flanagan employee.”

  Eventually I wouldn’t be there.

  “I hope this doesn’t put you in a financial bind.”

  It did, but it also put me in an incredibly elated mood.

  “Talk to Rachel. Brecker likely has some meetings to supplement your workload. After this month, we’ll probably need to contract by the meeting rather than by the month.”

  Brecker’s CEO had decided to contract me monthly because we didn’t know when my citizenship would come through, making me eligible for full-time employment with Flanagan’s.

  I nodded, slowly standing. “Sure. I’ll do that.”

  I’d been fighting Gemma to keep a job I really didn’t want. This job was a means to an end. To get me off the road and provide a more stable work environment with a steady paycheck. Most of all, to get me to Ireland and closer to Declan. Even part time, Flanagan’s would provide some stable income.

  I had to keep this job until my debt was paid down and I could transition into a full-time genealogy business. It would take time to build up clientele and my research skills. Rachel would undoubtedly be quitting her job in the near future. She wouldn’t have reason to care if I later quit.

  As I walked out the door, I slipped my phone from my purse. Declan had texted a photo of Grandma’s notarized birth record, which had her mother’s name correctly documented as Mary Flannery but father as Patrick Clauffey. I let out a frustrated groan. Declan had left messages for the Catholic priests in the Arklow area, asking if he could access their churches’ baptismal records today.

  Stay positive.

  I stopped at Gemma’s desk as she hung up the phone. “I guess you’re going to be planning the Kerry meeting now.”

  She arched a brow. “Messed it up, did ya?”

  “No, I’m just pretty busy.”

  “I guess I can take it on if you feel you can’t do it.” She flashed me a victorious grin that I’d normally want to wipe off her smug face.

  Let Gemma believe she’d won. When, really, I knew I had.

  * * *

  I was sitting at my desk, eating a salad from the cafeteria, when Declan texted, attaching a pic of Grandma’s baptismal record. Parents were noted as Mary Flannery and Patrick Coffey. The sponsors were Catherine and James Flannery.

  I let out a delighted squeal, causing several curious coworkers to pop up from behind their cubicle walls.

  I confirmed I’d be home at four to pop my application in the mail. I started typing a letter to include with my packet, pleading my case. I asked if my paperwork could be expedited for an additional fee or if they would allow me to extend my ninety-day tourist visa due to the delay in locating my grandma’s records.

  I forwarded Grandma’s docs to Rachel, along with the website link for the citizenship application. Declan had purchased three notarized copies of Grandma’s birth certificate in case Mom also decided to pursue Irish citizenship. After our earlier conversation, I highly doubted it. She might not even return to Ireland to visit me. She couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge. I couldn’t wait to get to England.

  If George thought my letter sounded angry, just wait until he heard what I had to say!

  Chapter Nineteen

  The following morning, Declan, Mac, and I took the 8:00 a.m. ferry to Wales. We arrived at the hospital just before noon to help Mom and Rachel take George home. I thought it best that George ride with them rather than Declan and me. I needed time to calm my nerves and mentally prepare for my conversation with him. Not that driving down George’s narrow sheep-filled road was the best stress reducer, but at least I wasn’t behind the wheel. I stared out at a field of sheep, my shoulders relaxing. I loved the animals when I wasn’t chasing them away from Thomas’s shrubs.

  Rachel pulled up to the gate, and we stopped behind her. I hopped out and unlocked it. After Rachel and Declan drove in, I secured the entrance. We drove up to the house and parked. Declan grabbed George’s suitcase from the trunk. We all walked toward the house in eerie silence as if we were about to enter a church for George’s funeral rather than his home. This was the day we’d all been waiting for since we’d arrived here a week ago. Thanks to George, it wasn’t the joyous occasion it should have been.

  We stepped inside to a warm, cozy salon. Heat emanated from the iron registers, and flames flickered in the fireplace.

  George peered down at his shoes rather than taking in the newly furnished surroundings. “Feels awfully hot in here.” His harsh and judgmental tone, implying we’d run up the fuel bill, made my entire body tense.

  Mom managed a tight smile. “We thought it best that you come home to a heated house after your pneumonia.”

  Rachel glared at our uncle. “We had to replace the boiler. Paid for it with some of the books in the shed.”

  George’s top lip curled into a sneer. “Hope you didn’t sell the Mary Poppins book.”

  We all exchanged cautious glances, silently agreeing not to admit we had sold the classic. How about a thank-you for taking care of the broken boiler and creatively financing it? I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip so hard I about squealed out in pain.

  George eyed the flying monkey table. “Always hated that table.”

  “Right, then.” Declan peered over at Rachel, who looked like she was one snide comment away from blowing up, and at Mom, who was about to burst into tears. “Fancy some tea and scones?”

  Declan gave my hand a good-luck squeeze before he fled after Rachel and Mom already halfway to the kitchen.

  George slid a discreet glance over at the artwork hanging on the wall. All the paintings remained except for the one of the woman writing the letter, which Declan had taken. George’s gaze swept the room. His b
reathing quickened, a faint whistling sound escaping from between his thin lips.

  “Maybe you should sit down.” I gestured to Fanny’s blue velvet wingback chair in the corner.

  “I’m fine,” he snapped.

  “I don’t think you’re fine.”

  He looked surprised by my sarcastic tone yet continued avoiding my gaze. The fact that he didn’t even have the courtesy to look at me fueled my anger, but I continued with a calm and matter-of-fact tone.

  “And I’m not just talking about you needing to sit rather than stand. I’m talking about this you not being fine compared to the you I met in Prague. This cranky, unappreciative, rude you versus the kind, caring, and considerate you I first met. The you who should be thanking us for helping you out rather than—”

  George held up a halting hand. “I get your point.” He gazed over at the paintings with a glassy-eyed haze and muttered, “Yes indeed, I get your point.” Nodding, he slowly walked over and collapsed down on Fanny’s blue velvet chair. His cheeks grew pale.

  My heart raced. Was he having a stroke or a heart attack?

  He bent over and covered his face with his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. His rapid transition from angry to distraught threw me for a loop. I went over and knelt down by him, placing a hand on his back.

  “Omigod, George. What is it? Why are you acting so different? I want to believe that was the real you I’d met in Prague. Please tell me what this is about.”

  After some more crying, George lowered his hands from his face, his eyes bloodshot, his complexion red and blotchy. He pulled a cotton hanky from the pocket of his tan slacks. “I owe everyone an apology for my abhorrent behavior. I’ve been most rude and unappreciative and every other bad thing you said.” He glanced around. “Especially after all everyone has done for me.”