Chapter 14

Avery didn’t know what to expect at the Cosán trailhead. Another field of sheep? Another stone beehive hut? Another bleak rockface? But Cathal parked the Capri by a sunny beach called Ventry, which turned out to be as sandy and cheerful as any in LA—with swimmers, surfers, and kayakers all taking advantage of the rare sunshine. It was actually warm.

“Tempted?” Cathal nodded at a bunch of swimwear-clad people lounging on towels.

“Nah. I get this all the time back home,” she said. “Or did you just want to see me in my bikini?”

His sudden, heated look told her the answer to that. She laughed. “You need to cool down, mister. Oh look,” she said, and pointed to a van selling refreshments. “Just the thing. Ice cream.”

“Allow me.” Cathal strode toward the van in a way that made it obvious he was covering up embarrassment.

Returning, he offered her a whipped ice on a cone with a chocolate bar stuck in it. “We call it a ninety-nine. I have no idea why,” he said.

She took it gratefully and was happy to listen to him talk while she licked the heavenly vanilla cream.

“It wasn’t always like this.” Cathal indicated the surrounding area. “It used to be the landing place for pilgrims journeying to Mount Brandon. And way back in the Iron Age, a great battle took place here, where Fionn Mac Cumhaill defeated the emperor of the world.”

“The emperor of the entire world?” she echoed, sucking on the chocolate bar. “So, not just any old Joe Schmoe.”

His gaze landed on her mouth and he seemed distracted until he spoke again. “Well, ‘the entire world’ was probably just Europe at that time.”

“Oh right, yes. Carry on.”

“In any case, Dáire Donn was a powerful guy and he was in a mean mood—he had a bone to pick with Fionn for running off with the wife of Vulcan, the King of France. Fionn and his band of warriors held them off for a while but eventually he needed the help of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”

“The who?”

“A supernatural race. They live in the Otherworld, Tír na nÓg, but they interact with humans and the human world. It was they who helped Fionn beat the emperor of the world.”

She laughed. “You know a lot about Irish mythology.”

“There’s a lot to know. Unlike Britain’s mythology, it survived the Roman Empire. I’m better versed in the Ulster stories though.”

“Well, tell me about those,” she said. Her hands were free of ice-cream now and she had this burning desire to hold his hand, but then this reminded her of what she should be doing with her hands. “Damn! I should have been recording this.”

Cathal shot her a look. “If you think I’m going to repeat it, you can think again, lassie.”

“But it’s for the film!”

“That’s life,” he said. “You get one shot.”

“Very funny. Come on, you’re earning credits big time here.” He gave her a you-gotta-be-kidding look and she laughed. “Well? You are.”

So, camera in place this time, he told her some Ulster stories, the great Cuchulainn and Connor Mac Nessa, tales of shape-shifting magic side-by-side with grimly realistic murders and rites of passage. She was spellbound. She didn’t notice the kilometers go by.

She kept the camera trained on him. “Do you think any of this was actually real? I mean, they’re just legends.”

“I do think so. Just by the fact that these names of places and mountains have survived for so long. I suppose the original versions got heavily embellished with magic and fantasy to keep them alive though.” His eyes were shining. He was a born orator with his assertive, melodic voice. And she got the feeling he was getting a kick out of this too. Even the wind had died down, allowing for great audio quality. It was fabulous material.

She couldn’t help but wonder why someone who liked legends didn’t like Star Wars. Maybe he felt that only people in the past could create stories of value. Maybe she could create the ultimate mythological guide app to Ireland, recreating all the battles and sagas, and present it at FantasyCon?

“Avery?” Cathal was saying. “Earth to Avery?”

“What?”

“Look.”

They were on a country road offering stunning views, even better than from Cnoc na dTobar. The scent of wild flowers perfumed the air. Cathal pointed out to sea. “It’s the Three Sisters Peninsula, and the Blasket Islands.”

Farther away, barely visible in the misty haze, lay Skellig Michael—she knew its shape by now. He didn’t mention it, so neither did she. She leaned into him, unable to resist any longer. What she’d felt last night when he’d leaned in—she craved that again.

His arm swung around her shoulders, naturally, like it was something they did every day. She froze. She knew—she absolutely knew—that if she looked up at his face right now, he would kiss her. It was one of those weird certainties in life. So she stared out to sea, longer and quieter than her temperament would normally allow, debating whether it was what she truly wanted.

He didn’t seem to want to move any more than she did, but it was getting awkward. It was all so weird and unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Normally she had her men in small, measured doses, and if she were honest, in parallel with other dates—backup strategies to mitigate the inevitable disappointment. Already she’d spent more actual face-to-face time with Cathal than in all her last twenty dates combined. She’d be freaked out if she weren’t enjoying it so much.

“I wish he’d seen it.” Cathal sounded wistful.

It was her cue to move away. “Your father?”

“He wanted to come here as well.”

“Well, take him next time.”

He swung around to her, anger creeping into his face.

“I mean, take the rucksack up with you next time you go for a walk like this,” she explained hurriedly. “It’ll give you the sense that he’s with you.”

His frown smoothed away. “Might be an idea. I get worried leaving him in the car. What if someone stole the car?”

“Exactly.” Though she doubted any sane person would want to steal a hyper-conspicuous red Ford Capri.

Cathal was quiet now. She sensed another of his dark moods had descended, something that happened any time he was reminded of home. She didn’t mind—it was simply part of the authentic person he was. It would bother her more if he tried to hide it behind fake cheerfulness. She felt she could be equally candid with him.

Their next stop was at a twelfth century stone church, Kilmakedar Church. They had a picnic sitting on a stone wall in the shade of a tree, gazing over fields of bottle green grass. The color was so ramped up that if you saw a photo of it, you’d say the Photoshop editor had overdone things—she didn’t know colors existed like this in nature. In its utter peacefulness, the site resonated with intangible mystery and charm. Before long, she had to get up and explore.

“What’s this?” She indicated a standing stone with Ogham writing and a tennis-ball sized hole near its top.

“Stick your finger in for good luck, and to cure epilepsy and other ailments.”

She did so, closing her eyes, making a wish that every day of her vacation would be as good as this one.

He planted his hand on the stone and gave her his heart-melting smile. “Feeling any different?”

Yes, yes. “Nah, not really.”

“Well I hope you saved some energy for the walk back. Because it’s time. We don’t want to get stuck here.”

“Absolutely, just let me take a video of this here.” She did a 360 panorama of the scene, taking in the smoothly undulating peaks, the incredible wild beauty of the cliffs, and finally, some shots of the lowering sunlight caressing the contours of this man.

“Are we right?” Cathal said, seeming embarrassed at so much attention.

“Off we go,” she returned cheerfully.

It was after 5 p.m. by the time they’d gotten down and taken the taxi back to the car park. She was wrecked and in no mood to try to hide it. Unceremoniously, she propped herself up on the bonnet of the Capri, giving her dangling legs some glorious relief. Cathal wasn’t the kind of guy you had to put on a show of strength for, which was fortunate because her feet might never hold her up again. And when he mentioned he was starving, it hit her that she was, too, underneath the pain.

“Will we meet up with Brenda’s tour bus crowd?” There was a sparkle of hope in his eyes, and she could tell it had little to do with catching up with Brenda’s posse.

“We could let them have their fun, what do you say?” Her tone was gossamer light, a fluffy puff of throwaway words with the power to sever her heart if he answered wrong.

“I suppose we could.” His gaze held hers warmly for a moment and then he walked to the back of the car. He opened the trunk; she knew it was just his obsessive habit of checking for his father’s ashes. She sank gratefully into the passenger seat. When he got in beside her, she asked, “How’s your father?” She didn’t mean it in black-humored way; the late Mr. Cosgrave had sort of become their traveling companion. It almost wouldn’t feel the same without him.

“No complaints, anyway.” Smiling at her, he started the engine.

Three miles down the road, though, the Capri’s engine had complaints. Major complaints. They were taking a corner on an isolated country road when it sputtered, coughed, and, with a belligerent cloud of thick black smoke, died. It was almost melodramatic how the red needles on the old-fashioned dials all simultaneously swooned to horizontal.

“Ah, feck it, not now. Jesus, don’t do this to me,” Cathal groaned. He tried and retried the ignition. He thumped the heels of his fists against the over-sized steering wheel and sank his face in his hands.

“Um. Are you any good with engines?” she asked.

He lifted his head. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”