Chapter 38

Tempting as it was to stay in bed with her this morning, since they had four more chances to fall back on, Cathal knew it would be wrong and extremely bad karma to do so. He brushed his lips over her sleeping face. “Wake up, princess. It’s a beautiful day.”

He sat back to watch her wake. Poor woman was jetlagged and it was 6:30 am. And yet, she still looked beautiful.

She bolted up to a sitting position. “Did you just call me princess?”

“In a non-derogatory way.” He grinned. “I knew it would get you awake.”

She pretend-thumped his arm. “Come on then, Farm Boy, let’s do this.”

He stepped out of her way twice as she raced around, gathering clothes and pulling them on at high speed. “You know you can’t call me that anymore. Farm Boy.”

“Mmlog what?” she mumbled from the bathroom through toothpaste froth.

“Never mind.” He tied his bootlaces. He’d already explained his new circumstances to her last night, and her reaction had been encouraging. Then she’d hit him with the news that she was near to selling her company. Then they’d stopped talking shop and started making love.

She was packing her bag furiously.

“Don’t forget your phone.” He pointed to where it lay on the nightstand.

She slid him a look.

“But if you do, I have a backup anyway.” He held up his own device.

She snorted. “Do you even know how to use that?”

“You’ll find out.” They hadn’t talked about keeping in contact, but it was a matter of how, not whether.

Nerves set in on their walk from his car to the port. The memories of constant defeat hit him. It was too hard to believe this would actually work. Her hand snuck into his and he squeezed it tight. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay,” she said gently. “Go easy on yourself.”

He nodded.

But at the port, Peadair was all smiles when he saw them. “You’re back,” he said, exactly like he used to say it a year ago. Nothing had changed. Not his boat, not the ropes. He was even wearing the same jumper.

“Is my booking still all right, Peadair?” Anxiety squeezed the words out of him.

“Aye, and I know you’ve booked the whole week as well. Mind you keep it quiet though.” Peadair’s deep frown appeared. “They’d skin me alive if they knew someone was hogging.”

Avery stared at him. “You’re getting as cutthroat as me, Cathal.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he replied.

“Well, I also have a ticket, so I guess we can donate that to someone else.”

Peadair nodded thoughtfully. “There’s a lad over there wants a seat if you’d give it to him?”

“Sure, yeah.”

The youth walked up. It was a familiar face.

“Dec?” they said in unison.

“Jaysus, you two again,” he said with a scowl. “Are you married now, or what?”

Cathal laughed and Avery joined in.

He squeezed her fingers a little tighter, and she squeezed back.

*

“Here we go.” Peadair took their hands and guided them into the boat. “If you get sick…”

But it was so much calmer than last time. The Atlantic was showing her charming side, the elegant lady in sparkling blues, not the angry hag in greys and green, hellbent on drowning them, spitting salt in their faces.

The seventy-minute crossing was incredible in itself. It was the ultimate pilgrimage. He could only imagine what it must have been like for the monks of old in their oilskin boats, with no creature comforts to look forward to on reaching the island. We’ll be there soon, Father.

He could feel him looking down and it made his eyes burn so he twisted toward the cool Atlantic spray, letting it bathe his face. He hadn’t let go of Avery’s hand since they’d climbed aboard. His father was the only person he wanted to let go of on that island.

But he had to let her go as they stepped onto the dry land of Skellig Michael.

“I’m just shaking,” Avery admitted.

This must be why she wasn’t filming this already. “The climb’ll soothe the nerves,” he assured her.

They got the compulsory health and safety pep talk. Then the groups were allowed to disperse and go their own way. He turned to her and was about to say something, but she pointed to the vertiginous stairs ahead of them, stepped on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek, saying, “For luck.” Then she sank down to normal height and sighed happily to herself.

He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “Wrong film.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“That was film number four, we’re doing number seven here.”

She let out a squeal. “You’ve seen them? I don’t believe this.” She addressed some invisible audience. “He’s seen them!”

“I had time on my hands. Now, are we climbing these steps, or are you just going to stand there talking to yourself?”

*

Avery found she had an extra bounce in her steps. He’d seen the freaking movies! And paid enough attention that he could come out with a comment like that. It could only have been for her. But suddenly she didn’t want to talk or even think about the movies. An incredible, mad impossible dreamworld surrounded them on this plane of reality. Energy seemed to be emanating from the rocks in all directions for hundreds of miles across the ocean.

She entered a deep silence, as if her heart and mind merged as one with the landscape. She felt at home. Here, with the only man who made her feel alive.

Her phone was staying in her pocket until those ashes were spread. A scattering of ashes was a deeply private thing, not something for the world to share. She felt deeply ashamed of her former behavior. Yes, she was an entrepreneur, but some things were more important than that.

“Will we look at Christ’s Saddle?” he asked, indicating the flat area between the two peaks.

“Or do you want to get to the huts?”

“Let’s do that,” he agreed.

They continued to the north slope where the beehive huts marked the epicenter of the ancient monastic settlement. The energy here felt right. Everything felt right.

Cathal held his finger up to test the wind direction. Slowly, he removed the urn.

“Don’t drop it,” she whispered.

He gave her a look. Then slowly, he pulled the lid off. “If we stand right here,” he directed her, “he’ll go that way…”

“I’ve seen too many movies where this goes wrong,” she said in a hush.

He let out a single chuckle, then frowned. “Lady, can you be serious for one moment?”

“Of course.” She bent her head and thought of her sisters, her go-to method of controlling giggles. When she looked up again, he was shaking the urn upside down and a flurry of dust and bits whooshed away in a small cloud.

Cathal’s hair whipped around his face, his golden blond starkly contrasting with the color of the ocean. He spoke a prayer in Irish, and a look of pain crossed his face but was swiftly replaced by one of peace as he uttered, “Amen.”

Turning, he reached for her like a blind man. “Thank you for doing this. Thank you for being here.” He sagged against the stone wall.

She snuggled into him. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Farm Boy.”

He tightened his grip on her, caressing his thumbs along her neck. “I love you. I don’t want to let you go.”

“I love you too. And you don’t have to let me go, because I’m not going anywhere. The Force is just too strong in you.”