Delaney

I suck in a breath when I take the last steps up the path and the tomb comes into view. The top of the mountain is flat, and in the center is a large stone structure that seems to replicate the mountain’s oblong shape.

“Wow,” I breathe out.

The panoramic view is stunning. There’s so much color. From the green valleys below the emerald hills, to the dark blue ocean as it crashes in white waves along the sandy beach. Everything is vibrant and alive.

But it’s Maeve’s grave that draws my attention. It’s not one large stone structure like I assumed it would be, carved into the landscape itself. Instead, it appears to be made of a million rocks, large and small, all piled on top of each other.

There are a few sheep scattered around the base of the structure, and the family we’d run into earlier is on the far side taking pictures. But other than that, we’re alone.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe some of the stories my grandmother used to tell us influenced me more than I realized, because I want to feel so much more than the hollowness inside my chest when I walk to the base of the structure.

“What do ye think?” Cillian is behind me, so close I can feel the heat of his body. A contrast to the coldness that settles across my skin.

I want to fall back into him, have him wrap his arms around me, and use his heat to take away the misery that catches me unaware.

“It’s…” A reminder of everything I’ve lost. The structure may be thousands of years old, but it’s still a tomb. Maeve’s tomb. And unlike the magic my sister believed surrounded it, all I feel is the harsh reality of what it represents – death.

“Here.” Cillian places the rock he took from the bottom of the hill in my hand, then places his own at the foot of the cairn. When he turns back to me, there’s something knowing in his gaze. He gives me a small, sad smile. “I’ll give ye a few minutes.”

He walks away, hands in his pockets, the wind whipping at his hair.

Part of me wishes he’d stay, but this is something I need to do by myself. The reason I came here in the first place.

“Maeve,” I say softly, squeezing the rock in my hand, wishing she was right, that there really is magic here. At least enough to let me feel her presence, to give me some sign that she’s not gone completely.

But all I’m answered with is the harsh wailing of the wind, the bleating of sheep, and a cold shadow as the sun disappears again behind the clouds.

I sigh and crouch down, placing the rock at the base of the structure.

“It should be you here, not me,” I say softly, closing my eyes. I swallow the lump lodged in my throat, but I still choke over the words. “This was your adventure. Not mine. I don’t even know why I’m here. It’s just another reminder that you’re gone.”

A bird cries out, and when I open my eyes, it’s perched on a rock a few feet away from me, head tilting to the side as if it’s studying me.

Pulling out Maeve’s list, I unfold it, and I can’t help the tears that sting my eyes when I read through it. It means so much more now that I’m here. But it’s not my list. And I wish more than anything else in the world that she’d had the chance to come here.

I don’t know how long I stay there, gaze unfocused, thoughts blurred by emotion, but it’s long enough for my muscles to cramp, and for Cillian to return.

“Whose list is it?” His voice is soft as he crouches down beside me.

I sigh and close my eyes. “My sister’s.”

In that confession, I feel like I’ve exposed my entire soul to him.

“Maeve?”

I nod.

“Do ye want to tell me about her?”

“It was her dream to come here.”

“What stopped her?”

My chest tightens, and I have to force the words out. I hate them more than I hate anything. “Cystic fibrosis.”

His breath comes out in a heavy sigh. “Do…”

When I glance over at him, I can see what he’s thinking, the question he wants to ask. It’s what most people who know anything about CF think when I tell them about Maeve.

Shaking my head, I answer his unvoiced question. “I don’t have it.”

I can tell he tries to hide it, but I see the relief in his eyes.

“Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if I did.” I blink back tears, and look back at the pile of rocks in front of me. “I know how terrible that sounds. But I think that maybe if I did, there wouldn’t always be this crushing sense of guilt weighing me down.”

“Guilt? For what?”

“For surviving.” I’ve never admitted that to anyone, and I can’t stop the tears now. They roll down my cheeks, blurring my vision.

He pulls me against him, angling me so that I’m in his lap, head resting on his chest, his hands wrapped around my body protectively as I let out a small sob.

“Ye can’t feel guilty for being alive.”

“You don’t understand. She was beautiful, and smart, and kind. Everyone loved her. She didn’t deserve to suffer the way she did, to lose her life before she even got a chance to live it.”

His hand rests on the back of my neck. “Ye feel like she was better than ye.”

“Maybe.”

He sighs and strokes my hair off my cheek. “I never met yer sister, but I can tell ye with absolute certainty, ye’re beautiful, and smart, and kind.” He cups my chin, forcing me to look at him, then drags his thumbs gently under my eyes, wiping away the tears. “And ye’re just as deserving to live as she was. But I think ye need to start living ye’re own life.”

He takes the paper from my hand, frowning as his eyes scan the page.

“I promised her…”

He starts to rip the page near the bottom, and I panic. “What are you doing?”

“Ye promised her ye’d do these things, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s only one thing on this list that I can see ye’re obligated to do.” He continues to rip the page, then hands me the small strip.

I read the words written there. “Find Your Happiness.”

He hands me the rest of it. “Ye can’t live yer own life if ye’re trying to live someone else’s.”

I know he’s right. I came here chasing Maeve’s dreams, hoping it would make me feel anything but the constant numbness that’s been with me since she passed.

The only time I haven’t felt it is when I’m with him. But even that will come to an end. And soon.

If I don’t have Maeve’s list, then what do I have? No job. A pile of student debt. Parents who are too wrapped up in their own grief to even remember my birthday. Even my friends back home have pulled away, or maybe I pulled away from them, hating the look of pity in their eyes.

But those things won’t change if I’m here chasing a ghost.

I tuck the smaller piece in my pocket and stand, clutching the rest of the list. A thousand memories push to the forefront of my mind, and I realize that I’ll never make another one with her no matter how much I want to.

With a shaky breath I fold the list, then lean down placing it under one of the rocks. The small bird is still perched on the rocks above, watching me. I chuckle when I think about what Maeve would say. She’d find some spiritual or significant meaning in its presence. Right now, I wish I could be as willing to believe.

“Goodbye,” I whisper.

As if in response, the bird chirps then flies off, just as a ray of sun breaks through the clouds hitting my face with a sudden burst of warmth.

I sigh, allowing myself to accept the small illusion.

Goodbye.

Cillian holds out his hand. I can’t read his expression, but at least it’s not pity I see.

I take his hand, and let him lead me back to the path. My ankle is throbbing now, and every step I take is excruciating. “Are you sure you don’t want to carry me?” I joke.

He stops and looks at me, frowning, one brow drawn up, then sighs. “Fine. Get on my back.”

I chuckle until I realize he’s serious.

“I was just kidding.”

“I’m not.” He removes his backpack and kneels. “I’d like to get back to the car sometime today, and the way ye’re hobbling along, I don’t see that happening.”

I know the gruffness in his voice is meant to convince me that he hates the idea, and that he’s only doing it for selfish reasons, but even so, as I climb on his back, I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips.

Wrapping my arms over his shoulders, I whisper in his ear. “Thank you.”

He grunts, but I feel his muscles tense, and the small tremble that races through him when I kiss his neck.

“Don’t thank me yet, love. I have an idea of how ye can make it up to me tonight.”