Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland (21 page)

“But what if it’s a big mistake for them to meet?”

“It might be,” I admit. “But if that’s the case, it might be good for Sid’s sake to get this whole thing over with. Then she can go home and get on with her life. It’s obvious she’s been kind of stuck. You heard the conversation with your mom, Ryan. You’re the one who told me she was heartbroken over Ian.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can to help you, Maddie. But then you have to tell me about this mysterious conversation with Murphy. It must’ve reflected pretty well on Ian, or you wouldn’t be going to all this trouble.”

I study him for a moment. Why don’t I just tell him everything now? Get it over with, out in the open. But then I remember my promise to Murphy. “I’d rather wait, Ryan. I need to talk to Ian first. Okay?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

I can tell Ryan’s a little offended by my secrecy. But, really, what else can I do? At least he seems willing to play along. Even better, I don’t have to keep avoiding him now. That’s a relief. Consequently, when he invites me to go for a boat ride with him, I happily accept. I just hope he doesn’t threaten to drown me if I don’t tell him what Murphy said.

R
yan and I take turns rowing the small boat, but he is a lot better at it. Of course, my excuse is that my arms are tired from stirring all that pancake batter this morning. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind. I tell myself it’s a guy thing. And it suits me fine. I’m enjoying just lazing around in the front of the boat, watching him sweat. Okay, he’s not really sweating. It’s actually cooled off a bit today, and I wish I’d brought a sweater. Finally he informs me that it’s nearly noon and maybe we should head back to check on Sid.

“No hurry,” I tell him as he swiftly begins to paddle us toward the dock.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, pausing to take a break. “I guess you’re right.” He leans his head back and looks up at the sky that’s dappled with clouds, and he slowly gazes around the lake as if he’s trying to take in all this incredible Irish scenery. Finally he looks over at me and smiles. “You really do look like you belong here, Maddie.”

“Huh?” I sit up straighter.

“You look like you could be Irish.”

I can’t help but smile. “Is that a compliment?”

He nods with a slight twinkle in his eye. “And, just like the Irish, you’ve decided to become irritatingly mysterious too.”

So I try to give him a coy little sideways glance—my best attempt at looking
mysterious
. But he just laughs and resumes his rowing.

Ryan and I take our time loading the car with our stuff, and then I add an unplanned stall tactic when I realize I actually left: my backpack in the lobby when I was getting volunteer information to take home.

“We’re burning daylight,” my aunt warns me as I come walking back to the car.

“Sorry,” I tell her, acting like I’m hurrying to get in. I glance at my watch as she drives away from Peace House. It’s already close to one, and we’re not even to Antrim yet. So far so good.

Sid makes good time getting into town. She impatiently looks for a place to park and then hurries to get out and lock the car, acting like she’s running late. Even after we get seated in the pub, she seems worried about the time. That’s when I remind her that her work is done now and it’s time to relax and hang loose. “Enjoy some downtime,” I tell her as the waiter appears.

We order our food, and when he asks what we’ll have to drink, I surprise both of them, as well as myself, by ordering a pint of Guinness.

“Maddie?”
My aunt stares at me with her head slightly cocked.

“May I see your identification, miss?”

I reach for my bag, extract my passport, and proudly present the document to the waiter.

“Thank you.” He examines it and hands it back.

“I’ll have a Guinness too,” says Ryan. But he gives me a curious sideways glance as he produces his ID for the waiter.

“Same for me,” says my aunt, still staring at me. “What’s going on here?” she asks me as soon as the waiter departs.

I just shrug. “Hey, when in Rome….”

“But I thought you said it was against your Christian values,” she reminds me. “Or something to that effect.”

“Yeah,” says Ryan in a slightly accusing tone. “I hope you’re not tossing aside your own convictions about alcohol because you think it will please us.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure whether I was espousing my personal convictions or just parroting what my parents believe. If anything, this trip has shown me that I can be a little too quick to judge others. I need to learn to think and discern for myself.”

“But, Maddie—”

“It’s my decision,” I tell my aunt. “And besides, I’m curious what Guinness tastes like. And this is Ireland. I can’t very well go home without giving it a try, can I?”

“And I guess you can’t become an alky in just three days,” Ryan points out with a teasing smile.

As it turns out, I’m not overly thrilled with the taste of stout. It’s strong and bitter, and I think it smells a little like fish. But I don’t want to reveal my true opinions to Ryan or my aunt. I’m pretty sure they’d laugh at me. So, between bites of food, I somehow force down about a third of my pint.

“Not much of a stout drinker after all?” Ryan teases me as I
stand up to excuse myself. But instead of stopping at the rest room like I told them, I go out behind the pub to make a phone call to Ian’s restaurant. I study the card for Ian’s restaurant. The name of the restaurant sounds kind of French, which I think is odd. But then I suppose the Irish might enjoy French cuisine as much as Americans do. I look for the phone number and carefully dial. I figure I’ll have a better chance of catching him during the middle of the day like this, but what if he’s taken the day off? I actually shoot up a quick prayer as I listen to the phone ring. To my pleasant surprise, it’s Ian who answers.

“Chez Marsilius. This is Ian.”

I clear my throat and tell him who I am and that we might be in Derry around dinnertime tonight. “Should we make reservations?” I ask. “I mean, I’m not sure when we’ll get there, but I’m thinking between six and seven.”

“I’ll have a table ready,” he tells me. “How many should I expect?”

Okay, it could be my imagination, but I think I can hear curiosity in his voice when he asks about the number. “Three,” I tell him. “My aunt will be with Ryan and me.”

“Very good,” he says, sounding professional, just like the proprietor of a restaurant.

“Unless you’d like to join us,” I add.

There’s a brief pause, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped my bounds again. “I mean, you might be busy or—”

“No,” he says slowly. “That might be a good idea, Maddie. I’ll have them set the table for four.”

“Cool.”

He kind of laughs. “Yes,
cool.”

I ask him for directions, and it sounds like the place is easy to find. Even so, I make some notes on the back of his card.

I try to conceal my excitement when I return to the table, but when Sid’s not looking, I give Ryan a thumbs-up. Good to go.

“Do you want to finish your Guinness before we go?” Ryan asks.

I’m not sure if it’s a stall tactic or a challenge to me, but I turn my nose up at it. “Not so much.”

“Just admit it, Maddie,” he persists. “You don’t like it, do you?”

I shrug as my aunt pays the bill. “I guess it’s an acquired taste.”

“Maddie, you certainly don’t have to drink Guinness just because we do,” my aunt says as we leave the pub. “And you really shouldn’t drink it at all if it compromises what you believe. I sure don’t want your parents blaming me for corrupting you in Ireland.”

Sid seems more relaxed when we get back in the car. I think she’s taken our advice. But after we’ve driven for nearly forty minutes, I start getting worried. So far I haven’t seen one single thing that provides a believable excuse for a quick detour. Finally I spot a sign for a pottery factory that’s about ten miles off the main highway. Yeah, that should work, especially since Sid likes Irish pottery.

“Hey, Sid, how about we check that pottery place out?” I reach over her shoulder and point to the sign on the left.

“I didn’t know you liked pottery,” she says.

“I want to get Mom something,” I say.

“And I wouldn’t mind getting something too,” Ryan adds. “To remember this trip by. Maybe a bowl or something…”

“All right,” says Sid as she makes the turn. “You won’t hear me arguing. I’d love to find a few more pieces.”

It turns out that it’s more than just a pottery factory. The place is run by monks, and they also make goat cheese and weave wool and do all sorts of things. Ryan and I pretend to be interested in everything, and before I know it, I actually am interested. When Sid’s not looking, I give Ryan the directions to Ian’s restaurant. I figure with him in the front seat, it’ll be more believable if he navigates us there.

Finally it’s nearly five o’clock, and Sid insists we should finish up our visit here. “This place is great,” she says, “but I really don’t like driving in Ireland after dark.” Naturally, we don’t argue. It’s about five thirty by the time we’re actually back on the highway again. And, because of the hour, there are more cars, and the traffic moves slower. Perfect. So it is that we come into Derry at about a quarter of seven.

“I’m starving,” Ryan says.

“Me too,” I echo, feeling like a six-year-old.

“I’m not that familiar with places in Derry,” she says. “But that looks like a good possi—”

“How about that street?” says Ryan quickly, pointing to a street that Ian mentioned to me.

“Okay.” My aunt turns into the roundabout, then takes the left turn out. “Now where?”

“I don’t know,” says Ryan. “But it looks like this is a good area.” So she drives down the fairly busy street, suggesting several places, but between Ryan and me, we manage to dissuade her.

“That place looks interesting,” says Ryan, pointing to the right.

“Chez Marsilius,” I say, hoping I got the name right. “Sounds French. Hey, that’d be fun.”

“French?” Sid sounds unconvinced.

“Yeah,” says Ryan. “I’ve heard there’s an Irish-French connection. Maybe we should check it out.”

So she finds a place to park, and we slowly walk back toward the restaurant. “It looks pretty nice,” she says. “Do you think we’re dressed well enough?”

“This is summer,” I remind her. “And Ireland is used to tourists. Once they see we’re Americans, they might cut us some slack.”

“I hope so.”

We go inside, and it’s obvious this is a very nice place. Fresh flowers, candlelight, and white tablecloths. I toss Ryan a look.

“Maybe Sid and I should go freshen up,” I say quickly. “Why don’t you see if you can get us a table?” Then I turn to Sid. “You might want to check your hair,” I suggest. “It’s kind of windblown.”

“Good idea.” She nods as she pats her hair. “It’s bad enough to be dressed so casually. No sense in looking like total hicks.”

So we go to what turns out to be a very nice ladies’ room, where Sid fixes her hair, checks her makeup, and even puts on a scarf. “There,” she says to me. “Do you think they’ll let me in now?”

I smile. “Yeah. I just hope I can pass too.”

“You’re a teenager,” she reminds me. “No one expects you to look good.”

“Thanks a lot!”

She laughs, and we go back to the foyer, but I spot Ryan
already seated at a nice table by a fireplace. “There’s Ryan,” I whisper to Sid. And we both go in to join him.

Okay, my heart is pounding like a jackhammer. My palms are sweaty, and I’m sure I won’t be able to eat a thing. I’m walking ahead of Sid, amazed I can travel in a straight line because of how bad my knees are shaking. Seriously, if I get so unraveled doing something like this, how hopeless would I be working for something like the IRA? Okay, flush that thought.

I smile at Ryan. “Everything okay?” I ask in a tight-sounding voice that I’m sure must be a dead giveaway to my aunt.

“Groovy,” he says as he gets up to pull out Sid’s chair for her.

I pull out my own and slowly sit down, telling myself to chill. And breathe.

“Why are there four places?” Sid asks casually. If she suspects anything, she’s hiding it well.

I kind of shrug. But then I see her face. Her smile has completely evaporated, and it’s obvious she’s looking at something extremely disturbing. Something that’s directly behind me. For all I can tell the wall’s about to fall on us. Her eyes are huge, and I swear I can see her nostrils flaring.

“What is going on?” she hisses at me.

“What do you—”

Before I can finish, she is on her feet and heading straight out of here.

“We’ll be back,” I say to Ryan. Then I follow her, assuming she’s heading back to the ladies’ room. But when I see the back of her, practically running, she is going right out the door. Great.

I sprint after her, catching her on the sidewalk, a few doors down and nearly to the car. Like what’s she going to do? Jump in the car and drive off without us? Strand us here in Derry? Maybe.

She gets into her car, and when I try to open the passenger side, it is locked. Now I’m starting to freak. I mean, I know that Sid hasn’t been herself when certain things have happened—things related to Ian. But what if she has a meltdown right here in the street? I mean, she’s not that old, but she could have a stroke or something.

I lean over and knock on the window, signaling her to let me in. But she doesn’t even turn to look. Okay, this is serious.

Dear God
, I pray silently but desperately,
please, please help me. I love Sid, and I don’t want to hurt her. If I’ve done something wrong, I’m really, really sorry. But please help me fix this, for her sake. Please!

I bend over and look inside the car again. Sid’s head is leaning against the steering wheel. Is she conscious? I tap on the window again, this time more quietly. And finally, after what feels like five minutes, she turns and looks at me. Okay, she’s glaring at me. But she does unlock the door.

As I get in, I wonder if I might not be safer on the outside. Still, I started this thing; I guess I’d better finish it. “Sid,” I begin in my most gentle voice, “I’m sorry I—”