I look back and hesitate, caught up in the poetry, but Erin pushes me along on my back. “Keep moving, sister. No more dawdling. I have a business to build.”

I smile and walk around the far side of the car. “Erin’s back.”

She laughs. “Yeah, baby. I’m back and the world better look out.” She gets in the car next to me and claps her hands together once with a sharp crack. “Have I told you the plans I have for Monday nights at the bar?”

“No, you haven’t.” I’m grinning from ear to ear. This is the Erin I know and love; she’s confident, excited, and making plans for her future. No more wishy-washy whiney baby.

Erin’s hands are animating her words. “Okay, so this is what I was thinking…”

I let her words wash over me and nod in all the right spots. Her enthusiasm carries us both all the way back to Mrs. O’Grady’s place and up to our room where we slowly pack our cases and wind up our lives in Ireland. The entire time she talks, I wonder if I should try to see Donal one more time before we leave in the morning.

Erin’s words break through my reverie. “We should drive to Dublin tonight, right? Then we won’t have to worry about the car not making it and missing our flight.”

I nod. That solves my dilemma. We leave here whenever we’re done packing and spend the day and evening with Erin’s family in Dublin. That makes way more sense than hanging around here and one or both of us bumping into a guy who we’re supposed to be trying to forget.

“Yes, that’s a great idea. Let’s do that.”

Erin walks to the door. “I’ll just go tell Mrs. O that we’ll be checking out today.”

She disappears down the stairs and I continue packing. My heart is heavy with feelings I know can never amount to anything. I’m a lawyer and I live in Boston. There is no home for me in Ireland, even though I’m pretty sure I’m going to be leaving a piece of my heart here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ERIN

“DID YOU CALL YOUR MOM and tell her we’re coming?” Ridlee’s squinting at the snaking line of traffic ahead. “I thought the M5 was supposed to be a freeway,” she mutters leaning even closer into the windscreen.

“It is, and the word is motorway, hence the M in the name.” I dig around in the pocket of my jeans for my phone. “I texted her.” I pull it out along with a couple of used tissues — debris from my secret bawling session in the loo this morning over he-who-shall-not-be-named.

“Who?” asks Ridlee.

I almost recoil in horror. Can she actually read my mind? “What?” I ask all flustered.

“Who did you text?” Ridlee’s frowning at the traffic jam ahead of us now, oblivious to my distress.

“My mum, Ridlee. My mum!” I say it sharper than I mean to.

“All right, fine, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” She gives me a queer look. “Screw this. We need to find another route. We’ll never get there if we have to wait for this to clear. Type ‘alternate route’ into the GPS.”

I scroll through my messages — nothing from Mum, but then that’s not unusual ‘cause she’s not very good at texting. She refuses to join the 21st century and make use of the predictive text function on her admittedly ancient Nokia, which we all call her Blokia on account of the fact that she rarely has service.

After battling the worst gridlocked traffic I have ever seen we finally nudge our way into Dublin. It’s been a long drive and I’m extremely grateful to get out of the tiniest car in the world. After parking the Bambino in the driveway of my parents’ house we untie Ridlee’s luggage, which has miraculously remained fixed to the roof of the car. The house is in complete darkness, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should have put more effort into decoding Mum’s text.

“They do know we’re coming, right?” Ridlee’s half dragging, half wheeling her fancy luggage over the gravel drive.

“Well, I told her we were.” I sound way more certain than I feel. I skip ahead a bit to let Mum know that we’ve arrived. Don’t want to catch her in her curlers or half dressed or something. “That’s strange,” I whisper as I walk back toward her from the front porch.

She stops dragging her luggage for a minute and stage-whispers, “What’s strange?”

I put my finger to my lips and whisper my response. “Shush! The front door is open. I think we’ve been robbed. Or…,” this I don’t even want to imagine, “…maybe they’re still in there.” We cling to one another. “What do we do?” I mouth to Ridlee.

She digs around in her purse and takes out her hot pink pepper spray. It has the word ‘Knockout’ written down the side. She positions it between her index finger and thumb and nods at me. I get in behind her, using her as a human shield. We tiptoe into the house.

There’s a strip of light coming from under the door to the kitchen. I elbow Ridlee who shushes me loudly.

The light goes out. We freeze.

She moves first.

I don’t want to go toward the light. I’m starting to think that we should just go outside and call the police. I’m too scared to leave, though, so I just shuffle forward behind Ridlee. We approach the kitchen through the dining room.

The door opens and a large dark cloud comes silently toward us, slowly but deliberately. My mind tries to make sense of what’s happening but arrives at no logical explanation.

Ridlee switches on the dining room light.

Mum, Dad, Miley, Geraldine, all my cousins, and what looks like half the neighbourhood stand there blinking at us in the sudden brightness.

“Surprise!” my mum stage whispers, just in time to avoid being maced by Ridlee. Everyone is grinning at us.

I’m lost, and quite shaken. My heart is thumping in my chest. Ridlee is frozen, mace still at the ready.

Mum smiles and takes the mace out of her hand, nodding toward my granny, Dad’s mother, who is sitting in the corner propped up in an armchair. “We didn’t want to alarm Granny so we did a quiet surprise.”

“Jesus Christ, Mum!” I almost yell as Ridlee and I expel the breath we have been holding.

“Don’t take the name of The Lord Our God in vain, Erin. Welcome home, girls! We decided to have a little send off for ye.”

She ushers everyone forward and we spend the next five minutes thanking the neighbourhood and his mother for the wonderful surprise. Somehow Ridlee regains her presence of mind enough to do her benevolent, “Go raibh mait agat. Thank you!” as though she has again landed on Mars and is addressing tiny Martians.

“Ah, Mammy, you’re awake!” says Mum going over to my granny. “Will ye have a little porter?”

Granny nods and smiles.

“Jack!” Mum calls to Dad. “Get Mammy a porter.” She turns back to my granny and speaks in a very loud, clear voice. “We’re having a little party for Erin and her friend, Ridlee, Mammy.”

I hover behind my mother, ready to go in and pay my respects to Granny when it’s my turn.

“Who?” croaks Granny, her hand to her ear.

“Erin! Your granddaughter!” says Mum on her knees now and leaning into my grandmother’s good ear.

“For Jesus’s sake, Una, I know my own grandaughter! What did ye say her friend’s name was?”

“It’s Ridlee, Granny,” I say, laughing and leaning down to kiss her.

Mum gets up and busies herself getting drinks and nibbles for everybody.