Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland (4 page)

“How do you know
that?”
Ryan asks, like he thinks I shouldn’t be breaking out of my role as village idiot just yet.

“For your information,” I tell him in a Miss Know-It-All tone,
“it just so happens that I raised sheep for 4-H, and I’m something of a sheep expert, thank you very much.”

Fortunately, he laughs at this.

“In fact,” I continue, “my dad was doing some online research about farming in Ireland last week. He told me that sheep are really big over here. Farmers raise them for their meat as well as their wool. In fact, I think he said there are actually more sheep than people.”

“That sounds about right,” says Sid as the last pair of straggler lambs finally make some quick leaps to get up and over the stone embankment. Most of the roads seem to be bordered with these stone walls. While they are pretty and kind of quaint, they do make the roads feel even narrower and tighter, and I’m sure they could do some serious damage to your car if you got too close, which seems like a very real possibility.

“Look at that thatched-roof cottage,” I exclaim when I spot a very old-fashioned-looking house on the edge of the road. “Do they still use thatched roofing? Or is this just some kind of a tourist attraction?”

“They still use thatching in some of the older homes,” says Sid as she slows down so we can have a better look. “I’ve heard that if the thatch is maintained, it can last for decades.”

After about forty minutes of driving through some of the most beautiful countryside, we stop at a place that sells pottery and sweaters and other Irish items of interest. “This is kind of a tourist trap,” my aunt explains. “But I could use a coffee.”

So we get coffee and then wander around and look at the merchandise.
My aunt finds a pitcher and bowl she decides she can’t live without. Then we get back into the car and head on to Clifden.

It’s about three o’clock when we reach our destination, and I immediately fall in love with this sweet little town. We climb out of the car into bright sunshine and clear blue skies, with the smell of freshly baked bread wafting over the sea air.

“This is awesome,” I say to my aunt as I look around at the quaint little shops and stone buildings. “What a great place to stay!”

We check into our bed-and-breakfast and, thanks to Ryan, manage to lug all our bags up three flights of steep narrow stairs in only one trip. No elevator. The plan is for Sid and me to share a room. Naturally, Ryan gets his own, a much smaller one, and he gets to share a bathroom down the hall.

“Swanky,” I say as we go into our room.

Sid laughs as she sets her carry-on bag on one of the beds. “It is rather pretty, isn’t it?”

“Look at all these incredible antiques,” I gush as I scope out our room, which I’m pleased to find has its own private bath, complete with an old-fashioned claw-foot tub. “My mom would go nuts over this place.”

“Make sure you get some photos for her,” Sid says as she unzips a bag and removes her camera.

“That’s right,” I say. “I should’ve been taking pictures all day today—the sheep, the rainbow, the thatched—”

“Don’t worry,” she assures me. “You’ll have lots of photo ops here.”

“Hey, check out this view,” I say as I push back the lace curtains to spot a wide strip of blue water beyond the shorter buildings. “The ocean!”

Sid comes over and stands by me without saying anything.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?”

But still she is silent. Finally I turn around to look at her, and to my shock there are tears running down her cheeks. And something tells me—maybe it’s her expression—that these are not tears of happiness.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She sniffs and turns away. “Yeah,” she says in a gruff voice as she heads for the bathroom. “I’ll be okay in a minute or two.”

I follow her to the bathroom, watching as she blows her nose.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She waves the tissue at me, as if she’d like to wave whatever it is away. “I just got, well, you know emotional. It’s been so long since I’ve been back…and now all these memories are rushing at me, and…” Then she starts crying even harder. I go over to her, put my arms around her.

“Whatever it is,” I assure her, “I’m sure it’s going to be okay, Sid.”

Okay, I’m not entirely convinced by my own words. In fact, I’ve never seen my aunt fall apart like this before. I mean, she’s always seemed so strong. She’s single, she’s a career woman, she travels all over the world by herself—even to places like Iraq and Afghanistan. For the life of me, I cannot imagine what has caused her to come unglued like this.

“Maybe you’re just tired,” I finally say when I think she might be finished with her tears.

“Yes.” She nods. “I am tired. Do you mind if I take a little nap?”

“Not at all,” I say. “I’d take one too, but I’m so jazzed about being here that I doubt I can sleep just yet.”

“Go ahead and ride the high,” she says as she sits down on her bed and removes her shoes. “Explore the town and have some fun.”

“Okay.” I glance over to a table topped by a lace cloth, a china teapot, some teabags, and some kind of a device that Sid said was for heating water. “Maybe you could make some tea,” I suggest meekly.

“Yes, that’ll be nice. I’ll have a little nap and then some tea afterward. Sounds perfect.”

I reach for my bag. “I probably won’t last too long out there,” I say as I head for the door. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

She looks up at me, smiling with sad eyes. “Please, don’t worry about me, Maddie. I’m sorry about that little outburst. Honestly, I’ll be just fine.”

I nod as if I believe this and then open the door and slip out into the dimly lit hallway. But the truth is, I am seriously worried about my aunt. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I have a feeling it has to do with being here in Ireland—like maybe she’s haunted by something from the past, something that just hit her when we were looking out at the ocean.

C
lifden is so charming! It takes about half an hour to walk around its circumference, but I’m sure it would take a whole day just to look at all the shops. Right now, I’m just scoping it all out, although I did notice a sweater shop with a great-looking cardigan in the window. Mom gave me birthday money (early, since my birthday isn’t until August) with very explicit directions. “I want you to get yourself a nice fisherman’s-knit sweater, Maddie.”

And so, after I’ve walked around the town and the wind starts to pick up, I decide to return to that sweater shop. Maybe I’ll find something to wear over this thin T-shirt.

Before long, a helpful woman with white hair has located my size (which makes no sense to me because it’s in metrics). But I try it on, and it seems to fit. She assures me that it looks lovely, plus it’s warm, so I agree to purchase it.

“You could pass for a real Irish lassie,” she says as she pats my naturally curly hair, which is curlier than ever thanks to the humidity here.

“Thank you,” I tell her as I sign a traveler’s check. I assume that’s a compliment and take it as such. Then she asks where I’m from, and I tell her about our farm in Washington.

“I grew up on a farm too,” she says, then counts out my
change, handing me a couple of euros as well as a bunch of coins I still haven’t figured out.

“What kind of farming?” I ask as she removes the price tag from the sweater and hands it back to me.

“Oh, we grew a bit of everything back then, but my da is getting old now. He mostly raises sheep and has to have help with that.” She points to my sweater. “Maybe some of Da’s wool is in your sweater, dear.”

I smile at her. “That’d be cool.”

“Don’t you mean warm?”

I laugh. “Yes, that’s what I mean.” Then I thank her and head back outside. I stand on the sidewalk for a moment just looking out at the town and wondering which way to go now. I’m not quite ready to return to the B&B and not sure if my aunt has had enough time to rest and recover from whatever she was bummed about. Besides, I’m still feeling a little giddy about being here, and it’s kind of a high walking around this town all on my own. It’s just so weird to think I’m so far from home and—

“Hey, Maddie!”

I turn and see Ryan waving at me from across the street. He’s sitting at a wooden picnic table that’s outside of what appears to be a pub. And in front of him is a tall glass of something brown. Although it’s about the color of coffee, I suspect it’s not. I suspect it’s some kind of alcoholic drink. Maybe beer. And for some reason this just really throws me. Like what is Ryan doing? How is it okay for him to sit over there casually drinking a beer? And what will my aunt say about this when she finds out? But as I walk across the
street, I remember the lower drinking age and decide to act nonchalant as I sit down and join him.

“How’s it going?”

“Okay,” he says. “Cool sweater. You look like you belong here now.”

“Thanks.”

“Want one?” he asks.

“One what?” I’m sure that sounds pretty lame, but it’s a stall tactic on my part.

“A Guinness. Ireland’s number one stout.”

“What’s a stout?”

“It’s a dark beer. They roast the hops until they’re dark brown and get kind of a coffee taste.” He holds the glass out as if he’s offering me a sample.

I bend over and take a sniff, then wrinkle my nose. “Yuck, smells like something my dad might feed the pigs.”

He laughs and holds up his glass as if to make a toast. “Well, here’s to the pigs then.”

I study him as he takes a swig. “You really like that stuff?”

“Sure, why not?”

I shrug and look away.

“Does it bother you that I’m having a beer?” he asks. And the way he says this actually sounds like he cares.

I turn back and look at him. He does seem concerned. “I don’t know.”

“Because if it really disturbs you, well, I guess I could not—”

“No, no,” I say, feeling kinda bad now. “You can drink if you
want. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life. But what about Sid? Do you think she’ll care?”

“I already talked to her about it.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I told her I planned to have a Guinness now and then. And she said as long as I didn’t overdo it, she was fine.”

“She was fine?” Now I’m not sure what to think about this. I mean, I realize that Sid is a lot different than my parents, but she
is
a Christian after all. And for some reason I guess I assumed that meant she’d have a problem with Ryan drinking. Apparently I was wrong.

“Yeah. She’s pretty cool, Maddie.”

Something about the way he says this makes me wonder if I should mention her little crying jag. If something really is wrong with Sid, I would want Ryan to be in the know. After all, he and Sid are pretty close too.

“Something weird happened at the inn,” I begin tentatively.

“Weird?” He sets his glass down and frowns. “Weird as in creepy? Like you think the place might be haunted?” He laughs. “Actually, it’s so old I suppose it might be.”

I roll my eyes at him. “No. Nothing like that.”

Then a waitress comes out. “Can I get a pint for you?”

I glance over at Ryan. “A
pint?”

He holds up his glass. “
This
is called a pint.”

I shake my head. “No, I definitely do not want a pint.”

“What
would
you like?” she asks in a slightly impatient tone.

“What kind of pop do you have?”

“Pop?” She looks at me funny, then glances at Ryan as if she thinks he might be able to translate for me.

“Soda?” he offers. “A soft drink?”

Then she nods and says, “We have lemon, orange, cola, and—”

“Lemon,” I say quickly, eager to get this over with.

“You need to learn the lingo,” Ryan says after the waitress walks away. He holds up his glass and, talking like a schoolteacher, says, “This is a pint. It’s filled with stout. And there’s no such thing as pop, and—”

“That’s enough!” I hold up my hand for him to stop. “No more language lessons, please!”

He laughs. “You really are fresh off the farm, aren’t you, Maddie?”

I scowl at him. That’s just the kind of joke I can live without.

“Okay, let’s get back to weird.”

“Huh?”

“You were saying how something weird happened at the inn.”

“Oh, it was probably nothing,” I say, now unsure as to whether I should continue.

“Come on,” he urges. “What was weird?”

So I go ahead and spill the beans about Sid falling apart. “I mean, it wasn’t like just a tear or two. She really came undone.”

He considers this. “Did you ask her why?”

“No, not really. It seemed kind of like a private moment, you know, and I felt uncomfortable being there, like I was intruding.”

He slowly nods and takes another sip, but I can tell by his
expression that he’s thinking something specific, almost like he knows what was troubling my aunt. And then I remember his mom, and I feel absolutely horrible. Of course, it seems obvious now. Sid must’ve been remembering her best friend and how they’d come to Ireland together more than thirty years ago. And since he’s not saying anything, I decide I should probably just get it out in the open.

“Do you think she was feeling bad about your mom?”

“Maybe.”

Thankfully, the waitress comes out with a little green bottle that really doesn’t look like pop (or a soda), but she sets it in front of me along with a small glass. “Thanks,” I tell her as I pick up the roundish bottle and sniff at the opened top. Then I pour it into the glass and watch as it fizzes, and finally I take a tentative drink. It pretty much tastes like Sierra Mist, only not as sweet and more lemony. By the second sip, I think I might like this even better.

We both sit there in silence for a few minutes, just sipping our drinks and feeling, I think, uneasy. I’m desperately trying to think of something to say to Ryan, something that will move us past this thing about his mom. But I am coming up totally blank.

“It’s hard moving on,” he finally says. “I mean, my mom’s been gone for almost four months, and I know I should be over it by now—”

“Why is that?” I say. “I mean, seriously, if
my
mom died, I doubt I’d ever get over it. Really, how does anyone get over something like that? Why should you feel like you have to move on?”