He opened his eyes, looked at his biceps, and the harp with its bold green shading. “It’s awesome! Look at that, Breen. I got a tat, and it’s awesome.”
“You come back for another sing-along anytime. I like yours,” Joe told Breen.
“Thanks.”
“If ever you want another, come see me.”
“I think one’s going to be enough.”
He grinned at her. “That’s what they all say.”
“I got a tat,” Marco said when they walked out. “I got inked in Ireland.”
“Yay. You seem a little wobbly.”
“Legs feel shaky yet, but I did it. You’re driving now, right?”
“You can count on that.”
“Next time, we do it together.”
“Right.” She mentally rolled her eyes. “Next time.”
When they reached the car, Marco folded her into a hug, swayed with her. “I love you, Breen. You never let go.”
“Never will.”
“Don’t make me sound like a pussy when you blog about it.”
“As if.” She got in, waited for him to take the passenger seat. “You may need to sing until I get through the traffic.”
“You got it.”
But it wasn’t as bad going out as it had been coming in.
As she took the route to Connemara, through and around villages, she could count more sheep than cars.
And Marco dozed, likely worn out, she thought, from tattoo trauma.
She settled into the quiet of it all, the lack of urgency, the knowledge she could stop anywhere she pleased and no one would tell her she had to do something else, be somewhere else.
She saw signposts for sites she wanted to visit, but as Marco slept, she told herself she—or they—could come back on a day trip.
She looked out over Lough Corrib, wondered if she’d enjoy a boat trip. She could cross over to Mayo, see sights there, too. She had weeks and weeks to do just as she wanted, when she wanted.
Freedom, heady and sweet.
If she ever did get another tattoo—not likely—she’d choose Freedom.
She passed cows and sheep and hills and fields and rising cliffs that all burned their beauty into her heart.
Marco stirred, rubbed his eyes. “Man, I went out! Where are—Holy wow!”
“They’re called the Twelve Bens.” Her voice was soft, tight with emotion. “We’re in Connemara. It’s like something that just froze in time, at exactly the right moment. You missed the lake—God, it was beautiful, Marco. We’ll come back.”
“How long was I out?”
“I don’t know. It’s all timeless here. Oh, do you see that?”
He straightened, looked where she pointed. “The big hole in the ground? What are those things stacked up?”
“It’s peat. They’re drying it. They dig it, cut it, and dry it in the wind.”
“The stuff they burn, seriously?”
“Yes, my father told me about it. I’d forgotten so much he’d told me, and it’s coming back now. When I see things, I remember. They had a peat bog on the farm where he grew up. It might even be around here. He must’ve told me where, but I can’t remember.”
“Bet you will.”
“I hope so, but I know this feels . . . almost like home.”
“Sense memory. I read about it.” He pulled out his phone to take pictures out the window. “It’s, like, in your blood, right? Your dad, and your ancestors and all. So you sense it, feel it.”
“It’s like that. Smell the air, Marco.”
She all but drank it.
“You can smell the peat and the pine, and I swear, you can smell the green.”
“I can drive if you just want to soak it up.”
“I’m fine. We’re nearly there.”
“Good, because I’m—”
“Starving.”
“Could use a snack. Hold on.” He dug into the bag at his feet.
“Got chips and Cokes. Road food.”
“Crisps over here,” she reminded him, and took one. “You’ve got the contact for the rental manager, right?”
“Yep.”
“Go ahead and text her. She said to do that when we were about thirty minutes out. I think that’s about right.”
“Don’t we need to stop for supplies?”
“Let’s get there first, take some stock, make a list. There’s a village not far from the cottage—a couple of them.”
“She’s fast.” Marco read the return text. “She’ll be there to welcome us, she says.”
“Perfect.” She glanced over to grin at him. “It’s all just perfect.”
When she turned onto the skinny, snaking road boxed in with hedgerows, Marco shifted in his seat.
“You’re sure this is right?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was on the water, with a mountain view.”
“You have to get to it first.”
“Okay . . . I’m just saying there might be a reason it was available for the whole summer.”
“Have some faith.”
Maybe she was a little nervous herself—and not entirely sure two cars could pass each other on