Hey, sis, got your text last night. Lucy says to tell you she’s so proud of you. She also says not to be kissing any Blarney Stone. Love you and missed you at family dinner Sunday. I had to console myself by eating my pie . . . as well as the piece that would’ve been yours.
Love you,
Alex
Sent to my iPhone
But you have to give me another assignment.”
I splayed my hands on Mrs. Campbell’s desk Wednesday after school, letting her see the desperation, hoping she got a whiff of my fear.
“Finley, if I reassigned you, I’d have to reassign half the class, and I’ll not be doing that.”
“She’s mean!”
“What she is, is a lonely woman who just needs some compassion, ’tis all.”
“I can’t go back there. Surely there’s something else. Like volunteering for a church or a local orphanage?”
Mrs. Campbell shook her head. “If you don’t complete this project you don’t pass. It’s as simple as that.” She stuffed a stack of papers in a file. “Chin up. You can do it.”
“But—” I choked on the words. And tried again. “She’s dying.”
Mrs. Campbell reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “All the more reason Cathleen needs you. Do you realize what a special assignment you have here?”
I just stared at her. Special assignment would be like interviewing Lady Gaga. This was just cruel and unusual torture.
“It’s not negotiable.” Mrs. Campbell flopped open another folder and rifled through it. “Make it happen.”
“She demanded I leave.”
My teacher sat down in her chair and took out her grading pen, her focus on her work. “Then I guess you’ll have to try harder, so.”
“I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can. And you will. Try not to make this about you.
Make it about Cathleen.”
“But Cathleen isn’t the one flunking.”
Mrs. Campbell gave a small smile. “Just pray about it.”
Yeah. Because that’s solved a lot lately.
With a weary sigh, I walked out, following the tile down the hall and out the door where Nora waited in the car.
“No luck getting it switched?” Erin asked from the front seat.
“No.” And I had no idea what I was going to do. I’d had enough of death to last me until it was my time to go.
“We just got a reservation for the weekend with a scrapbooking club,” Nora said. “They’re paying extra to have lunch and dinner.”
Erin looked at her brother like he was pond sludge. “So I have to keep an eye on Liam.”
“That’s fine,” he said beside me. “That will give me time to hang out with Finley.” His thin eyebrows waggled. “Show her what a real man can do with Legos.”
Nora hung a left out of the school parking lot. “Finley, love, we’ll have to put off sightseeing again. But I promise we’ll get to it.” Her eyes watching me in the rearview were tired, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “We’re still adapting to this B and B thing. We’ll get our balance soon. The good news is Sean picked up a new bicycle just for you, so you’ll be able to get about town.”
The car climbed up the hill to the house, and I watched the ocean in the distance, feeling a twinge of homesickness for the Charleston coastline.
Nora put the car in park and we piled out, just as an old, green truck shuddered and rumbled as it stopped in the driveway.
“Behave yourself, Erin,” Nora warned. “Liam, do not play twenty questions.”
Before I could question Nora’s odd tone, I got a closer look at the man behind the windshield. And it all became obnoxiously clear.
“Hello, Mrs. O’Callaghan,” Beckett Rush said as he climbed out of the truck. With wagging tail and floppy tongue, Bob jumped from the back of the truck bed.
“Hello, dear. Did you have a good day?” Nora asked this as if he’d just returned from his desk job as an accountant.
“Wonderful as always.” His gray eyes lit on me as he pulled Nora in for a side hug. “Probably due in part to your brilliant French toast this morning.”
“You should really branch out. Try something else on the menu.” Nora’s pale cheeks turned pink. “Oh, and you might want to lie low this weekend. Scrapbook group coming.”
“A bunch of girls with scissors,” Liam said. “That’s never ended well for me.”
“And poor Finley,” Nora said. “We were going to take her around a bit this weekend. But now we can’t.” She patted me on the back. “Girl’s probably going to turn us in for neglect. She hasn’t even seen the Cliffs of Moher yet, has she, Erin?”
Erin just stood there, her glazed eyes on Beckett. Her mouth tilted at an odd angle, as if she’d been struck dumb by lightning. Or the sight of an international teen heartthrob.
“I could take you.”
We all stared at Beckett Rush for an uncomfortable moment until he repeated himself.
“I’d be glad to take you to the cliffs.” He stood so close to me, I could smell his shampoo. I’d expected him to wear the scent of his own cologne sold by the finer department stores. Not something that reminded me of Pantene.
“That’s okay.” What is the boy up to? “I’ll just wait ’til next weekend.”
Nora’s frown deepened. “Next weekend we’re helping with the Donnelley family reunion. They love Sean’s gooseberry crumble. Oh, Finley, I feel terrible.”
“I really don’t mind,” Beckett said. “I’ve got the rest of the afternoon off. It’s just a few miles away.” He leveled his gaze on me. “You’ll be safe enough.”
“If it’s just a few miles, I can walk. Some exercise would do me good and—”
“Nonsense.” Nora regarded me as if I were touched in the head.
“You two go on. Have a lovely time.”
Oh no. “But I—”
“Would you care to join us, Erin?” Beckett asked.
Erin blinked twice. “No. No, thank you. Homework. I have homework.”
“All right, then. Good-bye!” Nora wrapped an arm around each kid and escorted them inside. Erin walked backward, her mouth wide-open, still wearing that blank stare.
“Bob, let’s go.” As Beckett opened the passenger door of his truck, the Lab hopped in the back behind the cab. “You getting in, Finley? Or did you want to ride with my dog?”
“I’d rather not go at all.”
“Clearly this is weighing on Mrs. O’Callaghan. You don’t want to let her down, do you?”
Why wouldn’t I have expected Mr. Casanova to have just the right words? “Fine.” I struggled with the step until he took my hand and helped me up. “But no funny business.”
His face was all innocence. “That hurts.”
The tires of Beckett’s rickety truck spun beneath us as we drove the short distance to the Cliffs of Moher. I stared out the window, rolling it down and inviting the wind to swoop inside, even though we were both in our jackets. Beckett didn’t say a word, giving me the chance to watch every bit of Abbeyglen we passed, storing it all in my head.
“It’s a beautiful town, isn’t it?” He turned off the staticky radio.
“I never get tired of it.”
“Are you from here?”
“Lived in Galway the first ten years of my life before moving to America. But I’d come back with me da’ to see me grandparents.
They’d take me all over.”
“And your mom?”
“She died, God rest her soul, when I was just a baby. Me da’ quit his own acting career for me. Me parents were young, only nineteen when I was born. Da’ did some work on a soap opera, and things were just taking off. Then I came along, and he had to take on a day job. The calls just stopped coming.”
Beckett parked the truck, and Bob pressed his nose to the window to check our progress. “The door sticks. I’ll be around to get it.” He walked to my side and let me out. I tried not to stare at his blond hair dancing in the breeze. Because that would’ve been dumb. And something every other girl would do.
“Why’d you offer to bring me out here?”
He hesitated as we walked across the street to the entrance. “I was grateful for your help last night. I, um, I’ve had a bit of trouble with my scenes lately. Just hasn’t been going well. It’s caught the director’s attention. But today”—he put a hat on his head and gave a curious smile—“after I ran lines with you, it was just solid. My director said Steele Markov came alive.”
“So I have the power to raise the undead.”
“Something like that.” His eyes on mine darkened. “It made a difference.”
“Well.” Unexpected delight shimmied through me. “Glad I could help.”
He stopped as we reached the first steps. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Not on your life.”
“Hear me out—”
“I’m not interested.”
“It’s nothing dodgy.” His accent had grown stronger, and I wondered if I’d hurt his feelings. But that would’ve been impossible. “I want you to be my assistant.”
I laughed as I zipped my jacket. “Is that what you call it?”
“I’m serious.” He shoved his hat farther down on his head to block his face. “You’d just have to work a few hours a day after school. Help me with lines. That’s all. I promise.”
My eyes narrowed. “And what would I get in return, bragging rights? My name linked with yours in the magazines? No thanks.”
“I’m asking you because . . . you’re different. You’re not into me. I’m not into you. There’s no risk here.”
Well, that had all the charm of a razor cut to the ankle.
Of course he wasn’t into me. Why should he have been? He was around beautiful actresses all day.
“What I mean is, you’re not impressed by my name or what I can get for you.” He shook his head as if he were trying to dislodge the idea. “I know it’s crazy.”
“And what would I get in return?”
“I’ll take you around Ireland. Show you the sights.” He lifted his hands in the air. “No strings attached. And no funny business.”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to recreate your brother’s steps or don’t you?”
“Yes.” Desperately. For Will. For me.
“I could really use your help, Finley.”
The raw appeal on his face had me wondering if I’d be crazy to get involved in anything Beckett Rush was a part of. “Let’s just see how much of a tour guide you are first.”
The wind picked up even more as we got closer to the cliffs.
“It’s the ocean breeze,” he said. “Wait ’til you see the water.”
We walked up a series of steps until I finally stopped him so I could take a good look.
“The better view is up there.” He pointed beyond us.
I dug out my camera and started clicking. “You can’t rush me.”
“You didn’t tell me there were stipulations on my sightseeing duties.”
I took a shot of the water below. “I’d like to actually see the cliffs. Not just drive by them.” In the distance there they stood, jagged and majestic, green grass topping them like icing, the azure-blue waves below. I wished I had my violin to provide the harmony.
“What are you looking for?”
At this, I lowered my camera. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I just know I’m supposed to look.”
“Come on. I’ll take you to the best spot.”
I tagged along behind him, practically running to keep up with his long strides. We walked a way, passing other tourists. A man in ugly but comfortable shoes. A woman sporting a fanny pack. People taking pictures. A family posing as a stranger captured the moment forever. Beckett kept his head down and his sunglasses covering those famous eyes.
The trail narrowed, and as we followed the sidewalk around a corner, I spied cows in a field as green as emeralds, munching on clover and ignoring those of us in search of the best view. We walked past the fenced-in cattle and I took another picture.
“They’re cows, Finley.”
“We don’t have a lot of these in Charleston.”
We reached the lookout at the top, and I had to tell myself to breathe again. The cliffs stretched out and wrapped around on either side of us. Beneath us the waves crashed and tumbled. Birds swooped in and dove toward the sea, only to land and perch on the rocks.
The wind sent my hair into orbit around my face, and I lifted an unsteady hand to hold it back.
I knew this place. These rocks. That water. That sky.
I breathed it all in. Tried to memorize its smell, the taste of it on my tongue. It was completely new, yet familiar all at the same time. My eyes failed me, as I couldn’t take it in fast enough. Couldn’t see it all without swiveling my head and looking in turns.
Beckett stood beside me. “Some people say they’re just cliffs.”
“But they’re not.” I shook my head, turned to look up at him.
“And you don’t believe that either. It’s . . .” I struggled with the words. There didn’t seem to be any to capture what I saw, what I felt.
His chest rose as he inhaled, his eyes still on mine. “Follow me.”
I managed to get a few pictures, taking some as I walked. We left the main path until we came to a sign.
“Please don’t go beyond this point,” it said.
“I’m kind of trying to follow these sorts of warnings these days.” I stared at the sign. “Maybe we should turn back.”
“It’s just so herds of tourists don’t come any farther. Mind your step.”
I stayed right where I was.
“If I’m going to be your bloomin’ tour guide, I’m going to do it right.” He held out his hand. “Do you think I’d take you somewhere dangerous?”
“You bite people for a living.”
“Don’t be a chicken.”
“If you push me over the edge, my parents will be seriously ticked.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “They’ll probably send me a thank-you note.”
Beckett Rush was holding my hand.
For the purpose of rudely speeding me along.
But still. For five whole seconds, his hand covered mine.
We came to the peak. And the panoramic view had tears stinging my eyes.
The sun skimmed along the water, making a luminous path.
A castle tower loomed from the opposite side, just begging me to come and explore. It looked to be whole, unlike the others I’d seen around. Small yellow flowers danced at our ankles as I stared at the view that went for miles.
“I got it right,” I said. “The piece of the song I wrote from Will’s picture. It fits this perfectly.”
I remembered the scripture beneath the picture of the cliffs in Will’s journal. “Lord, Your faithful love reaches to heaven, Your faithfulness to the skies.” Realizing I’d just spoken the words out loud, my cheeks burned. “When my brother came here a long time ago, it made him think of that verse.”
Does your love reach this far, God? And if it extends to heaven and beyond . . . why can’t it seem to find me?
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice clouded with embarrassment.
“It’s more than that.” He watched the ocean below. “It’s like God painted it himself, then spun it into motion.” Beckett angled his head toward me, took his aviators off, and let his eyes burn into mine. “This is Ireland, Finley. It’s rough. It’s wild. And it is holy.”
I couldn’t look away from him. The breeze tossed my hair, bit against my jacket, and all I could do was watch this mercurial boy.
His piercing gaze still holding mine, his fingers eased toward my face. I closed my eyes as his skin brushed mine, his thumb tracing a path across my cheek.
Behind me a seagull called, its cry piercing the air.
And the spell was broken.
Beckett cleared his throat, dropped his hand. “It was . . .”
Insanity. Ridiculous. A moment of crazy.
It was seconds of heart-twisting awe.
“It was a bug.” He pulled his jacket tighter. Sniffed against the chill.
“Right.” Of course.
“Finley?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“Do we have a deal?”
Praying I wasn’t about to return to a life of trouble, I gave him my answer.
“Yes.”