Love & Luck(13)

“Ian, I sat with you on Fleet Street and listened to the entire Nevermind album. How would I not know what it means?” That had been during Ian’s Nirvana period. We’d gone on three different Nirvana-themed field trips, including a trip to Kurt Cobain’s red-vinyl childhood home. I’d even agreed to dress up as Courtney Love for Halloween even though it required wearing a tiara and no one knew who I was.

“At least you know what it means.” Ian flopped grudgingly onto his side. He hesitated, then nudged at his phone, his voice slightly above a whisper. “When are you going to tell Mom?”

I groaned into my sheets. He was bringing it up again. Now? When Mom, Archie, and Walt were all within earshot. Not to mention that’s what the black eye had been about. One of Ian’s teammates had texted him asking about Cubby. And instead of waiting until after the wedding ceremony, when we would be alone, he’d shoved the phone in my face and whisper-demanded that I tell Mom. Our parents finding out was the worst thing that could happen. Why didn’t he get that?

“Ian!” I hissed.

He cut his eyes at Mom, then shot me a warning look. I growled in my throat and then slid down under the covers, forcing my breathing to calm. The odds of me not exploding on Ian were only as good as the odds of him not bringing up Cubby every chance he got. That is to say, not good.

Time to put a hard stop to this conversation. “Good night, Ian.” I slid even farther under the covers, but I could still feel Ian’s glare on my back, sharp as needles. A few minutes later I heard him rustle under the covers, the music from his earbuds filling the air between us.

How were we going to survive a full week together?



The next morning, I awoke to what sounded like the brass section from our school’s famously exceptional marching band rumbling with our famously unexceptional drama team. I opened my eyes a slit. My mom was untangling her leg from the alarm clock and lamp cords. “Damn hell spit,” she muttered. Or at least that’s what it sounded like she muttered. Walter was right. She needed a swearing intervention.

I opened my eyes a half millimeter more. Weak sunlight puddled under the curtains, and Archie and Walter and their extreme bedhead stood next to the door looking all kinds of ambiguous about the state of their consciousness.

“You both have your passports, right?” my mom asked them, finally freeing herself. They stared at her with blank, sleep-coated expressions, and she sighed before swooping in on me in a cloud of moisturizer. “Your cab will be here at nine. The gnomes will knock on the door to wake you up.” She pressed her cheek onto my forehead like she used to do when I was little and had a fever. “Promise me you’ll work things out with Ian. You two are the best friends you’ll ever have.”

Way to twist the dagger. “Love you, Mom,” I said, scrunching my eyes shut.

She crouched down next to Ian and mumbled something to him, and then the three of them cleared out of the room, banging loudly into the hallway.

It felt like only minutes later when a slamming noise sprang me out of sleep. I sat up quickly, disoriented, but not too disoriented to notice that the entire vibe of the hotel room had changed. Not only did it feel twice as big without Archie, Walter, and my mom, but the curtains were straining against full, brilliant sunlight. The room was silent, highlighting a distinct ruffling sensation hovering in the air. Had someone just been here?

“Ian,” I whispered. “Are you awake?”

He didn’t budge, which was typical. Ian could sleep through almost anything.

I rolled onto my back and lay still, straining my ears. The hotel’s silence was as thick as black pudding. Suddenly, the door to our room pulled quietly shut, followed by an explosion of footsteps down the hall. Someone had been in our room. A thief? A European kidnapper? One of the gnomes?

“Ian,” I said, tumbling out of my bed. “Someone was just here. Someone was in our room.” I reached out to shake his shoulder, but in a highly disorienting moment, my hand sank straight through him.

I yanked off the covers to find a pile of pillows. Had he pillow ghosted me? I spun around, checking the rest of the cots. Empty, empty, and empty. “Ian!” I yelled into the silence.

My eyes darted to the door, and what I saw elicited my first real bit of uneasiness. Instead of the two navy-blue suitcases that were supposed to be standing by the door, there was only one. Mine.

I hustled over to the alarm clock, but it stared up at me blankly. Of course. My mom had ripped it out of the wall. I needed to find my phone.

Not under the sheets, not under the complimentary stationery, not in the scattered brochures. Finally, I ran to the windows and flung open the curtains, only to get kicked in the retinas. The countryside was on fire—green and sunlight combining to create an intense glare. Apparently, Ireland did have sunshine, and it was blinding.

I stumbled my way to the door and burst out of the room, my bare feet making staccato echoes down the hall.

Downstairs I did a fly-by inspection of the breakfast room and lounge, but the only form of life was an obese orange cat who’d taken up residence on a velvet armchair. I sprinted out the front door and into the parking lot, and a wave of cold air hit me head-on. Irish sunshine must be for looks only.

The only vehicle in the parking lot was a lonely utility van parked next to a line of rosebushes waving frantic messages at me in the wind. Where’s Ian? Did you miss your cab?