Love & Luck(20)
My phone chimed, and I fumbled quickly for it, tuning out their conversation as I pulled up a behemoth text:
(1) Thank you for subscribing to LINA’S CAT FACTS—the fun way to quit ignoring your best friend and learn something feline in the process! Did you know that when a family cat died in ancient Egypt, family members mourned by shaving off their eyebrows? And bonus fact: Did you know you are in danger of having YOUR eyebrows shaved off? BY ME? (Mostly due to the fact that you are arriving in Italy today and I haven’t heard from you in A WEEK AND A HALF?) In order to receive double the number of Daily Cat Facts—please continue to ignore me. Thanks again for your subscription, and have a PURRRfect day!
“Oh, no,” I whispered to myself. Immediately, Lina’s texts began dropping in like fuzzy hair balls. Egyptian family members were just the beginning.
(2) Cats who fall five stories have a 90 percent survival rate. Friends who ignore their friends for longer than 7 days have a 3 percent chance of remaining friends (and then only if they have a really good reason). Thanks again for your subscription, and have a PURRRfect day!
(3) A group of kittens is called a kindle. A group of adult cats is called a clowder. People who stop talking to their best friends for absolutely no good reason are jerks. This is not a CAT FACT. It is just a fact. Thanks again for your subscription, and have a PURRRfect day!
(4) Back in the 1960s, the CIA turned a cat into a tiny spy by implanting a microphone and camera into her ear and spine. Unfortunately, Spy Cat’s mission was cut short when she immediately ran out into traffic and was flattened by an oncoming taxi. This reminded me of the time you decided to visit me in Italy and then the week before completely stopped talking to me. ARE YOU EVEN COMING ANYMORE?? Thanks again for your subscription, and have a PURRRfect day!
Guilt twisted painfully in my gut. I had to respond to that one.
So so so so so sorry. And of course I’m still coming to Italy.
Explain everything once I’m there.
“Is that Mom?” Ian’s voice bypassed Rowan’s pile of stuff to hit me in the face. He held a lock of wet and stringy hair near his mouth.
“That is disgusting,” I said, pointing to his hair. “And no. It’s Lina.”
He chomped down on the lock. “What’s she saying?”
“How excited she is to see both of us. You know, because both of us will be there?” I wiggled my eyebrows at him. Sometimes humor worked really well on Ian.
“Keep dreaming,” he said. Guess it wasn’t going to work today.
“Addie, you want any cereal?” Rowan shoved his box of Sugar Puffs through the space between the seats.
“No. Thank you.” I leaned back, rubbing my thigh. Being crammed into such a tiny space had set my left leg on fire with pins and needles. “So when are you guys going to fill me in?”
“Fill you in on what?” Ian dropped his hair out of his mouth, and it bounced perkily off his shoulder.
“On your master plan.” I gestured to the map. “You can start with what the Burren has to do with Titletrack.”
Ian’s knee shook. “Nice try, sis. We have one hour until we drop you off at the airport, and the deal is you stay quiet until then. So you just sit tight back there, okay?”
I hated when Ian used that condescending tone with me. It only came out when he was trying to leverage his role as big brother. Fifteen months was not a lot of extra experience, but according to him all of creation had happened during that time period. “What deal? No deal was made.”
He flipped around, giving me a bouncy smile that caught me off guard. Even with me here, he was happier than I’d seen him all summer. “Your getting in this car was proof that you agreed to our terms and conditions. It was a contractual agreement.”
“And let me guess. You’re in charge of the terms?” I asked.
“Exactly.” He patted my arm patronizingly. “Now you’re getting it.”
I shoved his hand away. “You know what? Never mind. This is actually really great. Instead of thinking about an Irish road trip that you’re not taking, I can spend my time looking at the view and thinking about what a great time we’re going to have in Florence.”
“Keep dreaming, sis.”
Rowan met my eyes in the rearview mirror, the corners of his mouth turning up in an amused smile. I hoped he’d lobby for me—after all, he was the one who’d suggested we use this little side trip as a way to get things out in the open—but instead, he and Ian dove right back into their conversation. The pull of the music was too strong.
I crouched forward to scout for clues on Ian’s map. A string of Xs looped in a crescent along the bottom of Ireland, each site surrounded by a mini flurry of tiny Ian handwriting. Most of the writing was concentrated around six numbered spots:
1. Poulnabrone
2. Slea Head
3. Torc Manor
4. Au Bohair Pub
5. Rock of Cashel
And the grand finale, written in large letters:
ELECTRIC PICNIC
Great. I knew an Ian project when I saw one. Any time he found something he was really interested in, he dug in, and no amount of coaxing could peel him away from it. Once he committed, he went all in. That’s what made him such a great athlete.
I shimmied his note out of my back pocket.
Addie,