Love & Luck(27)

He turned it over in his hands, slowly raising his eyes to mine. “Wow. That’s really nice of you.” He bit his lower lip. “Also, I’m really sorry about my part in keeping Ian from Italy. If I had known . . .”

I waved him off. “I’ll survive. And I really do need some quality time with Lina, so maybe it will be better if Ian isn’t there anyway.”

He nodded, then lifted the book eagerly, hope crossing his face. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to give the homework thing a shot.”

“Of course not. I don’t mind at all,” I said eagerly, my insides glowing the way they always did when I helped someone.

“Then I’ll see you out there. And here, for you.” He tossed me the navy sweater, and I quickly pulled it on. It smelled lightly of cigarette smoke and fell all the way to my knees, but it felt fantastic—like getting a hug the second before you realized you needed one. Now for the Heartache Homework. I turned and looked at the gray, bleak landscape.

Wildflowers. Right.



Lucky for me and my homework assignment, up-close Burren was very different from in-the-car Burren. For one thing, it had a lot more dimension. Yes, flat gray stones covered 90 percent of the ground, but grass and moss exploded up in the cracks between them, bright wildflowers popping up every chance they got.

I walked as far from the tomb as I dared, then collected a handful of flowers. Once I was positive that Ian’s back was turned, I placed them one by one in a circle, naming them as I went. “Mom, Dad, Walter, Archie, Ian, Lina, and Guidebook Lady,” I said aloud. Too bad only one of them even knew about my heartache.

Okay, Guidebook Lady. Now what? I pulled my arms into Rowan’s sweater and turned in a slow circle. How was surrounding myself with floral representations of “my people” supposed to make me feel better?

“How’s it going?” I looked up to see Rowan making his way over to me, his grasshopper-long legs carrying him from rock to rock.

“That was fast,” I said. “Did you read the Burren entry?”

“Yes. I’m a fast reader.” He stopped, remaining respectfully outside the circle. “Is it working?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I mostly just feel stupid.”

“Can I come in?” I nodded, and he stepped in, holding out a sunshine-yellow flower. “Here. I wanted to be one of your flowers.” He grimaced lightly. “Sorry. That sounded really sappy.”

“I thought it was nice,” I said, running my thumb over the silky-smooth petals. No guy had ever given me flowers before. Not even Cubby.

I placed Rowan’s flower next to Ian’s, then—because it felt like I should be doing something—I turned in a slow, self-conscious circle, focusing my attention on each flower, one by one.

When I was back to Rowan’s yellow flower, he looked at me expectantly. “So? Anything?”

“Hmm.” I touched my heart lightly. It didn’t hurt any less, but it actually did feel lighter, like someone had slipped their hands underneath mine to help me with the weight. “I actually do feel kind of different. You should try it.”

“Do I have to turn in a circle?” An embarrassed flush bloomed on his cheeks. “Or say their names or something?”

“I think you can do whatever you want. You want some time alone?”

“Yes,” he said resolutely. “I think I’d be better without an audience on this one.”

I stepped out of the circle and headed over to join Ian at the site. The tomb was about ten feet tall with several flat slabs of rock standing parallel to one another to form the walls, another resting on top to create a roof. Ian’s pencil scratched furiously across his notebook. What was there to even write about?

“So . . . this is cool,” I said, breaking the silence. “You said this is where Titletrack filmed their first music video?”

He didn’t look up from his notes. “Right where we’re standing. The quality was so bad. In some parts you can barely hear Jared singing, and the cameraman had a sneezing attack at minute two, but they still got a million views. The song’s that good.”

He dropped his notebook to his side and we stood quietly, the wind at our backs. The Burren felt solemn as a church, and just as heavy. Guidebook Lady’s words broadcasted through my mind. Courage + time = healed heart. Spelled out that way, it all seems rather doable, doesn’t it, chickadee?

That’s where Guidebook Lady was wrong, because it didn’t seem doable. Not at all. Especially not when Ian and I could barely talk to each other without spiraling into an argument. I glanced back at Rowan. He was still in the circle, his back to us.

“So you’re really not going to tell Mom about Cubby,” Ian said, reading my mind like normal. I hated the frustration in his voice—his disappointment always felt heavier than anyone else’s.

I shook my head. I knew Ian might be right. Not telling Mom and then having her find out from someone else was a huge risk. But I hadn’t managed to even tell Lina—how could I possibly expect myself to come clean to my mother?

Ian’s voice rang in my mind. You know what Cubby’s been doing, right? I stepped away from him, unable to say a word.

Maybe some time apart would be good for us.



9:21. I spent a few minutes wandering the Burren, and when I finally got to the car and checked the time, my anxiety spiked to a record high. Had we really been here for twenty minutes?