A CRY FROM THE DEEP (16 page)

Her thoughts turned to the Chinese meal she’d eaten at the airport before departure. The meal had been fine but the fortune in her cookie had said,
your luck will change.
Since she’d always considered herself a lucky person, she thought this was a bad omen. She was usually skeptical of such things, not putting much weight into fortunes or horoscopes, but since she’d been having bizarre dreams, she didn’t know what to believe anymore. Even Barbara had said, the experiences people had sometimes defied logic, or something to that effect.

The plane was still wobbling. It was at times like this she wished she was with someone who could put her mind at ease. Daniel was that kind of person, but he wasn’t due to fly out until a day later.

Catherine tucked the blanket around her legs and took out the in-flight magazine. She flipped through the pages but nothing seemed to grab her. Leaving Alex behind had roused emotions she hadn’t anticipated when she’d first accepted the assignment. She tried to reason that many women had careers that took them all over the world and their children somehow managed. She was only going for a few weeks, the most, a month. It wasn’t like she was taking a position in another country indefinitely.

So why was she stewing about it so much? Maybe it came with the territory, being one of those women who tried to do it all. She hadn’t had to consider the notion while she worked the farm in Provence. That kind of work meant she was at home and available for Alex 24/7.

As she thought about it more, she decided it was about time Richard took a turn with Alex. Sure, he’d had her before, but a nanny had always been along. But with the extra time they’d have together, would Alex end up thinking her father was the injured party, especially if she learned he never wanted the marriage to end in the first place? Would she blame her mother for tearing up her life?

Richard had definitely changed. He was never that attentive in the past. Was he serious when he said he didn’t know why she’d left? Surely, he knew. Perhaps, time had dimmed his memory. Well, one thing that time hadn’t dimmed were his looks. He was still the handsome man she’d fallen in love with.

She tried to stop brooding by watching a romantic film. It was okay, but the male lead reminded her of Daniel. In his last email, he’d complained about having to go to another charity event. Since he hated that scene so much, she wondered how he was going to put up with it after he got married. She fell asleep thinking of him and the photos she’d taken on their last dive together. She dreamt he took his mask off underwater, and then hers, before kissing her on the lips. It seemed they kissed for a long time, unaware they had to breathe. Their bubbles floated to the top seemingly forever. When she awoke, breakfast was being served. Not long after that, she landed in Ireland.

~~~

Another short flight took her from Dublin to Sligo. As the pilot approached the airport, she looked down at miles of sand dunes bordered by sea. Soon, she’d be deep in that blue, part of a team searching for an ancient treasure with stories of its own to tell. Would they be lucky? She thought of the fortune cookie again. Countless salvage boats went out every day in search of glory only to come back empty-handed.

She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her jewelry pouch. There wasn’t much in there—stud earrings, a thin silver bracelet she’d picked up in Egypt, a beaded necklace that Alex had made from a kit, and the antique Claddagh ring.

She put on the ring and smiled. Alex wanted her to wear it for good luck. As she turned it around her finger, admiring its design, she thought of how it had ended up in a fish’s mouth. Her ex had his own theory, that some woman had accidentally dropped it over board. Or had she thrown it away in anger? But maybe the antique seller had lied, and it had never been in the sea. It was too bad that beautiful objects, like this one, didn’t come with the story of their journey embedded for all to know. Well, whatever the tale, the ring was beautiful on its own. Its heart and crown glistened in the sun streaming through the plane window. Staring at it, she had the sense the story of this ring was chasing her, but the question of why remained.

~~~

Her first challenge, when she arrived at the Sligo airport, was to rent a car. She asked for something small, something easy to drive on the left side of the road without hitting anything. She’d read the roads were unbearably narrow with no shoulders to speak of, and in many places, built alongside shrubbery that invariably scratched the cars travelling its route.

The rental agent was a young man with a belly that could rival St. Nick’s and a cheery disposition to match. He led her to the tiniest car Catherine had ever seen—a blue Peugeot.

“Is that it?”

“It ‘tinks it’s a car,” he said, his belly shaking with laughter.

“It’s not much bigger than a bicycle.”

“Too small? I can find you somet’ing bigger.”

“No, it’s perfect.”

Armed with a map and a guidebook she’d picked up at the airport, she set out for Killybegs, a fishing village north of Donegal Bay. An hour and a half’s drive away, it was to be the diving team’s home port during their salvage operations. Although she left the rental lot with a smattering of confidence, she quickly found the pipsqueak auto wasn’t small enough to subdue her qualms of driving in the Irish countryside. The road to Killybegs was even narrower than she expected. She sat erect, with her legs tense and her foot hovering near the brake. Her knuckles turned red from her tight grip on the wheel and her Claddagh ring bit into her skin with the constant pressure. Even the side mirror seemed to fold in fear. In order to avoid hitting the vehicles whistling by in the opposite direction, she had to keep close to the hedges on the passenger side. Too close, obviously, as she heard the shrubbery scrape against her car from time to time. She hoped the exterior paint could handle the abuse.

As if the drive wasn’t challenging enough, she also had to contend with the distraction of the picture postcard scenery. Though the skies were grey, the greens of the landscape were unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was as if God, the artist supreme, had selected every green paint available on the market and then some. There was kelly green, avocado, forest, willow, apple, lime, and mint. One green flowed seamlessly into another as it marched over the hills and into the beyond. She passed thatched cottages behind old stone fences, neon colored pubs by the roadside, and new mansions set back on large properties. She even welcomed the times she had to stop to let farmers cross the road with their flocks of sheep. The gentle landscape was a welcome contrast to the frenetic pace of New York.

Once she got used to driving the tight roadways, she relaxed. When she reached Donegal, she was tempted to take a tour of its fifteenth century castle—the dominant feature of the town—but she was afraid to dawdle, even though Killybegs was only a half-hour away. For all she knew, the road ahead could be treacherous. And with the evening light fading, she didn’t want to risk driving in the dark.

As she drove on, past the villages of Mountcharles, Dunkineely, and Bruckless, the heather-covered land reminded her of a story she’d read as a teenager. She remembered being swept up in the romance of a man and a woman galloping across the moors, only stopping when they were out of breath or their horses needed a rest. There, at the base of some glorious tree, they kissed as if their love for one another had no bounds.

She frowned, thinking of how different her life had turned out from her romantic daydreaming. She tried to dispel her frustration by putting the radio on. Unfortunately, the Irish tunes did little to extinguish the craving her thoughts had ignited.

When she finally arrived at the outskirts of Killybegs, she stopped on a hill overlooking it. The village’s magnificent harbor, with rolling hills nearby, projected a sense of tranquility. Further out, islands dotted the sea. In the midst of town, there was a white church with a steeple surrounded by enough old cottages to give her the feeling she was stepping back in history. As she absorbed the sweeping vista, she realized it was more than that. It was as if she was coming home.

SEVENTEEN

Sea Breeze Bed and Breakfast was accessed by a one lane bridge a few minutes from town. Advertised on the internet as lodgings with a view of Killybegs harbor, it was everything it promised to be. It was close to the marina, but yet some distance from the hotel on Main street where most of the crew were staying. Catherine had learned from past assignments that too much familiarity affected her objectivity.

The hosts of Sea Breeze, Adam and Doreen McCall, were helpful and friendly, confirming what Catherine had read on an advisory web site for travellers. Doreen, a short middle-aged woman with frizzy brown hair—no doubt steamed unintentionally during that morning’s breakfast preparations—gave her a village map; and Adam, a beanpole of a man with a boyish face, handed her some brochures on Killybegs and its surroundings.

As Catherine filled out the registration form, Doreen said, “I see you’ve already been shopping.”

“What?” said Catherine, looking around, as if she’d left a telltale bag nearby.

“Your ring. I see you’ve already purchased a ring.”

“Oh, that,” said Catherine, smiling. “I didn’t buy it here. I picked it up at a flea market in New York.” She held up her hand to the light. Doreen straightened her reading glasses to have a better look at the ring.

“It’s a lovely one. Looks very old.”

“I’ll say,” said Adam, bending his towering body towards Catherine. “Did you know the Claddagh ring originated in these parts?”

“It was Galway, where it all began,” said Doreen.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “How far is Galway from here?”

“Only a matter of hours,” said Doreen. “You could drive that in less than four.”

“They’ve a shop there,” said Adam. “One that’s made a Claddagh ring for Queen Victoria and many celebrities. Maureen O’Hara, the actress, they made her one as well.”

Catherine admired her ring anew. “I wonder if they could tell me how old mine is.”

Adam grinned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they could.” He hesitated a second, then said, “Just a minute.” He went over to a small walnut bookcase by the telephone table and pulled out a thin booklet. On the cover was a drawing of a Claddagh ring. “For a moment there, I’d forgotten we had this pamphlet.” Handing it to her, he said, “It’s from the shop. You’re welcome to take it.”

“Thank you,” said Catherine, looking at the cover for a moment before tucking the pamphlet into her bag. Then, after politely declining her hosts’ offer of tea, she followed Adam to her room. The Victorian bedroom overlooking the sea had an iron bedstead adorned with a pastel floral quilt, a small antique table for her laptop, high speed internet access, and a private bathroom with both a shower and a tub.

“Breakfast is between seven-thirty and nine. We have a few more guests coming in tomorrow, but it’ll be quiet tonight.” With a wink, Adam was gone, shutting the door behind him.

After he’d left, Catherine tried Skyping Alex, but there was no answer. She then tried Richard’s cell phone, and got his voice mail. Catherine checked the time again. She was five hours ahead, meaning it was late morning back in New York. Maybe he was seeing a patient. Then she remembered that Richard had said he was taking the day off and driving Alex out to his mother’s in the country. Catherine called his cell phone again and left a message that she’d arrived.

Satisfied she’d done her best to reach Alex, she booted up her laptop and checked her email. There was one from Frank saying he hoped she’d found her accommodations satisfactory and that Daniel was arriving the following day.
Daniel
. She’d thought the final test of her courage had taken place in Wreck Valley. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Muttering to herself, she sat down on the bed and opened the booklet Adam had given her. Leaping out at her were the words —
We are the original makers of the Claddagh Ring and the oldest jewellers in Ireland.
She immediately went online and found their website. The jeweler boasted they’d been making the Claddagh ring since 1750. She also discovered to her amazement there were different ways of wearing the ring. She’d been wearing it the wrong way. She had the crown instead of the heart pointing towards her fingernail, meaning she was taken. She wondered if Doreen or Adam had noticed and what they might’ve deduced from that. She quickly corrected her mistake, pointing the heart outwards instead, insuring whoever knew about such things would see she was unattached. Not that she was looking.

~~~

Daylight had all but vanished when Catherine threw on a rain jacket and left her room to have dinner in the village. Frank had warned her weather in Ireland was either wet and cold, or wetter and colder. She hoped the dry evening was a sign that Frank was wrong.

Trudging down the gravel road, she relished the stretch but not the foul odor from the fish processing plant. Doreen had mentioned that the smell rolled in from time to time and she’d get used to it. It all depended on the direction of the wind. Doreen had gone on to say that the locals barely noticed it now. And anyway, the stench represented economic security for the village, so no one was in any hurry to lobby it away. Doreen turned out to be right about the smell. In a matter of minutes, Catherine found the odor had gone, or maybe, she’d gotten used to it.