Authors: Meira Pentermann
“A one-time deal that just happens to coincide with our visit?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Damn it.”
“Listen,” Amy said. “Let’s find a place to stay, grab something to eat, and plan an adventurous day for tomorrow. Some of the shops are closing up around here, so it may be more fun in the morning.”
“You want to sightsee?”
“Why not? Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. We’ll get to experience something we’ll never see back home.”
“Okay.” Sam nodded. “Blessing in disguise. I’ll try to say that as a mantra.” He mumbled under his breath. “You know what? It’s working. I saw something in the tourist office about forts nearby.”
“Perfect.”
“I also need to fill up the gas tank before I forget. I noticed there wasn’t anything after we left Cork. At least nothing obvious. I don’t want to run out of gas, block the road, and have to sheepishly ask for help.”
Amy smiled. “Let’s do it then.”
They secured a place to stay at an adorable bed-and-breakfast in town. Then, on recommendation from the young lady at the bed-and-breakfast, they ate fish and chips at a little restaurant down the block. Before they settled in for the night, they drove to a gas station and filled the tank.
Amy browsed the store while Sam dealt with the gas. She turned a corner and found a rack of maps. A dozen detailed maps of various sections of Southern Ireland caught her eye.
“Oh my gosh, these are perfect.”
By the time Sam had returned, Amy held six maps. She waved one at him. “Look at these. Super detailed. They show castles, churches, stones—”
“Our other map—”
“Is nothing compared to this.” She unfolded a couple of pages. “Standing stone. Burial Ground. Something called a promontory fort.”
“Okay, but do we need all of them?”
She showed him the back of one map. The
Discovery Series
maps divided Ireland up into eighty-nine sections. Amy was holding eighty, eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, and eighty-nine.
“I don’t know which ones we’ll need, but these cover most of Cork County.”
Sam smirked. “I guess we could canvass every inch if we had to.”
“We might need to.” Amy opened her eyes wide, like a girl with a stray puppy.
“Okay, why not?” He relieved her of the maps and headed toward the cashier. “What’s a promontory fort?”
“I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.”
“I’ll see if the bed-and-breakfast has a computer. We can look some things up and make plans.”
Behind the checkout counter, a wall of booze caught Amy’s eye. She looked away. Sam pointed at a bottle and talked with the cashier.
“What have we got there? Stonehenge whiskey?”
The cashier, a young man with brown hair and a nervous smile, retrieved a bottle. Amy couldn’t help but stare. The ivory label said
DROMBEG, Premium Irish Spirit,
and it depicted a brown-and-white stone circle.
“No, this here is our own, made in west Cork. You ever been to the Drombeg Stone Circle?”
“No.”
The young man looked at the back of one of the Discovery Series maps Sam had placed on the counter. “You got eighty-nine?” He rifled through the stack. “Here it is.”
Presently he had the entire map spread out on the counter. He was running his hand along the coast. “Clonakilty… Rosscarbery… Here it is. Drombeg Stone Circle.” He showed them on the map. “A lot smaller than Stonehenge… On the other hand, no line.”
Amy glanced from the map to the bottle in Sam’s hand. Part of her wanted him to purchase it and part of her wished he wouldn’t.
I was going to be good.
But the amber liquid looked inviting.
“Are you feckin’ done yet?” a young male voice behind them hollered. “Jesus. You could’ve bought a house and moved in by now.”
Sam and Amy did not turn around, but the cashier smirked playfully at the young man behind them. Either he knew the guy or was just amused by the remark. He folded the map and rang up their purchases. Then he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t take it personal.”
Amy glanced over her shoulder. The kid behind them didn’t look threatening, but she stuck close to Sam just in case.
As they exited the store, maps and Irish spirits in tow, Amy said, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink tonight.”
“I’ll pour.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
True to his word, Sam poured, and what a stingy portion it was. Nevertheless, it was theoretically better than nothing. Amy made the most of it, but it only barely took the edge off.
When Sam sat on the bed and leaned in to kiss her, a raucous chorus of alarm bells rang in Amy’s head. This was going to be the
do-over
. Sam was expecting to have a meaningful sexual experience with a fully-present girlfriend. Amy couldn’t do it. She stood up and crossed the room, eyeing the drawer where Sam had put the bottle. There was no way she could sneak it. The whole trip would come crashing down on her head – this wretched promise she made not to drink tonight – it would not end well if she secretly finished the bottle. She was lucky enough to have a glass. Or was she? Sam didn’t understand that one glass was possibly more punishing than none at all.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked carefully.
Amy touched her head. “It’s just that I still have this awful headache.”
Ease him out of it.
Sam looked disappointed, but Amy found tremendous comfort in the expression of resignation forming on his face. As his expectations waned, the alarm bells quieted. Amy couldn’t even conceive of the idea of having sex at this painfully sober moment. It would be overwhelming, raw… too
real
. It was impossible. She realized she had never been sexually active while she was sober. Suddenly, all the years of dysfunctionality throughout college and during her marriage came flashing before her mind in vivid colors swirling together as they formed a rainbow haze, the same haze that numbed her body and her brain whenever she settled into bed next to someone. It was surreal, like a pseudo modern painting born from an artist’s washed-out, chronic high.
Amy disappeared into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. By the time she returned, Sam was in bed, head on his pillow, with no thoughts of trying to seduce her. He may have been mildly pissed off, but he may have been tired. It had been a long day with a frustrating ending.
Amy sat next to him. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s sightseeing,” she said tentatively, hoping to diffuse the situation.
“Me too.” He smiled.
Not pissed.
“I’d rather be knocking on my sister’s door, but we’ll have fun.” He pointed at the dresser. “I got some information on the Kinsale forts, the Drombeg Stone Circle, and those… prom… promontory forts you saw on the map. Grab my notes.”
Thankful for the distraction, Amy retrieved the papers he indicated. He sat up and discussed his findings.
“The lady who owns this place, Cathy, helped me a little. I didn’t feel right asking her if I could print copies of everything, so I took some notes.” He pulled a brochure out of the pile. “And here’s a pamphlet from Charles Fort. Cathy suggested we’d enjoy this.”
The pamphlet showed an aerial photo of a star-shaped fortress on the edge of a cliff overlooking a bay. Its ramparts and dividing walls now covered in moss, the serene image veiled the intensity of the structure’s turbulent history.
“This is beautiful,” Amy whispered.
“I know. Let’s go there first. They open at ten. Then I thought we could drive to the stone circle.” He returned his attention to his notes. “It’s about an hour’s drive from here. Maybe have lunch on the way.”
Amy unfolded the map that included Drombeg. “Can we look for a couple of these castle and holy well sites along the way?”
“Of course. Not all the spots marked as castles are full castles. Cathy told me that this map series is very detailed. Sometimes all that is left is a fragment of a castle, but it’ll still be fun.”
“Oh, even more fun. We’ll have to search for them.”
Sam pointed to one of the red dots on the coast. “And these promontory forts are interesting.”
“Yeah?”
“They can date back three thousand years, but they were used possibly up through the Middle Ages. The people who created the forts would take advantage of a cliff as a natural defense site. Then they built ditches and berms, as well as stone walls or concentric stone walls, for protection from the landward side.”
“Cool.”
“Fascinating. It’s hard to imagine living amidst history numbering in the millennia.”
“Same with the stone circle?”
“Definitely numbering in the millennia and mysterious according to the information I read. Clearly used for some ritual practice, sacrifices perhaps, maybe even human sacrifices… or astronomical observation.”
“Whoa. Those are radically different objectives.”
“Might have even been all of the above.”
Amy shuddered.
Sam touched her forearm. “Although I doubt there is any active sacrificing going on in the twenty-first century.”
“You think?” She pulled her arm away and he started laughing.
“That’s the real reason I brought you, Amy. I need to offer a sacrifice to the gods so they’ll return my sister.”
“Very funny.”
“But I’ll show you a fort and a couple of holy wells along the way, so your last day will be memorable.”
She grabbed her pillow and whacked him over the head.
“Ow,” he shouted, and he put his arms up to protect his face. “That hurts.” He wrestled the pillow out of her hands and hit her over her head with it. Then they struggled with the pillow for several minutes until Sam became the victor. He threw the pillow across the room and almost toppled a lamp.
“Knock it off. You’ll break something.” Amy got up and retrieved her pillow, laughing.
“You’ve got a lot of energy for someone who has a headache.” Sam raised his eyebrows and gave her a sly smile.
Amy composed herself and touched her head. “You didn’t help.”
“All right. Let’s get some sleep.”
Amy approached the bed and tentatively slipped in beside him.
He was out in a matter of minutes, but she stared at the ceiling and prayed that sleep would come eventually. The click of the clock seemed louder with each passing second and the bottle of Drombeg Whiskey whispered some ancient ritualistic chant from its hiding place, beckoning her to meet her doom. She ignored it and forced her eyes shut. It was well past three when she finally succumbed to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After a full Irish breakfast – consisting of eggs, sausage, beans, potatoes, fried ham, brown bread, and tea – they drove to Charles Fort. Sam pulled into the parking lot at just a little after ten. A gray haze gave the landmark an eerie quality. In response to a light wind, Amy grabbed a sweater.
The impressive structure contained guard towers, storage rooms, and military quarters divided by rank. Sam and Amy walked from room to room, making note of how small and dark many rooms were. One of the rooms had been converted into a museum that housed uniforms and period furnishings. Historically informative recordings played, relaying the fort’s strategic significance and violent past.
They wandered on walkways along the top of the ramparts and came to a small turret. It was linked to the main wall by a very narrow path carved into the land.
“I’m not going in there,” Amy said, and she took a step back.
“It’s not that dark inside,” Sam observed.
“I get claustrophobic just looking at this path.”
“The walls? They’re two feet high at the most.”
“I know, but they make me nervous.”
“Seriously? Come on. Then you can say you’ve stood in a turret.”
Amy glared at him. “That’s not on my bucket list.”
“It’s the size of a closet.”
“That’s my point.”
Nevertheless, Amy followed Sam down the narrow path and entered the turret. Side by side, they took up the entire space. The chatter of other visitors faded away.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
An unexpected calmness washed over Amy. “Yeah, actually. It’s kind of peaceful in here.” She placed her face in the small window and looked out over the bay to see what a watchman might have seen centuries ago. Amy envisioned a large ship entering from afar, and she shuddered, imagining the thrill laced with fear that must have overcome a soldier during such a moment.
Amy stood back and allowed Sam to take a peek.
“Now I’ve been in a turret,” she announced.
“Pretty cool. But I’m happy to realize that standing here for hours on end is not one of the jobs I experienced during the
lost period.
Would get tedious after a while.”
“I can imagine.”
Shortly after they exited the turret, the wind kicked up, so they returned to the body of the fort to seek shelter. Green grass dotted with clovers and dandelions graced the property between small buildings and interior walls. The sky lightened ever so slightly just before they decided they should get back on the road.
In the car, Sam inspected the map.
“We should take the R600 in the south. It will take us by the water here and there. Might be nice.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Then maybe have lunch in one of these little towns. Clonakilty perhaps.” He handed Amy the map and buckled his seatbelt.
“Looks like we go past a couple of castles and a holy well also.” She grinned.
Sam smiled as he pulled out onto the road. “Just let me know when we’re close to one.”
“There’s a castle right outside town. Just past the bridge.”
They drove along a bay dotted with boats. In the distance, Amy thought she saw a turret.
“Is that it?” she asked, pointing.
Sam squinted. “Possibly.”
As they crossed the bridge, it became obvious. It was indeed a turret, but it looked as if it stood alone. No defining walls were visible. Sam took a side road in an attempt to get closer, but high hedges blocked their view, and it appeared as if they would have to go onto someone’s property to get a better look, so they decided to move on.
About twenty minutes later, they approached an inlet. A very low tide left behind a large, long beach.