Chapter 17 Bringing Him Home #2
“You’re not talking,” Danny said finally, not looking at him.
Colin kept scrubbing. “Not much to say.”
“Bullshite. You’re bursting at the seams.”
A pause.
Then: “I keep seeing her. The agent who died trying to protect us. My friend, Sarah. I see her face. It doesn’t ever leave me. I see Josh standing there, watching our home burn. And I can’t, Danny. I—I don’t know how to forgive myself.”
Danny didn’t answer right away. Just wrung out the rag and straightened up.
“You’re not god, Collie, and sure it’s a damned shame you’re not. He’d be more forgiving.”
Colin let out a breath. “David said the same thing.”
“Smart man, David.” Danny’s eyes met his. “So, you did everything right, and it still went wrong.” He tilted his head and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “That’s not failure, son. That’s life! And life’s a bastard sometimes—not just to you, a amadáin lách. To all of us!”
Colin’s throat tightened.
“Son, we don’t always get to choose our path.
Hell, sometimes, we can’t even see the feckin’ path!
We just have to stumble ahead blind. We don’t deal the cards, Collie.
We just play the hand that lands, blind and all.
” Danny stepped closer, and his voice dropped.
“There’s a lad waiting on you at home, isn’t there just? ”
Colin nodded.
“Then don’t waste this. The time. The pain. Use it. Let it teach you something. And when you’re ready—go home to that sweet boy who loves you.”
Colin looked out across the water. The wind stung his eyes. But somewhere beneath the ache, he felt a flicker.
Like maybe healing was possible after all.
The idea of walking from Galway to Killarney was not born out of desperation but out of the tiny bud of hope that had begun to blossom in his chest. He knew the way.
He knew the distance. He’d driven every inch of it a dozen times.
And something inside him… some small voice he was just beginning to hear had told him…
that on this road, he would find the man he sought. The man he was before the world ended.
He could’ve taken the train. Or Danny would have driven him. But something in him needed the long way—the slow, steady ache of putting one foot in front of the other until the man he used to be began to walk by his side.
Four days after his arrival, Danny drove him to the edge of town, just past the last bend where the shops gave way to open country.
“You sure about this?” Danny asked, arms folded, leaning against the truck.
Colin adjusted the strap of his pack. “Yeah. I need to feel every mile.”
Danny chuckled. “Well, Lord knows you’ll get that wish. He handed him a small bundle of postcards. “Found these in a drawer. You’ll pass most of those towns on the way. Might be nice to let your boy know where you’ve been.”
Colin turned them over slowly, one by one. A castle. A pub. A narrow, winding road flanked by green. He tucked them into his jacket pocket and gave Danny a nod. “Thanks.”
His cousin pulled him into a tight embrace and then kissed his cheek. “Go find yourself, lad,” Danny told him. “You’ve a good man waiting for you at road’s end.”
Colin didn’t answer. He just turned and started walking.
Somewhere just beyond Galway, he left the narrow road and found a stretch of quiet shade.
He eased down onto a grassy slope, dusted off his hands, and reached for the journal he hadn’t opened in weeks.
He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it—only that not bringing it had felt wrong. Now, he was glad it was there.
From Colin’s journal
Day One – Just outside Galway
The road is too damned quiet. Every footstep sounds wrong—like I’m trespassing in my own life.
I catch myself mouthing words to the air, half a joke, half a plea for someone—anyone—to answer.
There’s nobody to roll their eyes, nobody to argue, nobody to anchor me.
Christ, I’d trade anything for one of David’s endless lectures.
That’s how empty this stretch of road feels.
Like, I only exist when someone else is looking at me.
Joshua’s face keeps flashing up, the moment he pressed the ticket into my hand—steady, unwavering, loving me the way I can’t manage to love myself.
I walked away. I had to. Or maybe I just wasn’t brave enough to stay.
He told me to go, but did he really want that?
Or was it just what I needed to hear? I don’t know who I’m supposed to be for him anymore.
Maybe the road will teach me, or maybe it’ll strip me down to nothing.
I remember:
Fire. Jesus, god. Just—fire.
I see:
Hills rolling away forever, green and ancient and indifferent. The wind tugs at the grass, at my hair—almost gentle, almost kind. For a heartbeat I pretend it’s Joshua’s fingers, but the wind doesn’t linger. It just keeps moving, leaving me colder than before.
I feel:
Like a ghost. Like something scorched and hollowed out.
I miss him so much I ache all over.
And underneath it all, a bone-deep shame—because I know I don’t deserve to miss him this much, not after everything I put him through. But I do. God help me, I do.
Day Two – Galway → Kinvara
Distance: 19 miles
Route Notes: Passes through Clarinbridge; ends at Kinvara with views of Dunguaire Castle.
Location Reflection–Kinvara:
I sat a long time in Kinvara, watching the boats drift in.
Across the water, Dunguaire Castle stood silent against the fading light, as if it were waiting for something.
Me, maybe? God, what an ego! I could hear David’s voice in my head, teasing me for it.
The air smelled faintly of turf smoke—soft and familiar, like the earth breathing out the day.
Journal:
Stopped in Clarinbridge at the Poppy Seed Cafe for tea.
Older couple running it. They didn’t ask why I looked like hell.
She gave me scones.
He told me a story about a fox stealing eggs.
I laughed.
Strange. The sound didn’t even feel like mine. More like someone I used to be.
Outside, shirts and towels flapped on a line behind the café, bright flags of ordinary life.
I mailed him a postcard today. Just a photo of a thatched roof.
I didn’t write a word. The silence between us feels heavier than any loneliness I’ve ever known.
I remember:
Flames, reflected in Joshua’s eyes.
Only a split second—but it became my whole world.
I see:
A boy and his grandfather mending a stone wall. Their rhythm, their quiet understanding…
It reminded me of Kathy. Of our childhood.
Watching Dad fix a broken door.
I sat on the road and wept.
I feel:
Sadness, heaped and piled on top of sadness.
Loneliness. A crushing weight I can’t set down. Grief.
Day two and a half – Oughtmama, in the Burren hills → Ballyvaughan
Distance: 6 mi detour from Kinvara route
Route Notes: A short, steep detour into the Burren hills to the ancient monastic site of Oughtmama. Remote and wind-scoured, the site feels timeless.
Location Reflection: Oughtmama
The ruins appeared without warning—three roofless churches, their walls dark with rain.
I passed a handful of thatched cottages on the climb up, smoke drifting from their chimneys.
Inside, it was quiet enough to hear my own breath.
I touched the cold stone and felt something shift, like memory pushing to the surface.
Journal:
I moved between the churches, boots slipping on wet grass, until I saw it—a little way off the path, near the low stone wall that marked the site’s edge.
A roadside memorial. A small wooden cross, white paint flaking, plastic flowers brittle with age.
A photo tucked into the weeds—blurry from rain but still visible.
A boy. Maybe sixteen. Smiling like the world hadn’t touched him yet.
I knelt. Didn’t mean to. Just… folded.
I didn’t know him. But I know what it is to leave someone behind.
Sarah.
God, Sarah.
She ran toward the danger. Because that’s who she was. Because she believed in the job. In honorable duty.
And I let her. I let her believe I was worth dying for.
Joshua keeps telling me it wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t throw that bomb.
But I opened the damn door. I brought all of it to our home. To her. To him.
I see:
Second church. Altar stone split clean in two, the crack running through its center like a wound. I laid my hand on it and felt… grief. Overwhelming grief.
I am the stone.
I remember:
Sarah standing post outside our house, tapping her coffee mug with one gloved finger, grinning like she had a secret. “You owe me a steak dinner, boss,” she said.
I told her I’d make it two. Filet mignon.
Never got the chance.
Rage. Guilt. Like I’ve been walking for hours with a blade in my chest and only now noticed the blood.
Maybe the road will bleed it out of me.
I feel:
Lost. Who am I without him?
Maybe without Josh, there is no Colin.
Maybe that’s OK.
Day Three – Ballyvaughan to Corofin
Distance: 15 miles
Route Notes: Passes Kilfenora Cathedral and high crosses, edge of the Burren National Park.
Location Reflection – Corkscrew Hill:
I climbed in silence, just my breath and the wind, both ragged by the time I reached the top.
The Atlantic curled away into forever, blue and endless.
I wished Joshua were here to see it. Maybe he was, in a way.
My legs were jelly, lungs on fire, and I could almost hear Danny laughing: “It’ll hurt like the sins, mo a mhac, but it’ll set you right. ” We’ll see.
Journal:
Near Corofin
Rain today. Cold. Soaking. Took shelter in an old barn that smelled of hay and sheep and something sweeter—honeysuckle, maybe.
I cried. Didn’t mean to. Didn’t even feel it coming.
Thoughts of Josh. Of Sarah. Of Hannibal.
But the sound of the rain was like someone whispering, You don’t have to hold it all in anymore.
And for once, I listened. Me and Ireland. We both wept.
I remember:
Falling asleep with his head on my chest, both of us half-dressed, dinner burning in the oven.
We didn’t care. The world could’ve ended, and I wouldn’t have moved.
I see: