Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Day Four
Maisie wasn’t often in a bad mood. But that morning, she’d woken up sulking. Her restless sleep the night before hadn’t helped. She’d been inundated with infuriating dreams—being chased by a bear up an impossible-to-climb hill, not knowing a single answer on her math test from high school, losing a front tooth right before a big date.
All of them had just piled dirt into the graveyard of her good mood. To add insult to injury, the sun was shining for the first time since Maisie had arrived in the country. The energy was buzzing on the bus that morning, the warmth of the sun brightening the rows of passengers and filling the air with a lively atmosphere.
And the view? It was unmatched. The sea was a vibrant sapphire blue, and the surrounding hillsides were mind-blowingly green.
Maisie, however, wasn’t feeling any of it.
The conversations taking place around her on Bob—even Mr. Waterstone having put down his phone to speak with his wife, who seemed more than pleased to have his attention—was just a cruel reminder how alone Maisie really was. Because not only did she not have Daphne with her, she could also no longer rely on having the bus driver for company.
Sure, she and Finn could chat, perhaps even flirt. But the rules were clear. Nothing could happen between them.
That didn’t seem to bother Finn, though. In fact, he appeared to be back to his normal self today, happily joking with the tour and coaxing the group to join in with his singing as they made their way to their first stop. He’d even smiled jovially at Maisie in the rearview mirror a time or two.
Maisie, however, could only smile half-heartedly in return. She’d spent an hour last night dodging her aunt’s questions about Finn, each time redirecting the conversation to the menu Maisie had sent her.
There wasn’t any point in talking to Daphne about the bus driver now. While Maisie was glad to have received a reason why he couldn’t date her—that didn’t have to do with him not wanting to—waking up to that knowledge this morning had made her all the more upset.
Once again, her dreams were restricted, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“All right ladies and gents,” Finn said as he zipped along a curved road that hugged the bottom of a cliffside. “We’ve nearly arrived at Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. I hope you’re all excited for the thrill this location brings.”
Maisie closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to go back down. She’d been dreading today for months.
“I thought to tell you all a few facts about the site in our final minutes before arrival,” Finn continued. “The bridge itself stretches across the sea from the mainland to a small island of Carrickarede. The Irish words are Carraig a’ Ráid, which means “rock of the castin’.”
Maisie tried not to listen to his words. All this talk of heights was making her sick to her stomach. Daphne had said she’d force Maisie across, but now that her aunt wasn’t there, Maisie would be spending the morning in the café instead. She wasn’t even going to look at the bridge.
“The bridge is twenty meters, or sixty-six feet long,” he continued. “And it hangs thirty meters—or ninety-eight feet—above the sea and the rocks below. The bridge has been replaced a number of times to make it safer for tourists, so you can see Rathlin Island and parts of Scotland from it. And, good news, the weather has agreed to finally cooperate with us today, so you’ll be able to see for miles. You won’t want to be missin’ any part of this.”
Maisie winced. Sure, she’d miss out on the view and arguably one of the biggest attractions Northern Ireland was known for, but at least the café would be sure to keep her safe from dangling over ninety-eight feet of certain death. Anyway, she’d be able to work at the café, and that would be much more productive.
Her wince shifted to a cringe. She was starting to sound like Daphne.
Before long, Finn parked the bus, and the passengers filed out. Maisie was one of the last to leave, walking past Finn without a word as he answered some questions the Taylors had.
She paused a few feet away from Bob, looking around her at the sights from the parking lot. Maybe she’d see if she could spot the island from where she was. Then she wouldn’t even feel badly about missing out on the rope bridge. That wasn’t putting work first, was it?
And yet, with no luck at finding that specific view, she stifled a sigh and turned toward the café. Her feet sputtered to a halt, however, when she spotted Finn headed toward the café, as well, just a few feet ahead of her.
She planted her white shoes firmly in the soft grass below.
The day before, Finn had told her she didn’t owe him an ice cream, but she’d purchased one from Ice Cream Girl anyway and had delivered it to Finn as they’d boarded the bus a few minutes later.
“You won,” she’d stated simply .
And that was the last word they’d spoken to each other since.
She was fine with it. The last thing she wanted was for them to break any rules. He could lose his job, and she could get kicked off the tour.
But what about after the tour?
That question continued to pop up in her mind frequently, but she readily set it aside each time. The truth of the matter was that she lived in the States, and he lived in the UK. A relationship couldn’t exist with three thousand miles between them.
That reality settled in on her once again as she watched him disappear into the café. Things would be much easier if Maisie didn’t go in there at all.
But then, what was she to do?
She glanced at the pathway the passengers from Bob and countless other tourists walked along, the gray path curving with the land, tufts of overgrown grass bordering the walkway with lush blades.
Maybe a walk would do her good. Not all the way to the bridge, but just far enough to clear her mind. That was better than sitting in a café, right? Then she would be avoiding Finn and avoiding becoming like Daphne.
Win, win.
And yet, as she walked, she didn’t feel like she was winning—in her present circumstances, in her decisions…at life. She was perpetually behind, perpetually longing for something she could never have.
With a heavy heart, she allowed her eyes to take in the stunning views, grateful at least for the distraction they provided her until she rounded a bend on the pathway and Carrick-a-Rede stretched out before her.
From her viewpoint, she could see the whole of the rope bridge—and the water below—and her lungs seemed to stick to her ribs, stopping her breathing.
The bridge looked…spectacular.
Maisie pulled back, her own thoughts surprising her. It didn’t look spectacular; it looked terrifying. Wooden planks to walk across, fishnet rope to form a see-through barrier on both sides, the whole bridge swaying slightly in the wind. Tourist after tourist trekked across with vice grips around the rope, pausing in the center to take photos before reaching the attached island on the other side.
Maisie caught sight of the English women looking up at her from the entrance of the bridge, waving her down to walk across. Her heart leapt, as if longing to join them, but she shook her head, signaling for the women to go on without her.
Joyce persisted, waving her down again, but Maisie folded her arms, willing her organs to work the way they were supposed to, not the way they were—trying to betray her at every turn.
“I can’t,” Maisie called down to them.
The women nodded, though they looked slightly disappointed as they joined the line, taking turns holding Trifle on the mainland as they rotated walking across the bridge themselves.
Regret clung to Maisie’s spirit, slicing through her decisions until she had no other leg to stand on, but she forced herself to remain steadfast. She just couldn’t join them. She couldn’t.
But as she watched more and more people cross the rope bridge, the words stood out to her.
She couldn’t.
Hadn’t she told herself that same thing five hundred times that morning?
She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.
She sounded like a broken record. A scared , broken record.
She sounded…like a woman making excuses. And she was tired of it.
Wasn’t that what her whole problem was with her life—where all of her frustrations came into play? She couldn’t have kids without a spouse. She couldn’t get married without falling in love. She couldn’t fall in love if she spent all her time with Daphne. She couldn’t find anyone she wanted to date until Finn, and now, she couldn’ t date Finn.
She couldn’t even stop her own thoughts right now. Her life was a breeding ground for all the couldn’ts and can’ts in her existence. And she wasn’t living because of it.
And while most of her couldn’ts were true, the fact that she told herself she couldn’t walk across the bridge was simply not true.
She watched the elation on the faces of those who returned from the bridge, their cheeks rosy and eyes bright, and suddenly, she felt her legs moving forward, her breathing rushed, and her heart rate increasing.
Only this time, she was the one in control. She was the one making the decision for herself.
As excitement obscured her logic, Maisie spurred herself on one step after another until she joined the line. The bridge didn’t look so scary close up, and the view looked even better. She was ready to do this.
Each person ahead of her took his or her turn climbing down the stairs toward the bridge until finally, it was Maisie’s chance to cross. She welcomed her racing heart, the way it made her feel more connected to her body, the way it gave her the last push of courage to finally take her first step onto the bridge.
Her fingers gripped each side of the rope bridge as her other foot left solid ground, and the exhilaration was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Nothing could hold her back now. No fear could cripple her any longer.
The wind whistled gently in her ears, the bridge creaked happily beneath her Kiziks as she made it halfway. The English ladies were on the other side, cheering her on with delight, and Maisie was soaring. She was doing it. She was actually doing it! She was walking across this ridiculously tall bridge, crossing the sea, dangling over the ocean.
Her eyes trailed down to where her feet stood on the wooded planks, the churning blue waves visible through the netting that connected the wood, and suddenly, her stomach dropped.
Oh, no. No, no, no .
The realization of what she was doing had finally caught up with her. Her feet felt as heavy as if iron weights had been placed onto them. The bridge trembled beneath her. Her fingers shook. And she was stuck. Frozen in place. Trapped on the bridge. Trapped in life. Destined to dangle alone above churning waters and sharp rocks.
Forever.