Chapter 14
Burbank Airport
I walk slowly back up the Jetway, the green backpack hanging listlessly from my shoulder.
Leaving Rian a second time, no matter how justified, has sucked the very marrow from my bones.
I had loved him. Loved the life we might have had.
But my vision of our future together wasn’t based in reality.
Orla was probably right; he wanted a cook and a maid more than he wanted a real partner.
But my surface assessment of our problems was just as true: Orla was a huge obstacle.
She was warning me away as much for her own sake as for mine.
With her around I never would have been the priority in Rian’s life that I should have been.
She was a broken woman, grasping to retain a sense of relevance.
And Rian just wasn’t strong enough to set boundaries with her.
Their relationship wasn’t a healthy one, and neither of them were ready to change their dynamic enough so that I—or anyone else—would be truly welcome in their little circle.
And he loved being catered to. No matter how much he put on the facade of the modern man, he liked the way Orla coddled him and had hoped to train me to be her replacement.
I tried with Orla. I really tried this time .
. . and I can move on again knowing I did better.
Could I have done more? Could I have done even better?
Maybe, but it never would have been enough.
And perhaps I was “too much” for each of them.
And that’s fine. I shouldn’t have to make myself less for anyone.
I hope that the version of me I left behind stays on longer at Baile Phadraig.
She shouldn’t let the heartbreak chase her from a job she loves.
I hope she visits the rugged coasts of County Mayo and takes in the vibrant beauty of County Kerry.
I hope she kisses the Blarney Stone and finds a fairy ring hidden in the green hills that sprawl outside the city.
But I am glad to be back in my own time.
Probably.
“Rough crossing then?” the Ticket Agent asks as I approach her in the lounge.
“You were there.” It’s not a question. “At the secondhand shop.”
She smiles as she shows me to a seat. “As I told you, dearie, I’ve had a great many careers in my lifetime, and I usually find I’m where I need to be.
You couldn’t leave Ireland without your pack.
And I also promised you all those years ago I’d find a way to compensate you for the dress. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.”
I blink a few times. Am I fully grasping the situation? “So that’s what this is? Payment?”
“Of a sort. And I’m pleased to let you know that your dress finally found its rightful owner after waiting in the shop all this time. Another lovely American in Dublin like yourself. I’m certain she’ll come back for it soon.”
A cloud passes over her face as she gets lost in her thoughts. I realize I’m not the only soul she’s been charged with looking after, and that seems only right. There are a lot of people in the world who can use a little boost from fate.
“I’m glad.” My heart lightens a tad. Just because it wasn’t the dress for me didn’t mean it wasn’t perfect for someone else.
Was that why Orla had been pulled toward the dress?
She was a catalyst for the dress to find its way home.
There was something truly enchanting about the gown, but it’s clear the dress is meant to be part of someone else’s future, not mine.
But something about the Ticket Agent’s statements gives me pause.
“How do you know? If you’re working for the airline .
. . ?” And I realize maybe the question is a little silly.
Aside from the obvious reality that she’s sending me on these trips to my past, there could be a more prosaic explanation, like she’s still in touch with the people who bought the business from her.
But I get the sense that isn’t the case.
This question and a million others bubble to the surface. Chief among them is: Why am I doing this? So far it seems like a torturous exercise in reliving my own bad decisions.
“I don’t think now is the right time to get into the mechanics of things, dearie. That last trip was hard on you.”
“It was. I really cared for Rian.” An understatement, but it says enough.
She slides me another cup of her amazing coffee. “I know you did. And he seemed like a good sort of lad. It’s hard to be deceived by someone you think you know.”
“Yes.” I stare into the void of the deep brown liquid in the mug before me. “And his mother is . . . intense.”
The Ticket Agent chuckles. “That Orla is a piece of work, I grant you. She means well enough. But she wasn’t wrong about her son either. He wasn’t a good fit for you.”
I rub my temples, feeling the strain of the visit poking at the backs of my eyes. “I thought I had it figured out. I tried to look at her situation with more empathy. I tried being more patient. But none of that mattered because Rian was a massive jerk in nice-guy clothing.”
She takes my hand in hers. “You did brilliantly, dearie. But sometimes you can do all the right things and still fail. That is one of the hardest lessons to learn.”
It sounds like the sort of pithy advice my father used to give. “I wish I took comfort in that.”
Her expression turns serious. “I’m not sure you’re meant to. Not yet anyway. That’s a gift you’ll give yourself on down the road.”
I find myself unable to meet more of this mystery without question or doubt. “Who are you, anyway? You’re more than just a ticket agent. Do you have a name?” I’m embarrassed that I haven’t thought to ask the question before now.
She laughs, perhaps because I am only now thinking to ask. “Of course I do. Many in fact.”
“Should I call you by any of them?” I hope the question isn’t impertinent. She feels like something of a deity or a fairy godmother in an airline uniform. But she hasn’t seemed too hung up on formalities thus far.
She smiles a bit ruefully. “As you wish, dearie. I’m rather partial to Rosaline.”
Rosaline. A rather romantic name, calling to mind Romeo’s faithless lover, but it suits her.
“So what am I doing here, Rosaline?” I finally summon the courage to ask.
She looks at me as though the answer is painfully obvious. “Why, learning, of course. I promised you I’d repay you for the dress, and I could think of no better gift than knowledge.”
“I can see your point, I suppose.”
“Right. You learned to let go of your regret about how that relationship ended. No matter how hard you tried, Rian was a dolt and Orla was going to make a mess of things. She doesn’t know any different. And between you and me, she isn’t doing that boy of hers any favors either.”
“Still?” Since she seems all-knowing, I might as well ask. “Is she still chasing his girlfriends away even now?”
She nods. “Confirmed bachelor now, even if he’s the most eligible one in Dublin.
He’s decided he can’t disappoint Orla by forcing her to play second fiddle.
But truly, I think he realizes most modern women aren’t as self-effacing as Orla.
The real pity is that she’s heartbroken he never married or had children, and she can’t see the part she played in his single state.
Nothing more pathetic than a person who can’t see their own folly. ”
I shake my head. I should be glad to know I dodged a major bullet with Rian, and Orla too, but it’s all too fresh to take any solace.
Rosaline heaves a sigh. “They’re the authors of their own misfortune. And none of it is of your doing.”
“I’m glad of that at least. I really thought he loved me, though.”
She exhales, a bit mournfully. “I want you to remember that it does a soul no good to lament not being able to turn a heart of marble into man flesh. Those sorts of regrets will drive a person mad.”
“Wise words.”
“He’s a fool and you’re well shot of him.” Resolute, she pushes back from the table. “Why don’t you take another trip? I don’t want you to linger overlong on what wasn’t to be. Your mother has a special talent for that, and I’d hate for you to fall into the same trap.”
“What do you mean?” I’m not surprised she’s privy to the inner workings of Robin’s mind. It’s not like she works hard at keeping them a secret.
“Oh, she had a very set vision for your future. Would you like to see?”
I shake my head. “No, I couldn’t live through that.”
“No, no, dear. I’d never make a woman try on a gown that won’t fit. But there’s no harm in holding it up in front of you in the mirror. Give me your hand.”
I raise my shaking hand off the table and offer it to her.
I feel a swirl of colors and I see myself in high school—tall, awkward, and pimpled and dancing with Tim Espersen at the prom.
Robin had badgered me into saying yes. Instead of going to the CIA in New York, I went to a culinary school on the West Coast. Instead of working in Silicon Valley, Tim founded a start-up.
It wasn’t going well. I didn’t apply for Michelin.
I got pregnant and worked in Tim’s aunt’s diner in Solvang.
She hated me. I hated the diner. Tim and I were horrible for each other.
“That was dreadful,” I finally manage to say.
Rosaline chuckles. “Indeed. Your mother missed that mark altogether. You might make a better match as adults, but I suspect you’re both happier married to your work than each other.”
“Too right. Listen, Rosaline, this has been . . . educational, but I’m not sure I want to go anywhere else.
This has been a mistake.” I stand and look around for my luggage—my actual luggage, not just my bewitched backpack.
More mechanics I probably don’t want to ponder.
I touch my head. Did I fall off a ladder at Chloe’s party and this is just brain trauma? But I feel no lumps or bruises.
Unfortunately, I feel utterly and objectionably lucid.
And I don’t see my luggage.
Rosaline crosses to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulders, comforting in her grandmotherly way. “I know you might not think so right now, but I promise you it will be worth it. I just need you to trust me a bit longer.”
She seems so sincere, but I can’t imagine facing the plane again. It was one thing to relive most of a day in 2009 with Edward, but I lived weeks in the timeline with Rian and felt all of them keenly.
She seems to understand my exhaustion but won’t yield. “Come now. This is a horse you need to get back on. Maybe an easier trip this time, yes?”
I look at her, pleading. “What if I just go spend a week on a beach in Hawaii, drinking rum-based cocktails and trying to figure out my future from there? I don’t know if my answers are on the beach, but it wouldn’t hurt to look, right?”
“That may be a good idea yet, but all in good time. I think it’s time we look at things a bit differently.
Instead of playing patchwork and trying to mend what you thought were your mistakes, let’s see what might have happened if you’d made some different choices altogether, shall we? It might give you a fresh perspective.”
My shoulders sag, but it does sound less fraught than trying to salvage relationships clearly destined to fail.
“Think of a path you didn’t take, dearie. Let’s try it out.”
I rack my brain for a few moments. “Okay . . . what if I’d applied for the job as a sommelier in Copenhagen?
” I’d talked myself out of applying for a position at The Mesmerist, an eccentric restaurant in Copenhagen, thinking the job was out of my league at the time.
I’d only just earned entry-level somm certification with the Court of Master while I was in London, shortly after Dublin, and thought I should temper my expectations.
But it was an opportunity I’d wondered about. Had I sold myself short by not applying? What if I’d missed out on a stellar experience?
Rosaline gestures toward the Jetway. “What if, indeed? Let’s find out, shall we?”