Chapter 9 Natalie
Natalie
It’s strange that humans have an entire holiday that’s wrapped around our complicated relationship with fear.
We all act on fear.
Not as honestly as horses, who spook at bags, at flags, and at really anything that looks slightly different than what they’ve seen nineteen million and one times.
We may not spook at bags, but we do avoid relationships because we’re scared of how they’ll end. We take safe jobs, because we might fail at pursuing the dreams we secretly want. We wear makeup, because we’re afraid our bare faces aren’t polished or pristine enough.
For horses and humans both, not many good things come from acting out of fear.
“Put another big spider there.” I point. “The porch looks bare.”
Clara wants to roll her eyes. I can tell. “Mom, no one’s going to judge the party based on how many spiders—”
“Just do it,” Hannah mutters. “She’s paying us, so she can pick.”
“Fine,” Clara says. “More spiders. But just remember, this isn’t an American Halloween party. We’re in Ireland, and at school they said the holiday here’s more about spirits and boogeymen than it is about candy and spiders and zombies or whatever.”
“Well, Miss Irish History,” Hannah says, “did you tell Mom about the C you got on that paper yet? Or are we only saying things that make other people feel stupid?”
Clara throws a spider at Hannah’s head, and the whole thing devolves. I’m truly afraid that there’s no way we’re going to be ready for this party in the next three hours.
But five minutes later, Trace, Bryce, and Trina show up, and with Mrs. Murphy’s help and lots of stern glares, we pull it off.
At five minutes before seven o’clock, our old, stately estate looks suitably spooky.
I’m actually pretty impressed. I snap a few photos for social, and then I pay each of the kids the twenty euro bill I promised.
Even Trina, though that feels a little unfair. She didn’t do anything, and I’m pretty sure she opened and licked at least a dozen of the lollipops. But I didn’t say I would only pay the older kids, so here we are. Paul didn’t ask for any money, but he’s five, so it means basically nothing to him.
“Alright, so we have the speakers all set up,” Clara’s saying, “and I sent you the playlist, but you never replied.”
I have a mini heart attack.
Clara asked to be in charge of the music, and I told her it was fine—whatever—thinking I’d circle back around later and explain that we didn’t really need anyone in charge of music.
It’s a party, not a rave, but I never did circle back around, and now she’s all excited to DJ this thing that doesn’t need a DJ at all.
Before I can fully freak out, Cillian pulls up, parking all the way around in the back, behind the main house, to leave plenty of room for other cars, presumably.
“Hang on, lemme talk to Cillian. I’ll be right back to talk about the playlist.” I force a smile, and I practically sprint around the corner.
He’s just climbing out of a third sports car, another one I’ve never seen.
“We need to talk, and I know you don’t have kids, but you have to help me. ”
Cillian’s eyes widen, but to his credit, he doesn’t balk. “Okay. Hit me.”
“I really dropped the ball.” I explain what happened.
He frowns. “Why can’t she just be in charge of music, if you don’t care about it?”
I blink. “She’s a teenager who loves guitars and rock. I don’t think she should be running the music for a work thing.”
Cillian tilts his head. “It’s a Halloween party.” He shrugs. “I say, if you forgot to head this off already, let it happen, and if she’s doing badly, we can intervene then.”
It sounds so reasonable because it is reasonable. “Right, yeah. Right.”
“Hey, did the party help with bookings? Are they up at all?”
“Not at all.” I try not to wail. “It’s cost me more than it’s made, since I think exactly two guests mentioned they had kids who were excited for a Halloween party.” I throw my hands up in the air. “If anything, bookings are down.”
“Aren’t most of your guests from the United States?
” He drops an arm around me and maneuvers me back toward the party.
“I think this party will be great for introducing you to some of the local people, like Gabriel, who you might not have known, and helping you find ways to work with them. But I think to get bookings up, you should be catering to Americans and the things they care about.”
My brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not American, so I have no idea. American football. . .stuff? Or, barbecues?” He shrugs and scrunches his nose. “But I bet you’ll think of something.”
“I should’ve advertised for a Thanksgiving feast in Ireland.
” I slap my forehead. “No one likes to cook for Thanksgiving, and literally no one wants to clean up, but you can’t really skip it, either.
It’s a big deal. But what if you could travel somewhere, get the whole Thanksgiving experience for one day, and then see sights the other days?
” I snap. “That might get me some business I might not otherwise have.”
“But for now. . .” He tosses his head back toward the main house. “I think we should join the party and see what kind of music your daughter—” His mouth snaps shut.
The Monster Mash is being played at full volume, and as we turn the corner, there are more than ten kids dancing on the front lawn. I can hardly believe it.
It looks like, in addition to the various professionals Rían, Ronan, Jack, Cillian, and Richard introduced us to, quite a few friends of our kids have turned up.
In fact, over the next few minutes, more and more teenagers show up, until the party is cram packed.
Adults are mostly inside, chatting and making use of the bar.
I try not to cringe at the cost. The kids are mostly on the front lawn, which is blessedly dry after an uncharacteristic day without rain.
Also, Cillian was dead-on. For the dancing happening in the outdoor party, where absolutely no one is bobbing for apples, and very few kids are taking bites out of dangling pastries, Clara’s playlist is exactly what everyone wants.
“I’ll say this,” a man I have never seen in my entire life is saying, as Cillian and I walk around the corner into the sitting room. “These American women sure know how to throw a party.” He’s eating a chocolate and pear puff, thanks Gabriel, and he almost looks like he’s holding court.
“Thank goodness someone around here knows how to throw a party,” Cillian says, smiling.
The man spins around, and his whole face brightens. “I should’ve known you would be related to this in some way, Cilly. Your aunt owned this place, didn’t she?”
It turns out the loud-mouthed Irish man is the bank manager for the local office, and his team actually signed off on our loan.
I can’t imagine he’s a bad person to know, even if he won’t be booking any rooms. Most of the night goes like that, with me meeting new people I didn’t know I wanted to know, and with the teenagers doing slightly stupid but not dangerous things in the front yard.
Maybe this party didn’t help our bottom line, but there are some things that are more of a slow-growth of a business in a community, and I think this qualifies.
“I should see whether they need more ice out there,” I say.
Cillian drops a hand on my wrist. “I doubt they do. We’re not big on ice here, remember?” He winks.
I always forget—our guests do like ice, usually. Because they’re tourists. “Well, then I’ll just take the candy outside so we can do the trick-or-treating. I did promise to do that.”
Cillian’s pulled away then, by a group of people Jack’s standing with, his arm around Vanessa’s waist, his head leaning against her hair. “You have to settle this for us,” a woman’s saying. “Because we can’t trust Jack’s opinion at all.”
I’m barely through the door when a very questionable rap song starts, and my head whips toward the table where Clara’s curating the music. Only, I’m not able to shake my head or glower to get her to skip it, because she’s not there.
Her chair’s empty.
Hannah squeaks and shoots across the drive, tapping on her sister’s phone to change the music. “Sorry.” She shrug-smiles.
“Where’s Clara?” I mouth from the porch.
Hannah shrugs, and then she practically skips back to the group of kids who were playing with something that looks very close to a hacky sack. Those can’t be in again, right? Surely not.
It does look like it would be a good time to set up the trick-or-treating stations, so I go looking for Vanessa.
Sadly, she’s not where I left her. Jack’s still standing in a group with Cillian, but Vanessa’s not by his side.
I head for the kitchen, but Mason’s in there, so I make a quick u-turn and head for the billiards room.
That’s where I find Vanessa, standing to the right of Samantha. I should’ve known. Sam’s telling an animated story to a woman who looks vaguely familiar.
“—so we’re practically racing at this point, which was admittedly very stupid on a windy day, and when we whip around the corner of the barn, bam.”
I recognize the story, now.
“What?” the woman asks. “What was it?”
“I forgot something important,” Sam says.
“My horse was lame—recovering from a suspensory tear—so I was ‘borrowing’ a green, baby horse from one of the rich ladies at the barn who wanted a junior to put some miles on him. He was spooky, but talented. Racing around on a windy day was just what the trainer ordered for him. Natalie was on her own horse, and he was a saint and talented to boot. But poor Vanessa had an older horse, and he was far too old to do anything fun, like cross-country. He was twenty-one. His name was—”
“Whiz Kid,” I say. “But we all called him Cheese Whiz.”
The woman with them is really pretty, and quite young. She snaps her head my way. “You must be Natalie, right?”
When she smiles, I place her. Her smile is just like her brother. It’s the dimples, I think.
“You’re Quinn.” I say. “Is that right?”