Chapter 11 An Experiment in Adult Swaddling
In the Jeep, I managed to doze for a bit. I wasn’t sure for how long before we came to a sharp stop that jolted me awake. Tadhg grabbed a backpack from Finn’s foot space and stuffed in a water bottle, zipped a mystery package into a thermal-looking thing, and crammed that in too.
“If you have a water bottle, bring it. And something to keep warm, and something in case it rains.”
“But there’s not a cloud in the sky.”
He got out and glared at me, his brow so furrowed that one might have sowed seeds in there.
“I’m good, really.” Aiming my rear high, I shoved myself out of the car, ass and all, in under two minutes. “Ooo. I’m getting better at that.”
He ignored my gymnastic feats and continued to scowl despite their excellence. “Fine. Have it your way.”
“I usually do.”
He slammed the door behind me, and the sound was like a swear word.
“Oh! The Cliffs of Moher!” There was a sign as we walked through a large, busy parking lot with several big tour buses, and I was excited. This was one of those super-touristy things that one was not supposed to miss on a trip to Ireland.
“Hey.” I looked at him, and I let the word tie us together for a moment while I searched his annoyed face. “You did something nice for me.”
He puffed joylessly. “My dad planned it.”
I walked to cut him off and bit back a smirk, delighted that he’d been caught in a lie. “No, he didn’t. He said that we probably wouldn’t have time to come here today.”
“Well. I did it for Finn. She loves this walk. Besides, I figured you’d be too busy taking bloody selfies on the side of the cliff to be an aggravating handful.” I laughed, and he stepped around me in a huff. “Feel free to wait in the car if you want to complain.”
I laughed again and skipped ahead.
The cliffs were unspeakably beautiful. I was, quite literally, unable to speak.
First, because of the majesty—it’s a strong word, I know, but honestly, it felt like the only one up to the task of capturing how it felt to stand near the edge of those cliffs and look out over the seven-hundred-foot precipice while the wind pushed and pulled at you, and birds dove and soared on the breath of the wild sea that crashed so dizzyingly far below.
Second, because it was fucking terrifying!
We had walked, silently of course, in one direction along the edge, until at some point, the easy tourist path with the high protective wall stopped, and we moved onto more of a wild trail where lots of warning signs told us in no uncertain terms that we might very easily fall to our death.
I couldn’t help but stare at a sign for a moment, with its gruesome symbol of someone falling, screaming all the way down, probably.
I took a few extra breaths and reminded myself that the numerical probability of my falling was less than one in a billion.
There were far fewer people on the more rugged trail.
I noticed that this time Tadhg did not move on to stride past and walk in front of me but, rather, stayed back and let me lead.
He probably wanted to keep a close eye on me in case I should decide to dash myself to the rocks and jeopardize his sheep payment.
Finn, he had clipped in and was keeping on a similarly short leash.
As far as I looked were churning sea and pale blue sky.
At times the crisp wind, with its cold bite, blew so hard that my lungs caught, and I could not draw another breath until it calmed a few long seconds later.
Layers and layers and layers of gray rock made up the sheer rock face, like so many deckle-edged books stacked atop one another, making ledges where seabirds could bravely nest and rear their young.
Small islands had broken away from the cliff and crumbled into the sea, making one wonder which bit might go next in another several thousand years, or today, and whether or not it would bring a few tourists down with it.
“Here,” Tadhg said when we’d gotten to a quiet green patch. “Let’s sit.”
We sat down on a flat stretch of grass with a safe view out over the beautiful death plunge. I took a sip of my water and watched him reach into his backpack and bring out the mystery package in its insulated bag.
“Is that food?” My eyes got wide.
It was food. He opened a take-out box to reveal two long strips of fried fish on a bed of thick yellow chips, and handed it to me. He had a box for himself as well.
“When did you get those?”
“When you were snoring.”
I snatched up a chip from his box, miraculously still warm, and closed my eyes as I chewed. “Holy shit!”
He nodded, threw one to Finn, then ate some of his own. “Russells. Best fish and chips in County Clare.”
“I believe it.”
I couldn’t keep myself from feeling pleased that he’d gotten food for me to picnic with.
The insulated bag had shown remarkable forethought.
But I wasn’t sure if he had kept it hidden and quiet because he wanted to surprise me with it, or because he couldn’t be bothered to answer any questions.
Either way was fine by me—the result was the same: yummy, greasy, crunchy fish and chips with a view to die for.
We chewed in what felt like companionable silence. Until he broke it—rudely, of course.
“Put your damn jumper on, you’re half frozen.”
“No, I’m all right.”
He dressed me down with a stern look. “You’re fucking shivering.”
“I’m not cold. I’m fine.”
“Look, just because you put your jumper on when you’re cold doesn’t mean that I win, it means you’re an adult.”
“If you must know, I didn’t bring a sweater. It was packed in my bag, and I couldn’t be bothered to dig around for it.” I threw another chip in my mouth.
He took a big, long, purposeful breath. Then, to my astonishment, he grabbed fistfuls of his own sweater and pulled it over his head, exposing, dear God!, a smooth stretch of skin at his side for only an instant that would be forever burned into my long-term memory.
“Here. I guess I have to be adult enough for both of us.”
“No, no. That’s yours. Put it back on. I don’t want it.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Why not?”
It felt more like a challenge than a genuine question, but I answered honestly. “Well. What if it’s scratchy or it smells bad?”
He glared.
Whatever he thought, I hadn’t actually said this to insult him. I just had a thing about fabric, and I didn’t really like wearing other people’s clothes, and, well . . . he’d asked and I’d blurted.
His jaw tightened, he narrowed his eyes, and then he threw it at me. “Put it on,” he ground out.
I caught it. It wasn’t all that scratchy.
I was particular with my wool, but as this was summer, it wasn’t one of those thick fisher-man’s sweaters with the scratchy boiled yarn but something much softer and thinner.
I gave in and pulled it over my head. For one long, blinding second before my head emerged from the collar, I stopped, totally caught off guard.
And inhaled. And very nearly passed out.
Whooooooaaaa. Holy crap!
I breathed in again, eyes closed, and felt lightheaded. Then, when I realized that I was being really weird and creepy, my soul rejoined my body, and I finished pulling the sweater down. His face swirled into view. And it was annoyed.
“Well. Thanks,” I said. “If you change your mind or get cold, let me know.”
“I won’t,” he said, possibly just to be contrary.
But now that I knew what it smelled like, I wasn’t in any rush to hand it back.
Also, it was warm from his body heat, which normally would gross me out.
But there was this sense of intimacy that I hadn’t expected, and I was surprised by my reaction to it.
Even if he was a total douche canoe.
We continued eating in silence until a while later, when he interrupted my peace to chastise me again.
“Jesus, why are you still shivering?” It sounded like an accusation, as if my shaking was ruining his peripheral view and it was my fault for not being in better control of my involuntary bodily functions.
“Um. Well. It’s not the cold, actually.”
“What?”
“This is just how I respond to fear sometimes. It’s okay. It’ll pass.” He scrunched his face up. I shrugged. “I’m afraid of heights.”
“What? Shit. Why didn’t you say, Maya!” Annnnndddd there we are. Right back to angry.
“It’s fine. I wanted to see this. It’s incredible. I didn’t want to miss out because of a little thing like fear of heights.”
“Okay, fine. But we didn’t have to come this far. And we didn’t have to walk on the unprotected trail. And we definitely didn’t have to walk so close to the edge.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we did. Because look at it!
” I grabbed another chip and took a big bite to punctuate.
“I can’t think of any better place to have a fish-and-chip picnic.
Even with you two for company.” I grinned, but this didn’t seem to pacify him.
“Calm down. That furrow in your brow needs a vacation.” I did my best impersonation of his furious face, and Finn barked at me.
Tadhg didn’t laugh, really, but I thought the corner of his mouth tilted upward.
Very slightly. If you squinted. It was probably gas.
“Hey. That kid Kevin . . . he’s a wanker. I’ve known him since he was four, and he’s barely changed in twenty years. So, don’t let it . . . you know.”
“Twenty-four? Is that how old he is?” I laughed so hard my eyes watered. “Oh my God. The girl from Dune! What on earth would make your dad say that?”
“I don’t know. It’s a thing he does.” He leaned back on locked arms, and I thought that would be the end of the conversation, so I was surprised when he broke the silence a few minutes later.
“So. You’re afraid of heights enough to shake all over like a leaf, but you just decide to get on with it? Do it anyway?”
“Yeah.” I leaned back too, next to him, our feet out toward the edge but still yards away.
“What’s that like?”