Fanore

SETTING - A small airy lounge parallel to the guest house hallway and with a window overlooking the small carpark to the right. To the left was a section of coastline that disappeared beneath the road.

SOUND - The studied sound of whispered voices and the rustle of a newspaper inside. An older couple who hadn’t appeared at breakfast were busy poring over some letters that could also have been a manuscript and talked closely and in whispers. While outside, several car doors closed in sequence to contain a cacophony of louder voices that were obviously impatient for departure.

LIGHT - Slightly brighter than the breakfast room as the sun made steady progress thinning the intermittent banks of wandering mist.

ACTION - Seemingly oblivious to each other, Ethan turns a page at the same moment that Mona turns a smaller page in her book.

About an hour after breakfast, the proprietress found them in the lounge as agreed. Ethan is engrossed in a Sunday newspaper and idly holding a particularly pungent cigarette over an ashtray that she reminded herself she should empty quite soon. Blue smoke wafts towards the window where it further unravels like a piece of very delicate lace. His companion seems to have pushed her seat away from him, possibly because of the smoke or the smell or both. Mona was flipping a yellowed page in a well worn paperback with a green Celtic cross on its cover.

“If you like, I can have my daughter Deirdre put your picnic basket in the boot of your car while you finish that cigarette.” She offered quietly, spoken like she could have been in the library or the chapel.

“Boot? Oh yeah, sure thing.” He couldn’t help beaming at her while another flash-back to her exchange with Mona enclosed their half of the room like a private, outsized bubble. It burst however, when her lingering embarrassment at the episode made her reluctant to maintain eye contact. Instead, she glanced furtively in Mona’s direction. Ethan found her vulnerability endearing and mentally repeated what she’d just said. He wondered, not for the first time, how the back of a car could get to be called the boot and not the front of it.

“That would be fine Missus.” To put her more at ease, he consciously used the same form of address that she’d employed earlier with Mona. The brown coloured cigarette was then balanced in a groove on the ash tray and the open newspaper laid across his knees. That freed his hands to delve deep into his jeans pocket for the keys.

“It’s the sky blue Ford 16E parked up against the stone wall just around the corner. I can also tell you that it’s only got one letter to go with the numbers on the plate, and that’s a single ‘Z’.” To fill the few seconds it took him to untangle the keys from his pocket lining and to maintain the friendly ambiance, he offered some additional information. “The hire car people could only find a manual shift to give us.”

“I know which car is yours from the register Mr. Murrew.” Said Mrs McNamara pleasantly, extending her hand.

“Oh yeah.” Said Ethan adding. “We’ll be out there presently, so if she can drop it on the back seat that would be great and thanks again for putting it together for us at such short notice.”

The simple act of sharing some innocent human frailties was apparently enough to make their smiles far more generous than would normally have been the case for such casual acquaintances. “Oh that’s what we’re here for.” Said Mrs McNamara adding. “But if you need an evening meal later, then you’ll have to tell me now because we just have small fridge and we don’t usually keep a big stock of perishables. Anyway, it’s better when everything is fresh, don’t you think?”

Because Ethan had his choice the previous night, most of which they’d spent in the pub, Mona decided to put her research to the test and planned to visit a seafood restaurant in Ballyvaughan. She obviously wanted something different from smoked eyes. “That’s OK Ma’am.” She interjected. “I was thinking we might book a table in that seafood place in the next town” She looked at Ethan who just shrugged.

“So speaking of that -,” she continued, “- I would also appreciate the use of your phone and maybe a phone directory so I can get that arranged before we go out for the day.”

Mrs McNamara gestured towards the door to the hallway. It was standard practise to put a telephone by the front door, but visitors inevitably asked where it was kept. So she followed the dusky woman through the door, intrigued by the unusual perfume that wafted behind her, but deciding not to risk another gaffe by asking about it.

After a quick visit to the kitchen and to give the ‘Murrew’ keys to one of her young assistants, the hostess cum Maitre Di was back in the lounge area in time to see Ethan quench his cigarette. She could tell by the long and almost unbroken sections of ash that he hadn’t actually smoked it, but she decided to also let that pass without comment. She noted that the lingering smell of that particular tobacco smoke was not altogether unpleasant.

“I’m sorry Ma’am. Maybe I should have taken the smoke outside, but it’s just that I saw the newspaper and since I no longer inhale them, I got more of the smell of it here inside.” He folded the paper and put it back on the table.

“You feel free to do whatever you would in your own home Mr. Murrew.” She didn’t wait for an acknowledgment as she asked. “Are you planning to take a day trip over to the Aran Islands?” But she didn’t wait for his answer. “There’s a lot to see over there if you’re prepared to walk a bit, and you do look like you might have come prepared for that.” She took in the two small haversacks and was probably thinking about getting him a timetable for the ferry from Doolin pier.

Ethan and Mona had already made their plans for the day, though it did cross his mind to ask her where he might get tickets for a GAA game on the following week-end. The Sunday newspaper was crammed with so many profiles of GAA players and their takes on the impending battles of the day that there was little space left for the real news, which on reflection was a relief. News was invariably a new development in the war.

They hadn’t arranged to take in a game, but after reading the sports pages he’d set his mind on a hurling match. That would blow Mona away, though the nearest stadium was apparently in a town called Milltown Malbay. There was a road map in the car, but maps were only good if you knew which direction you planned to go.

“Oh we’re certainly up for a good walk but not on Aran, at least not today.” He answered. “One of the guys we met in the pub last night gave us directions to an old road that cuts through the Burren along the Caher Valley. He said we really need to take that in if we want to get oriented. We plan to take a trip on the ferry during the week but we’ll pick a day when we get a better idea of what the weather might do.”

She held his gaze for a moment before responding. “Caher Valley is a really nice walk but be sure not to miss the first right turn at Fanore beach, because the next right will take you up the old Green Road and you could end up in Ballyvaughan or worse.” The delay she added before including the kind of short giggle that someone might use to cover embarrassment was quite noticeable.

Her quip also piqued his attention and he raised one eyebrow, causing a lock of wavy black to descend over the lower side of his forehead. “Worse?” He asked, brushing it back.

Ethan was keen to find some walks that would be to more challenging than a well worn stroll for pensioners. From what he could see, Mona had readily accepted her elimination from the track and field team call up, though how she had missed out was a real mystery. She didn’t have the outsized arm of most javelin throwers, but she had a technique that was unbelievably smooth and she could run. He was convinced that combination would get her a record quite soon. Anyway, he was looking for something a little more strenuous to stretch their legs and open their lungs.

Four months without the intimacy of a cigarette and he was beginning to feel quite confident. Though when he remembered the pub the night before, he wasn’t so sure that didn’t count for something more than passive smoking. They’d had to leave early because of the irritation to Mona’s eyes.

The pair of eyes that looked back at him just then were as bright as Mona’s were dark and they invited him to laugh along. “Old people around here can be very superstitious and they tell stories … just stories. You and your wife will enjoy the Caher Valley walk and as it happens, Deirdre has some hand drawn copies of a map of the area that you might find useful.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you and your daughter -,” He tried to remember which of her two young assistants might have been the daughter but just then, he was more interested in the Old Green Road. ” - but where would that old road take us?”

Mrs. McNamara laughed giddily again. “I should have said nothing about that because to be honest it’s all nonsense, though some tourists like to hear tall tales. Anyway, the Old Green Road is just part of the original donkey cart road they used in the old days. It will take you up into the hills and then around Black Head to Ballyvaughan, but you would need to walk it on a nicer day I think.” She inclined her head slightly as if listening out for something or someone calling, but he heard anything.

He was having trouble guessing her age because she looked too young to have a daughter old enough to wait tables like the two girls he’d seen earlier. He had to consciously turn his attention back to the subject of his walk. “It’s brightening up nicely -,” He said engagingly. “- and we could do with something a bit different. So what exactly do the old people say about the Old Green Road?”

When he played his own voice back, as he was often required to do, he decided that he could sound too much like he might have been practising his cross examination of a witness. He was still just an intern with the firm, but he was a firm believer in practise making perfect.

He instantly searched his technique repertoire for something more persuasive. “I have this thing about gathering local folk stories or what I call lore and you might not believe this, but they say my people might have originally come from somewhere around here.” He laughed as her eyes popped open even wider and brighter. It was impossible to hide his Arapahoe blood, but that was something that would just have to make her wonder who he thought ‘his people’ were.

Her response showed him how unusually astute she was, however. “I can see that Mr. Murrew. Though your family may have travelled a bit further and maybe become more extended than most since they left Ireland.” She exchanged another laugh and then wordlessly invited herself to sit down beside him.

“Did you know that the area beyond the Caher Valley is also called Murrow, though we have a couple of different spellings for it. But it’s pronounced pretty much the same … not that I’d be the local expert or anything.”

Ethan was warming to her open and friendly manner and duly isolated the Boston accent that seem to come and go with her ability to relax. Since they arrived two days previously, the woman seemed to be perpetually on edge and equally aloof as a result. Ethan was pleased to make any small inroads that might in turn reveal even a small snippet of information he might consider interesting enough to add to his collection. The pub last evening was a revelation in that regard. Saturday night and the Irish Ceili dancing had brought more people than he thought could live in the hills around the … what did they call it? Parish, that was it.

Ethan knew he was two very distinct and occasionally conflicted people sharing one physical body. He was proud of that part of him that was Native American, but his chosen profession could often make it difficult to live in harmony with it. Internal peace demanded he sometimes make his real self subservient to his lawyer’s suit, which required him to make amends on week-ends away and again on vacations. Now there was the possibility of discovering a third entity to entertain as he visualised his great grandfather as Lord Murrough, or something equally blue blooded.

That was until he remembered that the old rural Irish had usually suffered under Lords and Ladies of the Manor. Still, it would have to be more interesting to walk on land that possibly shared his name, than stroll by some no doubt miniature river that he’d never heard of until the night previous. “I do understand the weather Ma’am and I know that what’s left of these mist patches will most likely be gone well before midday.” He said quietly.

“Please call me Saoirse.” She offered, and he replied. “Ethan, or Walker. I guess I’m more Walker when I’m on vacation, even though I put Ethan on the registration form, but you can take your pick.” They both laughed loud enough to raise the narrowed eyes of the only other people left in the lounge. The elderly couple where preoccupied with some very serious business that could apparently, only be conducted in whispers. They then brazenly appraised the disturbance to their peace for far too long until eventually, the female half of their quorum clucked like a hen and they re-immersed themselves in their clandestine consultations.

Saoirse just ignored them which puzzled Ethan. He decided there had to be some history there but left it to his hostess to reveal it, or not. “You might have to climb or open a gate or two but if you do open one, for god’s sake close it after you. The people who live up there are a breed apart and sometimes I think they are still at war with the world in general.” Her diplomatic skills were not reserved for young couples in love. Saoirse also made a point of never talking about Vietnam or any war with her American guests and she seemed to stiffen slightly as the ‘war’ word replayed itself a few times.

Ethan made the connection but disregarded the short silence that followed. He was enjoying their exchange and opted to give Saoirse some space to express herself. Her accent had more Boston in it than Irish just then. Something he assumed was a gauge of how much she’d already relaxed. He was immediately rewarded with a response to his intimated invitation.

“They tell stories of people going missing but to be honest, it’s mostly unstable or tragically disappointed people who could just as well have left without telling anyone and then disappeared into the wider world beyond. You know?” It was another of her questions that didn’t wait long enough for an answer. “Another thing is that there never seems to be a reliable witness, so that should tell you something. More to the point, they invariably go after drinking … heavily in some stories.” She hesitated long enough to give him the impression she was multitasking with her thoughts.

“So any disappearances might have more to do with a bad batch of what you call moonshine than spirits of the other kind.” She finished.

“They mentioned spirits? Wow.” This was great entertainment.

“By the way, does your wife call you Walker or Ethan?”

Ethan couldn’t anticipate the sudden switch of roles that made her the interrogator and especially not on such a personal level. So it took him a few seconds to respond and when he did, he decided to gloss over the fact that they weren’t married. He knew he should wait longer but the draft could call him any day. He wasn’t afraid of fighting and he knew he could be made ready for war quite quickly, but he knew he would lose Mona if he had to go to Vietnam.

He brought the ring with him everywhere they went and he fully intended to pop the question whenever and wherever the opportunity arose. “It depends on her humour really. I think she prefers to call me Walker but she can switch names real quick when she gets feisty. Anyway, she probably knows me better as Ethan because that’s what my passport calls me. Walker is more of a given name after I connected with my … Indian Tribe.” The difference between the indigenous tribes could take a lifetime to teach to someone who was largely ignorant of them. So, much as it annoyed him to say it, he found himself using the generic collective of ‘Indians’.

“Ok. Well I suppose I should call you Walker, seeing as that’s what you intend to do here.” That was when he noticed that the brightness in her eyes was predominantly green but with tiny yellow flecks.

Saoirse then leaned quite close. “I don’t think it matters what church you pray in, if any at all, but I don’t think restless spirits can just come and go as often as real people ghosts might do. There would have to be a difference between the restless old spirits and the new ones that came with people.” She confided, being very careful not be overheard by the old couple.

Happy that they hadn’t heard their conversation, she then sat upright again. “Of course this wouldn’t be the only place in the world where people would make up stories to cover up robberies or worse, and by blaming spirits or people ghosts for what people might do themselves.” She said with a certain flintiness but then softened, possibly realising that she might be doing her community a disservice by giving Fanore a bad name.

“Of course the old days of cattle thieving and even abducting the occasional daughter or son for arranged marriages and so on, are long gone.” She added as an afterthought.

Ethan just smiled warmly but he could tell she had become a little self conscious, again which would most likely announce the return of her introverted self. “Anyway, no one can know for sure what they haven’t seen for themselves. Besides, most of the old people are gone now and in due course the stories they tell will disappear with what’s left of them.” She paused but it wasn’t for breath.

Soairse nodded as if affirming something unsaid and then caught his eyes again. “Still, you don’t want to get caught up there with a beautiful lady like yours, especially if you can’t see the nose in front of your face for the fog. It’s no secret that the limestone is riddled with caves and deep holes. Sometimes you can hear rivers just under your feet. So, if the weather is any way bad, just stay on the Green Road itself and you’re sure to be safe no matter what.”

In the time it took Saoirse to complete that last sentence, her demeanour had changed from close confidante to tour guide, bored with the retelling of stories poorly crafted from archaic hearsay. The change was so profound Ethan saw her visibly shift shape into the polite and responsible guide. She was simply observing official tourism board policy, which would include warning her possibly more adventurous guests to be wary of unseen hazards in the Burren hills that could look so innocuous from a distance.

Ethan ran his left thumb over his right palm triggering a painful reminder from the scuffed tissue it brushed. The sharp edges on the karst rock had almost punctured his hand as he pulled himself up a small rock face the day before. That unpleasant discovery left him in no doubt that the harmless looking strata could strip layers of skin from any leg inadvertently pushed through countless brittle and water corroded faults. However, it was also his experience that any place associated with the spiritual or metaphysical, however vaguely, would always be worth seeing up close and personal. So he just nodded. His mind was made up and all he had to do was sell it to Mona.

“If it does clear up there’s an old circular fort above the Green Road just where it begins to round the hill towards Ballyvaughan. Once you pass that you’ll know it’s probably faster to continue on than come back this way. You’ll find that my daughter has marked that and a couple of other interesting things you might want to see up there. You’ll see she’s included some plants and animals that you won’t find anywhere else and also the old Irish names for them.” Whether she felt that needed further explanation or she was simply proud of her daughter, Ethan couldn’t tell. “I like to encourage Deirdre’s industry and the work she puts into her Irish studies. You’ll see that she can put more effort into her art than she probably needs to but say nothing. It keeps her busy on winter nights and puts a stop to her from gallivanting around when there’s little else to do around here, so no harm.” She nodded again.

Her eyes glazed over for a few seconds until it was clear she’d retreated into a world of her own making. Even so, she stayed there long enough to make him self-conscious. Ethan was about to check the front of his pants in case something down there was open but at the last moment, her voice saved him from the embarrassment of having to check.

However, she’d only returned for it a very brief visit it seemed. ”You might want to wait until the mist is fully lifted and for what it’s worth, they say there are always echoes first. Don’t ask me what that means and I probably shouldn’t be talking like the crazy people we usually laugh at around here. But you said you collect useless information, so there’s more of it for you.” As she stood, her face flushed red again causing her personal partition to fall protectively around her and making her invisible to the world.

Ethan felt it drop, even though he also felt obliged to close out their discussion like the door wasn’t slammed shut on it. “Well thanks for that advice Saoirse. I really do appreciate it and I give you my word that if it looks anyway dodgy up there, we’ll turn back and head down to the pier for a ferry to Arran.” He paused as he thought about that unlikely eventuality.

“On the off chance that does happen, we’ll drop in on the way past to let you know because we’ll most likely stay over there for a night or two.”

Saoirse had just paused and then nodded without a word. Then, like the miniature whirlwind that she so easily emulated and with an audible rustle from what were probably her Sunday clothes, apron removed, she spun away and was through the open door before his mouth had stopped working.

Mona seamlessly played the part of the actress waiting in the wings for her cue and occupied Saoirse’s place mere moments after it became available. Ethan was brought back to earth by the subtlety of her signature fragrance. “Was that as cozy as it looked?” She asked.

“What?” He was genuinely puzzled.

“There’s a whiff of other woman coming from your direction and this seat is still warm from her tight little butt pushed up too close to yours.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I know.” Said Mona looking out the window and he could tell by her reflection that she continued to wear an uncharacteristically severe expression.

Ethan opted not to make an issue of her unlikely indifference. She could often wind him up by pretending to be mad, but that was only when she wasn’t really mad. Ever mindful of the need to maintain a positive ambience to make his proposal, he decided not to go where she was just then.

“Do you remember talking about Celtic mythology in the hotel on that first night we arrived?”

When she didn’t immediately answer he offered more background. “When you told me about those people who were supposedly lost and then found thousands of miles away after falling through some kind of time or alternate reality portal?”

Her soft frizzy head turned slowly away from the window while her eyes reluctantly disengaged from whatever was trying to keep them out there. Mona’s eye contact was a magnet presenting its attractive and opposite pole and she held his eyes captive for just a few moments. To him, it was the easy price he would pay for intruding into her private world, and he wordlessly appraised his prized possession before his brain reprimanded him by telling him how ridiculous that notion was.

Ethan recalled Mona’s two major past times. They were track and field, specifically javelin, and her books. She single handedly owned and ran a small new and second hand bookstore that miraculously seemed to pay her bills, though that wasn’t saying much. Despite her fabulous appearance, Mona was not high maintenance. Her wardrobe was functional and most of what she spent on herself, she spent on her hair.

She liked to move her favourite books through a personal almost virtual library, which could take up a lot of precious space in her small apartment. There were occasions when she would temporarily place a more serious book into this transitional library, but she preferred to explore new worlds into which she could escape for hours and even days at a time. Paradoxically, that could make her difficult to read and to understand.

Her favourite books had a profusion of dog eared pages in common. Those bookmarks cum book scars told how many owners each had suffered but also how many times Mona had delved into them. She made no apology for being an introverted loner who loved nothing more than revisiting her favourite places until she felt she’d fully explored all of the possibilities inside them.

Mona knew that Celtic Mythology wasn’t unique in recounting tales of people lucky enough to be lost, found, shape shifted or whisked away to some alternate reality, spirit world or impossibly distant geography. To her, they were lucky because they got to experience their alternate realities and once inside them, they would then become their current reality. A suitably altered history would then seamlessly replace what would previously have been real, making that one the alternate dream. The Celts or rather, the people who liked to call themselves Celts just seemed to dwell on the phenomena more than most others, like they had some special affinity with it.

Her personal collectors editions offered the ultimate in escapism for her extremely fertile imagination and from what Ethan could see, there was only one precondition for inclusion. A mere mortal had to be somehow empowered to enter and possibly influence reality like it was a malleable medium, rather than accept it as a supposedly rigid structure, that could only be witnessed. She had books with characters who were telekinetic and/or telepathic as well as people who could teleport and or disappear and she could take her favourite subject quite seriously.

“No matter what way you might look at it.” He remembered her saying more than once. “Magic probably doesn’t exist but ‘Spiritual’ is just another word for ‘Metaphysical’, which is the opposite of ‘Physical’ and for every Yin there has to be a Yang. It’s just that most people can’t be expected to see them both at the same time.” According to Mona, the subject was vast enough to include phenomena that were currently inexplicable but that would become clear as time and science progressed. He found that notion easy enough to accept in principle.

So from time to time, she would attempt to draw him further into her strange world. She told him he was making progress when he stipulated after some thought, that any version of reality would have to exclude the absolutely impossible. Thinking about that minor revelation some days later exposed it as an apparently pointless observation, but his lucid memory was of it being totally logical at the time. He put that anomaly down to the multiple depths a conscious mind can access when it’s properly focussed. However, in a universe that they both agreed would have to be surrounded and therefore fed by ‘All Possibilities’, it could be difficult to be specific about what was absolutely impossible or indeed, if anything was.

Ethan was gifted another insight into what made Mona tick when she opened up and told him what it was about a porous universe that particularly appealed to her. She said it was the probability, that all the nastiness in the world could be every bit as fragile as the good stuff that never seems to last very long anyway. She reasoned that if good people and positive opportunities could really disappear for no logical reasons, and he had to agree that they often did. Then, there was no reason why the assholes of the world couldn’t be lost either. She said everyone had a long list of those and he couldn’t argue with that.

Mona didn’t like to talk about herself too much, but Ethan learned enough through patient observation and experience. The way he saw it, her escapist books appealed to the disappointed adult that lived like an inexperienced child inside her head. The frustrated idealist that was her major persona could then toy with them like an alchemist hoarding lead. Mona seemed to earnestly believe that it was just a question of believing that good would ultimately triumph over evil but only if people could help that process along by focussing their belief, like conviction in the outcome.

“If that ultimate victory isn’t assured -,” she told him, ” - then there’s no point to any so called ‘civilised’ behaviour, because ‘good’ will lose out in the end regardless. What you call ‘Law’ would also be meaningless and because we couldn’t change anything, ‘Hope’ would also be redundant.” He remembered her long pause as he thought about that. Then she asked. “Who would want to live without hope?”

Ethan didn’t know her well enough at the time to admit that he was already out of his depth and preferred not to show the extent of his ignorance by going any deeper, but that didn’t stop his later contemplation.

Through being extra attentive to comments that she made and by meticulous compilation, he was eventually ready to put his own conclusions to her. He remembered choosing one of those rainy Sundays that we traditionally set aside for one of two purposes, soul-searching or the movies.

“What you’re saying is that if you really thought your own future was predestined, then you believe it is possible for you to create your own alternative.” At first she was simply curious but then she silently engaged him with those eyes. So he went on. “And you would do that by selecting the bits and pieces you need from the oversupply of all possibilities that surround every day, because those are what tomorrow will be made from anyway.” He could still see her surprise slowly blossom into her most expansive smile yet. That was his reward for perseverance in chipping through what remained of her personal barriers searching for who she really was. It was that smile that decided him on the ring.

Mona could also be guilty of thinking too much but unlike her predestined self, she could stop anytime she wanted and spend time with him as her other, simply creative self. She reciprocated by telling him that he was also more than one person and she had a valid point.

Ethan was a product of the New World but with some very old world lineage. His alter ego was the Arapahoe called Walker and maybe there was even more of himself to discover in Ireland. That would make it even more interesting -, she said, - because all told, there had to be at least four or more of them inside their relationship but as long as no-one spoke out of turn, it was never liable to get crowded. They both had a good laugh at that version of swinging.

Walker liked to think he could also be spiritual, though not in the same way as Mona. He wasn’t yet sure just how deeply he wanted to delve but it was something he needed to contemplate. That made them very compatible because it was natural for Ethan slash Walker to give Mona and her child mind the considerable space they craved. It was the key ingredient that she apparently didn’t get from the boys who could still piss Ethan off by queuing at her door.

Mona told him she grew up to the sound of Louisiana Creole, which entitled her to claim whatever lineage she wanted. Inside Mona’s head there was someone who spent way too long analysing things, but no-one can pick and choose another persons attributes. She was a package, regardless of her complexity. Although she seldom showed him any sign of it, Mona also hid a somewhat darker side that didn’t take kindly to any attempt at control. She wasn’t dominant but she would never be told what to do either, and she drew a very fine line between influence and pressure. She was more than generous with her passion but made it plain he could never presume upon it.

Mona confessed that her main disappointment was finding so few books on her chosen subject that were set in more recent times. “Like the Bermuda Triangle, which everyone knows is for real, right?” He nodded but made a note to himself to research that one also.

How the human brain can so rapidly access and then stream us memories that we never consciously stored is nothing short of a miracle. It permits us to instantly recap or even relive days and even weeks in a single moment and Ethan became aware that they’d held each other immobile for long enough.

His eyes registered freshly painted lips as she spoke. “Yeah. They say that some parts of your Emerald Isle are closer than others to where those alternate realities might break through. It seems that around here, they call those fracture zones ‘Thin Worlds’.”

It wasn’t unusual for him to occasionally scan one of her books, though he wasn’t looking primarily for escapist literature. He was intrigued by the possibility of parallel beliefs between civilisations and cultures that had evolved without previous contact. He was specifically interested in commonalities between indigenous North American Tribes and their prehistoric brothers and sisters on other the continents of Europe, Asia and Africa. It was early days yet but there were some promising signs. He found the biblical flood was quite a common theme and the gods or spirits that caused it couldn’t be too far behind.

“Here.” She reached down into a handbag that was more like a second haversack before continuing. “I’ve been through this book a couple of times already, so you can take your time with it.”

To a very patient observer, they could also look like the most unlikely couple simply because of the long silences that typified their togetherness. She didn’t like talkers unless they had something to say and Ethan slash Walker was very easy to get along with in that regard. He could be very passionate and she liked passion, but he didn’t make too many demands or preconditions. He also enjoyed his own company just as much as she did hers. That gave him time to come up with his own interesting slants on life that they could share. Any combination of Irish Celt and Arapahoe Indian just had to be superstitious, though he called it spiritual, whatever.

“Nah. I might take a look at a book later but according to the ‘Bean an Ti’, who’s name is Saoirse by the way, there is an old green road that goes through some high country that by coincidence carries my family name.” He waited for effect. “And there are stories about people getting lost, as in disappearing up there.”

Mona turned back to the window. “Mmmmm.” She hummed and returned her eyes to the world outside the lounge window.

“So it was a nice’n’cozy little meeting.” She continued. “Tell me. Do you like older women Mr. Walker?” It was crazy how a lady’s attraction can paradoxically be so dangerous. Mona was unpredictable and seldom did anything often enough for him to call it a habit, but he couldn’t help but notice that when she got mad at the budding European slash Irish slash American Lawyer, she would immediately appeal to the Arapahoe and vice versa, but he was so engaged in the subject that he chose to disregard the quirk.

His smile widened because Mrs. McNamara was older for sure, but when she sat down beside him, he couldn’t help but notice that she kept herself in very good shape. “Maybe I could benefit from some older woman experience.” He joked but the look she flashed at him was a reminder of the monster she worked at keeping under wraps.

Mona didn’t hesitate. “You get any experience from anyone but me, and you will not be Mr. Walker you will be walking mister. You got that?”

Her brusque tone told him that she was possibly just a little more serious than she had any reason to be, which was not serious at all. Mona had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever met and what surprised him most was the fact that she responded so quickly to his initial advances. That said, he still considered it impossible that she could ever be insecure or jealous but regardless, he smiled his response because with Mona, you just never knew for sure. “Yes Ma’am.”

In an alternate reality, the butterfly that had already set effects in motion became porous and then translucent before fading into a memory that was discarded, and the brewing hurricane was calmed before the fact of it. Mona’s selection of an alternate tomorrow so early in the day was just another reason to smile and so she perked up immediately.

“You do know that the Burren is not exactly the Rockies.” She offered. “What I mean is there’s no cougars or bears here. In fact, the biggest things with teeth or venom up there will be us, that is excluding grass dependent livestock, some of it feral, and rabbits on steroids that they call hares.”

That made him laugh loud enough to attract a second accusatory glare from the old couple in tweeds and leather elbow patches. Because he’d just seen that identical look only moments before, Ethan was forced into a loud snort to suppress a spontaneous howl that demanded freedom of expression. Mona suffered the instant contagion of two comically synchronised heads raising and then morphing in unison to express identical levels of disgust. Hand over nose and head down, she sped towards the refuge offered by the ladies room.

Apparently abandoned by his allies, Ethan became the obviously unwelcome minority in the lounge and self consciously redirected his eyes and his thoughts to the day outside the window. There was more to Saoirse than met the eye and Mona seemed to agree that what met the eye was not unpleasant. Soairse was also quite clever. She’d satisfied the obligation of discouraging guests from stumbling around the Burren in low visibility but she’d done so in an interesting way. She had rather bashfully introduced a metaphysical dimension that significantly enhanced the overall appeal of the Fanore area.

From her accent there could be no doubt that she grew up locally, but he wondered how long she’d been in Boston. There was also no sign of a husband or a father for her daughter, but the after image of her bright green eyes succumbed to a dazzle that forcefully squinted his own. A very intrusive noise had drawn him out into the sunshine he’d been idly observing. Ethan emerged into a curious combination of warmth with smatterings of chilled drizzle and then identified Deirdre, who had apparently triggered the car alarm.