Page 11 of Bracing The Storm

“That bad, huh?” Mia says.

I laugh. “You have no idea. The guy who was supposed to pick me up at the airport never turned up. I was forced to ask around for an hour until I finally located a driver who was familiar with the area. The driver drove me around for hours after I told him I needed to get to Glenn Cereals instead of however you’resupposed to pronounce the name of this place. And then he left me stranded in the middle of nowhere to get back home in time for dinner.”

“He didn’t!” Mia chuckles, the sound interrupting me.

I frown, annoyed, as I recall last night’s events. “Wait for it. I’m not even done.”

“Okay, what happened?”

“Someonedidcome to pick me up, after keeping me waiting half the night. I thought I was going to freeze to death or worse—end up being eaten alive by the local mountain lions.”

Her gasp travels down the line. “There are mountain lions?”

“I’m not sure. I think I heard some roaring in the bushes. My point is, I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s like I’ve reached the end of the world and then add a few more inches.” I sigh again and reposition my cell phone, cradling it between my shoulder and ear as I rearrange the few clothes I brought with me on the shelves in the huge walk-in closet. The problem is there are too many empty shelves to choose from, and I’m not good with decisions. To some people, one spot might be as good as the other. But to me, any decision is of utmost importance and can’t be impetuously made.

Then there is the fact that I’m not used to having so much space to myself. What Patrick calls a shed could be the home to a small family. I’m also overwhelmed by all the luxury. If the cottage is so stunning, I can’t even imagine what the rest of the estate looks like.

“Did you get the pictures of the shed?” I ask Mia.

“No, why? What does it look like?”

I groan inwardly. My phone is officially useless. It can’t even send a photo. Let’s hope I won’t ever need it to make an urgent call or else I’ll be doomed. Misinterpreting my silence, Mia goes on, “I didn’t want to say anything but I would have been surprised if the place was worth much. No one leaves anythingof value to a complete stranger, unless there’s something wrong with—” Mia smacks her tongue, leaving the rest unspoken. She doesn’t need to spell out the obvious. No one gives anything of value to a stranger unless the place comes with a mountain of debt or old clutter no one really wants.

“Unless there’s something wrong with it?” I prompt, laughing.

“Yes.”

I had been thinking the same thing when Ms. Walsh’s lawyer contacted me out of the blue to announce my sudden inheritance. She and I weren’t related so I expected something of sentimental value, maybe a book or a coin, a piece of old jewelry at the most. I would never have thought the old lady I only met once would leave something so lavish to me.

“The weird thing is—” I hesitate, looking around.

“I’m sorry, Lori. On the bright side, even a cottage at the end of the world is worth something to the right person. Whatever you get, it’s better than nothing, right? I mean, you sure need the money. Any money.”

“Actually, this is way more than I expected. It’s—” I struggle to find the right words. “Nicer than anything I’ve ever seen, and it’s not even the main house. That’s the weird thing. The estate must be worth a fortune. She basically left me something few people can afford in ten lifetimes. For the life of me, I can’t fathom why.”

“So it’s not a dilapidated cabin?” Mia asks.

“Cabin? Far from it. I’m not even sure I can call the main building a house. It’s bigger than a mansion. It must be worth millions.”

For a moment, both Mia and I fall silent. Suddenly I feel like a fraud talking about a stranger’s house in terms of money. You can’t put a value on someone’s home with all its memories, laughter, and tears. My gaze brushes over the décor, the antiquefurniture, the nondescript paintings adorning the paneled walls, and a lump forms in my throat. I didn’t get to know Roisin Walsh on a personal level, but somehow I see her shadow in everything around me. It’s like the very place absorbed a part of her while she was still alive, and now the memory of her lives on.

I can’t help but feel like an intruder.

Mia says something, though I don’t catch it as the line crackles again.

I toss the last of my clothes onto a shelf and walk out of the closet with the purpose of a woman on a mission.

“Mia, can I call you back? I really need to get started on things. I don’t want to be here longer than necessary.”

“Sure.” She pauses as though she’s choosing her words carefully. “If you need anything, you know I’m only a stone’s throw away. I could take the ferry or train over the weekend. Apparently that’s the cheapest way to travel to Ireland from London if you can’t afford a plane ticket. Or so people keep telling me. There’s so much to catch up on. I’ve really missed you the last couple of months.”

I smile, and the lump in my throat seems to loosen a bit. “Ask me again in a few days. I’m meeting with the lawyer today. I hope he’ll help me get an appraisal, find a realtor, set things in motion.”

“If you need my help with anything, maybe with the local jargon, not that I’m familiar with it, give me a call. Or just say the word and I’ll be over in no time.”

“Thank you.” I hang up after promising to keep her updated, and then find myself disoriented for a moment. In the sudden silence, the lump is back, lodged in my throat. It’s only early afternoon, but it feels as though I’ve already wasted an entire day. I’m not here to lounge around, I remind myself. There’s plenty of work to do, and once I’m done, I’ll be on the first flight back home to sort out the mess I left behind.

Home where my life is in shambles with a mountain of debt, and the metaphorical Damocles sword dangling over my head. All because I was young, naive and easily impressed by the company who hired me. Looking back, I realize how foolish it was to trust the people close to me, a mistake that has cost me my career and future prospects.

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