Page 3 of After Indigo Irish Nights
As soon as Ellie pulled her car to a stop in the empty lot, Kathleen threw open the door and embraced the fragrant spring breeze rushing over her face…or that was the idea. She coughed as the smell hit her nose. “Jesus! What is that?”
“Welcome to the land of forever beauty and sometimes ordure. Someone just slurried their fields. Ugh! I’m going to gag.”
She lifted her shirt over her nose. “Slurry what?”
“They put cow shit in a blue tank, fill it with water, and spray it everywhere.” Ellie covered her nose with her hand as well. “Those wavy grasses don’t happen without a little TLC.”
“God, don’t say any more. Let me enjoy my moment minus the smell. Dammit, I’m going to kill it here.”
“Yeah, you are,” her friend said, grinning at her. “I’m so glad you’re here. Even though we’ve been talking every day, it’s not the same as when we lived together in Boston.”
Those days were over, and they both knew it. Ellie would be staying here in Caisleán —she was gettingmarried—but their friendship would never change. Some people were like that. From the moment Kathleen had met Ellie to interview her as a roommate, she’d felt like she’d known her forever. They were sisters all the way and always would be.
“We’re going to have a blast here. I’m so psyched.” She shimmied her hips to celebrate but kept her nose covered. She must look like an idiot. She dropped it and tried not to inhale.
“Come on,” Ellie said, toughening up too and taking her hand. “I’ll show you the shed. Not that there’s much to check out yet. You’ll see what I mean.”
They walked around the three-story white building that had been originally built as a massive house. Everyone in Caisleán knew the story—after his wife had died tragically young, Carrick Fitzgerald had built her dream house as part of the grieving process. Then he’d donated it to the town to be used as the arts center.
The large picture windows gleamed, and through the ones on the first floor, she could see the painting studio where Carrick’s new wife worked and taught. She’d already met both Angie and her sister, Megan, a potter who taught at the center. They were both from the States. As was the director of the center, Betsy O’Hanlon, whom everyone called Bets. Ellie’s fiancé said it was an American invasion in the best way. Kathleen was excited to be a part of it.
The mowed grass around the center was damp and gave under her feet as she walked next to Ellie. The shed was a short distance away from the main center—a mindful choice that had been made both for fire safety considerations and because of the noise of her tools.
Ellie tugged on the metal door, grunting like an old man, and Kathleen nudged her aside. “You stained glass artists have no muscle.”
She pulled the heavy door open, pleased it was well oiled. Her eyes squinted to make out the dark interior of the shed before Ellie flicked on the overhead lights. The concrete floor was still white and pristine, but that was all.
“It’s empty.”
“The items you wanted haven’t been delivered yet,” Ellie said with a hefty sigh. “I was hoping they’d arrive this afternoon. Bets has been at them for days now. One thing about Ireland: stuff doesn’t always run on time, and Customs can be a bitch.”
Kathleen had done her best to select equipment from Ireland, but some of her most specialized tools—like her English wheel, plasma cutter, grinder, and Pullmax metal shaper—came from suppliers in Sweden and Germany.
She’d planned on starting tomorrow. Unlike the other residents, she wouldn’t be teaching. Her entire time here would be devoted to making her sculpture, and she needed every minute of it. She lifted her chin and told herself to suck it up. “It’ll show up. I’m not letting this get me down.”
“Your design is awesome! I can’t wait to watch it unfold. I might even bring some of my stuff out here and work alongside you so we can talk as we go.”
Kathleen swung her arm around her friend’s waist. “That would be nice. We didn’t have enough space for that in our art studio back in Southie.”
No, in their converted warehouse studio for nearly twenty artists, they’d had only a small dedicated space apiece, although Kathleen had shared the machine shop with a few other artists.
Here she wouldn’t have to share at all, and everything was brand new, courtesy of both her residency as well as Ellie’s donation to the center. The arts center had put forth half the money for the shed and supplies, hoping to bring in more metal artists in the future.
Instead of kissing the concrete floor in sheer happiness, Kathleen gave in to the urge to do a little jig from her Irish dancing days and laughed at herself for being so out of practice.
“I’ll tell Brady we’ve got tonight’s entertainment at the bar covered,” Ellie said with a grin, joining in. “If we’re lucky, the Lucky Charms will invite us to dance with them at the pub when they put Bon Jovi on.”
“I’ve only seen the videos you’ve sent of Bets and her girlfriends dancing. I love that they’ve added you and Angie to the mix. Man, I want to be dancing like that when I’m sixty.”
“Me too! It’s totally cool. Brady loves watching me, and I’ll bet someone he shared a womb with will love watchingyou.”
She didn’t need to say Declan’s name. Kathleen’s skin tightened thinking about having his eyes on her as she moved her body. God, she was getting hot.
Her phone bleeped then, signaling a text. Good. It would be her oldest brother. Hearing from him would be like taking a cold shower.
“Five euros it’s Billie,” Ellie said with a wink. “He won’t be able to give a car his complete attention until he knows you didn’t die in a plane crash. I’ve never heard anyone bitch and moan about airplane crashes as much as he does. He only thinks cars are safe, which makes sense since he’s a mechanic.”
“Except Robbie always reminds him how many car accidents there are a year.” Kathleen shook her head. “It’s gonna be Robbie. He got my brothers to agree he’d be the main point of contact so they don’t text me all the time.”
