Page 37 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

“I’d like that too, if you please.”

“Not on your life. My car. My rules. And Daddy, the final decision will be the board’s, don’t you worry.”

“So Haines is going to pitch to us tonight?” He could already imagine dinner. He was going to be eating his steak while this artist talked about severed heads depicting a real-life injustice he’d probably only read about in the newspapers. Heartburn would ensue, and he’d leave a perfectly good steak unfinished.

“He’s too much of an artist to pitch to us, Daddy.”

“He’s going to share hisartistic vision, Papa Linc.”

He hunched his shoulders, his stomach turning already. “Sounds like a blast and a half. Girls—now you’d really better change the music. I’m growing more depressed by the minute.”

“Can’t have that,” Kathleen called from the back.

Soon the sound of Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” was streaming from the car’s speakers. Kathleen O’Connor wasn’t to be messed with. “You girls having fun yet?”

Ellie looked over and gave a mischievous wink. “Just getting started. Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit? We have another two hours to go.”

He should have insisted on flying his plane, but the girls had said the three-hour drive would be fun. They didn’t know the meaning of the word. He slammed his eyes shut and tried to sleep.

A strong hand was nudging him when he surfaced. He shot up in his chair. “What is it?”

“We’re here.” Ellie had the car idling but stopped, he realized. “Or you are. Daddy, I say this with love. You’re about to be offered an adventure. I suggest you take it.”

“What?” He looked out his window and saw people hauling suitcases inside a building. “Why are we at the airport?”

Ellie reached across him and took a large manila envelope out of the glove compartment, dropping it in his lap. “Here’s your ticket and your passport. I’m sorry you’re flying coach, but you’re just going to have to suck it up. Not everyone has a private jet.”

“Are you two out of your ever-loving minds? What in the hell is this all about? You don’t have some other dystopian artist to torture me with, do you?”

Kathleen exited the back and then was opening his door. “You’ll soon find out, Papa Linc. If you’re brave enough. We’re having dinner in Dublin before heading home, so we can give you a ride if you chicken out.”

“I wouldn’t advise it though,” Ellie said, narrowing her hazel eyes at him. “I’ll be really mad at you, and I’ll blast rap and hip-hop the whole way home and drive way too fast.”

Stunned, he exited the car. Kathleen immediately popped into his seat, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

“I don’t understand.” He gestured to the airport. “Don’t you need me to meet Haines tonight?”

They both started laughing. “Oh, Daddy. We made Haines up. There is no Haines.”

“We were just funning with you.” Kathleen flicked her hand at him. “Off you go now. You don’t want to miss your flight.”

“But I don’t have any luggage,” he protested. “Girls—”

“Close the door, Kathleen,” his one and only daughter said emphatically.

He watched in shock as she did just that. The car took off, leaving him alone. “Unbelievable.” She was acting insane, coming up with this ruse.

He opened the envelope. Aer Lingus’ logo was emblazed across the top of a printed itinerary. Then he noticed his destination.

Paris.

Nerves rolled through him. The trip was for four days only. Exactly as much time as he and Bets had spent there weeks before. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Excitement shot through him. He took a breath and headed inside.

Airport travel sucked about as much as he remembered, only the trip through security was worse than any he’d previously undergone. The people who worked in the airport were mean as snakes, and upon hearing he had no luggage, they proceeded to grill him on the reason. He told them he was making a sudden trip, which had them asking about the nature of his business. Then he had to remove all of the change from his pockets as well as his shoes and his belt. He’d almost asked if they wanted to see his briefs, but the sour-faced Irishwoman behind the conveyer belt looked as if she were kin to Mary Kincaid.

By the time he’d finished with security, he was ready to buy the entire airport and reform the entire airline travel system from head to toe. Who wanted to endure this kind of treatment? Traveling—vacations especially—were supposed to be fun. He was going to kiss the side of his sweet ol’ private jet the moment he saw her again.

In a moment of inspiration, he detoured to one of the airport convenience stores and picked up an item he thought Bets might find amusing. God, he hoped so. He checked out and tucked the object into his jacket pocket.

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