Buttercup had her head on my lap and her drool was dampening my jeans. Scratching behind her ears with my left hand, I flipped through the brochure with my right. She was a cute dog, and a family dog, but we’d never been particularly close. She belonged to my sister, Cynthia. Maybe that was reversed, and Cynthia belonged to Buttercup. If you saw one, you invariably saw the other.

It’s odd to ascribe such motivations to a dog, but I think that we took each other for granted. When I moved to my dorm room in Queens, she was forlorn. I was told how she’d moped around for days and eventually pulled one of my shirts off the hanger in my closet and kept it on her doggie-bed, sleeping with it at night.

Cynthia was much the same way, but her reactions were tinged with anger, as if my moving out of the house was a personal affront. When I came home on weekends or on breaks, she was cold and aloof, but never far away. It became worse, as I had an opportunity to study abroad for a semester and was determining where I wanted to go. Paris and Rome were options, but so was a small school near Cork, in Ireland. If moving from Montauk to Queens was a betrayal, Montauk to Europe was the ultimate slap in the face.

If I went to Paris, I could spend time with Alistair, who was like an uncle to me. He’d show me around, help me out when I arrived and lend a hand if anything came up. If I went to Rome, I could explore the ancient city, spend time in Vatican City and check out the Italian girls, for whom I’d always had a thing. If I went to Ireland ... Well, it was Ireland, and my family had weird ties to the Emerald Isle that were all based on American concepts of what the country was and who the Irish people were.

My grandparents, who were sitting around the table with me, were obsessed with Ireland. They named my father, Finn, and my aunt, Siobhan. They traveled there at least once a year, read books by Irish novelists as soon as they came out, watched “The Quiet Man” endlessly and planned their St. Patrick’s Day a year in advance.

Looking over a folder with details, Grandpa spoke up. “Italy looks wonderful, William. Too bad about the crime rate.”

“Crime rate?”

“Oh, yeah. Really bad. I think they even target foreigners.”

“Really? Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Putting down her cup of Twinings tea, Grandma piped up. “You know, I’ve been to Cork. Such lovely people. Very friendly. And safe. Just lovely, friendly and safe.”

I loved them, but subtle they weren’t. “Uh-huh. Okay, thanks.”

My mother stepped into the room with some biscotti my father and Cynthia made and spoke to her mother-in-law. “Mom, let him make his own decision.”

I knew how hard that was for Mom. The whole idea of me going to Europe was torturous for her. I’d been the victim of a kidnapping attempt as a baby and was beaten pretty badly by some teens when I was thirteen. It shaped her and our subsequent relationship. I pretended not to notice the security personnel who just happened to be enrolled in my classes or the two huge guys who lived in the dorm who were at least five years older than everyone else and always seemed to be watching me.

She fought her inclinations to wrap me in bubble-wrap and protect me from all possible harm, and I loved her for that, but it clearly took its toll. Mom would often call out of the blue just to hear my voice and concoct reasons to travel into the city so she could just “drop by, since she was in the neighborhood.” There was an Arby’s just off the Long Island Expressway at the exit for St. John’s University, so she’d go through their drive-through and we’d pig-out on fast food.

Dad would have been aghast if he had known. Everything with him and food had to be a big deal: prime meats and kosher salts and the best lump charcoal and garlic aioli, when Mom and I just wanted a burger and fries. He had the traitor Cynthia on his side. She was his kitchen doppelganger, trying new recipes and buying exotic ingredients, looking askance at Mom and me when we scarfed down fast food.

This wasn’t a fast-food sort of day. It was a family day, and that meant that culinary frivolities wouldn’t be allowed. We were gathered so they could discuss what I should do, while pretending that it would be my decision. The good tea and imported coffee made it to the table and I tried to look happy about all the input.

After another 45 minutes, I turned and took Buttercup’s huge head in my hands, scratching both ears at the same time. “Wanna go for walks? Where’s your leash? Where’s the leash, Buttercup?

She ran over to the door and sat under the wooden outline of Long Island where we had keys and her leash hanging from pegs.

After a long walk that did us both some good, I returned home to see Grandma and Grandpa sitting on the couch, clearly waiting for me. They put on their jackets when I walked through the door. Grandma hugged me and whispered in my ear.

“You go wherever you want to go. There’s some money in the brochure. Buy yourself something to eat. You’re too skinny. We love you, William.” She kissed my cheek.

Grandpa didn’t do the hug or kiss thing. He was sort of old-school, like his father who retired as Suffolk County Police Chief. He grabbed me firmly by the shoulders, looked me in the eyes and spoke.

“It’s going to be a fine adventure, wherever you choose. You go where you want. Don’t worry about your grandmother, she’ll be fine even if you don’t choose Ireland. Truly, William. She has other grandchildren.”

When they left, I grabbed the brochures and folders from the table and smiling, noticed the six 20’s. My parents were literally billionaires and my grandparents still slipped me cash every once in a while. It was sweet and made the emotional blackmail about going to Ireland a bit more palatable.

*****

A few weeks later, I was at the Aer Lingus terminal at JFK. Playing a game on my pop-up display, I paused when I heard my name. I had thought about stopping at the chapel in the airport, but Father Chakowski was at the house the day before and he had prayed with us and blessed me. He had presided over my Christening and Confirmation, the same for my dad and Aunt Daisy and had officiated at my parent’s wedding. He was as much a part of our family as Pete or Alistair.

“William Corrigan, please come to the desk at gate 14. Mr. William Corrigan, gate 14 please.”

Grabbing my backpack, I waited in line until I made it up to the smiling woman behind the desk. “Hi, how may I help you?” Her uniform was just a bit snug and showed off her curves. Long black hair reaching past her shoulders and olive skin spoke of Mediterranean background. I sighed, partially regretting the forgoing of Italian girls.

“Uhm, I’m William Corrigan. They paged me?”

“Oh, welcome to Aer Lingus, Mr. Corrigan. May I see your boarding pass?”

She took it and exchanged it for a different pass. “You’ve been upgraded to first class. There was a note that said to, and this is a quote, ‘tell my dumb brother to call every day’.” She looked up from the paperwork, still smiling. “Your sister paid for an upgrade? I wish my sister was that generous.”

“Yeah. She ... yeah, she’s great.” She really was. I’d spent a lot of time with her the past few weeks, but did it grudgingly. I’d rather have hung out with friends back at St. John’s, but knew that she and Mom wanted to spend time with me before I left. I don’t know where she got that sort of money. Mom and Dad were nervous about keeping us grounded and kept a tight rein on our access to money.

Jim DeCossa was the head of my family’s security detail. He’d taught me how to scan a room, assess people for possible threats and to always stay alert. It paid off. The disguise was amateurish at best. The seat next to me was empty and I was looking forward to flying in comfort. Seeing a flight attendant, I got her attention.

“Is it too late to upgrade a seat?”

“From Coach to Business, yes, but we have some openings here in First Class.”

“Great. Can I upgrade the person in 32C?”

I’d been making some money while at St. John’s by teaching self-defense to those who wanted more than the basics from the course I gave on Wednesday evenings. It wasn’t a lot, but all of my expenses were covered, so it added up after a while. I used some of that to pay for the upgrade.

She looked a little sheepish as she plopped herself down, took off her big hat and oversized sunglasses. “How’d you spot me?”

“Total accident, Grandma. Just happenstance.”

“Well, I’m not going to apologize for seeing my grandson off on his first trip on his own. I’ll help you get settled in and then head home.”

I didn’t point out that it was hardly my first trip alone if she was going with me.

“No apologies necessary. Thanks for coming. Want to watch a movie?”

After texting a thanks to Cynthia, Grandma and I watched “The Quiet Man” for the thousandth time.

*****

It was about a three-hour drive from the airport in Dublin to Cork. I let Grandma do the driving. I wasn’t as bad a driver as Mom, but I wasn’t all that comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road. We spent some time in Cork, drove by the college and did a general driving tour of the area. Mom and Dad had shipped some stuff for me to a storage facility and I stopped in to grab some basics. I think Grandma was a little miffed that she couldn’t buy sheets, blankets and that sort of stuff, but I had it there waiting for me, thanks to Amazon.

It took us another hour to get to Ciabhagan-Boglach, the town where I’d be staying. The main road was paved, but most of the side roads were cobblestone. We passed The Resting Crow, which seemed to be a small restaurant, and the Reflected Glory pub.

My landlady lived on a street lined with thatched-roofed homes, each with small flower gardens and scant lawns. We found Mrs. O’Barrows’ home easily enough and Grandma fussed over me, straightening my shirt and fighting a losing battle in making my unruly hair conform to her dictates. She eventually let me go knock on the door. It seemed a grandparent’s prerogative to always assume that you’re seven-years-old.

After knocking, I waited. Without warning, the door seemed to fly open, revealing a matronly woman with white hair, glasses, a red dress that went down to her ankles, and an apron.

“Well, you must be my American! And a handsome lad you are. Welcome to Ciabhagan-Boglach.”

“Thank you, Mrs. O’Barrows. I have some items in my car and my grandmother is with me. Can I just grab my stuff?”

“Of course, son. This is your home while you’re with us. I have some biscuits and I’ll put the tea on. Don’t make your nana wait outside.”

“Great, thank you, ma’am.”

“Aren’t you the polite one? You’re William and I’m Margaret, now get your nana out of the cold.”

*****

Grandma and Mrs. O’Barrows got to know one another as I lugged boxes up to my small, but comfortable, room. The three of us went to the Resting Crow for dinner, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to try the shepherd’s pie. A Yank in their midst was a bit of a novelty, and everyone stopped by to say hello.

A young girl of about eight was on a small stage dancing to some Irish music. Grandma leaned over and would tell me what the girl was doing; a reel here and a jig there. She seemed talented, but I had nothing to judge by. When she was done, she went over to tables where the occupants waved her over. Mrs. O’Barrows called to her and she curtsied when she got to us.

“Meghan, this is William and his nan. He’s from the states and he’ll be staying with us in our little town. If you see him, lend a hand if he needs directions or has questions.” She pushed some coins across the table to the girl and then looked towards Grandma. “Meghan is going to a Feis next week. We try to help.”

Grandma smiled. “Will you be going to the oireachtas, Meghan?”

She was a petite girl with black hair, brown eyes and a smattering of freckles. “Oh, I hope so, ma’am! I’ve been practicing and practicing!”

“Could you do me a favor? I’m going to be leaving William here and heading home. Could you keep an eye on him? Maybe help him out if he needs it? He doesn’t know anyone here and he might be a little lonely.” Grandma pulled out a twenty and pushed it towards Mrs. O’Barrows coins. “I’d be very grateful if I didn’t have to worry about my grandson.”

Meghan looked at Mrs. O’Barrows and back at Grandma. “Thank you, ma’am, but he’s a guest. I couldn’t take money to help a guest.”

“The money was for your lovely dancing. We don’t see enough of it in New York. Use it for the oireachtas.”

Smiling widely, she took the money, curtsied again and headed to another table.

“That was nice of you, Grandma. What’s an oireachtas?”

“A regional dance competition. It’s a big deal for Irish step dancing. I’ll take you to the one in Philadelphia when you come home.”

“Oh ... yeah, okay. Or maybe we could watch a video or something.”

The townspeople were exceptionally friendly, and as we were walking back to my new home, we were implored to stop at the Reflected Glory so they could toast the young man from the States. Grandma had half a Guinness as she had to drive. Mrs. O’Barrows and I had a few each.

A small thin older man stood. “Ladies and gents, your attention if you please! A toast to the Yanks in our midst and a welcome to the young gentleman. Call upon us at any time, with our thanks. May the Lord keep you in the palm of His hand, and never close His fist too tight! Sláinte!”

That was odd. Why was he thanking me?

Grandma leaned towards me. “Buy a round for the house. I’ll cover it.”

I didn’t want to take her money, but it was a good idea and my parents were generous, but not foolish.

Standing, I lifted my glass. “I know that I’m going to murder the pronunciation, but to the good people of Ciabhagan-Boglach.” I drank. “Thank you for your warm welcome. The next round is on me.”

Some people called out “Good on ya, Yank” and “To your health.” The room fell silent when a large man a few years older than me pushed his way to the bar, slapped some money down and turned in my direction.

“I’ll be buying my own drinks, New Yorker. I’m not taking your charity like the rest of these boot licking prats. And I’ll not be darkening this door when you or your whore are here. Or is that your nan? Or both?”

What the fuck did he just say? Slamming my drink down, I was about to move towards him when Grandma latched onto my arm with more strength than I thought she had.

“Don’t, William. Just don’t.”

The small old man that offered the first toast called out. “You’re drunk, Coughly. Go home.”

“Shut your gob, O’Shaughnessy. You calling someone else drunk? That’s rich. I’ll leave when I’m ready and not a damn minute earlier.”

The old man’s last name was similar to my maternal grandparents. I’d have to ask about that. Coughly took the drink he paid for and went back to brood at his table, alone.

“He looks just like a young Victor McLaglen.” Grandma was glaring at him. I just shook my head.

My landlady patted my hand. “He and his brother are a bit hot blooded. Ignore him. Someone will set him straight.” She looked more than angry. It was disconcerting and her voice lowered as she continued. “Yes, he will learn some manners.”

Mrs. O’Barrows insisted that Grandma stay the night. I took the couch on the main floor and Grandma took my room. We had steel cut oatmeal for breakfast. It had some raisins and some special butter in it. I usually just popped the instant stuff in the microwave, so I sent a picture to Cynthia. She and Dad were the gourmands in the family, and I felt guilty about not texting her the day before. She quickly wrote back, asking if it had large-grain sugar sprinkled on it. The two of them were so weird. It was oatmeal.

Grandma stood at the doorway finding things to say for ten minutes. She finally pulled me in for a hug. “Listen to me carefully. I’ll be back in 60 days and then we’ll take a mini-tour, just the two of us. You’ll love it. We’ll make your sister and cousins jealous. Make the most of your time here, William.” Her eyes were growing moist. “You’re my oldest grandchild and the only boy. That shouldn’t matter, but it does. I love you. Enjoy your semester and study hard.”

She was back half an hour later to shove a 12 pack of socks into my hands. “You’re going to be walking to the bus every morning. Keep your feet warm. I’m going to head back to the airport. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine.”

We both knew who was worrying. I walked her back to the car, thanked her for the socks and kissed her cheek.

*****

My first day alone was spent walking around the village. It didn’t take too long. I didn’t know much about such things, but it seemed to be in that in-between space where it was too big to be a village and too small to be a town. There were no chain-stores, but a number of pubs, two restaurants, a bakery and other shops. I picked up some custom dog biscuits from the bakery to send home to Buttercup.

“Those aren’t for people, William. I’ll show you the good ones.” Meghan had approached me from behind.

I couldn’t stop my smile. “They’re for my sister’s dog, but show me the other ones anyway. You know, you remind me of her. My sister, that is.”

Some scones and cookies were included with the dog biscuits. I kept the scones for Mrs. O’Barrows and Meghan and I split the cookies as she gave me a tour of the town. By the time we were done she was introducing me to people as “our New Yorker, William.”

There were four main roads and they were all paved. The side streets were a mix of cobblestones and pavement. Most of the homes were two stories, with the second floor being smaller, utilizing space from the peaked roofs. On the outskirts, the homes were often built of stone, like Mrs. O’Barrows house. Closer to the town center, they were wooden and looked like they were built in the 50s or 60s.

There was an open-air market near the bus-stop that I’d be visiting every morning to get to Cork. The town was surrounded by farms and orchards and the market seemed to pull in visitors traveling along the highway. A woman there with a large griddle promised me Ireland’s best colcannon and ispini if I stopped by on the weekend. I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just smiled and thanked her.

The people all seemed friendly and I met Mr. O’Shaughnessy between the post office and the town hall.

“Care for a wee bit of the good stuff, lad?” He tried to pass me a flask.

“Ah, no. Thanks. A bit early for me.”

“It’s after six somewhere and I’m a man of the world. Besides, it keeps them guessing when they’re poking around up here.” He tapped his forehead.

I humored him. “I’m sure it does. Thanks for last night. I gotta stop in the post office.”

“Hold on. Here. Take this.” He took a brooch or pin or whatever it was off his coat and pinned it to my shirt. “Wear it all the time. It’s sort of a tradition around here. Trust me, it’s important.”

It was a caduceus, with the staff and wings made of jade or emerald or something.

“That’s ... well, that’s very generous. Thank you. Can I give you something for it?”

“It’s a gift freely given and freely accepted. Remember that. And wear it. For an old man who wishes you well.”

He spat on his hand and stuck it out. I felt like I was in the middle of some weird cliched movie that Americans would make about Ireland. Spitting on mine, I shook his hand. We parted ways and I walked up the path that led to both buildings. One was labeled “Town Hall and Coitheanal an t-Seann Slighe” and the other simply “An Post”. I checked into how much it would cost to mail packages from home and then went to a small clothing store.

They had Irish sweaters that they sold on commission for local ... what? Knitters? I didn’t know, but I thought they looked nice. I got one for Cynthia, Mom and Aunt Daisy. Grandma and Grandpa probably had dozens. Would they call them Irish sweaters here or just sweaters? It was like wondering if they just called it food when you have Chinese food in China.

I would have been a little more careful about my money, but Grandma left a Bible in my room with an envelope under it that held ten one-hundreds.

The rest of my time was spent taking videos and pictures for Mom. She must have been flipping out by now with me being so far away. People were very patient and would often explain who lived where or why a certain building was important. Many thanked me, which again, was odd. Maybe they didn’t get many renters staying in town. I noticed that many wore a similar jade pin.

There were no signs, so it was hard to tell where property lines were. I’d have apologized if anyone braced me, but I spent some time walking amongst the apple orchards. I was maybe a mile outside of the town proper when I saw a pair of legs extending down from some branches and standing on a small ladder. They were very lovely legs and I was caught flat-footed as the owner fell backwards and onto the ground, losing her basket and spilling its apples on the ground.

I rushed over and squatted down. “Are you all right?”

She jerked back and looked at me. “Where the heck did you come from? You don’t just spring yourself on a girl like that.”

“Sorry. I...” She was stunning. Long black hair, dark eyes and a pale complexion that was turning ruddy. “I was taking photos. To send home. New York. That’s home. I saw you fall and, well, I ran over.” Great, now I was rambling.

“Well, Mr. New York, give me a hand up and tell me your name.”

“Oh, William. William Corrigan.” I helped her up and we gathered her apples.

“I’m Aoife, William. Sorry to bark at you. Just surprised is all. Hungry?”

We sat under one of the trees and she pulled out some cheese from the basket and a knife from a pocket in her dress. Aoife cut us slices of apple and cheese and I found myself talking about home and Ireland and going to school in Cork. I’m usually doing the reverse, getting people to open up and listening to them, sort of like Uncle Tommy does. She had an odd effect on me and I began to worry about monopolizing the conversation.

Time slipped by and she said she had to go but would see me around.

“Aoife, are these trees yours? Can I buy some of your apples? I’d like to bring them back to my landlady. You know Mrs. O’Barrows?”

“I do. I know her very well. Yes, all the trees are mine. Ard cairn russet. Here, take the basket. Bring it with you the next time you’re taking your photographs for your mother.”

She handed me the basket and when my hand touched hers, I felt a small jolt, as if from static electricity. I paused, wanting very much to kiss her red lips. I’d known her maybe two hours, and she already had a magnetic hold on me.

Mrs. O’Barrows seemed delighted with the basket.

“Well, this is beautiful, William. I’ll make some apple butter and maybe a pie.”

“Oh, great. My sister makes apple butter.”

“She sounds like a lovely girl, dear. Where did you say you got the basket?”

“I met a girl in the orchard. She says she knows you. Pretty brunette? Aoife?”

The turned from the counter and looked at me. I couldn’t read her expression. “You ... You met Aoife? And she gave you these apples?”

“Uh, yeah. Is that bad?”

“No. Not at all. If, well, if Aoife likes you then that’s just fine. I’ll get to work on the pie. Supper will be ready in an hour or so.”

Going upstairs, I did some reading for my courses and then set up a photo album for Mom.

*****

The bus was right on time the next morning, and Grandma’s socks fit fine. I did a walk-through of the campus, located where each of my classes would be and touched base with the dean who was the facilitator between this college and St. John’s. I took plenty of photos to add to my album. Later, I sat down and recorded two videos, one for Mom and the other for Cynthia and then went looking in Cork for a place that sold local food that I could ship to Dad. He wasn’t as clingy as Mom or as angry as Cynthia, but I missed him.

I found a cheese shop next door to a small pub that had a chalkboard sign outside advertising their lunch menu. There was a queue to order and I happily waited, enjoying the Irish accents surrounding me. When I got up to the front, I spoke to the guy taking orders.

“Can I just get a burger and fries and a beer?”

“Guiness and a cheeseburger. How ... American. There’s a McDonald’s down the block.”

A woman behind me spoke up. “Don’t be a gombeen, Liam. If you have such disdain for burgers, you shouldn’t have them on the menu. Give him a Murphy’s stout, a burger and the boxty you’re always bragging about. He’s not a tourist, he’s a student.”

Turning, I was gobsmacked. She was gorgeous. Copper red hair, hazel eyes, and more curves than the Nürburgring race course. And she smelled great.

“Uhm, thanks.”

“No worries. We’re not all like Liam. And you’re from the States or Canada? I can’t tell the accents apart.”

“States. New York actually.” She stepped up to order and I paid for both our lunches. “Can I join you?”

“How often do I get to eat with a New Yorker? Grab a table, I’ll bring over the food.” I did so, realizing afterwards that I should have offered to carry everything.

“Can I say something without hurting your feelings? Lose the shirt. You do look a bit the tourist.”

I was wearing a tee with the college’s logo and name. Two beautiful women in two days and I was looking like an idiot in front of both.

“Okay. Point taken. I’m William, by the way.”

“Welcome to Cork, William. Grace.” It turned out that she was also a student. We discussed courses and professors and the best places to eat cheaply.

“So, what do you do for fun at St. John’s? Maybe I’ll look into the exchange program. Is it close to the city?”

“Technically, it’s in the city. Pretty close to Manhattan. It’s a decent area. Walking distance to stores and restaurants. It’s not much of a party school, but lots of stuff happening at the dorms. I run a few seminars and I’m part of the escort service. Do they have that here?”

She started laughing. “No. We don’t have male escorts. You have to go to bigger cities for that. How much do you charge?”

I actually blushed. She had a habit of making me feel stupid. “It’s a safety thing. Volunteer club that walks folks to their cars or parts of campus if they’re worried or concerned.”

“Didn’t mean to embarrass you, William. That’s sort of sweet. What about those seminars?”

This wasn’t going well. I was afraid I was going to come across as obsessed, which after Marisol’s abduction, I might be.

“I, ah, I teach a self-defense course.”

“You ... Listen, no offense, and I’m saying that a lot, but you don’t look like one of those muscle men. You escort women to their cars and teach them how to fight?”

“Yeah. Looks can be deceiving. I’m qualified, if that’s the concern.”

“I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth. I do that. Let me start over. I don’t know anyone who would do that, William. My brothers certainly wouldn’t. It’s ... admirable, I guess. I’m sure you do a great job. It’s just not a thing here. We okay?”

“Yeah, of course, Grace.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon together and found a few shops that would ship food back to Montauk. She told me about her three brothers and her older sister. I told her about Cynthia and my cousins. Before I headed back to the bus, she hugged me and kissed my cheek. She felt good and smelled even better.

Italian girls were slipping into second place.

*****

I bolted upright in bed when the pealing of the bells woke me. Sleep had been difficult since I’d arrived, and being Sunday I had hoped to sleep in. After covering my head with the pillow for 15 minutes, I got up, used the bathroom and headed downstairs.

Mrs. O’Barrows was in the kitchen making eggs. “The bells get you?”

“Yeah. What the heck was that?”

“St. Luke’s. Letting people know they have an hour.”

I had completely forgotten. Father Chakowski would have given me his disappointed look, the one that makes you feel like you’re a failure at life.

“I’m gonna run upstairs and change. Can I walk you over?”

“No, dear. I don’t attend St. Luke’s. It’s on the street just past the petrol station. Can’t miss it.”