Where the Streets Have No Name(2)

The man lifted her by the elbows. “Keep your shoulders locked, lass, and I’ll bear your weight.”

Her feet left the ground. Man he was strong! She wasn’t the skinniest of girls, nor did she fit the category of needing to go on a strict diet; Amelia had curves. Hours of sitting at a computer and writing code for her games, combined with a diet of take-out food helped see to that. When she wasn’t working, she tried to get some exercise in though.

During the trip back to the car, Amelia tried not to think about the warm, sturdy abdomen pressed against her back, or the pair of firm arms holding her up. By some miracle, they arrived at the rental before her mind ran totally out of control. She felt enough pain when standing and it kept her head in check. Sort of.

Amelia groaned.

“I seriously doubt you’ll be driving with a leg as sore as that. Have you got anyone to call?”

“No, all my family is back in Canada.” Surely it couldn’t be so bad that driving was out of the question?

The man said something in another language – Irish, she assumed – and shook his head, sighing. “Where are you headed?”

“South. Anywhere, really. Just exploring.” Amelia eyed the cars that kept going by as they edged closer to her rental. She didn’t think it pertinent to disclose the true nature of her round the country trip.

As if reading her mind, the man nodded. “Can’t stay here much longer. Besides, it’s not legal to park here. I’ll drive you somewhere to stay for the night and we’ll get your leg checked, aye?”

“Thanks,” she sighed, though he wouldn’t get her anywhere near a hospital. “I’m Amelia, by the way.”

Cautiously, he offered, “I’m Daniel. Let’s get you into the car.”

A voice called out in her head sounding too much like Nan’s. If her grandmother was here she would smack Amelia on the back of the head for being so thick-headed as to let this strange man into her car.

But she wasn’t here. Nan stayed behind while Amelia saw to everything here in Ireland. Bad enough that she had to do this trip on her own, never having been to the country before, but the urn sitting in the back seat of her rental made Poppa’s death all the more real.

Settled in the passenger seat, Amelia watched the great, hulking Daniel attempting to move the driver’s seat back. His legs were squashed up to the steering wheel column, making him look like a giant in a clown car.

After a minute of him muttering under his breath while sliding hands down the sides of the seat, Amelia giggled. She leaned across the console between them to show him where the controls were located. His thanks came in the form of a relieved sigh when she pointed to the buttons.

“Electric,” he mumbled as the chair slid backwards. “Times sure have changed.”

That was an odd comment.

She stuck her nose in. “What do you mean?”

Daniel’s head snapped to the left and he eyed her with extreme caution. “Eh, nothing.”

She planned on pressing the issue.

Amelia shut her eyes for a second.

Just a second.

She was so tired. No rest on a trans-Atlantic flight and hours spent in a lawyer’s office dragged her into exhaustion’s abyss. Shortly after her arrival in Dundalk, Amelia met with Poppa’s lawyers to discuss his will. Nan said she couldn’t come back. She wanted to stay in Canada, said she couldn’t face Ireland without her husband.

Amelia would never see his smile again – the one that made his pale green eyes sparkle – or hear his laughter, feel his warm embrace. The man she regarded as her father was gone and all the money in the world couldn’t bring him back.

The lawyer gave her a list of properties Nan and Poppa owned, with instructions on what he wanted done with them. Nan didn’t want to have any ties to them, so Amelia transferred the account into her name and each set of tenants would pay rent into it.

From there, she would see that Nan got the money into an account in Canada. However, the final place on the list, a cottage up in the north of Ireland, near Malin Head, was a gift for her. This would be the last stop on her travels and depending on the state of the place, Amelia had a decision to make; set the cottage up as a permanent residence, or save it for a holiday home.

“Here we are.”

“What?” She rubbed her sleep-heavy lids then looked around. Amelia saw a sign for Blackrock Bed & Breakfast. A quaint little stone cottage painted white and green, with a perfect view of the sea.

How fitting for her very first night in Ireland, she mused. Poppa would have loved it. That thought alone brought forth a sluice of hot, stinging tears. Tears she didn’t want to shed in front of a stranger.