Alert: (Michael Bennett 8) Read Free

she sees you come down these stairs, we’ll need the coroner!”
    “Oh, please, Mary Catherine. It’s the twenty-first century,” I said. “She’s a grown woman.”
    “A grown woman? She’s an eighty-year-old Tipperary nun! It’s the thirteenth century to her every day! And the coroner won’t be for her! Out the window and into the backyard. Now!”
    “Out the what? It’s the second floor!” I cried.
    “Hang-jump it. I’ve done it before. You’ll be fine. Do it now!”
    We heard a door come open downstairs.
    “Mary Catherine? Are ye here?” came a voice.
    Mary Catherine shoved me toward the window.
    “I’m not going out that window in my boxers, Mary Catherine. That’s nuts.”
    “Get!” she scream-whispered at me, and then suddenly I was hanging off the windowsill, letting just about everything hang out in the rainy breeze. For a moment. My hand slipped, and I landed on my bare feet with a squish in a muddy lettuce garden. I was barely able to catch the pair of jeans that flew out the window after me, followed a second later by my shirt, Top-Siders, and bag.
    “Close your eyes, ladies,” I said as I ran into the clucking henhouse at the other side of the garden with my bundled clothes.
    I’d just gotten my jeans buttoned and my muddy feet into my shoes when I heard Mary Catherine open the back door.
    “Oh, yes, Sister. The hotel was nice enough to drop him off about ten minutes ago,” I heard Mary Catherine say. “He said he was going to take a little walk. He has to be around here somewhere.”
    “Hey, everybody!” I said as I finally tucked in my shirt and stepped out of the henhouse. “Wow, you’re right, Mary Catherine. Those are some real nice chickens in there. Shiny…eh…coats on them and impressive…beaks.”
    I turned to Mary Catherine’s aunt. She was about five one and stocky. The expression on her face seemed to indicate that she didn’t suffer fools well. Which was unfortunate, because she was about to be spending some time with me.
    “Hi—I’m Mike,” I said. “You must be Sister Terese.”
    The little old woman, wearing a plain, light-blue dress that matched her eyes, looked even more skeptical as we shook hands. Nothing new there. Skepticism was pretty much par for the course with me.
    “Mr. Bennett,” she said sternly. “If yer all done with the…chickens, I’ll be waiting fer ye in the car.”
    Mary Catherine grabbed me and kissed me as soon as the nun was out of sight. I kissed her back even harder, if that were possible.
    “I’m not getting on that plane, Mary Catherine,” I said, finally letting go. “I don’t care. I’ll quit my job. I’m staying here.”
    But it was too late. Mary Catherine was already running back to the house. The door slammed, and it was just me, the stupid Yank, standing in the rain in the lonely gravel farmyard.

PART ONE

OFF THE RAILS
     

CHAPTER 1
     
    UP, UP, AND reluctantly away four hours later, I sat mid-cabin in my Aer Lingus flight’s Airbus A330 feeling pretty darn sorry for myself.
    Forgoing the movie on the little TV in the seat back in front of me, I leaned my forehead against the cold plastic window, staring at the rags of dirty clouds and the gray North Atlantic sailing away beneath the long, slender wing.
    What I had said to Mary Catherine still held very much true. I did not want to be on this plane. Not without her. Not after the previous week. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the wind in her hair atop that white-rock cliff. The moonlight on the curve of her back in those cold farmhouse rooms night after night.
    I mean, was my brain broken? No matter the complications, parting just didn’t make sense. You flew toward a woman like that. Not away.
    This plane is heading in the wrong damn direction, I thought, shaking my head as I squinted down at the gray sea and sky.
    I was going into my pocket for some gum I’d bought at the Shannon duty-free shop to ease the ratcheting pressure in my ears when I found