the shower to find our room empty. I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and head downstairs to find Rhys brooding at the kitchen table; his laptop fired up, his furious fingers flying across the keys. He looks up at me like a man possessed, yet, in an instant, I watch him slip his mask on. The emotion leaves his face replaced with that practiced smile and dull, unconvincing light behind his eyes.
“Are you ready for a scenic drive this morning, Sophie? It’s time to check on the investments.”
“Oh yes!” I can’t hold back my excitement. I have always wanted to travel, always wanted to explore, and now I have my Rhys as a guide? What could be better? Perhaps his mood, but I’m sure we can solve that. Whatever it is, we will squash it and I will soak up every moment like the last rays of the sun. A small smile breaks his mask and I know his mood can, and will, turn. “But, you shouldn’t be working.”
“This isn’t work, Sophie, this is family.”
We drive through the countryside, floating over emerald hills dotted with sheep. The land is cut into swaths, defined by old rock walls that look as if they could fall at any moment, yet appear to have been standing for centuries. We coast along the River Shannon and watch as narrow estuaries become so wide we lose sight of the opposite bank. Ruins blend into the landscape; the hard gray shell of a life gone by seems to be perched atop every hill. We turn away from the river and head north into a barren landscape. Barren outcroppings and ancient Dolmens guard the alien land and a great rocky expanse stretches out before us.
“This is the Burren, ever heard of it?” he asks. As we slow, he points to an outcropping a few yards ahead. A massive slab of granite is precariously perched atop two narrow legs. “They say they are the graves of giants. Around here, we were always taught they were portals, but to where, we were never allowed to know.” He looks over at me with a forced smile. “We can come back if you’d like, walk around, and get a bit closer.”
“What was that phone call about?” He looks straight ahead, no emotion betrayed.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” His mouth is set in a hard line.
“Rhys, stop keeping things from me. Talk to me, please.” A deep sigh marks his partial resignation.
“It was a reporter, Sophie, wanting a story.” Shaking his head, he reaches over and grabs my hand. “Can we please not talk about it?” I want to talk about it. What story? I am tired of always feeling like I am in the dark, but I can see in the set of his jaw that he really doesn’t want to broach the subject any further, and I decide to revisit.
“Where are we going?” We crest a deep green hill and come to look upon a wide, spread valley with the rolling river meandering across the landscape, in the distance I can see the mist rising from what must be a waterfall or rapids, and on the other side of the river sits a long, stone building. As we get closer, I notice the letters SFS written in contrasting color roof tiles topping the building. I look over to Rhys only to catch him smiling for the first time all day. He is beaming. We come to stop in front of the main building; craggy gray stones that look hundreds of years old, arched windows with aged wooden shutters freshly painted a bright green to match the landscape, and tall smoke stacks with pyres of pure white steam rising into the clear blue sky.
He holds my hand as we walk the length of the building to a wide barn door that sits half open. He pulls the heavy doors open to reveal an expansive space filled by copper kettles surrounded by cat walks and scaffolding.
“Are you ready for a scenic drive this morning, Sophie? It’s time to check on the investments.”
“Oh yes!” I can’t hold back my excitement. I have always wanted to travel, always wanted to explore, and now I have my Rhys as a guide? What could be better? Perhaps his mood, but I’m sure we can solve that. Whatever it is, we will squash it and I will soak up every moment like the last rays of the sun. A small smile breaks his mask and I know his mood can, and will, turn. “But, you shouldn’t be working.”
“This isn’t work, Sophie, this is family.”
We drive through the countryside, floating over emerald hills dotted with sheep. The land is cut into swaths, defined by old rock walls that look as if they could fall at any moment, yet appear to have been standing for centuries. We coast along the River Shannon and watch as narrow estuaries become so wide we lose sight of the opposite bank. Ruins blend into the landscape; the hard gray shell of a life gone by seems to be perched atop every hill. We turn away from the river and head north into a barren landscape. Barren outcroppings and ancient Dolmens guard the alien land and a great rocky expanse stretches out before us.
“This is the Burren, ever heard of it?” he asks. As we slow, he points to an outcropping a few yards ahead. A massive slab of granite is precariously perched atop two narrow legs. “They say they are the graves of giants. Around here, we were always taught they were portals, but to where, we were never allowed to know.” He looks over at me with a forced smile. “We can come back if you’d like, walk around, and get a bit closer.”
“What was that phone call about?” He looks straight ahead, no emotion betrayed.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” His mouth is set in a hard line.
“Rhys, stop keeping things from me. Talk to me, please.” A deep sigh marks his partial resignation.
“It was a reporter, Sophie, wanting a story.” Shaking his head, he reaches over and grabs my hand. “Can we please not talk about it?” I want to talk about it. What story? I am tired of always feeling like I am in the dark, but I can see in the set of his jaw that he really doesn’t want to broach the subject any further, and I decide to revisit.
“Where are we going?” We crest a deep green hill and come to look upon a wide, spread valley with the rolling river meandering across the landscape, in the distance I can see the mist rising from what must be a waterfall or rapids, and on the other side of the river sits a long, stone building. As we get closer, I notice the letters SFS written in contrasting color roof tiles topping the building. I look over to Rhys only to catch him smiling for the first time all day. He is beaming. We come to stop in front of the main building; craggy gray stones that look hundreds of years old, arched windows with aged wooden shutters freshly painted a bright green to match the landscape, and tall smoke stacks with pyres of pure white steam rising into the clear blue sky.
He holds my hand as we walk the length of the building to a wide barn door that sits half open. He pulls the heavy doors open to reveal an expansive space filled by copper kettles surrounded by cat walks and scaffolding.
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