Free An Open Book by Sheila Connolly Page B

toward the brightly
     lit kitchen at the end of the hallway. Maura hesitated, then followed.
    In the kitchen, Ellen said, “The three of you, eat up now. This is Maura, come all
     the way from America. Maura, this is Kevin, Sean, and Patrick, and the baby’s Gráinne.
     Kevin’s ten, Sean eight, Patrick seven, and Gráinne’s not yet two.” The children looked
     up briefly, then returned their attention to their fish sticks. Maura guessed that
     strangers held no particular interest for them: if Ellen welcomed a succession of
     guests, no doubt they’d seen their fair share.
    “Gráinne?” Maura asked, confused. It sounded like “grawn-ya,” and she’d never heard
     it before.
    Ellen laughed. “Of course, you wouldn’t know it. It’s a girl’s name here, and Gráinne’s
     my little darling. I’m so glad she turned out to be a girl, after this lot.” She smiled
     affectionately at the children around the table. “Boys, I’ll be showing Miss Donovan
     here the room, below. I’ll only be a minute. Kevin, you keep an eye on the little
     ones.” Ellen turned back to Maura. “It’s downstairs, at the back. Kevin’s the only
     one sleeps down there, but he’ll be no trouble. He’s a quiet one. Shall I show you
     now?”
    “Please,” Maura said. The idea of a space of her own—with a bed—was becoming more
     and more appealing with every passing moment. She snagged her bags from the hall and
     followed her hostess down a flight of stairs and around a corner. Ellen pulled a key
     out of her pocket and opened the hall door, ushering Maura into a midsized room with
     one double bed and one single tucked in the other corner.
    “The bath’s at the back,” Ellen said, “and you can hang your clothes in the cabinet
     there. I’ll push the heat up a bit, now you’re here. Do you know how long you’ll be
     needing the room?”
    “I . . . don’t really know. A week? And I guess I have to ask how much you’ll be charging?”
    Ellen cocked her head at Maura. “The off-season rate is 250 euros a week. Does that
     suit you?”
    Maura tried to translate euros to dollars and thought that came out to something like
     forty-five dollars a night—if she was right, that certainly sounded reasonable. She
     could work it out later, and she hoped Ellen would be fair. She desperately craved
     sleep. “Sure, that’s fine. Listen, I’ll let you get back to your kids. But is there
     someplace I can get something to eat?”
    “There’s the hotel―it’s the closest. You look dead on your feet. Why not get a bite
     there tonight, and I’ll tell you about some other places in the morning. You’ll be
     wanting the full breakfast?”
    “What’s that?” Maura asked.
    Ellen laughed. “And you a good Irish girl! It’s everything you can fit on a plate—eggs,
     streaky bacon, good Clonakilty sausage, beans, mushrooms, and more. It comes with
     the price of the room.”
    “It sounds wonderful,” Maura said, overwhelmed. Maybe with a breakfast like that she
     wouldn’t need to eat the rest of the day. She should try it, at least once, on her
     first day. “Thank you.”
    “Grand.” Ellen handed her a set of keys for the room and the front door, and hurried
     back up the way they’d come, where the sounds from the kitchen had increased in volume.
     Once Ellen was gone, Maura carefully closed the door and surveyed her temporary home.
     It was clean and tidy, more practical than elegant. She checked out the tiny bathroom
     and splashed water on her face, then sat down on the bed: it felt comfortable, and
     there were plenty of pillows and blankets. She lay down, just for a moment . . .
    Maura woke some time later to pitch dark. Real dark; cut-it-with-a-knife dark. And
     there was no noise: no cars passing, no airplanes overhead, no distant sirens. Where
     was she? Oh, right: Ireland. She was in a small town her grandmother had never said
     a word about. All her life Gran had kept quiet about where she had