Cotton and Wool
The air was heavy and her tongue felt thick. Her throat felt as if she had swallowed cotton or a cotton boll. Her head was playing a low percussive beat. It did not hurt exactly, unless she tried to move it off center with anything approaching a normal speed of responsiveness. She had discovered this very unpleasant sharp pain that shot up the back of her neck and into her eyebrows when the mistress of the house had asked her how she would like her eggs, and turning to answer, she was pierced through. She managed to answer croakingly, acutely aware of her bloodshot eyes and the traumatized look on her face which surely gave away how she had spent her evening the night before.
Did she really drink an entire bottle of wine on her own? Surely not. The barkeep would certainly not have kept pouring in a quantity that was certain to put her more than in her cups. She was fairly certain that she had never been more than just a bit tipsy. If this was a hangover, she mused, then she was certain she would never want to be drunk again. She wondered for a moment why anyone would take to drink if this was the aftermath. But the effort of thinking caused her brain to seize up and crackle with little shoots of pain like a wounded puppy. Apparently it had a mind of its own. This thought made her laugh, which in turn made her wince, which in turn made her laugh again. Realizing that this was a pattern destined to create nothing of value, she carefully took a sip of her tea and calmed her mind. She pulled up pictures of her garden at home, the azaleas and gardenias in bloom. She let the picture form and ease away some of the tension.
Her breakfast arrived and she nibbled on some toast dipped in the fresh hot egg yolk. She barely tasted it. She reached into her bag and pulled out her small emergency kit. It did not contain much, some alcohol swab packets, bandaids, antacids and, wonder of wonders, aspirin. She dropped two into her hand and took them with her juice. Then methodically ate her toast, tea and bacon. She knew she should try and get the egg down, but it just wasn't going to happen. She cleared her table and helped herself to another cup of tea. Sipping the tea, she checked her phone. Still no message from Lin. She was beginning to worry. It was after eight in the morning, surely Lin was up and about by now. She tried calling her but the call did not ring through. She was either out of range or out of battery.
Fiona took her cup and moved to the little alcove that served as a sitting room-cum-library for the guests. She would have to wait it out. As she did so, she began to rerun the prior day through her head. She felt the warm rush of the night's starry ending and sighed. She was a lucky woman in so many ways. She thought again of what Darby had said. What did he mean about hounds and dogs and history and family? She knew that somehow that message could help her unravel part of this messed-up mystery. She just could not see how.
She put the cup and saucer on the kitchen cart and went upstairs. She gathered what little she had with her, as most of her belongings were in the car where Roary and Lin had parked before they took the ferry over. It was a good thing that she always carried the essentials, toothbrush and paste, comb, etc. with her in her backpack, she mused. She put on her coat and, thanking the lady of the house, she let herself out. The day was clear and bright. With no particular idea of where she might be heading, Fiona walked into the little village. She made her way around to the sprinkling of shops and down by the ferry. She read the sign for times of crossing. Well, according to the sign, they should be on their way back soon. She took out a note pad and paper and found a convenient rock to perch on. She would just be there when they arrived.
Lin was more than a bit put out when she realized that she was not going to be able to call her mother before they got on the ferry. As it was, they barely made the first one on time. Of course that might have been different if they had taken the bus into town, but they had both agreed to hike in rather than deal with the oddness of being the first persons to board for a return from the Dun in the early morning hours. It was odd, she thought, how little tension there was between them. She would have thought that somehow last night would have tightened the bow string between them. It felt more like the opposite. Roary seemed at ease with not acknowledging that anything had occurred, and that certainly was something that made her comfortable. It would be best for all concerned if they left that moment on the Isle. Something like "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" - only Aran Island style. Still, all in all, it was not something she would choose to forget either. It was just a complication that did not need to be there. She glanced up at him and found him looking at her. There it was again, that clear blue gaze that had her wondering if he was looking straight through her as if she was merely a window. She could not think of any reason that transparency would be of any great value at this particular moment in time. Blinking, she pulled her eyes away and put herself into a faster trot. They needed to catch the ferry. She needed to find her mother. They all needed to find the boys.
Roary was both pained and amused by Lin as the morning progressed. She was so clearly leaving their moment behind here. He would have liked to talk about it, but he could sense that she was not open to discussion. How could he make it clear to her that leaving the moment here was not actually possible? They took themselves and their memories wherever they traveled. This memory would go with them too. And as they were traveling together, it was likely to stay in the forefront. Well, it would for him, definitely, and he suspected it would for her too. He was no fool; he knew that finding the solution and getting the boys back would be and had to be her primary focus. "But the fire, aye, the fire, it would heat up the room when left untended and that is the part she doesna' get," he mumbled to himself.
"What?"
"Just that I think we made it jus' in time," he muttered a bit louder. Then he strode ahead of her to pay the fare.
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