I take the exit for the M50, relaxing when we finally hit the highway. According to the GPS, it’s pretty much straight all the way from here until we reach Kilcoole.
“Don’t worry about Dil,” Ro says, the smile dropping off his face. “He knows how to take care of himself.”
“He drank a lot last night, and he’d probably be over the limit if the police stopped him.” I’m glad I switched to water early in the night. My head and my stomach thank me for it. I knew I was driving today, and I didn’t want to turn up to Ash’s house looking like something from a zombie movie.
“You seem very concerned about him all of a sudden. Last night, you could barely look at each other.” I feel his eyes boring a hole in the side of my face. “Did something happen between you at Croke Park?”
“We had a difference of opinion, and some harsh words were spoken.” I shrug, tossing my hair over one shoulder. “It’s no biggie.”
“If you say so,” he sulkily replies, turning his head and staring out the window.
Switching the radio on, I keep the volume low so we don’t wake our Sleeping Beauty. We are both quiet as we drive. While I know Ronan is irritated, I’m not prepared to have a conversation about our feelings when we’re en route to his house. However, his reaction reminds me I need to have that talk with him soon.
Ash wakes when we take the exit for Kilcoole, yawning loudly as she stretches her arms out over her head.
“How do you feel?” I ask, looking at her through the mirror.
“A little more human.”
“You just need to get some of Ma’s famous roast beef in ya and you’ll feel better.” Ro pokes his head through the gap in the console to look at his sister.
“Gawd.” Ash rubs her tummy. “The thought of eating turns my stomach.”
“Jesus!” I exclaim, slamming on the brakes as a silver and black motorcycle overtakes me just as I’m due to take a left turn. The loud rumbling of the engine accelerates when the motorcycle picks up speed, tilting dangerously to one side as it cuts a sharp corner, racing ahead of us in a scary display of recklessness.
“Fucking Dillon,” Ash fumes. “If he kills himself on that thing, Mum will lose it.”
“He’s a bloody show-off,” Ro scoffs.
Passing no remark, I follow the narrow winding roads, driving past rows of tall trees and overgrown shrubbery and bumping along uneven asphalt, until we come to a property bordered by high stonewashed walls.
“Take a right through those gates,” Ronan instructs, pointing across me.
I navigate my SUV easily through the wide-open wrought-iron gates, following the long driveway that cuts across massive fields, bypassing impressively large greenhouses. “I thought your farm was a dairy farm,” I say, driving slowly as I spot the two-story farmhouse in the distance.
“It is,” Ash confirms, “but when Shane graduated with his agricultural degree five years ago, he took over as business manager, and he has made a lot of changes.”
“Diversification is critical for a lot of farmers today,” Ro continues explaining. “Now we grow organic vegetables and fruit, and we’re one of a growing number of flower farmers in Ireland.”
“Shane is your eldest brother. He’s the one getting married soon, right?” I’ve tried to memorize all the names, and who does what, so I don’t embarrass myself today.
“Someone’s been doing her homework,” Ro teases.
“I have,” I readily admit, easing my foot off the accelerator as we approach the big rustic stone farmhouse. Pulling the car into a spot beside Dillon’s motorcycle, I kill the engine. A few other cars are parked in front of the house, confirming the whole family is here for dinner. Wetting my suddenly dry lips, I rub my clammy hands down the front of my knee-length dress, willing my nerves to disappear.
Ronan hops out as a little girl with bouncing brown curls and big blue eyes comes bounding out of the house, quickly followed by two large dogs. The dogs instantly start barking when Ronan scoops his niece into his arms, burying his head in her tummy.
“Welcome to the madhouse,” Ash says, climbing out of the back seat as I slide from behind the wheel. She loops her arm in mine. “Don’t worry. We don’t bite. Expect tons of questions because my family are a bunch of nosy fuckers. My dad will have his head buried in The Irish Farmer’s Journal, Mum will pile your plate with food and insist you take seconds, and the boys will be rude arseholes because they just can’t help themselves.”