Casting Off by Nicole R. Dickson

Author:Nicole R. Dickson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

CHAPTER 23

Double Zigzag/ Moss Stitch Between

Double Zigzag/Moss Stitch Between. 1. A double zigzag with the moss stitch pattern knitted between them. 2. Seeing someone as forever through the eyes of love.

—R. Dirane, A Binding Love

The motorcycle made its way very slowly toward the ferry. Tourists were out in force, and to avoid hitting them Fionn had to drive carefully. Rebecca did not like motorcycles and never had—a gift from her father. Never was she to ride on a motorcycle. So sitting on one now and thinking of crossing all of Ireland to Dublin on it set her stomach churning.

“Fionn, let me off at the ferry. I’ll find another way.”

“Only three ferry runs on Sunday, and then you’d have to catch a bus from Doolin. It’ll take a long time to get to Dublin and it’ll cost you. Your grant was small, remember? Couldn’t stop over in Dublin from the beginning.”

“I hate motorcycles. They’re dangerous.”

“Like curraghs on the ocean?”

“Hey! Fionn!” a voice called from up ahead.

Rebecca peered over Fionn’s shoulder and saw Iollan standing on the deck of his boat at the far end of the docks. The motorcycle passed the empty ferry pier and sped up. As they drew closer, Rebecca could see a metal plank lying between the dock and the fishing boat.

“Hold on,” Fionn said, and with that he took a sharp left up the plank and onto the boat. He stopped the motorcycle at Iollan’s feet.

“Becky! Good ta see ya!” Iollan said in greeting, grinning from ear to ear.

“Thanks,” Rebecca muttered.

“Cast off!”

A young man who looked no older than seventeen untied the mooring line and tossed it up to Iollan. Then the boy jumped from the deck onto the thirty-foot trawler and with Fionn’s help pulled the heavy metal plank onto the boat. Fionn and Iollan then secured the motorcycle to the side of the boat, where, to Rebecca’s astonishment, there appeared to be a spot made just for it.

“You ride this boat often?” Rebecca asked Fionn.

“It’s how I get to the island.”

“You don’t take the ferry?”

“Nah, I come through Galway, not Doolin.”

“Why?”

“Because I dock at Galway,” Iollan replied.

Rebecca shrugged and glanced over her shoulder. At least she didn’t feel worried about Rowan. She was ready to trust that her daughter would be happy and safe sleeping overnight with her new best friend. She had her own worries now.

“I’ll catch a bus in Galway,” she said to Fionn as the trawler left its mooring. Sighing, she walked away from him and Iollan. On the port side of the boat she found a bench, and there she sat, wondering how it was that she had come to the island to be still, to figure out her life, and to write a book but ended up doing things she didn’t want to do—things that had nothing to do with her goals. She liked the people she had met and she liked helping them—helping in the pub, helping with the Dam Mad Situation, and promising to help a priest preserve his old textiles.

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