The Writer Enunciates
Yet in another taxi, I had the time to ponder the questions I was going to ask him, and sort them out from the ones I was afraid to ask him – which are probably what I’m going to end up asking anyway.
That didn’t make much sense, did it? I didn’t think so.
“Scooter, be quiet,” I whispered when he started biting at the grille. I could understand his grief – I hadn’t enjoyed the flight at all, and my heart was practically lodged in my throat.
And my stomach…let’s not even go there.
“Is it far from here?” Raine asked, watching the green scenery whiz past the windows.
“Just a little more ways out,” I sighed, closing my eyes. “Dad lives in Dunshaughlin.”
“He lives in who – din?”
“Dun – shaw – glin.”
“I assume by ‘a little ways out’ you mean…”
“I mean a good two, four hour drive.”
Raine sat back and groaned.
“Get used to it. Ireland’s big.” I found myself grinning in spite of the way I was feeling.
This could prove to be fun yet.