Janna King

BRINN OF DILLON

In my dreams, there is water. It’s night and a girl sits naked on rocks where seagulls sleep around her. Her body is still gangly and small, her dark hair windblown and salty. Her name is Fionnuala. Seals circle the water around her. They are gray, round, voluptuous. They each have their own name, and the girl can easily distinguish one from another. One seal, Eibhilín, raises her head and stares with her deep brown eyes at the girl. Then she and the rest of the seals swim away. Fionnuala plunges into the sea; she is underwater, with eyes open, in search of a new life.

The alarm clock rang. Brinn waited for Derrick to reach out and turn it off. As predictable as the rain in spring, his fingers pushed the snooze button. He turned over, dragging the sheets with him. His eyes slowly opened and he stretched his arm up, eventually resting it on Brinn’s stomach. As she brushed her fingers through his light brown hair, she suddenly remembered.

“Damn,” she said, already crawling over Derrick to get out of bed. “I forgot I said I’d help out Maeve early today. Some Americans are coming and we’re already nearly completely booked for the week.”

She stumbled her way to the adjoining lavatory. She came out a few minutes later wearing a green jumper and black trousers. Heeled boots to add a few needed inches and a ponytail came next. Employees of the bed and breakfast were required to put their hair back, a rule much disliked by Brinn. The final touch was the simple sapphire ring Derrick had bought her for her twentieth birthday several months ago.

Derrick stood waiting in his shirt and jocks as Brinn finished getting ready. “I may not see you before I go.”

They kissed and his eyelashes brushed against the fingers she placed on his cheek. “You’ll be back soon,” she said, mostly as a reminder to herself. She could handle days alone, but she was not good with Derrick-less nights.

“Give my mobile a buzz if you need to. I left you my aunt and uncle’s number as well.”

She nodded, taking her hand back. She left the room and walked down a flight of stairs, her heels clicking against the wood. She entered the kitchen. Everything was white, from the painted stone walls to the refrigerator. Maeve stood there, her pinny tied hastily around her large, doughy body. Regan, with a young curvy figure, strong arms, and black hair swept neatly up into a bun, was frying eggs on the cooker.

“Sorry, I only just woke up,” Brinn said.

“It’s all right, dear,” Maeve said. “Just fry some sausages and bacon please.” She scurried off into the breakfast room. Maeve was always scurrying.

“How was your date last night?” Brinn asked Regan.

“Oh, he was delicious,” she said, grasping Brinn’s arm. “Really top shelf. But he’s thirty-three. Y’know yourself, I have a thing for older men, but it never works out. I’m beginning to think I should spare myself the pain. But guys our age are such tossers.” Regan sighed dramatically. “Except yours, of course. How’s Derrick anyway?”

“He’s visiting his aunt and uncle in Wicklow for three days.”

“So we’re going to the pub tonight?” Regan smiled.

“Of course we are. That’s the only consolation when he goes away. Getting plastered without feeling guilty.” Derrick hated when Brinn got drunk. When they went to the pub, she felt like a mother was watching her, making sure she didn’t order too many drinks. Maeve hadn’t interfered that much, but Brinn felt maybe if she had been her real mother and not just someone she checked as her “guardian” on forms, she would have pried more.

Sometimes in my dreams the naked girl is no longer a girl. She has curves and breasts. She swims in the oceans with her eyes shut. She feels as if she’s drowning, but she never runs out of air. She is always just drifting like a jellyfish. Sometimes the seal Eibhilín passes her, but Fionnuala avoids the stare of her brown eyes.

At one in the afternoon, the two Americans arrived. They were best friends, literature students traveling for the summer. Jessica, with her curly red hair and pale Irish skin, was interested in folklore and mythology, so she and the blonde Chloe were visiting several countries in Europe, trying to find information for her senior project. They were conversational and friendly, eager to learn about Irish culture and folklore.

“I don’t like them,” Brinn said. “Pass me the cleaning solution?”

“Why not? They seem nice.” Regan handed Brinn the bottle from on top of the dresser, then continued tucking in the sheets of a guest’s bed.

“I don’t know. They’re just….” She gave up trying to formulate an answer and went to the next bedroom, knocked on the door, then unlocked it and went in.

“You’re just overly critical and antisocial,” Regan called from the other room.

“Thanks,” Brinn called back.

“Seriously, I’m just glad you’re out of the Gavin phase.” Regan leaned against the door, sticking her hip out.

“Ah now, lay off your brother. He’s not so bad.”

“He thinks he’s the cat’s pyjamas when he hasn’t done anything with his life. Anyway, the point is, you’re not all punked out and pissed off anymore. All that black didn’t suit you.”

“You wear black all the time,” Brinn said.

“Yes, but it suits me, bird,” Regan grinned.

I was an angry teenager. I wore eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and black clothes. I got my nose pierced and furiously gelled my hair to keep the waves out. Maeve didn’t say anything. She knew I had plenty of reasons to be screwed up. She would ask me about school, but she didn’t press on social matters. I had no friends, but I did make fairly good marks; it didn’t require a lot of effort at my school.

Something about rock singers always makes me notice their wrists; the way their hands are attached to their arms as they grip the microphone on its stand. Gavin Kerr had thin, graceful wrists. He also had spiky black hair, passionate green eyes, several rings in each ear plus one in his eyebrow, and a voice that ripped up my heart. He sang and played guitar and was from my town, but I never knew him that well because he was three years older. I hadn’t known he was in a band, let alone such a great one. I got up my courage once and talked to him for a while after the show. He was very nice, not a prick at all like some rock musicians. After that, when I went to his concerts, I caught him looking at me while he sang. I’d always been an outcast, a strange creature to be gossiped about in our small town. But Gavin understood me, as well as any person could.

Jessica and Chloe had slept all afternoon, tired from traveling. That evening they asked Regan and Brinn, who were getting ready to head out, for restaurant recommendations.

“Well, the only place right here is the pub. It’s mostly drinks, but they have fish and chips and the like,” Regan said.

“That sounds fine,” Chloe said, a famished look in her eyes. “We just want something nearby and simple.”

“How about we walk you there? We were just going out for drinks,” said Regan.

Brinn wished she could scowl like she used to when she was younger, not giving a damn what people thought. But now she felt such politeness was necessary, especially when they were your guests. Regan could call her antisocial, but she just didn’t think it was fair. They were supposed to be having a girls night out while her boyfriend was away. Now she’d have to share the night with strangers.

I was snogging Gavin in his bedroom when a girl walked in. She looked a bit like him, black hair and passionate eyes, although hers were blue and behind dark-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a short skirt and her hair was up in a bun. I recognized her from being a year ahead of me in school.

“Gav, I’m—!” Gavin’s sister waited for us to untwine. “—home.”

“Regan!” Gavin jumped up from the bed. He looked like a little dog, not a rock star god. He embraced her. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d come home for the weekend. I need a break from uni.”

“Oh,” he said, looking over at me, “this is Brinn. Brinn, this is my baby sister, Regan.”

I smiled from the bed. “How are you?”

She smiled back, but I could tell she didn’t think much of me. I imagined she thought I was some young twit, just another band groupie. But she didn’t know anything.

At the end of the summer I tried to break up with Gavin. I was going away to the University of Limerick in a month so I figured I might as well end it then. He was wonderful, but I didn’t think either of us were dedicated enough to sustain a long distance relationship. Well, I mainly didn’t think he was. When I told him, he said he thought we should stay together, that it would work out. His sister Regan and I became friends. She was a year older than I was, sophisticated but wild. She only dated older men and wished she could leave the country. She wanted to live in Paris; she loved French accents. Regan was a big city girl who happened to be brought up in one of the tiniest towns in Ireland.

In the pub, they all sat together at a table in a corner of the smoky room walled with rich dark wood. The usual locals were there, mostly middle-aged men, as well as several teenagers. The Americans described their experience in Europe, which had only been England and Dublin so far, but was filled with museum trips and conversations with locals. Brinn ordered a fourth beer. She noticed that Regan’s dark red lipstick left marks on her glass, like evidence from a murder mystery.

“I’ve always loved stories about selkies,” Jessica was saying. “I used to have a picture book about them when I was a kid. Seals taking off their skin, revealing people underneath, dancing on the rocks. And then always the human man who falls in love at first sight with one of the selkie women and steals her seal skin. For a selkie is nothing without her skin, and must go with the man to live on land and become his wife.”

Regan piped in. “Then years later, one of their children finds the skin that the man has hidden. He shows it to his mother, and she puts it on and swims out into the ocean and never returns. Because once a selkie has found her skin, nothing can stop her from returning to the sea, not even the love for her husband and children.”

“Right,” Jessica said, smiling, one crooked tooth showing. “Except in my picture book, the selkie brings her son with her to show him her underwater kingdom first. A modern twist maybe.”

“You think any of the men actually married those selkies?” Brinn asked.

“Sorry, what?” Jessica pushed some of her red locks behind her ear.

“Why would they bother to marry them? Just fuck and run. That’s all they fucking want.”

“You know when Brinn says fuck repeatedly, she’s had a drink too many,” Regan explained, smirking.

Brinn watched the Americans laugh uncomfortably. Tired of listening to their discussion, tired of looking at their tight faces and sleepy eyes, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. A traditional Irish tune was playing, full out deedle-di-dee. Joe Mullan, the bartender, preferred this to the pop music his younger customers wanted to hear.

“I’m exhausted,” Chloe said, propping up her head in her hands, her short blonde hair falling in her face.

“Me too,” Jessica says. “It’s all this traveling, plus we’re still not used to the time difference.”

“Oh, you two should go back to the B-and-B and get some sleep,” Regan said. “I think we’ll stay here a bit longer.” With some goodbyes, the Americans left the pub tired and buzzed from Guinness. “Brinn, bird.”

“Fucking what fuck? Fuck.”

“Well, it’s true. You never say that unless you’re plastered.” Brinn heard Regan take a sip of her drink. “Want to go home?”

“No. In a minute. I want to hear the end of this song.”

“Want to have a sleepover at my house?”

“And you say I’m the drunk one?”

“Yes. And I’m the childish one. But really, I thought you might want to stay overnight at my house since Derrick’s gone.”

“Fine. Let’s strike off.” Brinn opened her eyes. The light, even if it was dim, hurt. Regan had lit up a cigarette. A “no smoking” sign was posted right behind her. Brinn wished she had a camera.

Eibhilín swims with the rest of the seals to the rocks. The moon urges them up to land. They glide out of their skin, spread their fingers and toes. They hear the moon’s music and begin to dance. Arms twist upwards, feet balance on tiptoes. Eibhilín has long, dark, wavy hair and a sweet, innocent face. The music within her is so strong she doesn’t even hear the boat’s paddles in the water behind her.

Brinn woke up on a mattress on the floor. At first unsure of where she was, she looked around. There were black and white photographs of hard-bodied men and women, posters of artwork, a dresser with perfume bottles and jewelry. Regan’s room. She got up, only to have such a headache that she had to sit back down again. She wished Derrick were there to hold her. No matter how much he disapproved of Brinn getting drunk so often, he would always comfort her the mornings after, pulling her hair back as she vomited into the toilet or clutching her shaking hands.

Brinn stood up, smoothed down her skirt, and put on her knee-high boots that were lying by the bed. She headed toward the kitchen in search of Regan. A door opened in front of her suddenly and she reached out to the wall to balance herself. Gavin walked out in snug jeans and a black shirt; he was as gorgeous to her as when she’d dated him.

“Oh, hi there, Brinn,” he said. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Gavin, hi. Well, I guess I am. I mean, I’m a bit hung over. So… I probably shouldn’t speak.”

Gavin smiled. “Good call. I have a gig next weekend. You and Derrick should come. You can say ‘yes’, right?”

“Yes,” she said, and they walked down the stairs to the kitchen. The counters literally sparkled from the obsessive cleaning of Regan and Gavin’s mother. Brinn wondered how she had time since she spent most of the day working as a teacher at a primary school an hour away. Their father was a carpenter who also often traveled far for his jobs, so Regan and Gavin had the house to themselves most days.

“Biscuits and juice!” Regan exclaimed, holding up the goods on a tray. “Perfect hangover remedy.”

Brinn slunk into a seat. Gavin reached over and grabbed a biscuit.

“Bugger off, they’re for Brinn,” Regan said, slapping his hand. Gavin held tight, though, and took a bite. “Troublemaker.”

Brinn was dying of thirst, so she took an orange juice. “I had crazy dreams last night.”

“About what?” Regan asked.

“Oh, I don’t remember. But I know I didn’t sleep peacefully.”

A human man grabs Eibhilín around her middle. His hands are rough against her slippery flesh. The other selkies take their seal skins and dive into the water, not even taking the time to put them on. Eibhilín knows she should be afraid of the human. But she finds him strangely handsome, and she reaches to touch his cheek. Little prickly hairs cover the bottom half of his face.

Eibhilín has heard the elders tell stories of human men stealing selkie women to be their wives on land. But after the rough man makes love to her, he steps down from the rocks and into his small motorboat. She watches him ride away. The other selkies will say she is lucky he didn’t take her away from the sea; she will always feel that she has missed out on something.

Dillon was mostly a strip of houses by the ocean. It also extended inland a ways, but since it was such a big fisherman town, that stretch was usually overlooked. The Americans were congregated on a sandy strip of beach as Brinn was walking home from Regan’s house. Chloe stooped down and dipped her fingers into the water, but drew them back quickly from the cold. She looked out of place with her blonde hair and tan skin. Brinn watched the two girls talk and laugh together for a minute and then headed into the bed and breakfast.

Maeve was at the computer in her office. Light from the window poured in and Brinn had to squint to see as she stood in the doorway. Maeve looked up.

“Were you at Regan’s?” she asked.

“I was,” Brinn said, leaning against the office doorway. “Do you need help with anything?”

“I’m fine, I’m just doing some paperwork,” Maeve replied, and Brinn was glad because she didn’t really feel like helping her. She left and walked up the stairs to her room. Picking up the phone, she proceeded to ring Derrick. He didn’t answer so she left a message on his voicemail.

“Hi there, it’s me. Nothing important, I just wanted to see how you were doing. Call me back, if you have time, or something.” She paused. “Well, cheers.”

Nine months after the man rides away in his boat, Eibhilín gives birth to a baby girl. She names her Fionnuala, meaning “fair shoulders.” Her skin is just that, as white as saltwater pearls. The other selkies are dismayed to find the baby is born without a seal skin. There is no way she can live in the ocean with them so they take turns staying with Fionnuala on the rocks. Eibhilín is flighty and self-centered; she doesn’t know what to do with a child, especially one with no seal skin. The seagulls keep her company, but Fionnuala can’t talk to them. She grows restless and lonely. She knows she doesn’t fit in in the selkie world, so she dreams of living with her father’s people, the humans. One day, Fionnuala thinks, she will swim to shore and join them.

After sleeping off some more of her hangover, Brinn was well-rested and wanting to get out of Dillon for a while. Her desire to leave town came often, something she and Regan shared. Brinn had no fond memories of the town she had lived in since age eight. She hadn’t had friends, not really, until her last year of secondary school, when she had started dating Gavin, and then befriended Regan. Even her times with Gavin weren’t always particularly happy, so it was only memories of her and Regan which brought her any pleasure when thinking of Dillon. Brinn rang her up.

“Let’s get out of town.”

Brinn walked to Regan’s house and from there Regan drove them in her red car for miles, passing the green fields and hills, no destination in mind. Brinn turned the radio to a rock station and looked silently out the window at the hedgerows and dairy cows.

“So what do you have in mind?” Regan asked, talking over the radio. She was dressed for a night out in a deep purple halter top and black jacket with black pants and heels. She had slightly shimmering purple eye shadow on her lids. Brinn, in comparison, did not look as ready for a club in her jeans and brown shirt.

“I don’t know,” Brinn said. “Just pubbing maybe.”

“Oh, come on,” Regan said, switching the station to pop music. “Let’s go dancing. You haven’t been in forever.”

“Because I’m not trying to pick anyone up.” Brinn reached to change the station back, but Regan slapped her hand.

“You don’t have to; it’ll be fun.” Regan bobbed her head up and down and shimmied her shoulders.

“Fine,” Brinn sighed. “You know, the last time I went to the club with you was right after I broke up with Gavin.”

“A celebratory occasion.”

“You tried to get every minger to chat me up.”

“They weren’t that bad.” Regan thought for a minute. “Well, most of them. Anyway, I won’t do that tonight. Honestly, Brinn, I do realize you have a boyfriend.”

When I arrived home during my first break from university, I was aching to see Gavin. I didn’t even mind having to face Dillon again; living in Limerick had given me enough distance to forgive the town its faults. I was excited to see Regan also, but our talks on the phone had become briefer and less frequent lately and I felt her losing interest in me, pulling away. Gavin and I still talked every other day or so.

When I got to town, I went straight to Gavin’s, before I even stopped in to see Maeve. He wasn’t at the house and his parents were at work as usual, but Regan was there and greeted me warmly enough, although with a reserve. She asked about university, how it was being apart from Gavin, if I was tempted by any other men. I said no, an attractive classmate coming to mind, then fading.

Gavin entered the house then, surprised to see me there already. We kissed and I told Regan I’d see her later as we headed up to his room.

After finding a black lacy bra on the floor, hidden partly under his bed, it was over. How could I be mad? I had known months ago it would happen.

Brinn and Regan drove to the largest town within a half hour. The downtown had a strip of pubs and clubs filled with young people. After parking the car on the street, they walked to the liquor store to buy some cheap alcohol first. They bought small naggins of vodka, Brinn downing her first in one gulp. Regan drank half of one, and stuck two in her bra.

“Careful they don’t fall out,” Brinn said, walking along the pavement past crowds of people.

“I’ll make sure I don’t dance too hard or recklessly,” Regan said, adjusting her bra, “and not let any guy try to feel up my knockers. Oh, this doesn’t sound fun anymore.”

Brinn snorted.

“Hey, we should have invited the American girls to come with us,” Regan said, entering a club. She showed the bouncer her ID, who glanced at it before letting them both through. The club was pounding with techno.

“Why?” Brinn shouted over the noise.

“I don’t know, to be friendly?” Regan shouted back, pulling Brinn through the crowd by the wrist.

They stood by the bar waiting to be served.

“You don’t have enough fun with me? Need to invite others along?” Brinn asked, joking, but not.

“Course not. But it’s nice to broaden your horizons sometimes. Isn’t that why we hate being stuck in Dillon? Same eejits all the time. These are Americans, they might be different.”

“They don’t seem different,” Brinn replied. To the bartender she said: “Two pints of Guinness please.”

Fionnuala is tired of being alone. The seals visit her less often now that she is old enough to find some food herself. Her mother, Eibhilín, has lost the little interest she ever had in her. Fionnuala is tired of sitting on the same rocks, swimming and hunting for fish and mollusks, hiding the occasional times a boat goes by. Although she is young, she feels very old. She decides today is the day. Today, she will escape.

Brinn wasn’t fond of dancing and didn’t usually do it—unless she was drunk. She danced with Regan at the club, shaking her head so her hair flew around her face. Two men were dancing with them now, or beside them anyway; neither woman paid them much attention. They looked to be in their late twenties, round-faced with brown hair.

“Is anyone looking?” Regan asked Brinn as she stuck her hand in her shirt and pulled out a vodka naggin.

“No, I don’t think so,” Brinn said. Regan downed half and Brinn the other. Regan put the empty bottle back in her bra.

“You got a whole stash in there?” one of the men asked laughing.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” Regan smiled.

Five hours and three glasses of water later, Regan was ready to drive home.

“You sure you’re sobered up? I’m fucking not,” Brinn said, stumbling into the car.

“I only had one naggin and the pint of Guinness,” Regan reminded her. “You, on the other hand…”

“I…. was okay. I could have done better.” Brinn took out her mobile phone. There was a missed call. “Derrick. I must not have heard it in the club. Let me call him back.”

“Brinn, it’s three in the morning.”

“Oh, right. Fuck.” She stared at the phone wistfully. “Well, he might still be awake.”

“Doubtful, considering he’s at his relatives’. Anyway, I’m not sure how happy he’d be to get a drunk dial at three AM.”

“It’s a new day,” Brinn mumbled, looking out the car window. “Tonight he’ll be home.”

I met Derrick in a journalism class at university. We used to sit next to each other in the way that students always end up sitting in the same seats that they did on the first day. At first I thought nothing of him. He wasn’t my type; he was too average, too “boy next door.” And anyway, I had Gavin. We had an assignment with partners and I ended up with Derrick. We worked on the project together outside of class, in the library. I liked his smile. He seemed genuinely kind, if a bit plain. But he made me laugh sometimes, surprising me. I could see how other girls, less edgy, angry girls, would like him. But for me, he was just a nice friend to have.

When I broke up with Gavin, after I came back from vacation, I started to see Derrick differently. At the same time, it became apparent to me that Derrick had always felt something for me. When I told him I broke up with my boyfriend, he was very nice about it, becoming sympathetic. I asked him then if he wanted to go out to eat sometime. He was taken off guard at first, but then he smiled.

Brinn woke up in her bed, no Derrick beside her. She got up quickly to alleviate the loneliness, only to rush to the toilet. As it turned out, she didn’t actually vomit, but the pervasive nausea felt no better. She sometimes thought that Derrick might be right, that silly Derrick who drank “in moderation” as they say—but for an Irishman, might as well be a non-drinker—could in fact be correct when he told her she tried to use alcohol as an answer to her problems. She had laughed at him when he said that, not because she didn’t think it was true, but because she thought it too obvious to point out.

It was noon already, so Brinn decided to return his call. She sat on the bed, willing her stomach to settle, and pressed the speed dial.

“Hi, love,” Derrick’s voice said. “Howya?”

“Fine,” Brinn said, pressing the phone closer to her ear. “How are things with your aunt and uncle?”

“Really good. My cousin’s coming today; I haven’t seen him in a long time. He’s just got a job at a hospital so he’s been very busy, but he managed to get some time off. How are you keepin’?”

She looked at her clean, blank walls. She used to have rock band posters up, but had taken those down before Derrick came to stay with her for the summer. The only picture in the room now was a framed portrait of the two of them, which sat on her dresser. They were at St. Stephen’s Green in Dublin, spending a weekend in the city. With Brinn leaning against him, Derrick had held the camera out in front of them and taken the picture. He was in a green jumper and jeans; she had a black peacoat and brown corduroy trousers. Her wavy brown hair was at her chest but blowing lightly in the wind.

“Oh, fine,” she said, trying to decide how much to divulge. “I’ve been spending time with Regan. We’ve been talking with these two American girls staying here, too.”

“Great,” he said. “Are they interesting then?”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t care for them much, but Regan seems to have an interest. Something about broadening our horizons.”

Derrick laughed a little. “Well, that sounds good.”

“I miss you,” she said.

“I miss you, too. I’ll be back tonight, but not until later, ten maybe. I’d say let’s go to the pub, but you’ve probably had enough of that this weekend.”

“Well, it depends on your definition of ‘enough,’ I guess,” she said, smiling.

“You’re hung over right now, aren’t you?” He was just teasing, although Brinn detected weariness in his voice as well. She decided he didn’t need an answer.

I found out later that Regan had planted the bra in Gavin’s room. Of course, he really had cheated on me, more than once, but it was Regan’s own bra that I found in the room that day. She confessed to me that she couldn’t stand Gavin treating me that way, but didn’t feel she had the right to tell me, either. So instead she put her bra in his room for me to see, knowing he would think, as I did, that it belonged to one of his one-night-stands, and then he would be caught. Although I was shocked to learn her secret, I was also touched. We were best friends from then on.

That afternoon, Brinn and Regan were talking with the Americans, who said they had been taking taxis to the bus station and then taking buses to travel around the area. Regan offered to drive them to the station so they didn’t have to pay for taxis all the time.

“In fact,” she said, as they stood in the bed and breakfast living room, “would you like us to give you a tour of the area here? What are you interested in seeing?”

“Oh, anything related to folklore. I was hoping to hear some of the stories, but not many people seem to know them,” Jessica said.
“Well, I think Brinn knows some.”

Brinn wanted to glare at Regan, but kept her face neutral as the Americans were looking at her.

“Would you mind telling us a few, Brinn?” Jessica asked, pulling on her green sweatshirt.

“Maeve knows more than I do,” Brinn said. “She’s the one who told me the stories I know in the first place. I’m sure she’d tell you them sometime.”

“I know,” Regan said, “let’s all go drive out to the cliffs and take a walk there. Maybe Brinn will be inspired. ”

“Do chorp don diabhal!” Brinn said with a smile. Jessica and Chloe looked at her. Regan pursed her lips into an impish smile.

“Was that Irish?” Chloe asked, fascinated. “What did you say?”

“I said ‘sounds terrific,’” Brinn lied, having cursed Regan’s body to the devil.

“Do you both speak fluently then?”

“Oh no, not me,” Regan said. “I only know some from school. Brinn’s fluent, though.”

“That’s so cool. I didn’t even know people still spoke Irish until I started researching our trip,” Jessica said. “How did you learn, Brinn?”

“School, the Irish TV channel…” Brinn said, shrugging, feeling Regan’s gaze on her. She wondered how long before the Americans heard her own story, the gossip and rumors of the locals.

“What’s it like then?” Regan asked.

The pub was loud and more people had talked to me than when I lived here, even if it was just to say, “Brinn Doherty! Back again!” and then snickering to their friend, “Look, she can’t keep herself from the sea for long.”

“Not as bad as I thought in some ways,” I said, downing half a glass of beer at the counter. “I don’t know how I’d survive without you or Derrick, though. Actually, I probably wouldn’t be here more than two days if it weren’t for you, Regan.”

“Aw, how lovely.” Regan kissed me on each cheek. She had been watching Parisian movies again lately.

I was wearing a blue jumper and black dress trousers with my black boots. Joe Mullan, the bartender, commented on my change in dress.

“No more eyeliner and torn jeans, Brinn?”

“No, Mr. Mullan.”

“Shame, I was just getting used to it.” He laughed from his throat, walking across the bar to his other customers.

“He’s a riot!” Regan told Derrick as we walked with our drinks to sit at a table.

“Why, it’s Brinn Doherty,” I heard a familiar voice say. The tone was mocking, yet warm. I turned around to see Gavin standing with an elegant hand on his bony hip. He was wearing black leather pants, a long-sleeved black shirt, red leather bracelets with spikes, and all his ear and eyebrow piercings. I hadn’t seen him since we broke up.

“When did you stumble in?” Regan asked.

“Hi, skin ‘n’ blister,” Gavin said, pinching her on the arm.

“Ouch, grow up.”

“So? Introduce me.” Gavin looked at Derrick with great detail.

“Oh,” I said. “Gavin, this is Derrick. Derrick, Gavin.”

“The ex,” Gavin said, grinning, holding out his hand.

Derrick smiled and shook his hand. “The current.”

It was a clear day out on the nearby cliffs. The view of the ocean was stunning as the waves hit the rocks dramatically and birds flew overhead. Jessica and Chloe ventured as close to the grassy edge as they dared and the four of them took turns taking photos of each other. Brinn felt her stomach churn as she watched the waves far below. She did not tell a story.

Sometimes in my dreams, I am drowning.

“You’ve had two hard nights of drinking, maybe take it easy tonight?” Regan was applying make-up at her dresser mirror as Brinn watched from the bed.

“I will,” Brinn told her. “Derrick’s coming back around ten, so I may leave you with the Americans.”

“Very well. Up or down?” Regan took out her bun and let her soft black hair fall to her shoulders.

“Down,” Brinn said.

“I like it up better.” She re-did the bun and put her glasses back on. Her silver crucifix necklace hung just above her bare cleavage.

Brinn, Regan, and the American girls walked to the pub at eight. Being a Sunday, it wasn’t particularly busy. Regan bought a round and they drank at the bar, introducing the Americans to Joe Mullan. Chloe took photos of the Guinness glasses with her camera. Soon they were all tipsy. They talked about movies, TV shows, differences in Irish and American culture, boyfriends. Despite her plan not to get drunk, Brinn ended up drinking more than she intended. By ten o’clock she was feeling wobbly.

“Derrick should be back by now,” Brinn said. “I think I’ll go get some air while I wait for him to call.”

“Do you mind if I go with you?” Jessica asked. “I could use some air, too. It’s stuffy in here.”

Jessica was the last person Brinn wanted to be with right now, but she said, “Alright, let’s go.”

“You must love being so close to the ocean,” Jessica said to Brinn. They were on the beach watching the tiny bit of sun left dip below the horizon. Jessica took off her shoes and socks and rolled up her jeans, standing barefoot in the water.

“Not really,” Brinn mumbled, looking out at the ocean. “It’s always right there, right in front of you, and you can’t escape it.”

“But the ocean is so freeing.”

Brinn smirked. Stop talking, she thought, but she felt the alcohol running through her blood stream, felt the urge to plunge into the water, and then her revulsion at the thought.

In her tipsiness, Jessica asked, “Won’t you tell me an Irish story? I’d just love to hear one.” Brinn stared at her, this annoying girl standing in the sand with freezing water up to her ankles, grinning at her.

“I’ll tell you a story,” Brinn said. “About a selkie even. Your favorite.” She rubbed her eyes with her hands and took a breath. “A selkie named Eibhilín swims with the rest of her seal family to the rocks. The moon urges them up to land…”

Maeve’s father has died a few months earlier and left her the family bed and breakfast. She is brushing off the porch when the wet, naked girl walks up to her.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she says.

After taking the girl inside and clothing her in one of her own dresses, Maeve tries to talk to her, but Fionnuala doesn’t understand English. She speaks to the woman in her language, Gaeilge. Maeve has an adequate handle on Irish, although Fionnuala’s dialect is strange to her. But they manage to communicate and Maeve asks the girl where she came from. Fionnuala wants to belong. She wants to be a human. So she doesn’t tell Maeve. She pretends she doesn’t remember. Maeve takes her to a doctor. He says she probably has emotional amnesia, “memory loss caused by psychological trauma, usually a temporary condition.” But Fionnuala’s case stays permanent. Maeve adopts her and gives up trying to get her to remember her past.

At the end of her story, Jessica stared at her, confused. “Maeve? You mean your boss?”

“My guardian,” Brinn said as she felt her cell phone vibrate in her pant pocket. Her heart was racing and her throat was burning. “My boyfriend’s back. I’ll see you later.”

Fionnuala looks through a baby name book. There are so many names with so many different sounds and meanings. Her eyes stop on a page. Brinn: “Strong.” It’s short and simple, the meaning perfect. Her new name, her new being.

Brinn opened the door to her room. Derrick’s suitcase was lying open on the bed and he was unpacking his clothes into his dresser.

“Howya, love?” Derrick hugged her and kissed her forehead. “Sorry I’m later than I thought I’d be.” He paused, looking at her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Better now you’re here.” Her knees weak, she sat down on the bed.

“You look sad.”

“I’m just tired is all,” she said.

“Were you at the pub?”

She sighed. “I wasn’t going to drink that much, I mean I’m not that pissed anyway, but…”

Brinn waited for him to speak but he didn’t. He stood looming over her and she didn’t dare look at him, focusing instead on the bedspread. Finally she said, “It’s just been a hard weekend. After tonight, I won’t drink for a long time.”

Derrick still didn’t say anything, but she heard him walk around the room, opening and closing the drawers.

“How was your visit?” she asked.

“It was good.”

Brinn thought of the story she had told Jessica and felt ill.

Derrick sat next to her on the bed. “I don’t mean to pull you away from pubbing with Regan. You can go back if you want.”

“Of course not,” Brinn said, turning to him. His brown eyes were looking across the room. She took his hand. “I don’t care about any of that.” She sighed, embarrassed of what she was about to say. “I just get lost without you.”

He looked at her so soberly it made her feel even drunker. She couldn’t stand him looking at her so pitifully. She kissed him, touching his face and neck with her hand.

Even when he pulled away from her, asking “What’s wrong?”, she didn’t realize she was crying.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just need to sleep.”