“No. Not forget. Never that. And it won’t fix anything; I’m sure of that. But Ireland is where I began. And how can I know where I’m going until I know where I started?” She paused. “Dad once told me that it was the memories that made his story, but that he was the only one who could find meaning in that story. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do. Go to where it all started to find meaning, or at least understand the best I can.”

Beckett kissed her then. “You believe that getting close to someone will destroy you. I know that. But it won’t. Don’t go.”

“I must.” Colleen rested her head on his shoulder and spoke the truth. “My first travel tip was, Know where you are going. It was meant to mean be prepared, be organized, plan outfits, buy maps and stop by the bank for the right currency. But I now know it means so much more. It’s also about a future.” She smiled. “How it starts is how it ends. That’s what Hallie said to me last week. And I think she might be right. I need to go to the place where I began.”

They kissed lightly and he held her. “Then go if you must. When you come back, I’ll be waiting right here.”

Chapter Thirty-five

Your feet will bring you where your heart is.

Irish proverb

Colleen glanced out the airplane window—the clouds were tumbled and gray, appearing impenetrable until the plane burst through and the Emerald Isle appeared below. The plane banked left and dipped; Colleen gasped as the green patchwork-quilted landscape appeared below. In a quick scribble in her open notebook, she wrote, I arrive in a place where all the greens in the world were born.

She hadn’t slept at all on the seven-hour transfer flight from New York’s JFK, where she’d connected from Savannah. Instead, she’d been writing as furiously as she ever had. Her notebook, a small green one she’d bought for the trip, was now one-quarter full with notes and little sketches to remind herself of other times and other trips—a shorthand she’d come to use in her travels. While other passengers slept with their eye masks on, and the flight attendants wandered up and down the aisle talking in subdued tones, Colleen wrote and wrote. While her seatmate—a British woman who wore too much perfume and chewed her food with the noises of a grinding machine—watched movie after movie, Colleen wrote and wrote.