“Mm-hmm.” Antonia kept her mouth shut.

“I’ll leave you to look upstairs,” he said, handing her the key. “My knees aren’t what they once were.”

Antonia slipped the key in her jacket pocket. “Of course, I’ll check it out later.”

Mr. Creely ambled to the front door, but paused to regard her for one last time. “You’ll be staying here alone?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Mm. Your first time to Ireland?”

“Yep.”

“How do you like it so far?”

She smiled. “I like it just fine.”

“You from America?”

“Yep.”

Mr. Creely nodded. “I got a brother who lives in Boston. You ever been to Boston?”

“Sure, once or twice,” she said. “I’m from Chicago.”

His clouded eyes lit up in recognition. “Obama!” he said with a smile. “He was a fine president.”

“Oh yes,” Antonia agreed.

“When he came here, several years back, oh was that wonderful.”

“I bet.”

“And what did you say you do?”

Antonia distinctly remembered not telling Mr. Creely anything about herself. “I publish,” she stopped short. “Well, I used to publish books. But now I’m trying to write a novel.”

Mr. Creely was impressed. By what, she wasn’t entirely sure. “You’re a writer? My goodness, how grand.”

“I haven’t finished anything,” she said.

He patted her on the arm. “Ah, but ye will, ye will, dear girl. You’ll find inspiration out here.” He turned and slowly started for the door. “You’ll be a Joyce, yet,” he called over his shoulder.

Antonia chuckled. “I don’t know if I’ve got a Ulysses in me.”

Mr. Creely swatted the notion away. “Ah, start off slow and try fer a Finnegans Wake,” he joked.

She shook her head with a grin. “Sure, I’ll try that.”

Once he stepped outside, he turned and said, “You might want to talk to your neighbor about writing.”

“My neighbor?”

“There’s only one other visitor here and he’s right next door. Dr. Byrnes is a professor who comes here every year. Galway man, I believe.”

“Oh really?” Antonia asked leaning against her doorway. “Do you know what he teaches?”

“Literature,” Creely said with a wink. “Although, tonight you may find him at Coynes.”

“Coynes?”

“Paddy Coynes, the pub across the street. Also, the chipper is next door.”

“The chipper?”

“Fish and chips, hamburgers and whatnot.”

Antonia nodded. “Good to know.”

“Well, I’ll leave you be,” Mr. Creely said. “You have any problems, you just stop by the office.”

“I will,” Antonia said, relieved to settle down. “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Creely.” She closed the door on him and sank against the other side. A powerful wave of exhaustion swept over her. She still had to retrieve the rest of her bags from the car, get her groceries in the fridge, and email her loved ones before she could consider resting. “But I’m home,” she announced to the empty cottage. The silver lining was finally starting to appear before her. Antonia could already feel her shackles lighten. The weight that she left back in Chicago was just that, left in Chicago.