“Cay, no…”
She waved off his concern and snagged the phone out of his chest pocket. She left the restaurant, dialing.
Henrik started typing on the laptop. “Congratulations, Iris.”
“Did I save the movie?” I asked, surfing the uplifting feeling that came with being helpful.
“You saved the day,” Henrik said. “And when you’re making a movie, someone has got to save every single day.” He said this sourly, like Elementia wasn’t going to make it. Like this was simply the close call before the real death. He kept typing, and then sat back, holding his hands over his face. “Damn, that song is expensive.”
“Do you have enough?”
“Maybe.”
“So that’s good, right? You can cover it?”
He looked up at me through his dark glasses, and it felt like he was deciding to trust me. “Between you and me? Cate cashed in her paycheck. She mortgaged her house. This movie is not only going to crush her career, it’s going to leave her homeless.” He took off his glasses. “What are the odds the Thornes would invest? We could get your dad a producer credit. I know that’s impertinent, but that’s how low we’ve sunk. Plus, if the movie does well, your family would be bound to see immense returns in book sales and new editions.”
“You want my dad to help fund the movie?” I tried not to laugh. “He won’t even give me money. He loathes Grandma Mae’s financial legacy. Personally,” I added, only realizing how true those words were as they slipped out.
Henrik removed his floppy hat, dropping it next to his glasses. He was going bald, which jumped out at me when he de-accessorized, even though he was probably only thirty. He had a well-worn Batman watch—the kind with the old school pow bam on it—which somehow sweetened every impression I’d ever had about him.
“What if the movie doesn’t crush her? What if it’s good?” I asked.
“No one sets out to make a bad movie, Iris. It just happens. We gamble. We win or lose.” He scowled at his screen, and I realized Henrik was talking about his career as well. And Julian’s, Shoshanna’s…Eamon’s. Everyone’s career was on the line. They were all taking risks to make this movie happen, and here I was upset about a bootleg video of me playing guitar on my bed.
Maybe it was a tantrum.
I felt like a coward all of a sudden, slipping out of the restaurant with my head down. I’d already told my dad to get me out of here. He wouldn’t let me change my mind again. I’d have to go back now, whether I wanted to or not. Did I have one more day? Two? How could I even fix this?
I stepped outside.
Overhead the soft, brilliant-blue sky seemed like an omen of strength I didn’t deserve. “Okay, Grandma Mae. It’s azure,” I said quietly. “Now what?”
THERE IS SOME KISSING IN THIS CHAPTER
On the return trip to mainland Ireland, I wrestled surprisingly weighted feelings about leaving Inishmore. I stood at the back of the ferry, leaning on the rail as the green land with its odd cliffs, unconventional beaches, and colored cottages disappeared.
When the island was gone, I watched the propeller stir up trouble, throwing the water into fits of ice blue. They reminded me of Eamon’s film-friendly eyes.
“I accept your apology.” Eamon leaned on the railing next to me.
“I wasn’t…but I…” My more pleasant thoughts about him turned into a hard scowl. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Ah, so you are thinking of doing something with me?” He grinned, and I relaxed. If he was back to flirting, maybe I hadn’t ruined things last night. “Someone wants to talk to you.” Eamon motioned with the tilt of his head, and I glanced at my brother. Ryder sat on one of the benches.
“I don’t know if I’m ready. We were harsh with each other.”
“He’s sorry. And if you break it down, it wasn’t his fault. It was your da’s idea to take that video.” Great. Eamon didn’t like my dad, and they hadn’t even met yet.
“It is my dad’s fault, but he’s got this weird sense of morality. His law is creativity. His writing sets the rules in our house—what he gets excited about, when we get to eat dinner, et cetera and so forth.” Eamon frowned, and I shook my head. “When I try to explain, it sounds worse than it is. Ryder and I have each other.”
“What about before Ryder?” he asked like he wanted to know everything about me. I looked at him, standing close, and remembered our hand-holding on the beach. How much of this was real flirting and how much was just Eamon? “Your age difference is ten years, yes?” he added. “What were you like before you had to play guardian?”
“It’s nine years.” I tightened my hold on the railing. “And I was the perfect daughter, I’ll have you know. My parents threw dinner parties every week, and I’d sit quietly at the table between poet laureates and National Book Award winners. My dad would say, ‘Look how our girl can behave anywhere!’ I’d eat filet mignon next to forty-year-olds and talk about the melancholy downturn of literary fiction. When it got too late, I’d put myself to bed, and they’d all be so impressed.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Remembering how much those people praised me still felt good. “Then Ryder was born, and he never stopped crying, and they’d leave me upstairs with him. When I couldn’t get him to stop crying, they had the parties at their friends’ houses.”
“Oh,” Eamon said, ruffling the back of his hair. “That’s…”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t bad. Life was more fun with Ryder. We watched Disney movies. Built forts. I taught him his letters and how to count. We actually did feel like big sister and little brother back then.”
“Before Moss?” he asked in that way he had of cutting straight into a matter.
“Before Moss.” I turned from the waves and looked at
