“What will you do, once Lucy’s married?” Violet asked Jen. “If you want to stay on in Lucy’s flat, I can show you around Oxford. Take you sightseeing.”
Jen looked pleased. “Thanks, I’d like that. I thought I might do some traveling while I’m here.”
“Come down to Cornwall before you leave,” I said. “Promise?”
She looked really pleased to be asked. “I’d love to see Cornwall. I’ll definitely come and see you.”
My wedding day arrived. After all the times I’d woken up in the night with a pounding heart thinking something would go wrong, nothing did. The sun shone brightly, which wasn’t too terrible for the vampires, as everything was under cover.
Margaret Twigg was the officiant, after all. She’d outdone herself for the occasion, wearing a beautiful blue embroidered gown with rows of crystal beads. Her corkscrew hair was as untamed as ever.
My attendants looked beautiful. My dad cleaned up really nicely. His beard was trimmed, his hair was freshly cut, and he was wearing a brand-new suit. We got ready to move forward through a trellis of orange blossoms and up a carpet that led to the veranda where Rafe was waiting.
My dad said, “Are you ready, Lucy?”
I took a breath and felt the truth in my heart. “I’ve never been readier for anything.”
The music changed, and my husband-to-be turned to look at me with my whole future in his eyes.
And I took my first step forward into that future.
Thanks for reading Ribbing and Runes. I hope you'll consider leaving a review, it really helps. While you're waiting for the next adventure of the Vampire Knitting Club, have you tried the Vampire Book Club yet? Here's a peek.
The Vampire Book Club, Chapter One
Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you’d made one crucial decision differently? What if you hadn’t married that man that everyone said was perfect? If you’d taken the job you wanted instead of that one with the good medical benefits? What if you’d moved to New York after college instead of Seattle?
I used to imagine what would have happened if I’d taken the other path. Maybe not the road less traveled, just not traveled my me. It was a harmless exercise to pass the time while I toiled at my boring job, safe from any threat of change.
Until one day I messed with fate.
And I was punished.
I got change all right. More than I could have imagined. My staid life was uprooted. My road was forked. Frankly, I was forked.
At forty-five, I was both divorced and widowed (from the same man), I lost the secure but dull job I’d had for ten years, and the powers that be sent me across the sea to Ireland.
It all happened so fast, my head was still spinning when my Aer Lingus flight from Seattle landed in Dublin. From there, I took a train to Cork. It was early May, and as I looked out the window, I began to realize why they called Ireland the Emerald Isle. It was so vibrantly green, and between fields of cows and sheep, ruined castles and cottages, we stopped at pretty-sounding towns and cities to let passengers on and off. I smiled when we passed through Limerick and started making up rhymes in my head. They weren’t very good, but they passed the time.
There once was a misguided witch
Who tried a man’s fate to switch
Her punishment set
To Ireland she must get
But better than feathers and pitch!
From Cork city, I got a bus, though I vowed to come back and explore the pretty city when I was settled. Finally, jet-lagged and travel-weary, I arrived in my new home. The town of Ballydehag.
The bus let me off in front of Finnegan’s Grocery. As the curly-haired driver retrieved my two heavy suitcases from the storage compartment underneath the bus, I thanked him. He replied, “Good luck to you, ma’am.”
There’s a way of wishing a person luck that sounds like you actually wish them good things, and then there’s a way of wishing a person good luck that sounds more like, “What on earth have you done?”
I was wondering what on earth I’d done, too, but I was here, now. I pulled my phone out with the address of my new home and then stared vaguely about me. I had no idea where I was, except that this was clearly the main street of a pretty Irish village. The street was lined with shops. A couple of old men in caps sat outside a coffee shop regarding me. I wondered if the arrival of the bus from Cork was a big event. And didn’t that say a lot about how exciting this town was?
I couldn’t think of anything else to do but go into Finnegan’s and hope whoever worked there might know Rose Cottage.
I didn’t think my suitcases would even fit through the narrow front door of the shop, and besides, this didn’t look like much of a high-crime area, so I pushed my two cases up against the white plaster wall and walked in.
It was like stepping into the past. Narrow rows with shelves of groceries stretched from ceiling to floor and seemed to contain everything from eggs to pest-control products.
I heard voices and turned to the right and the only checkout. A plump woman with curly gray hair stood behind the counter. She wore a green cardigan with the sleeves rolled up her wrists and all the mother-of-pearl buttons done up. The edge of the sweater was scalloped, and the collar of a crisp, white blouse framed her face. She was gossiping with two customers who stood on the opposite side of the counter. “Hello?” I interrupted.
The three stopped talking and all turned to stare at me. I smiled brightly and tried to look nonthreatening. “I’m
