At one point I stopped thinking about what time it was back home. I only concentrated about what was waiting for me in Ireland.

Which wasn’t much of anything.

I loved seeing my grandparents, but the town of Dingle was tiny. I’d only visited my grandparents once, years ago. Mom and I had visited two summers before. We went when they still lived and worked in Limerick. Then they decided to retire and move to this quiet fishing village.

Gran got a part-time job at the tourist center while Gramps worked on a book tracing the origins of famous Irish folk songs. Gran said that was his typical Irish excuse to go to pubs at night and listen to music. I always laughed when Gran made fun of Gramps’s Irish ways, because she sounded more and more like an Irish-born person with each year.

One of my favorite things about my grandparents was their story. They’d met their first week at college in Madison. Gramps said he fell in love with her when he spotted her across the quad during orientation. He was too shy to talk to her that day. He beat himself up over it all weekend. Then he walked into his first class the following Monday and saw her sitting next to the only other empty seat in class. He went right up to her and told her he thought she was the most beautiful human being on earth. And then the teacher started class. Gramps said he could hardly breathe for the rest of the class, especially when he realized he was in the wrong classroom. But instead of excusing himself, he waited until it was done. He thought Gran was taking diligent notes, but instead she was writing him a letter since she had noticed him as well. The letter was read at their wedding, after graduation.

I felt that was how people should fall in love. Instant connection.

So Gramps and Gran stayed in the States. They had my mom. But Gramps got offered a teaching job back in Ireland when I was a baby. So they went and would visit us every summer.

Now I was visiting them. They almost didn’t know what to do with me.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t much help.

“Can I please help you with that?” I asked Gran as she readied supper.

“You sit right there. You’ve had a long trip.”

I sat down at the kitchen table. I should’ve been exhausted, but I think I was the kind of tired that made you super hyper.

“You should join me tonight at the pub to hear some real music,” Gramps said, sitting down next to me.

“James Mullarkey, you’re not taking our only grandchild to a pub on her first night in town.”

“You’re right.” He rubbed his faded ginger beard. “That’s more of a Wednesday night activity.” He winked at me.

Gran groaned. “Macallan, honey, I have tomorrow off and thought we’d go around town. I can introduce you to some of the townsfolk. We’ve been telling everybody about your visit.”

“She’d have a better chance meeting people of her generation at the pub.”

“That’s enough from you!” Gran pointed a wooden spoon at Gramps.

“Now, now.” Gramps got up and went into the kitchen to wrap his arms around Gran. It was sweet how much in love they still were after all these years. “I promise to be a good influence on our dear, young, impressionable granddaughter.” Gramps had his back to me so I could see him crossing his fingers behind his back.

“Shoot!” Gran pulled away. “I forgot to pick up some thyme at the store.”

I stood up. “I can go get it. I’d like to go for a walk — I’ve been sitting for too long.” I tried to do the math in my head of how many hours, maybe even days, I’d been awake.

It took me only a few minutes to get my bearings in town. There was basically the harbor front and Main Street. Plus, if I got lost, all I had to do was ask where Jim and Betty’s place was. It was that small a town.

Since I had some time before dinner would be finished, I decided to go down to Dingle Harbor and watch a few boats come in. I wandered in one of the tourist shops and grabbed a few postcards. Then I made my way past the colorful buildings to the small grocery store a few blocks from my grandparents’ place. I picked up the fresh thyme and waited behind an older woman who was getting in a great debate about whether or not some guy was cheating on his wife.

“I’ll help you over here,” I heard a voice call out. I went to the other register and handed the bunch of sprigs to a young guy with messy black hair. “Once you get me mum started, you’d be waiting all night.”

“Thanks.”

He smiled at me. “Ah, I didn’t think you looked familiar. American?”

“Yes.” I felt embarrassed that I could be figured out so easily. I’d only said one word.

“Tourist?” He helped me figure out which coins I needed to pay.

“Yes, well, no. Um, my grandparents live —”

Recognition lit his face. “Ah, you’re Jim and Betty’s.”

“Yes.”

“Is this Jim and Betty’s?” The woman behind the other register came over.

“Hi, I’m Macallan.” I held my hand out.

“Welcome!” The woman bypassed my hand and hugged me against her slight frame. “We’ve heard so much about you. You’re from America.”

“Yes, outside Milwaukee, in Wisconsin. It’s near Chicago.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Sheila O’Dwyer, and this is my son, Liam.”

“Hi.” I gave him a shy wave, which he returned with a hearty laugh.

Sheila quickly ran off to help a new customer.