Cass and John

I'd never driven a car on the left before. Getting in behind the wheel of the rental, I took a deep breath. It felt counterintuitive, forcing me to invert what I knew about driving. It was all about changing one's perspective.

"You got this?" my sister Cassandra - I call her Cass - asked.

"Yeah, I hope so."

"You can do it," she assured me.

I still don't know how we got out of the parking lot or through the series of roundabouts before pulling onto the highway. There was less to do there, just keeping the car in its lane, and my brain could relax. The key, a sticker in the car reminded me, was the same as in the United States. The driver should always be on the side facing the center of the road. At least I'd gotten a few hours of sleep on the plane and they served us coffee before final approach and could concentrate on what I was doing..

Cass looked out the passenger window as it began to rain. She had on a dark green waterproof jacket which contrasted sharply with her bright pink ball cap.

It was a somber occasion for the trip, the steady rain oddly on point, but I hoped we would still get a lot of happy memories out of it.

Our mom moved from Ireland with her mom when she was twelve. Grandma was never specific about the details of the situation, but our grandfather, whoever the hell he was, wasn't in the picture long. She had friends in the United States and the offer of a job, however, so off they went.

Mom adjusted to life in a new land, winding up an attorney at a small law firm and later meeting our dad. They married, had me, and Cass arrived three years later. They divorced when I was five and Cass two. We didn't see much of Dad after that. He wound up moving to another city and starting another family.

So Mom raised us alone after the divorce. Cass and I had happy childhoods, for the most part, and Mom had considerable success in her career along the way. Then came tragedy. She was diagnosed with breast cancer at fifty three and died two years later. It was a bitter blow.

The year after Mom died is when Cass and I found ourselves in Ireland driving along the highway south from Dublin. Mom's final wishes, you see, contained specific instructions. She'd always missed the land of her birth and was regretful she'd never taken us there. She wanted to, but time ran out. Her wishes were to have her ashes spread at a location overlooking the town she grew up in. She specified both Cass and I were to do it together. She also urged us to spend some time together on the trip so we could learn something more about our roots.

I suspected she sensed how things had gotten distant between Cass and I. Mom saw how we were once inseparable but had drifted apart, though she had no idea why. Having us go on this trip together was a dying effort on her part to mend our relationship.

You see, Cass and I had always been close growing up. We were far closer than most brothers and sisters. We got along well. Too well, I started to think after a camping trip when I was a senior in college and Cass a freshman.

We both love the outdoors. We enjoy camping, kayaking, mountain biking, hiking, you name it. That year, we went on a weekend backpacking trip in late October. The weather was perfect, sunny and crisp. We found a great place with an excellent view to set up our tent.

There was a nice breeze as we cooked dinner over the camp stove. We were tired from the hike in and its steady climb to our campsite and drank whiskey I poured out of a plastic bottle. You aren't allowed alcohol in the park we were in, so we were violating the law. Also, Cass was only nineteen. Sue me.

We were laughing and joking as the sun went down. There was a lot of casual touching, too. That was our way, and it was innocent most of the time. Sure, sometimes a hug got too vigorous and I felt a thrill of arousal. I put those instances aside, though, pushing them to the back of my mind. It was natural to feel inadvertent arousal, I told myself. No big deal. I also had impure fantasies about her but rationalized them away, as well. I frequently masturbated to thought of her, too, dismissing it as no big deal. Humans can convince themselves to believe anything.

That night things went a little too far. We crawled into the tent, laughing and somewhat inebriated. We weren't fall-down drunk, but I wouldn't have driven a car in the condition I was in. Joking and horsing around, we found ourselves lying on our sides with our faces inches apart. I don't know how it happened, but we wound up kissing. The first kiss was a quick peck on the lips. We pulled back and smiled awkwardly, then kissed again. This time it was more passionate and less fraternal. Our lips sought each other out, followed by tongues reaching out towards one another. I pulled her close against me and we kissed for a long time. At the moment, it felt like something I've always wanted to do. I love my sister, so much it hurts. Kissing her felt right, yet a voice inside my head told me it was wrong.

We made out, lips and tongues exploring each other. My hands even found their way to her breasts. It was overwhelming, and I pulled back.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I said.

We kissed more, in spite of my protestations. My hands massaged her breasts. God damn, they felt great. Our kissing grew more eager, but I pulled back again.

"We can't," I said. "We just can't."

I turned away from her and tried to sleep. I could hear her breathing next to me, but it wasn't the steady, deep breathing of someone asleep. She was awake, the same as me.

We didn't speak about what happened, but it had an impact upon our relationship. I kept her at arm's length, not seeing her as much as I would've wanted. Brother and sister hiking trips became a thing of the past. We'd still text each other most days and had lunch once in a while, but we weren't the same constant companions we used to be.

I felt ashamed, but also conflicted. The truth is, I liked what happened between us. It turned me on. Hell, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It isn't only that Cass is a beautiful woman in an understated way, either. She's got dirty blonde hair, curly and cut shoulder length in an untidy bob. She also has the brightest blue eyes in the world which look out behind round glasses and smooth, clear skin. She's shorter than me, barely reaching up to my nose, and has a fit yet feminine figure, possessing a delightful mild plumpness in the right places and adorable C cup breasts.

It's more than her looks, though. The thing about Cass is she's also great to be around. She's kind and warm and hilarious. She has an endless supply of corny jokes and awful puns which she loves torturing people with at any opportunity, me most of all. She loves art, books, and good food. She's quick to laugh as well as to cry and always easy to love.

Still, I told myself, she's my sister. My fucking sister! What was I doing? Had I gone crazy? This wasn't what normal people did.

Mom's illness brought us together again, in a way. The situation pushed aside the sexual tension even as it brought us closer emotionally.

I was hesitant about the trip to Ireland, though, wary of a repeat of the camping incident. Mom wanted us to go, though, and I believed we could be adults about a momentary slip up. We owed it to Mom to enjoy the trip, too. Besides, with Mom gone, Cass and I were all the family either of us had. We had to be present in each other's lives.

Cass watched the scenery with enthusiasm as we made the drive down to County Kerry, admiring the rolling hills. The weather cleared after about an hour. Cass turned back towards me, her eyes wide and her face joyful.

"Have you ever seen such green?" she said. "God, John, can you imagine if the French impressionists ever visited here? Imagine the paintings Monet would've created if he'd seen these hills."

Her voice changed timber at the end and I knew one of her puns was about to arrive.

"Don't," I cautioned her.

"Well," she lamented with feigned seriousness, ignoring me. "Sometimes in life you just have to green and bear it."

Cass's enthusiasm for the colors of the countryside and the various sights kept me in a good mood. She was happier than I'd seen her in a long time. She'd graduated the previous June with a degree in English, working in a bookstore and hoping for a job teaching, but she took no joy in any of it. Since Mom died, it was like Cass had been going through the motions of living. It was good to hear her silly jokes and puns again.

The scenery transitioned from rolling hills to rugged mountains as we passed into Count Kerry. The car's GPS guided us into Dingle, the largest town near mom's girlhood home down the road, and we found the Bed and Breakfast we'd booked on the edge of town and parked.

It was late afternoon by the time we showered and walked into town and took in the sights. We did some shopping and settled into a pub along the harbor where they played traditional Irish music and we ordered a pair of Guinesses along with our food. We had a great time, eating and drinking and listening to the music. We were tired from the flight, though, and still adjusting to the time difference. We headed back early to get some sleep.

We returned to the B&B where we had a single room with two beds. In retrospect, I should have known what sharing a room would lead to. On some level, maybe that's why I didn't insist on separate rooms.

I closed the door and Cass turned and kissed me. I was taken aback but pulled her close to me. Our lips explored each other and our tongues twirled. I was instantly aroused and we fell into bed together. We kissed each other passionately, my hands running down her back and over her ass. She let out a moan and I kissed her neck.

"Oh, god, John," she moaned.

The mention of my name woke me up, as it were, and I pulled back. It was as though her voice saying my name reminded me who we both were and why we shouldn't be doing what we were doing.

"I'm sorry," I said. "We can't."

I retreated to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face and wiped it off with a towel. I looked at myself in the mirror. What the fuck was I doing? What was going on? I couldn't go down this road. Could I? No, I told myself. It was wrong.

I took a breath and opened the door to the bedroom. It was dark but I could see Cass's outline on one of the beds. She was laying on her side atop the covers. I could hear her weeping.

Damn.

"Hold me," she said.

I hesitated but crawled in behind her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, feeling like I was playing with fire. She pulled my arms closer against her and kept weeping.

"It's alright," I told her. "Things got out of hand. It's my fault."

"Just hold me."

"Okay."

I held her tight against me and her crying eased. I could tell she was asleep when her breathing grew deep and steady. I eased away, pulling the blanket over her. I went to my own bed and lay awake for a long time.

I had to admit the thrill within me when Cass was kissing me. Cass, the person whom I loved above all others. Cass who I would lay down my life for in an instance. Cass whom I couldn't express that love with.

"Fuck," I muttered.

***

I slept better than I would've thought, exhausted from the flight. I slipped out of the room early and went for a long run. The town was quiet at that hour, as was the surrounding countryside.

Back in the room, Cass was gone. I showered, dressed, and went down for breakfast. Cass drifted in moments later - we were always in sync in ways like that - and sat across from me.

She'd gone for a long walk, wearing jeans, a faded blue ball cap, and an old sweatshirt. She always looks good when dressed down, her rare beauty in its fullest glory when least prepared.

"Hey," she said, pouring herself tea.

"Hey," I said back. She looked so cute I would've liked nothing more than to hug her close and kiss those sweet lips.

We ate in silence, pancakes for me and scrambled eggs for Cass. She always loved scrambled eggs and I'd been making them for her since I was allowed to touch the stove. She loved them with a splash of milk, a sprinkle of salt, and a dash of cayenne.

"How are your eggs?" I asked. "As good as the ones I make?"

"How could they be?"

We said nothing about the night before though I'm sure it was nearly all we were both thinking about.

Cass forked her eggs and smirked. I knew that look and braced myself.

"So," she said. "What day do eggs hate the most?"

I knew I was in for a barrage from her catalog of corny jokes. I love to pretend it's torture, and she knows I'm kidding. It's all part of the game.

"I don't know."

"Fry-day."

"Oh, god," I groaned.

"Say! How many French eggs do you need?"

"Go ahead."

"One egg is un oeuf," she said flatly, sipping her tea.

I rolled my eyes, stifling a laugh. Damn, I love her.

We packed up the car and headed out. We visited Mom's village a few minutes away, walking around and finding the building where her and Grandma lived above what was now a grocery store. Around the corner, we found the primary school mom attended as a little girl. We also ran into an old man who struck up a conversation with us. We told him Mom was from the village and when we told him our last name he smiled widely. He remembered her and we were floored as he told us a story about our grandmother, calling her by name. He looked at Cass and smiled.

"You've got her eyes," he said, nodding. "Maggie had the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen."

When it was time to go Cass and I smiled at one another and got back in the car and headed north.

It was a harrowing ride up to the Conor Pass, a narrow road the width of an American driveway winding up the mountain side, but I took my time and we made it. At its highest point was a parking lot overlooking a pair of lakes with Dingle below. Another couple was already there and we waited until they drove away before we got out of the car.

We were the only ones for miles, except for a few sheep. We noticed how one sheep had a blue X spray-painted on its side and figured it must be so it's owner could identify him.

"Hey," Cass said. "What kind of car do sheep like to drive?"

"I can't imagine."

"Lamborghinis," she declared.

The sheep brayed at us, sounding angry at our presence or possibly her joke. We walked a short distance from the parking lot and Cass's demeanor changed and she grew serious.

"It's beautiful," she said.

It was a clear morning and we could see far off into the sea. In the far distance were the famous Skellig rocks barely visible at the edge of vision. I understood why Mom wanted her ashes spread there.

"I guess it's time," I said.

"Yeah," Cass said.

We spread Mom's ashes on the hillside. It was a melancholy moment, but not completely sad. I was happy I was fulfilling her wishes, having gotten to see where she'd been born. I was also glad to be there with Cass. Despite how close we'd come to crossing a line, I wouldn't want anyone else with me.

I put my arm around her and she leaned close against me. We said nothing, standing together for long moments. Nothing needed to be said. There was no sound other than the wind and the sheep calling out.

"Goodbye, Mom," Cass mumbled at last, breaking down in tears.

I pulled her tight and wept. We embraced, Cass's head buried in my shoulder. Both of us cried for a long time.

Another car pulled into the parking lot and we broke off the embrace. We held hands unconsciously as we walked back to the car, ignoring the German family getting out of their vehicle.

I drove us down the other side of the mountain as we listened to the radio. We didn't say a lot, taking in the scenery. Most of the music was a mix of contemporary songs and assorted classics. It was a welcome distraction.

The terrain smoothed out and the road ran through pleasant country with Tralee Bay on the left. We stopped at a small cafe and got a pair of coffees to go. Getting back in the car, we remained in a pensive mood.

We pulled onto the Tarbert Ferry with perfect timing. We were one of the last cars on and it was off a minute later crossing the broad waters of the Shannon. We got out of the car and stood on deck. It was cold, the wind cutting through our jackets and Cass shivering. I put my arms around her and she huddled against me to keep warm. She told me a number of corny jokes about rivers. Yes, river jokes. I'll spare you the specifics.

I shook my head, laughing. How did she have all of this on file?

We pulled off the ferry and into County Clare. We ventured into Burren National Park, a highland area where, in the uppermost parts, the soil has largely eroded away. What is left are large areas of barren uplands having a stark, wild beauty in contrast to the verdant hills in much of the rest of the country.

It began to rain as we pulled into a parking lot connected to a short trail where there was an ancient ruin I'd read about and wanted to see.

"What is this again?" Cass asked.

"It's a portal tomb," I said. "It might be as old as six thousand years, they say. It was originally underground but the soil around it has eroded away and now it's above ground."

The tomb was surrounded by a railing all around and you couldn't get closer than thirty feet to it. It looked like a massive stone table, a giant flat stone atop vertical ones.

"Just think," I said. "This is older than the pyramids. Maybe a lot older."

"You know, Mom was born in County Kerry." Cass said. "But didn't she always say her people came from Clare? Ancestors of ours might've helped build this. For thousands of years, people who led to us were walking around here. Living, loving, dying, building portal tombs. All of it."

She squeezed my hand.

"This land," she said. "It's in our bones."

It started raining harder as a tour bus pulled up. French tourists got out in raincoats, took pictures, and shuffled off. Cass and I held hands and leaned against each other, the hoods up on our own jackets. I noticed how the lenses of her glasses were speckled with raindrops and how oddly adorable it was. Maybe it was the way it didn't bother her in the least.

We lingered. I pulled Cass close and wondered what we were getting ourselves into. I had a growing sense I was denying where this was going but persisting in spite of the inevitability of the situation. A part of me knew what was going to happen, knew it deeply as Cass leaned against me with my arm around her shoulders.

It struck me as absurd that the person I loved the most in the world - who loved me back with as much intensity, I should add - was so off limits.

Back in the parking lot was a man who'd set up a table and a tent and was selling handmade jewelry. If you told him your name, he'd write it out on a whiteboard in an ancient Irish script called ogham.

How ogham works is that letters are formed by horizontal or diagonal lines which stick out from a vertical line in either direction or cut across it. An "a", for example, is formed by a single short line across the vertical.

We decided to get ones made with our names. We watched as the man carefully wrote our names in ogham on the white board, referencing a translation chart.

Cass's name is spelled ᚅᚐᚉᚉ and mine is ᚑᚆᚅ.

The man used a tap and die to hammer out the names onto rectangular metal pendants. We paid him and he gave them to us.

I started to hand Cass the one with her name on it but she stopped me.

"No," she said. "You wear it. I'll wear the one with your name."

I nodded and we put on each other's pendants, me tucking it under my shirt, and held hands again as we walked to the car. It was becoming habitual, casual but heartfelt affection in public.

We drove to the Cliffs of Moher afterwards. They weren't as crowded as we'd been warned, perhaps because it wasn't the busy season and it was late in the afternoon. Besides, the cliff tops are long and it's easy to find a spot to enjoy their majesty without getting jostled. The steady rain also helped to dampen the crowd sizes.