Under a Storm-Swept Sky

by Beth Anne Miller

  It was almost painful to think about.

  “Those places have their own beauty.”

  I shrugged. “They do. But it’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s not, but I’m biased,” he said with a smile, which I tried and failed to return.

  It was a few minutes before he spoke again. “You never mentioned what you’ll be doing in Miami.”

  “I…it’s hard to think about it, you know? Carrie and I are supposed to be going together, to start these new jobs at a hotel that’s opening there. And if she doesn’t wake up, then how can I still go?”

  “You’d go because it’s what she’d want you to do, Amelia. She’d want you to go on living.”

  “But then I’d always wonder if I was following her dream instead of mine,” I whispered. And that was it, the thing I hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even myself.

  He stopped walking. “Hey, look at me.”

  I did, meeting those incredible eyes.

  “Carrie would want you to be happy.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because you’ve been showing her to me this whole time. I feel like I know her, and I know this to be true. Okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay.” I could almost believe anything he told me when he looked at me like that.

  “So, tell me about the job.”

  “It’s at a new hotel that’s opening up in South Beach, which is the happening place in Miami. It’ll mostly be working reception at the beginning, but there’s plenty of room to advance. I eventually want to get more into the tourism side of things, like arranging excursions and activities for the guests—sailing, parasailing, scuba diving, trips to the Keys and the Everglades. I’m hoping it’ll be a stepping-stone to working not just for the hotel but booking tours for anyone visiting the Miami area.”

  “It sounds like you’re enthusiastic about it. I don’t think you have to worry that it’s just Carrie’s dream. Gordon from your group mentioned he works in that field. Did you talk to him at all?”

  “I did. He gave me his card and said he’d be happy to meet with me when I get to Florida, which was nice of him.”

  “Yeah, he was a nice guy.”

  We stopped for a quick break and a snack at a spot overlooking two lochans (“wee inland lochs,” according to Rory), but he didn’t let us linger there. “We’ve still got about eight miles to Elgol,” he said, staring at the forbidding clouds overhead, which had not dissipated throughout the morning, as they’d sometimes done.

  Another mountain soon came into view on the left, its summit lost in the clouds. “What’s that one?”

  Without looking at it, he muttered something that sounded like bla-ven, then quickened his pace. I thought about hustling to catch up to him, but the path was flat enough that I could manage without his help.

  I wondered at his sudden mood change. I didn’t think it was anything I’d said. At one point, he looked back and did a slight double-take when he saw that I was like twenty feet behind him.

  He strode back to me. “Can you go any faster? It’s gonna start pouring any second.”

  Indeed, the air felt heavy, electrified, the way it often did in July or August back home, when it was ninety-five degrees with 100 percent humidity, and a thunderstorm was imminent.

  I picked up the pace, though only a little, because while my knee was holding up, I didn’t want to push it.

  Bla Bheinn continued to tower over us on the left, but Rory didn’t even look at it as we passed. He was focused on the path before us, the sky over our heads, or on me. We hurried across no fewer than five streams as we passed a biggish loch on the right.

  And then with a mighty crash of thunder, the skies opened up and rain poured down as if some great dam in the sky had been breached.

  “We have to move faster,” he said. He took a firm hold of my arm and practically dragged me down the path. We hurried along, trudging through yet another stream and slogging through another bog, the mud sucking at our boots as if it wanted to keep us there for eternity.

  And all the while, the rain continued to pour down as the sky rumbled. Finally, the path emerged at a bay. The sea was roiling, the whitecaps churning angrily.

  “Almost there,” yelled Rory.

  Almost where? There was no way we’d come twelve miles.

  Then I saw a small hut a short way down the beach. “Please say we’re going there!”

  “Yes, that’s the bothy at Camasunary Bay. We’ll take shelter there and see if the storm passes. We’re still about four miles from Elgol.”

  When we reached the bothy, Rory opened the door and quickly ushered me inside the stone structure.

  I stood there for a moment, so relieved to be indoors that I could have cried.

  Rory touched my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  I smiled. “Just happy to be out of the rain.”

  He smiled back. “Yeah, it was pretty rough out there. Let me help you with your boots.”

  We stripped off all our wet gear and hung it in the entryway. I entered the main room, chafing my hands up and down my arms, trying to warm up. “It’s left unlocked? I mean, I’m obviously not complaining, I’m just surprised.”

  “Aye, that’s the point. It’s maintained by the Mountain Bothy Association for exactly this purpose—for walkers to have a place to shelter.”

  The front room had a picture window that offered a gorgeous view of the stormy bay. Below that was a counter that held a coffee can, a box of teabags, a few decks of cards, and some other random things. Along the opposite wall were two tables with benches. The back room had platform bunk beds along the right wall, each one roughly the width of a double bed, and additional single-layer platforms along the back and left walls. A decent number of people could stay in that room.

  “Look what I found,” said Rory. I turned to see him holding a small bottle of whisky. “It’s still sealed, and this note was under the bottle.” He held out a scrap of paper.

  To the next folks who use this bothy—this should help keep you warm. Slàinte!

  “I wouldn’t say no to a sip or two of that,” I said.

  “Neither would I. But first, let’s have some coffee and those sandwiches, and see if this weather clears.”

  Rory began fiddling with the camp stove, and I pulled out the sandwiches he’d charmed the cook at the Sligachan Hotel into making for us. As we drank our coffee and ate our late lunch, I stared out the window. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon.”

  He sighed. “No, it doesn’t.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll see how it looks in an hour. If it hasn’t let up by then, we’ll have to stay here tonight and set out for Elgol in the morning. I don’t want to be on the path in the dark.”

  We played a few hands of gin with the deck of cards. After I beat him in a best-of-five, he put on his boots, grabbed his raincoat, and went outside. He returned five minutes later, shaking his head.

  “It’s still pouring, and a text just came through from Tommy from a few hours ago—the signal is dodgy out here. They’re in Torrin, and he says the storm is expected to last all night, but clear out by morning, and there’s supposed to be good weather tomorrow. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  Fine with me. The eight miles we’d done today had pushed the limits of my endurance. I was content to call it a day and watch the rain through the windows.

  I slipped my feet into my boots and pulled on my jacket for a quick trip around back (the bothy had no bathroom), then changed into my sweatpants, T-shirt, and fleece, along with a pair of thick socks. There was no electricity or heat in the bothy, and neither was there a fireplace. But there were four walls and a roof, and that’s what mattered.

  He gestured to the bottle of whisky. “No reason to wait any longer to drink this.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “It’ll keep us warm, anyway.” He dug a cup out of his pack, poured a healthy amount of whisky into it, and handed it to
me. “Ladies first.” I raised it in salute and took a sip, then passed it to him. He finished it and poured more.

  We sat at the table with the deck of cards. I dealt a round of War, which would keep us occupied for a while. I took another swig. I could get used to sipping whisky while listening to the rain pour down outside. All that was missing was a fire.

  “So, The Lord of the Rings: books or movies?” I figured it was time to get to the important stuff.

  “Och, that’s a tough one.” He took the cup from me and spun it between his long fingers. “I think I have to say the movies,” he said after a moment. “I love the books, especially Fellowship, but the movies are brilliant. You?”

  “I love the books, too, but they’re my favorite movies of all time. Extended editions, obviously.”

  “Obviously. What made you ask?”

  “I saw that you have Fellowship with you.”

  His brow crinkled. “When did you see that?”

  “The other morning, when I went to the loo by myself while you were sleeping. When I looked in your tent, you’d fallen asleep with it in your hand. You must love it a lot to carry it around with you.”

  “I do,” he said. He drained the whisky, then refilled the cup again.

  I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I snagged the cup from him and took a sip. “What kind of music do you like?”

  “Classic rock, all the way. I don’t listen to the radio enough to hear what’s current, anyway. You? Wait, let me guess.”

  I sat back, crossing my arms smugly across my chest. No way would he get it.

  “Eighties hair bands?”

  I gaped at him. “How could you possibly have guessed that?”

  He grinned. “You sing or hum sometimes while we’re walking. I think I’ve heard Guns N’ Roses, Def Leppard, maybe even some Poison? Definitely Bon Jovi.”

  “Wait, you’ve heard me sing? I thought it was mostly in my head.”

  “Not always, as I’m still trying to master my mind-reading skills. So, leather pants and long hair, eh? That’s what does it for you?” He ran his hand through his own longish hair and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  Under Armour and cargo shorts did it for me, too, but he probably already knew that. “Don’t forget the guyliner.”

  He’d just taken a sip of whisky, and he sputtered slightly, clapping his hand over his mouth. “Who could forget that? I have some in my pack, but I don’t like to wear it on the trail, because it gets in my eyes when I sweat.”

  I grinned. “Trust me, I know all about that.”

  We continued playing cards and making small talk as the rain came down. Dinner was beef stew and chicken stir-fry again, but this time we just passed them back and forth, neither of us caring about double-dipping our sporks.

  Rory didn’t say much during dinner, and in spite of our earlier light conversation (and my repeated kicking of his ass in cards), he was growing more and more tense as the evening wore on. Wordlessly, I poured him some more whisky and slid the cup across the table. He practically chugged it, not bothering to savor it in his mouth like he usually did.

  “Rory, what’s wrong?”

  He glanced up at me and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Is there something I should know about spending the night here?” If he was nervous about staying in this place, I wanted to know.

  His brows drew together, and he cocked his head to the side. “No. The bothy was just built last year, and it’s well insulated. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you seem tense.”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated.

  But the long sip of whisky that followed belied his statement.

  Chapter Thirty

  Rory

  I’m fine, I’d said to Amelia. Twice in the last two minutes.

  I wasn’t fine. The cards and small talk had kept the demons at bay for a while, but as the sky grew darker outside, it all began to press down on me.

  It was always this way for me on the Elgol leg of the trek—too many bad memories. It never got any easier. And I didn’t want it to.

  I wished we could have pushed on to Elgol, rather than lingering here, but there was just no way. If it had only been me, I would have kept going, storm or no storm. But Amelia had been struggling for the last few hours. And you charging on ahead didn’t help, jackass. No, it definitely hadn’t, but even if I hadn’t done that, there was no way she could have slogged on for another four miles, especially with the cliffs up ahead.

  I wanted to down the rest of that bottle of whisky and forget about everything, but it wouldn’t help. I couldn’t forget, no matter how much alcohol swam through my veins. I’d tried that before—more than once.

  It was nearly dark. I retrieved our sleeping bags and mats from our packs and went into the back room.

  I laid out Amelia’s bedding on the bottom bunk and set up mine on the top. I couldn’t handle having her close to me again, waking up with my body wrapped around hers, breathing the scent of her, my need for her impossible to hide.

  I returned to the front room and her too-perceptive stare. “You should step outside again before it gets dark.” She nodded and got to her feet. She was walking a little better than she had been earlier, but I could tell from the set of her mouth that her knee was bothering her.

  She slipped into her boots and coat and ventured out into the rain. Then I took my own turn outside. The rain hadn’t let up at all, which was going to make the trail muddy and difficult tomorrow, even if it cleared like it was supposed to.

  Amelia was at the table when I returned. “Do you think anyone else will show up here tonight?” she asked.

  “No. It’s nearly dark, and it’s been pouring for hours. Anyone else on this leg of the trail would have turned back to Sligachan when that storm hit, or else they’d have been here by now. I’m going to turn in. I’m pretty beat, and there’s not much we can do once it’s dark in here. I’d rather not use our torches if we don’t have to.”

  “Okay, I’ll be in soon, too.”

  “If you do need the loo during the night, take a torch with you, and be careful. If you’re even the slightest bit worried about it, wake me up, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Good night.”

  “’Night.”

  I went into the back room and changed into the shorts I slept in, then climbed up the ladder and crawled into my sleeping bag. I heard the slap of cards on wood and knew Amelia was playing solitaire, obviously making the most of the last dregs of daylight.

  I listened to the wind rattling the windows, the rain falling in sheets outside. It was bad out there. I muttered a thank-you to the Mountain Bothy folks for our shelter. It would have been a rough afternoon and evening without it.

  Amelia came into the room a little later, partially covering her torch with her hand so that she wouldn’t wake me. I could have told her not to bother, but I just pretended to be asleep. There was a slight unf as she settled in to the bunk. Then a click, and the room was completely dark.

  I heard the rustle as she moved around in her sleeping bag, heard her soft sigh as she finally got comfortable. I pictured her hand curled under her chin, her long hair sliding around her shoulders, her long, dark lashes like wee fans grazing the tops of her cheekbones.

  I wanted so badly to climb back down that ladder and join her. I wanted to feel that hand on me, to tangle my fingers in that curtain of hair, to press my lips to those delicate lashes. I wanted to wrap my body around hers and let her feel how much I wanted her—and have her want me back just as much.

  I didn’t do any of those things.

  “Good night, Rory,” she whispered.

  I didn’t answer.

  …

  I finally stumbled on to the summit, after over an hour of scrambling and fighting the wind and ignoring their calls from behind me—one taunting, the other pleading. But I had barely a moment to look around in triumph before I was compl
etely surrounded by a thick mist.

  I froze. Where was the edge?

  I had made it all the way to the summit, only to be completely helpless. I couldn’t see, couldn’t move. I was so afraid I’d plummet to my death.

  “Rory, where are you?”

  I closed my eyes in relief. He’d found me. “Here! I’m at the top!”

  “You made it to the top! I knew you could!” I could hear the smile in his voice, and my chest swelled with pride. “Hang on, I’m almost there.”

  “Be careful. It’s really socked in. I can’t see anything.”

  “No worries. We’ll wait until it clears and go down together. Just stay where you are. Do you hear me? You just stay where you are, and I’ll come to you.”

  “Okay,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  I was completely blind. My breath came faster and faster; my heart pounded so fast it hurt. If I could only just see him, I’d be okay. But the mist was too thick.

  “Rory, talk to me.”

  “I’m scared,” I gasped, cringing at how weak I sounded. If he had heard me, he would have mocked me for that, too.

  “I know. Just breathe. In through your nose—hold it—out through your mouth—hold it. And again. Can you do that? I’m almost there, I promise. Just stay where you are and breathe.”

  I breathed, just as he told me to. In through my nose, out through my mouth, holding it for a moment in between each inhale and exhale. I found a boulder and clung to it.

  The mist suddenly dissipated, and I saw his face. He smiled and took a step closer, his gaze holding mine. “There you are.” Another step. And then…

  “Shh, Rory. It’s okay.” A cool hand touched my cheek, then a soft weight settled against me. I reached for it—for her—and held on. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

  I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Amelia?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. You were dreaming.”

  Something wasn’t right—something other than my nightmare. “I’m in the top bunk.”