Chapter Fifty
Amelia
“I still can’t believe you walked like forty miles—including over a goddamn mountain—with a sprained knee. For me. I…don’t even know what to say to that.”
It was a few days after Carrie woke up. I was sitting in the uncomfortable chair by her bed. My laptop was on a tray between us, and I was showing her the photos from the trek. Unlike most people looking at someone else’s vacation photos, where they click through pretty quickly with an occasional comment or question, Carrie was looking at each one individually, as if she could absorb Skye through the screen.
The nurses had helped her bathe, and she had on pajamas with little sheep on them under a purple robe. Her blonde hair was in a long braid draped over her shoulder. Even with dark circles under her eyes and little lines of pain around her mouth, she looked beautiful.
And she would be okay.
I took her hand. “I couldn’t let you down, Carrie. Not after… Can you forgive me?”
She tore her eyes from a photo of the sea stacks at Rubha Hunish. She cocked her head to the side. “For what?”
“For this!” I said, gesturing to the monitors, the bandages, the remains of the shitty hospital food on the cart. “For nearly getting you killed,” I said, my voice breaking. “Over a stupid argument. Over a stupid boy who meant nothing.” I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.
She tugged my hand from my face and held it tight. “Look at me.”
I looked at the beloved face that was as familiar to me as my own. She brushed away my tears with her other hand. “It was an accident, Mee. There’s nothing to forgive. Besides,” she added with a grin, “it got your ass out on the Skye Trail. And maybe that means you’ll go hiking with me when this stupid leg gets better?”
“Not only that, we’re going to do the goddamn Skye Trail, okay?”
“You’d go through it all again?”
“In a New York minute. Pinky swear.”
“Pinky swear,” she said, locking her pinky with mine. She turned back to the photos, meticulously scrolling through each one.
“Tell me about Skye,” she said a little while later. “Your photos are fucking incredible, but as amazing as they are, I know it’s not the same as being there.”
She had no idea. “No, it isn’t. Where should I start?”
“Tell me about this picture, this moment,” she said, gesturing to the computer screen. “Close your eyes, and picture it. And then tell me what you see and how it made you feel.”
I glanced at the photo. It was from the Trotternish Ridge, just after the rain. I closed my eyes. “It’s the second day of the trek, and we’re on the Trotternish Ridge—nearly eighteen miles of summit after summit. It’s still morning, but everything already hurts. My shoulders and back are aching from my heavy pack, and my legs are just screaming—thighs, calves, everything. I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to get through the day.
“We just ascended our second peak, Beinn Edra, after a heavy downpour. I’d lost my balance in the mud and would have ended up on my face if Rory hadn’t caught me.”
I’m breathless, speechless. My hands are flat against his chest. His heart pounds beneath my palms, steady at first and then faster. I stare into his gray-green eyes, the color of the sea in the rain.
“Mee?”
I blinked, the vision dissolving. Carrie was looking at me, one eyebrow arched. “Sorry. Got lost for a minute there.”
“You were on Beinn Edra.”
“Right.” I closed my eyes again. “I’m standing atop Beinn Edra. The rain has stopped, but the sky is still this threatening blue-gray color. The sunlight has found its way through the clouds, and everything has this strange glow. There are mountains to my left and my right, stretching as far as I can see. The sea lies before me, far below, and an eagle soars up from the ridge.
“I feel like I’ve stepped into another world, and I’ve left everything behind. My pain, my worry, my fear—they’ve all faded away. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of rain, of grass, of dirt. I feel the call of the land in my blood, in my soul. And I don’t want to leave. Don’t make me leave,” I whispered.
I heard a sniffle, and opened my damp eyes to see Carrie wiping away tears. Oh no! I reached for her—not sure what I was going to do, exactly, but needing to do something. “Are you okay? Should I get a nurse?”
She waved away my hand. “No, dingbat, I’m fine. I’m just—I’ve never heard you speak like that before. About anything. I’m so glad you got to experience that.”
I jumped up and looked down at her. “How can you be glad? It should have been you, walking up those mountains, feeling the rain on your face, breathing that air. But because of me, you were lying here, broken and in pain, while I was in that beautiful place, seeing those sights, falling in—” Love. I sank into the chair once more. “Because of me, you could have died.”
“But I didn’t! Look, it happened, it sucked, and it’s over. Yes, I’m in some pain, and yes, I’m a little bit broken. But I’m going to be fine, and you’re going to stop beating yourself up about it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You’re such a bad liar. I just thought of a way you can make it up to me, though.”
The speculative gleam in her eyes gave me a moment’s pause, but I would do anything to make things right. “Name it.”
“I want to hear about the man you’re in love with.”
“What?”
“You’ve told me about the glorious scenery, and you’ve told me about the others in the group, including cute and charming Tommy, who I’d like to hear more about later. But you haven’t said anything about Rory, only that he helped you finish the trek. Until just now, when you said he caught you when you would have fallen, and you got this faraway look in your eyes. I assume he’s the guy you were talking about when I woke up, the one you spoke of while I was in the coma.”
I gaped at her. “Wait, you heard that?”
She nodded. “Mostly just voices, but every now and then a few things came in clearer than others. That was one of them. So, how come you haven’t told me about him yet?”
“I…there hasn’t been time, between you needing to rest and your various tests and doctors and visits from people. Since you haven’t said anything, I assumed you didn’t remember from when you were just waking up.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And in the days since then?”
I got to my feet again, unable to sit still. “I didn’t know what to say! Hey Carrie, so I took your place on this trek because you were in a coma from the accident I caused. And not only was it a spectacular, life-changing experience, I also met this amazing, beautiful guy who taught me things about myself I never knew, who made my body sing, and who I’m completely in love with?”
“It’s a start.”
She awkwardly scooted over on the bed and patted the mattress beside her. I sat down, careful not to jostle her. “Now, talk. I want to know everything.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“How about with what he looks like.”
“Oh, you’d love him, Ree. Longish, sorta curlyish, dark red hair, gray-green eyes. He reminds me of the guy who played Robb Stark on Game of Thrones.”
“Holy crap.” We’d spent many Sunday nights drooling over that actor, so I knew she’d appreciate the comparison.
“Yeah.”
“I haven’t seen a pic of him yet, have I?”
“I don’t think we got far enough for there to be a good one.” I clicked ahead in the photos to one of him standing on one of the peaks of the Trotternish Ridge, looking out into the distance. I’d taken it kind of sneakily. “And this one.” It was the selfie we took on the bridge at Sligachan.
“Holy crap,” she said again. “Tell me everything. No detail is too small.”
I told her everything, from his condescending attitude at the beginning, to his freak-out on Sgùrr a’ Mhadaidh Ruaidh, to his nightmare and the
kiss, to his offer to help me complete the trek, and all our adventures since then.
When I finished, she stared at me. “Why the hell did you leave him?” she asked, almost angrily. “You love him, and he loves you. Why didn’t you stay there?”
I shook my head. “How could I, Ree? You were in a goddamn coma from an accident that I caused! I needed to be back here, with you. And our jobs in Miami—I leave in two weeks to go look for an apartment for us. How could I have stayed there?” I looked down. “Besides, I don’t know if he loves me.”
“Of course he does.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just sat here and listened to your play-by-play of that entire week. There’s not even the slightest question in my mind that he loves you just as much as you love him.”
“He never said he did.”
“Did you ever say it to him?”
“No,” I whispered. “I wanted to, so many times. But I couldn’t. What would be the point? He’s there, and I’m here.”
“That’s probably why he didn’t say it, either. There has to be some way to make this work.”
“My focus right now is on you. We need to get you back on your feet and get on with our move to Miami.”
I said the words, and meant them. But while I was thrilled beyond anything that Carrie was awake and recovering, and didn’t hate me, I still felt hollow inside. Because a piece of my soul was three thousand miles away, in the Western Highlands of Scotland.
…
Over the next few days, Carrie grew stronger. She was out of bed as much as possible. I would wheel her around the hospital or out into the garden for some fresh air, and she’d begun some light rehab on her arm.
I was doing some PT of my own, but walking on the treadmill in the noisy, smelly gym was no comparison to hiking a trail and breathing the fresh air, surrounded by mountains and lochs.
I was getting more and more depressed, in spite of Carrie’s recovery, in spite of the upcoming move to Miami. I just missed Rory. And when I spoke about him to Carrie, I kept hearing her voice in my head: “Why the hell did you leave a man like that behind? You love him and he loves you. Why didn’t you stay there?”
If not for her, I would never have met him. If not for her, I wouldn’t have fallen for him. And if not for her, I would have stayed there—somehow.
And I felt awful for thinking that, which made everything worse.
Rory was about to take a new group out on the Skye Trail. He’d camp on the beach with them at Bearreraig Bay, where he’d kissed me that first time. He’d spend a night in Sligachan, having a few pints with Gav, in the hotel where we’d first shared a bed—platonic(ish) as it may have been. He’d possibly stay in the bothy at Camasunary, where we’d made love for the first time, and maybe even go over Bla Bheinn, if the cliff path to Elgol was still impassable. And maybe even if it wasn’t.
He’d do all those things we’d done together—but not with me.
Chapter Fifty-One
Rory
I was fucking miserable.
I was doing the job I loved, leading a group of trekkers—all from the States—on the Skye Trail, with my best friend as co-guide. The weather was nearly perfect—not much wind on the Ridge, cloudless skies with brilliant sunshine. Everyone in the group was eager to be out there and having a good time.
But I felt no joy in traversing the Ridge, in seeing nothing but dramatic mountains and sapphire-blue lochs as far as the eye could see. I swam to the point of exhaustion in Bearreraig Bay that night, but still couldn’t sleep. Tommy tried his best to cheer me up, but nothing helped.
Amelia wasn’t there.
I lay awake in my tent, recalling how we’d gone from barely being civil to each other to so much more in a matter of days. Hours, really; the episode with Tommy on the edge of Sgùrr a’ Mhadaidh Ruaidh leading to my nightmare, which led to that first kiss on this very same beach.
I winced, remembering how I’d grabbed him, shouted at him like he was a punk kid I’d caught stealing my wallet. God, that had been an epic fuckup that really could have cost me my job if the group complained.
But they hadn’t complained. Instead, they’d praised me, especially Gordon, who’d actually told me he was impressed with me because of it.
I lurched upright, a glimmer of a thought popping into my brain. I turned on my torch and unearthed my journal from my pack. I flipped it open to the roster we got before each trek. There it was. Gordon Marshall, with his email address and phone number.
The next day, when we arrived in Portree, I tossed my pack into the room and told Tommy I was going for a walk. As soon as I was away from the B&B, I pulled out my phone and dialed. “Mr. Marshall?” I asked when the call was answered. “This is Rory Sutherland, from Scotland By Foot? I did part of the Skye Trail with you—”
“I remember you, son,” he interrupted in his booming voice. “It was barely over two weeks ago, for goodness sake. And call me Gordon.”
“Thanks, Gordon.”
“How’s Amelia? Did she finish the trail?”
“We finished about three days after you did. Turned out it was a sprained ACL.”
“Good for her. She must be a hell of a young lady to finish with that injury.”
“Aye, she is, sir.” He had no idea.
“So, Rory, what can I do for you?”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. “I… Well, sir, you said on the trail that you’d hire me in a second. If that was true, then I’m calling about a job. Do you have any positions available in the States, specifically southern Florida?”
He was silent for a moment. “Why the hell would you want to leave Scotland for Florida? Aren’t any mountains here, and it’s hotter than hell for most of the year.”
“I know, sir. But…the woman I love is there. Or she will be in a couple of months.”
The woman I love. I thought it would be strange to say the words out loud to a stranger. But nothing had ever felt more right.
“Hmm, Amelia mentioned she was moving to Miami in a couple of months.”
I smiled. “You have a good memory, Gordon.”
“Strange coincidence.”
“Not really.”
“I see.” And I knew he did see. “Well, why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, then?”
When I returned to the room a little while later, Tommy was sprawled across his bed, his nose in a book. He looked up when I closed the door behind me, then did a double take, setting aside the book and sitting upright.
“You okay, Ror? You look…weird.”
“Wanna grab a beer?”
Before I finished saying “beer,” he was on his feet and stepping into his flip-flops.
We went to a pub on the other side of town, where we’d be unlikely to run into anyone from the group, and sat at a back booth, pints in hand.
“Okay, spill,” he said after taking a long sip. “Everything okay with Amelia? With Carrie?”
“As far as I know. I haven’t talked to her since last week when Carrie woke up.”
“So what’s that look for? It’s almost like…part hope and part dread, if that’s even possible.”
That about summed it up, actually. “Remember Gordon Marshall, from the last Skye Trail?”
“Of course. Didn’t I just spend a week walking with him?”
“Anyway, he has a company in the States that books travel and tours for people.”
“Right, I remember. He was doing the trek so he could recommend SBF to his clients.”
“Oh. I don’t think I knew that.”
“Well, you were gone after what, day three? He may not have mentioned it by then. So, what about him?”
“Remember how he said he was so impressed with us he would hire us in a second?”
“Yeah…”
“I just called him.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “Wait. What are you saying? You asked him for a job?”
“I mentioned that I might be interested in som
ething in the States.”
“Like in Florida, you mean?”
“Aye.”
“And what did he say?”
“He has a Miami office, believe it or not. They do a lot of stuff with cruises and travel in South America and the Caribbean. And as he told you, he’s been wanting to expand to booking adventure travel in the UK, so he was intrigued by my call. He said he’ll get back to me in a few days.”
Tommy sat back, his finger tracing patterns in the ring of condensation from his mug.
“What is it?” I asked. “I thought you’d be happy for me, that I might be able to be with her.”
He looked up from the table, his eyes troubled. “I would be thrilled if you could be with her, man. It’s just…you don’t belong in an office, in business casual, staring at a goddamn computer screen and wearing a headset, offering people incentives if they book their trip with you. In Florida, where the nearest hill is probably four hundred miles away—or more.”
“There may not be hills there, but there are other outdoor sports, like sailing, parasailing, scuba diving—I’ve always wanted to try that. Plus, it’s warm and sunny all year. Might be a nice change from this place, especially in the winter when it’s dark for sixteen hours a day.”
He shook his head. “You’d be miserable.”
I slammed my hand down on the table, rattling our bottles. “What do you want me to say, Tommy? Do I want to work in an office in Florida, staring at a computer screen and wearing a headset, four hundred miles from the nearest hill? No. I want to be out walking the Highlands. But if I was in an office in Florida, she’d be there. Her face would be the last thing I see before I go to sleep, the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning.”
I took a long swallow of beer. “Since she left, I’ve been adrift. I looked out at the Ridge yesterday, and it was like looking at a stone wall. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. And if putting on khakis and a button-down and sitting in that office means I can be with Amelia, then I’ll do it happily.”
Tommy nodded. “I get it, man. I’m just asking you not to do anything rash, okay? Just think about it before you make any decisions.”
Under a Storm-Swept Sky Page 29