There was no other option. It was time to get out of town.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EVEN THOUGH LEAVING her children with Aunt Muriel felt a bit like leaving behind a limb, Serena felt a rush of relief as she crossed the concrete bridge from Skye on Friday afternoon. She wasn’t running away. Precisely the opposite. She needed some distance to consider the thoughts that wouldn’t leave her alone day or night.
It wasn’t exactly that she regretted making peace with Malcolm. She was beginning to like him, and his way with her children was undeniably endearing. The idea of spending time with him was becoming more and more appealing. When was the last time someone had made her laugh so much, feel so alive? And yet if they did start dating, what happened when the summer was over and it was time for her to go back to the mainland? She was far past the age where she believed she could keep her heart out of it. It was either go for it or stop everything right now before it got out of hand.
Unfortunately she was afraid to do one and didn’t want to do the other.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. She twisted the dial on her radio to drown out her annoyingly persistent thoughts.
By the time she walked through the front door of her home in Nairn, Serena was both exhausted and thoroughly disgusted with herself. She locked the door behind her and proceeded into the kitchen. After two weeks on Skye, she’d expected to feel the relief of coming home after a long trip, but the space felt empty and foreign. If she hadn’t been dead on her feet, she might have considered driving back tonight so she could be home when the children woke up.
She immediately started a kettle on the boil, then surveyed the contents of her cabinets. Plates, bowls, servers. Flatware, some mixing bowls. The croft house’s kitchen was so sparse she needed to transfer the entire contents of her tableware cabinet back to Skye. She began stacking items on the kitchen table and then poured herself a cup of tea while she considered what else she might need. She’d been making do with a single ancient baking sheet, so pans and tins went into the pile as well.
Once she’d packed up the items in a heavy cardboard box, she went upstairs to her bedroom to pull out the few pieces of clothing she’d decided she wanted to bring back with her. They were mostly comfy sweaters and long-sleeved shirts, considering she’d slanted her packing more toward the summer than the spring, an overly optimistic move if ever there was one. She hesitated with her fingers on the hanger of one of her favorite items: a clingy wool-cashmere sweater-dress in a gorgeous moody violet. She’d left it behind because on Skye, where would she wear it? After a moment’s consideration, she pulled it from the closet along with a coordinating scarf and a pair of black high-heeled boots. Just in case.
She’d forgotten how little time it took to do things without interruptions, so she returned to the kitchen to make herself a sandwich for dinner, then plopped in front of the television in the lounge. The first movie she turned on was an odd, quiet film that first seemed to be a drama about infidelity, then veered into a murder thriller. Not exactly what she wanted to watch while home alone. She changed the channel and settled on Bridget Jones’s Diary. She didn’t know whether it was better or worse: a woman of a certain age making a fool of herself in the pursuit of love? Maybe a little too close to home, all things considered.
When the film ended, she found herself once more at a loss. What now? It wasn’t even ten. She opened a bottle of white wine, took a glass up to her bathroom, and ran water in the tub. Even after a long, luxurious soak with scented salts, she was tucked between crisp sheets before eleven.
My exciting life, she thought wryly just before she drifted off to sleep.
Serena had been sure she would be up at the crack of dawn, ready to drive back to Skye. Max’s idea of letting her sleep in, despite the multiple night wakings, was barely seven o’clock in the morning. Yet when she pried her eyes open to the bright wash of light through her bedroom windows, the angle was all wrong. It wasn’t the dim morning glow that followed first dawn. It was the full glaring brightness of an unusually sunny spring day.
She jerked her eyes to the clock: 11:05. What? No, that couldn’t be possible. She grabbed her watch from the nightstand, but the always-reliable perpetual motion confirmed her bedroom alarm clock to be perfectly accurate. She threw back her covers and was halfway to the bathroom before she realized she actually had nowhere to be. Muriel didn’t expect her until tonight. So why was she rushing?
The mattress crushed beneath her weight as she sat heavily on the edge. If she left by two o’clock, she would be back in time to feed the kids and tuck them into bed. The car was already packed, and she didn’t need more than a few minutes to dress. So what was she going to do with her unexpected windfall of time?
Her feet carried her downstairs to the converted pantry almost without realizing where she was going. The canvas still sat on the easel where she’d left it, and foil tubes lay on the table beside it with a clean palette, waiting. For what, she didn’t know—inspiration, maybe, or courage. For a moment, an idea tickled at the edge of her mind, unformed and begging to be given shape. But even before she picked up a brush, it choked somewhere inside her. She couldn’t do it. It was this place, the weight of the past that had seeped into the walls. Edward might be gone, but the memories remained: his irritation at coming home to find her still in her pajamas, cloistered in this tiny space instead of making dinner; the little jabs about getting older and holding on to childish dreams; the fact he had never once said anything complimentary about her work.
Tears pricked her eyes. Maybe Edward had been right. Maybe it was time to pack this away for good. Be sensible. Art was something from a former life, a part of a person who no longer existed. She was a widowed mum of two, after all. To make great art—to make art at all—she needed passion, and that was something so far in her past, she barely remembered what it felt like.
Unbidden, Malcolm popped into her mind, bringing up a fresh wave of nervous anticipation not unlike the feeling she’d once had while incubating a new idea. Until she’d met him, she thought that part of her was dead too, the irrational part that wanted more despite all the reasons she should be satisfied with her life. And if that part was still there, however deeply buried, didn’t it mean the ability to paint might remain too?
She hesitated only a heartbeat before she grabbed a cardboard box from the corner and began packing up her supplies: oil paints, brushes, watercolors, canvases. Everything she would need to work should the inspiration hit. As the room emptied of its contents, piled into first one box and then three more, the tight band around her chest began to loosen.
Her boxes of art supplies joined the kitchen utensils and clothes in the boot of her car. Then Serena took a deep breath and looked back at the house. Divested of her most prized possessions and void of the children she loved, the structure became what it had always been and she’d never noticed: merely a house. Never truly a home.
It was time to do what she should have done three years ago. She had to sell it. She couldn’t make the kind of life here that Em and Max deserved, not when every wall and every room was steeped in negativity and bad memories.
She would break the news to the children while they were still on Skye so they could get used to the idea, and when they returned to Nairn, she would put it on the market.
Serena locked the front door behind her and walked to the car with a new lightness in her heart. It lasted all the way across the upper part of Scotland, and it may have been to blame for the way she answered the phone when Malcolm’s number rang through half an hour from the bridge. “You missed me already, did you? It’s only been two days.”
“I did, but that’s not why I’m calling.”
The seriousness in his voice immediately washed away her good mood. “What’s wrong?”
“Muriel is at hospital right now.”
“What? What happened?” She sucked in her breath as a wave of fear hit her. “Where are Max and Em? She was watching them—”
“I’ve got them; don’t worry.”
The relief was so strong, for a moment she swayed behind the wheel.
Malcolm went on. “I had Kylee take them to our house. I hope that’s okay. I gave her my key to your place so she could get some clothes and toys for them. I’m here at Broadford Hospital with Muriel.”
“I’m still about an hour out. Do they know what’s wrong?”
She could hear the hesitation on the other end of the line, but his voice was neutral when he answered. “They’re not sure yet. She was apparently feeling unwell all morning, and she collapsed up at the house. Em called 999 and then dialed me. She’s a brave little girl.”
Thank You, God, for Em’s quick thinking.
“We’ve got everything under control here, so don’t feel like you need to rush. We were lucky that we got here before the doctors left for the evening, or they would have sent her to Inverness. They might still, depending on what the test results show.”
“Thank you, Malcolm. I appreciate it.”
“Of course. See you soon.”
Serena hung up and shoved her phone into the cup holder beside her, her chest tight. She should have known something was wrong. Muriel had been acting more tired than usual for at least a year, which was why Jamie and Andrea had hired Malcolm in the first place, to take the workload of the hotel from her. And Serena herself had noted how weary she’d looked right after they’d arrived, but she’d just attributed that to the fact that Max had woken them up multiple nights in a row. Why hadn’t Serena pushed her harder to see her doctor? Why hadn’t she left immediately when she woke this morning?
No, she couldn’t blame herself. Had she left Nairn early, she might have picked up her children, and Muriel would have been alone. It was a blessing that Serena had been delayed, or who knew how long her aunt would have lain there?
Still, it didn’t stop the creeping sense of sickness in her middle over the next hour. She had to consciously hold her speed down. When at last she parked at the tiny white-stucco building that was Broadford Hospital, her trembling legs would barely hold her. She moved quickly across the car park to the outdated brown steel-and-glass entrance, where she was met with a warm blast of antiseptic-scented air.
The deserted reception area was old and faded, just linoleum floors with some chairs and a wood-paneled reception desk marked Enquiries. Movement to her left caught her attention, and she nearly wilted with relief when Malcolm rose, putting aside the magazine he’d been reading.
She met him in the center of the room, clutching the strap of her handbag like a lifeline. “What’s going on? Have you heard anything?”
“They will only tell me that she’s stable, but since I’m not family, I can’t find out any information. Let’s find a nurse, and maybe you’ll be able to learn more.”
Serena was relieved when Malcolm stepped up to the empty reception station and called for a nurse. A moment later a woman strode down the hallway, and he introduced Serena as Muriel MacDonald’s niece.
“Can you tell us anything about what happened?” Serena asked.
“We’re still waiting on test results. But for the time being, she’s stable and doesn’t appear to need to be transferred.”
Serena blinked. They still didn’t have any idea what caused her collapse? How was that possible?
“The doctor is with her now,” the nurse continued. “We’ll let you know when you can go back and see her.”
“Thank you.” Serena moved back to the chairs with Malcolm and sank into one beside him. After a moment she said, “Thank you for being here. And thank you for making sure Em and Max were taken care of.”
“Do you want to call them? I can ring Kylee. They’d probably like to talk to you.”
She nodded, and Malcolm dialed his mobile phone, greeted Kylee, then handed it over to Serena.
“Hi, Kylee. How are they?”
“Eating an early supper right now,” Kylee said. “I made them soup. Max is mostly playing with it, but Em seems to like it. After they’re done, I’m going to get Max washed up and in his pajamas. Em’s already in hers, but I thought it was safer to wait until he was done.”
Serena laughed. “Yes, probably so. Are they behaving for you?”
“So far.” There was a hint of amusement in Kylee’s voice. “I promised them that if they were good, they could fall asleep on the sofa to the telly. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s a perfect distraction. You’re doing great. Thank you, Kylee.”
“You’re welcome,” Kylee said. “Is Auntie Muriel okay?”
“We don’t know yet, but she’s stable. We’ll keep you posted on when we’ll be home. I hope you didn’t have to cancel your Saturday night plans.”
“Just homework. Tell Auntie hi when you see her.”
“We will.” She waited while Kylee gave the phone to Em and then Max, spoke with each of them for a few minutes, then clicked off and handed the mobile back to Malcolm.
“Everything’s okay?”
“They sound like they’re having a grand time.” Impulsively she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I don’t know how to thank you for being here for my family.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
It was his usual answer, but his tone held no hint of humor or irony. When she tried to withdraw her hand, he held it fast, and after a moment of consideration, she left it in his. It felt nice to have the support, even if she’d never expected it to come from Malcolm.
It seemed as if hours passed as they sat there holding hands over the arms of the chairs, Serena staring at the opposite wall, Malcolm flipping awkwardly through his magazine one-handed. It would have been far easier for him to just let go of her, but he didn’t seem inclined to do that. Only when a white-coated doctor emerged down the hall and called her name did he finally release her hand, rising with her.
“Yes? I’m Serena Stewart.”
The physician shook her hand. “I’m Dr. Lee. I just spoke with your aunt. You can go back and visit her now.”
“Thank you. Do you know what happened?” She fell into step with him, aware of Malcolm following at a respectful distance.
“The labs just came back. Her symptoms weren’t from a heart attack but from hyperthyroidism. I strongly suspect an autoimmune disorder called Graves’ disease, but our sonographer won’t be in until tomorrow so we can confirm. Right now your aunt is on a beta-blocker as an emergency treatment until the antithyroid medications take effect.”
Serena swallowed. She’d never claimed to have any medical knowledge, but everything he was saying to her sounded frightening and complicated. The only way it could be worse was if it occurred to one of her children. When she spoke, her voice came out sounding small and anxious. “Will she be okay?”
Dr. Lee smiled. “Yes, she’ll be fine. I’m admitting her overnight as a precautionary measure, but assuming she continues to respond well to treatment, she should be discharged tomorrow. Had it been worse, we would have transferred her to Raigmore by helicopter, but I don’t believe that’s necessary.” He stopped in front of a closed door. “You can go in and see her now.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Serena smiled at him and then pushed into the small room, trying to mask her dismay at seeing her aunt in the hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and tubes. An IV dripped fluid into one arm, and leads coming from beneath her hospital gown connected her to a cardiac monitor. What Serena assumed was an oxygen monitor was clipped to one finger.
“How are you feeling, Auntie?” Serena perched on the chair beside Muriel’s bed. Malcolm stood quietly at the door.
“Oh, child, don’t give me that look. I’m not dying.” Muriel’s voice was a shade weaker than usual, but it held her familiar no-nonsense tone. “Didn’t the doctor tell you?”
“He did tell me, but it was still bad enough for Em to call emergency services!”
Muriel actually looked abashed. “How is she doing? She was pretty frightened. Max was too, but
he was more interested in the paramedics when they arrived.”
“Em is fine,” Malcolm said from his post by the door. “Kylee volunteered to watch them until Serena got home.”
“She’s a good girl,” Muriel said. Serena wasn’t sure whether she meant Em or Kylee. “You should go home and see your children. There’s no need to keep me company here. I have my telly and a book. Malcolm brought me one.”
“I had one in the car,” he said. “I didn’t expect her to be a fan of military thrillers.”
“I’m not, but it’s better than staring at the wall, isn’t it?”
With that level of spunk still intact, Muriel had to be fine. Serena finally managed to take a deep breath. “You must ring me as soon as you know you’re being discharged. I’ll come get you. I’m only ten minutes away.”
“I will. Now go. Stop fussing.” Muriel waved a hand, clearly embarrassed to be the center of attention. Serena bent to kiss her cheek, surprised when Malcolm did the same thing.
“Go, you two. And make sure you grab some supper before it gets too late.”
Malcolm escorted Serena out of the room. Once they were halfway down the hall, he let out a low laugh. “If there were any doubt that she’s going to be fine, that should eliminate it.”
“She is a rather tough lady,” Serena admitted. “Thank you again, Malcolm. I’m glad you were here.”
Pleasure registered on his face before he dipped his head in acknowledgment. He ushered her toward the reception area. “After you. I know two children who are going to be happy to see their mum.”
As it turned out, Em and Max were not happy to see Serena, because they were already asleep on the floor of Malcolm’s lounge, curled up with pillows and their favorite soft toys under a thick blanket. As soon as Serena and Malcolm entered the room, Kylee jumped up from the sofa and put a finger to her lips.
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