Under Scottish Stars

by Carla Laureano

  But as soon as she climbed into bed, before she allowed herself to unleash her hold on her tears, the soft thud of feet traveled up the stairs.

  “Mum?” Em called quietly from the doorway. “Are you awake?”

  “I am. Couldn’t sleep?”

  Em shook her head and crawled under the covers with her. Serena put an arm around her and let the little girl snuggle up beside her.

  After a long stretch, Em asked, “You and Malcolm aren’t getting back together, are you?”

  Serena swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t think so, cupcake. We love each other, but there are too many things we couldn’t work out.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do people keep leaving us? Don’t they like us?”

  Em’s words, her ownership of the situation, was more than Serena could take. The tears she had held back spilled down her cheeks, accompanied by Em’s mournful sniffles. “Oh, my little love, this has nothing to do with you and Max. Sometimes things just don’t work out, is all.”

  “I’m going to miss him and Kylee,” Em said, hugging her tighter.

  “Me too, Em.”

  Em drifted off to sleep beside her, but Serena simply stared at the vaulted ceiling of her bedroom. Had she done the right thing? She’d been trying to make the decision that was best for her family. No matter how she might love Malcolm, she’d known him for only a few months. She couldn’t risk her children’s happiness by moving them halfway around the world any more than he could bring himself to go back on his promise to Nicola and Kylee. This was one of those situations that was nobody’s fault, just a matter of bad timing.

  In time her heart would come to understand that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MALCOLM THREW HIMSELF INTO PLANNING. It was all he could do now that the decision had been made. He and Kylee were moving. Serena wouldn’t be coming with him.

  “What happened?” Kylee asked, wide-eyed, when he returned home.

  “Serena and I are over,” he said flatly. “I asked her to marry me, and she said no. So you can stop feeling guilty about all this.”

  “I’m—” she began to protest, then cut herself off. “I’m really sorry, Uncle Malcolm.”

  “Yeah. So am I. You already put in your letter of intent?”

  “I sent it in yesterday, as soon as you agreed.” Her voice turned hesitant. “What do we do now?”

  “We need to download all the forms and due dates. I think you probably already missed the deadline for on-campus housing, so we’ll have to figure out whether we need to fly there early and look for an apartment.”

  Kylee just stared at him.

  “I’m okay, Kylee. We just have a lot of planning to do in a short time. I need to contact the institute and see if they have any openings, and then we’ll schedule a trip to get us both sorted. I’ll come back and look over the process of renting the house.”

  “You’re not going to sell it?” Kylee asked in a small voice.

  “No, Kylee. Your parents left this to you. I want to make sure it’s here for you if you ever decide to come back to Skye. When you get older, if you want to sell it, you can.”

  “It’s all just happening so fast.”

  It was. And he needed it to happen fast, before he could feel the full impact of what he was doing and change his mind. This was the best decision for Kylee’s education and for his own career. He’d never intended to stay on Skye, managing a tiny hotel at the edge of Scotland. Once he was back in Baltimore or Boston or Philadelphia, assuming he could get a similar job, he could pick up where he left off, and this year of his life would just be a blip on his CV. A distant memory.

  At least that’s what he told himself. Serena couldn’t be erased that easily from his heart.

  Before he could go down that maudlin path, he sent Kylee to her room to print the information packet, then booted his own laptop on the dining room table. The web surfing took his mind off the implications of his actions as he searched job listings and apartment adverts. But he knew that was simply a distraction from the task that would make this move real.

  Moment of truth.

  He opened an e-mail to his old boss in Baltimore and started the change in motion.

  Bill, it looks like I’m moving back to America.

  The hotel looked different to Malcolm now that he knew he was in his final two weeks of managing it. It wasn’t a job he’d have ever thought he would hold, but in retrospect, he had enjoyed it. The variety of tasks, the stretches of solitude. Of course, he wouldn’t miss the fairly regular complaints of guests about things outside his control, but there would be an entirely different set of annoyances once he was back to an office job: politics, interpersonal bickering, long hours spent staring at a computer screen. He’d have to make a point of getting outside into the fresh air whenever he could.

  He never thought he would miss anything about Skye, and now he was walking away with a whole list of regrets.

  The host of problems that met him when he arrived was a welcome distraction. An electrical issue in the kitchen turned out to be a loose connection that he easily fixed without needing to call an electrician. Then the hotel’s website decided to crash, thanks to an unexpected server update. That took a call to technical support, followed by an hour combing through code before he found the line that was conflicting with the new database software. It was as if God were throwing him challenges ideally suited to his skill set so he didn’t give in to the growing impulse to call Serena and beg her to reconsider.

  He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. She’d been manipulated enough through guilt, and he wouldn’t be another man who refused to let her make her own decisions. Even if the prospect of being without her hurt with every breath.

  When he finally got back to his desk after the last emergency—a leaking drain in the bar’s sink—there was an e-mail waiting from his former boss. He opened it and read the terse reply: Your previous position has been filled, but maybe you’d be interested in this? If so, send me your résumé and apply through the website.

  Malcolm clicked on a link, which took him to a job description for a senior software engineer at the Space Telescope Science Institute. Rather than general systems engineering, this particular position was tied specifically to the Hubble Deep Field program. It was just the sort of thing that had appealed to him when he decided to work in astronomy.

  He didn’t hesitate as he pulled up his CV from cloud storage and attached it to a reply to Bill. He was already committed, he told himself. Clicking Send would do nothing to change that. But his chest felt tight as the arrow hovered over the button. Given his excellent reputation at the institute, he had a good shot at the position. They would want him to come out for an interview, and once he did, he would be returning to Scotland only to pack and ship their things and rent the house.

  He pressed Send.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER. One day at a time. The mantras carried Serena through her waking hours now as they had gotten her through the early days after Edward’s death, when she struggled with what to tell Em and tried to reconcile the fact that she was going to have another child, completely alone. Even though this wasn’t a physical death, the abruptness brought the same sense of grief, the sensation of having her future pulled out from under her, the deep realization of her aloneness. Yes, her children were there, and if anything, her pain reminded her how intensely she loved them, but her responsibilities also reminded her that she didn’t have anyone who could take care of her in return.

  She avoided the hotel during the daytime hours. It was painful enough to know that Malcolm was right next door, yet so far out of her reach that he might as well have been in America already. But the opening of the inaugural gallery exhibit was this weekend, and that didn’t change just because her heart was broken. She left the kids with Muriel and went to the hotel after she knew Malcolm had handed off responsibility to the new assistant manager, Catriona. She tweaked the positions of the
paintings and rearranged furniture. As long as she kept herself busy, she didn’t have to think about Malcolm and the hole he had left in her world. She didn’t have to examine why she’d let him so thoroughly infiltrate the life she had built for herself and her children.

  On Tuesday morning came the phone call she had been dreading. “Hi, Jamie,” she said cautiously. She’d avoided talking to her brothers so she didn’t have to relive the situation, but there was no chance it wouldn’t come up now.

  “Serena, I just received a resignation letter from Malcolm. He gave me two weeks’ notice. Do you know anything about this?”

  She hung her head. “Uh, yeah. He and Kylee are moving back to America. I didn’t know what the time line would be, so I didn’t say anything. I just assumed he’d deliver it to me.”

  “Does this mean—?”

  “That we’re over? Yes.” She tried to keep her voice strong, but it caught anyway.

  “I knew it,” Jamie muttered. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “No,” Serena said quickly. “It was my decision. He asked me to marry him and move, and I said no. Our home is here in Scotland. On Skye.”

  “Are you sure, Serena? I would have sworn—”

  “I’m sure.” This time her voice sounded solid. Firm. “I’ve made my decision. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt, but I don’t regret it. Em and Max are finally settled. This is where we’re meant to stay.”

  “I’m so sorry. I hate that you’re hurting again. Especially after all you went through with Edward.”

  “You knew?”

  “Of course we did. You’re our sister, Serena. We know when you’re not happy. But you would never take any criticism of Edward, and you insisted things were fine. What else should we have done?”

  “Nothing. I wouldn’t have listened.” She hadn’t been ready to admit how bad things had gotten, because once she did, she would have had to do something about it. And the choices had been impossible: divorce him against her personal beliefs or let him make her and her daughter miserable.

  “Do you need us, Serena? I’m in London, but I could be home by Saturday. Andrea could come out too—”

  “No. I’m okay. I promise.” The last thing she wanted was to be around Jamie and Andrea, who were the very definition of blissfully in love. She quickly changed the topic before he could force the issue. “What do you think about having me take over management responsibilities at the hotel? Max and Em will be back to school in August.”

  “I think you would be excellent. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

  “What else am I going to do with my time?”

  “You could paint.”

  Somehow the suggestion hurt more than she had ever imagined. “I don’t paint anymore.” Or at least she didn’t plan to. The first thing she’d done when she and Malcolm parted ways was pack up her easel.

  “Whatever you want to do, Ian and I will back you up. Just let me know if you need anything, will you?”

  “I will. I promise. Love you, Jamie.”

  “Ditto, Sis. Take care of yourself.”

  She tried. She really did. At least she went through the motions of living, playing with Em and Max, baking in her wonderful vintage oven. When the day of the opening reception arrived, she moved through it like a shell of herself, smiling and making small talk, introducing visitors to their first artist. This was what she’d been working toward—the thrill of once again doing something in the field she enjoyed—but even when they made several sales, the joy eluded her. Every time the door opened, she looked up, her breath held, hoping it was Malcolm; every time her hopes crashed again.

  He had been a part of this, whether he knew it or not. He’d nudged her to take chances, to open up, to trust herself again. Without him, the victory felt hollow.

  She picked up the phone and then hung up more times than she could count over the next several days. They were over. There was no future for them. He would be gone from Skye and out of her life for good in only a few days.

  Still, she somehow didn’t expect to walk into the manager’s office one evening and find it bare.

  The stupid mug that always sat on his desk was gone, as were the potted plants. And in their place, precisely aligned in the center of the desk blotter, was a thick three-ring binder with a note taped on the cover. Malcolm’s barely legible scrawl was visible even from the door. She pulled the note off the binder with trembling hands.

  Dear Serena,

  You’ve no doubt heard that we are flying to America, and this is my last day at the hotel. James told me you’re taking over, but I’ve arranged for Liam and Catriona to cover the hours for the next two weeks while you get your feet under you.

  I’ve laid out the procedures I established for ordering, maintenance, and deliveries. You’ll find a list of already-approved vendors in the back of the binder. I hope this makes the transition easier.

  I wish we could have done this in person, but I think you’re right that it would be too difficult. For both of us.

  Wishing you all the best,

  Malcolm

  She ground her teeth, her throat suddenly tight, as she flipped open the binder. With typical engineer thoroughness, he’d laid out his entire procedure in tabbed sections, arranged by day and task. There were spreadsheets with inventory lists, notated with the vendors and the regular ordering dates. Employee schedules. Troubleshooting lists detailing the most common problems she might face on a daily basis and whom to call if she couldn’t fix them herself. And each sheet had a file path printed so she could find the electronic copy. In short, he had spared no effort in making sure she had everything she needed to run the hotel efficiently without him.

  Serena sank down onto the desk chair, her heart clenched and aching. She didn’t know if she was more touched by the gesture or pained by what she had lost. She’d been lamenting the fact that no one was looking out for her, and here he was trying to help her from afar even after she had broken his heart.

  He was a good man; he loved her; she loved him. And yet she couldn’t have him. What welled up in her now wasn’t grief but anger. She leaped out of her chair, stormed from the hotel, and shut herself in her car, where she could let the sorrow and rage pour out. Why? She’d done everything that was ever asked of her. She’d gone to church. She hadn’t slept around. She’d married someone she thought was a good man, a Christian. And he had betrayed her by not loving her, not loving their child the way he should have because of some deep insecurity that made him dominate those he was supposed to care for and cherish.

  And then, just when she had given up on love, Malcolm came along, someone who was everything she never thought she wanted and every last thing she actually needed. She changed her life’s direction, began to believe that maybe God was looking out for her after all. And instead of a lasting love, instead of the happy family she craved for herself and her children, she was once more alone. Shouldering the burdens herself.

  “Why?” she whispered, staring up through the window to the sky beyond. “What is wrong with me? Why do You always take everything away?” But instead of the familiar glimmer of light against an ocean of dark, the stars were hidden by perpetual twilight.

  It felt symbolic of her life, caught on the cusp of day and night, between happiness and sorrow, always waiting.

  She put the car in gear and backed out of the hotel’s car park, her jaw clenched and her heart aching. She was merely being sensible. She was doing the responsible thing by putting her children’s well-being above her own needs. That’s what being a mother meant. But if that was true, why was she so miserable? Why did her heart feel not just broken but irreparably shattered? Was this the lesson she wanted to teach her children, that love wasn’t worth fighting for, that it could be discarded out of practicality? That made her no better than Edward.

  By the time she reached Muriel’s house, she was more confused than ever.

  The anger drained out of her as she trudged up the walk to the fr
ont door. When she entered, the lights had been turned low and her children were sound asleep on the sofa. Only the kitchen light shone brightly. She followed it and found her aunt wiping down the countertops with a rag.

  “Are you finished already?” Muriel asked without turning.

  When she didn’t answer, Muriel swiveled and then stilled when she took in Serena’s tearstained face.

  “He’s gone,” Serena said, her voice wavering. “What if I made a terrible mistake?”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Muriel moved to her side and put her arms around her. “I’m so sorry. Is that how you feel? Can’t you just . . . go over there and talk to him?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “On one hand, I made the only decision that made sense, and on the other, I feel like it’s a huge mistake to let him walk out of my life. Our lives.”

  Muriel patted the stool at the island, then bustled to the kettle to make tea. Celebration, sorrow, the answer was always a cuppa. If Serena weren’t so distressed, the observation would have made her laugh.

  “Why do things like this keep happening? Am I that foolish? Edward seemed so perfect but made me so miserable. Yet Malcolm is Edward’s exact opposite . . . and I’m still miserable.”

  If Muriel was surprised by Serena’s admission, she didn’t show it. “Seems to me that you just traded one cage for another.”

  Serena frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “We all saw how Edward dictated every detail of your lives. But once you were free, didn’t you do the same thing? You kept your life exactly as it was. You could have gone back to work; you could have started painting again, but you didn’t.”

  “So this is somehow my fault because I didn’t go back to art?”

  Muriel raised an eyebrow, indicating she didn’t appreciate Serena’s tone, regardless of the context. “No, dear,” she said patiently. “I’m suggesting you became so obsessed with giving your children the kind of life they would have had with Edward that you didn’t stop to consider whether you should. Then once you decided that Skye was the best place for them, you refused to budge.”