“An wull yi lookit this?” His clenched hand emerged from the fabric that had hidden it moments before and hovered above her head.
“What?” Skye looked up as his fingers unfurled, realizing too late what he had hidden behind his fingers. Has he not given up his mischievous childhood ways?
Tavish’s grin widened as the object dangled from his fingers. Mistletoe. He moved closer, determined to capture her mouth.
Skye backed up hard against the car door and fumbled with the handle. Locked. “What are you doing?”
“Mistletoe, Skye. Yi knaw the rules. Yi hivtae kiss me. Jist a wee wan, fur Christmas.”
“I don’t have to do anything. Stop it now. This isn’t funny.”
“Yi knaw whit wull happen if yi dont…nae wan wull ask yi tae marry them fur a year.”
Skye placed her hand flat against Tavish’s chest. “I’ll take my chances.” He might have money, but he certainly didn’t have manners. Callum would never force himself on her like that.
Tavish backed off and sat upright. “Yi cannae blame a fella fur tryin’.” He stuck out his hand. “Nae hard feelins?”
She’d not seal that with a handshake. No telling what Tavish might do once he got her in his grasp again. “No hard feelings.”
Looking at the distance to the hotel entrance, and then calculating the risk of Tavish following her up to her room, Skye made a choice. “Would you mind driving around to the front drive-through and dropping me off there? It’ll be easier—no snowy asphalt to cross.” Only a few steps from there and she’d be inside. There was always a bellman at the entrance, too. Tavish would only be able to drop her and go.
“Sure.” He started the car and drove across the parking lot, stopping the BMW where Skye had asked him to drop her. Leaning to the back, Tavish retrieved her Christmas gifts from the floor behind her seat. He handed Skye the two from Callum and one from him and his parents.
“Kin yi manage?”
“I’ll be just fine. Thank you for the ride home.”
Clutching the gifts, Skye hurried inside and up to her room. She needed a long hot bath and her warm bed. And medicine. Her throat hurt almost as much as her heart.
Cocooned in the slipper bath, Skye sank further under the hot water until it covered her ears, shutting out the world. Silence. Peace. In the quiet, she made new plans for Christmas day, now that she’d no longer be spending it with Callum. She refused to stay inside her hotel room. After breakfast, she’d hire a car and drive to the Isle of Skye. She wanted to be near her dad, and to clear her head. Alone.
~*~
“You let Skye go off with Tavish? Why didn’t you keep her here until I got back?” How could he blame any of this on his parents, on Christmas day?
They stared wide-eyed at Callum. Redness rose from his mother’s neck and spread across her cheeks. Callum knew what that meant—he’d overstepped the line and was in for his second full name blasting in as many days.
“Callum Robert McGuire. Whit wur we supposed tae dae? Chain hur tae a table?” She wagged her finger at him. “Ah tried tae warn yi.”
“I’m sorry, Ma. Da. I shouldn’t have taken this out on you. You’re not to blame.” He wrapped his arms first around his father, and then his mother, giving them each a hard hug. “Thank you for a perfect evening. I’m sorry it got spoiled at the end. That was my fault entirely.”
“Aye.” Ma became tenacious when she felt she was right.
That one small word said she blamed him totally. He’d done nothing wrong. His only fault: being too soft with Katie since their breakup. If he’d been firmer, she might have gotten the message long ago.
Callum released his grasp and hurried to the door. “I’d better see if I can do some damage control.” Wishing he had his BMW with its skid control and ABS brakes, Callum drove the Beetle with caution down the icy roads.
Skye would be curious about the car his brother drove her home in. Heaven only knew what yarns Tavish had spun. Would he have explained about Katie to Skye? Or would he have taken advantage of the situation for himself?
It seemed to take forever to get to the fourteenth floor and Skye’s door. Callum knocked, softly at first then a little harder, calling her name several times. No response. Either she didn’t want to talk to him, or she wasn’t there. Was she still with Tavish? A sick feeling gnawed in his stomach. What was his star-struck little brother getting up to with Skye?
He could report the BMW stolen. The cops would find Tavish a lot faster than he could. Even as he thought it, Callum knew that wasn’t fair. And he’d have to answer to their questioning, plus risk having his brother arrested. Skye could be with his sibling or she could be stubbornly hiding behind her hotel room’s door. It was impossible that she’d be asleep yet.
Getting no response, Callum had to desist. But he’d be back in the morning, with a reminder in hand of what they’d had, and could have, together.
7
Skye woke to a dark Christmas morn that promised a lonely day ahead. She released a lengthy sigh. She’d made the right decision to get away. She needed time to think.
In a flurry, she packed a small bag, enough to tide her over for a few days. She had no idea how long she’d stay on the Isle. It all depended on where she could get accommodation, how much she missed Callum, and whether she was ready to hear his story. If he even wanted to tell her his side. He hadn’t tried to contact her last night after the disastrous end to dinner. For all she knew, he was with his Katie, snuggled up beside a roaring fire, enjoying Christmas with her.
She shut her eyes against the image, remembering the last thing he’d said. Wait for me. Please. If he didn’t want her, would he have said that? Then again, she’d seen the dark-haired beauty in his arms as she’d walked out of McGuire’s with Tavish. If only the shadows in this Katie’s car could have hidden them from her sight.
Skye turned her thoughts to the two instances she and Callum had shared kisses the past weekend—the first in the Beetle, the second under the mistletoe. Both times had been filled with intensity and passion. Had it been like that for Callum and Katie last night? What would’ve happened if she had waited as Callum asked?
While she ate an early breakfast, trying to enjoy the meal she’d been dreaming of, the hotel staff at reception arranged a rental car for her. This would be the first time she’d drive this road on her own. In fact, it would be the first time she’d drive in Scotland, and Skye was thankful the concierge had the presence of mind to request a car with satellite navigation. She’d still had a year to go before being eligible for a driver’s license when Da died and mother whisked her out of Scotland. The only bonus to moving was that, in an instant, she was able to drive at age sixteen. Of course, there were other benefits, like the opera house, but it took some time for her to see that.
After breakfast Skye gave her mother and stepfather a quick ring to wish them a Merry Christmas. It was seven o’clock in the evening back home—their Christmas was almost over, while hers was just beginning. She didn’t confront her mother about Callum’s letters for now. Christmas day seemed inappropriate. But she would. Soon.
With her bags ready and her stomach full, Skye took to the road. She shouldn’t need to stop until she got to Portree in the early afternoon. The day turned out to be beautiful and clear. Unlike yesterday. Blue skies up above, snow-covered earth below. But as much as she loved the white surroundings, she could’ve done without them today.
She was eager to get to the capital village of Skye, and her journey would be longer than she wanted. She switched on the radio, turned up the heating, and got comfortable. Might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. First thing she’d do when she got to Portree was find a hotel and check in. Then she’d drive out to Stronuirinish Cemetery and look for her father’s grave.
Five hours later, she drove across the Skye Bridge. Her heart beat faster. The dark waters of Loch Alsh beneath were a stark reminder of the last time she’d made this crossing. That, too, had been dark. She�
��d only driven across this bridge on one other occasion before that—their last family holiday in Portree the year before Da died. She was grateful she didn’t have to get to Skye the way they had when she was a child. She’d never liked those ferry crossings, but the times that Callum had been with her, he’d always held her hand tight and told her they’d soon be safe on the other side.
So much for being alone and clearing her head. Almost every memory over the past few hours had involved Callum. He was woven into the fabric of her past. She couldn’t escape that fact. But could the same be said of her future?
Perhaps she should call McGuire’s when she got to Portree.
No. Callum had hurt her. Let him stew until she got back to Glasgow.
Another hour passed before Skye spotted the familiar green signs on the A87. She smiled. On the left side of the road, in white writing was a sign: Welcome to PORTREE. Underneath it read: Please drive carefully. On the opposite side of the tarmac, the sign was written in yellow. Fàilte gu PORT RÌGH. Gabhaibh air ur socair. It had been a lifetime since she’d read Gaelic.
In the distance, the snowy hills of Portree came into view. The picture in its entirety triggered a distant memory. Skye glanced to her right and did a double take. The sparse winter’s hedge along the roadside could not hide the gray, black, and skin-tone gravestones. Skye’s breath caught in her throat. Stronuirinish cemetery. Da.
Overshooting the small road to the right, she slowed and turned the car around. The indicator clicked as she veered to the left and drove through the open entrance.
The cemetery was larger than she remembered, gravestones now filling the open piece of land as she entered. Travelling way below the speed limit, Skye inched her way toward the trees bordering the burial grounds, her mind a whirlwind of painful memories. At sixteen, mourning the loss of her beloved father, the drive down that narrow road had seemed to go on forever, too.
The trees had turned into giants over the years. Heavyset trunks now obliterated most of the view of Portree Bay, their thick branches dressed in winter’s bare, the twigs at their ends raised to the sky—scrawny fingers clawing and grasping at nothing but air. They looked monstrous, menacing…an impenetrable force to be reckoned with.
Something akin to her mother the day of Da’s funeral. Mother was furious when she’d spotted Skye and Callum heading through the trees toward the cold shores of the bay. Overcome with grief after the coffin was lowered into the grave, Callum had taken Skye aside to console her, seeking privacy for them on the other side of the copse. But they never made it through the trees. Mother had followed.
Skye pushed the bleak memory aside as she parked the car. Braving the cold, she stepped outside and pulled on her coat, gloves, hat, earmuffs, and scarf. If not for the overwhelming desire to visit her father’s grave for the very first time since his funeral, she would’ve succumbed to the temptation of the warm vehicle.
Certain the grave was on the left of the cemetery near the back, Skye made her way to the last row of gravestones. Her footprints, imprinted deep into the snow, followed her path. She came to an abrupt halt halfway along the second row, the sight before her, although new, ingrained in her mind.
Friends of Mother’s had sent photos by mail of the headstone above Da’s grave. Skye had stared at them many times over the years, trying to accept that it was all true.
Dr. Lewis Hunter
Absent in the body, present with the Lord.
Always in the hearts of your wife and daughter.
His birth and death dates were carved below in flowing script. Mother only wanted to engrave the last sentence of the epitaph onto the stone. Skye insisted she add the first. Da had always made sure that Skye went to Sunday school and church. Mother came with them most Sundays, although Skye often wondered if she’d ever really listened. Church for Mother always seemed more of a social encounter than a spiritual one.
Callum had always gone with them, too. There was no way Mother could object to a child being taken to Sunday school. And Callum had always listened to both preacher and teacher.
Leaning forward, Skye dusted the snow from the headstone with her gloved hands. Her fingers trailed its stark front and the engraved indentations. Tears mimicked the downward trend of her fingers, traversing her skin before they fell into the snow below. She hugged the headstone. “Oh, Da. I miss you so much.”
Skye spent as long as she could out in the cold, talking to her Lord and Savior, and her Da in heaven. It had been a long time since she’d really communicated with either.
The skies around her eventually darkened. She’d have to return to the car. It had been a good decision to stay and visit her father’s grave. If she’d gone into the village first to find accommodation, she would have been out here in the dark and her visit would’ve been brief. Tomorrow she’d return, with flowers.
By the time Skye drove into Portree village, she could barely make out the colorful buildings that lined the quay. Streetlights washed the area in an amber hue, fading out the buildings’ colors and casting their reflections across the waters of the bay.
The first place she tried was The Royal Hotel. She had stayed there with Mother the night of Da’s funeral, returning to Glasgow the following day. The Royal Hotel was fully booked.
“Let me call a few places for you. ‘Tis not right to be driving about in the dark,” the receptionist said.
Skye ambled around the lobby while she waited.
Soon the woman behind the desk put down the phone, beaming. “The Bosville Hotel, two blocks up on Bosville Terrace are able to assist. They were full, too, but had a cancellation earlier today. It’s really quaint. You’ll be comfortable there and they have such beautiful views over the harbor from their vantage point.”
Skye returned her smile. “Thank you, so much.”
Soon Skye had checked into her room at the Bosville, resisting the temptation to climb into bed. Instead, she took a hot bath before going downstairs for dinner. As she dressed, she chided herself for staying outside as long as she had. Her throat hurt and her cough had worsened. She missed Callum, too. She wanted to sleep and dream of him, but when her growling stomach protested, Skye remembered breakfast had been her last meal.
She chose to dine in the more casual Bistro Restaurant. The cool water she’d ordered didn’t soothe her throat or still her hacking. Any more of this and she’d have to see a doctor. Soon.
An elderly gentleman, dining alone at a nearby table, glanced over at Skye several times. Each time her gaze met with his, she’d offer an apologetic smile. She should go up to her room and get into bed.
Dabbing her mouth with the napkin, her meal only half touched, Skye stood.
The older man scurried to his feet, and strode across to her. “You don’t seem well, lass. Are you all right?”
Skye lied with a nod. She really didn’t feel or sound good tonight. Too much time spent outdoors earlier, I guess. “I’m so sorry. I’ve disturbed your dinner.”
He waved his hand in the air. “Nae. Not at all. But that cough of yours is concerning. You should have it seen to.”
“I will. I’ll make a doctor’s appointment when I get back home.” Home. How good that sounded.
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t made up my mind yet how long I’ll be staying in Skye.” She picked up the napkin and twirled it around her fingers before discarding it again. “I came to visit my father’s grave.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Well, you shouldn’t leave that cough unattended, lassie.” Hesitating for a moment, he stuck his hand into his top pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to Skye. “I’m a doctor. If you like, I could get my medical bag from the car and have a look at your throat. Give you some medication perhaps?”
Skye examined the card.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” the old man continued. “It’s just—you seemed to be struggling.”
Grab the opportunity.
“Would
you, mind? I do feel like I’m on a downward spiral with this throat of mine.”
“Sit yourself back down, lassie. I won’t be long.” He turned to leave. “I’m Dr. Allen, by the way.” A low chuckle rumbled from his lips. “But you already saw that on my card. So, what’s your name?”
“Skye. Skye Hunter.” She reached for his arm and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Allen. My father was a doctor, too. This is the kind of thing he would have done…help a total stranger.”
His watery gray eyes brightened.
“My Da was born and raised here in Portree. Have you lived here long, Dr. Allen?”
“A great part of my life.” Closing his eyes, he mumbled. “Hunter. Hunter…” His eyes opened wide. “You’re not Lewis Hunter’s daughter are you?”
“I am.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“You knew my father?”
“Yes, very well. At least I did. We grew up together here in Portree, and then went on to study medicine in Glasgow. We lost touch though when I moved to Edinburgh to set up my practice. I returned to Portree last year when—” He shook his head and held out his hand to Skye. “What a small world. Sorry to hear he passed on.”
“It was a long time ago.” She grasped his hand. “It’s good to meet you.” Really good.
While waiting for him to return, Skye ordered another bottled water. Both doctor and water arrived at the same time—each medicine for her throat.
Dr. Allen stopped the waitress. “Do you have an office where I can consult with my patient in private? I’m a doctor, and she needs medical attention.”
The waitress’ gaze darted to Skye, who nodded, indicating that she was comfortable with his request.
“Certainly. Come this way.”
Seated on the desk in the manager’s office, Skye opened her mouth.
Dr. Allen held her tongue with a wooden tongue depressor, shining a sharp light down her throat. “Say ‘ahh’.”
Glasgow Grace Page 7