When Duncan got up, they all gathered back in the parlor around the fireplace. Graham had changed into a T-shirt and a gray utility kilt. He sat in his wingback chair by the fire. Duncan instructed Mattie on how to roast the chestnuts while Deydie hovered above them, belting out instructions.
Graham leaned over and whispered to Cait. “I taught Duncan how to roast chestnuts when he was about Mattie’s age. It’s all in the wrist.”
When it was done, they filed into the media room to watch the Queen’s speech. Then the movie marathon began, Mattie falling asleep during Little Drummer Boy.
Duncan bundled the limp boy into his arms. “Do you mind, Da, letting him stay? I’ll get the nets early and then be back to get him.”
“You stay, too,” Graham said.
“Nah. I like my own bed,” Duncan replied. Cait knew it was more than that.
“After you tuck Mattie away, come back down. I want to talk to ye,” Graham said.
Duncan glowered at his father and left the room.
A few minutes later, he came back in, looking dead on his feet.
“Out with it,” Graham said. “What’s going on with you?”
“Don’t worry yourself over it. I’ve got it under control,” Duncan retorted.
“What? Like when you broke your leg and couldn’t fish?” Graham paced back and forth. “If Rhona hadn’t called me, you would’ve lost your boat.”
“It’s my life,” Duncan said.
“You’re wrong.” Graham had a sad look on his face. “We’re all connected. When you hurt, I hurt. Now, out with it. Is your business in trouble again? Is that why you look so tired all the time? I hate to say it, son, but you look like shite. Do I need to get a doctor in here to take a look at you?” Graham reached for his phone.
“I’ve seen a doctor.” Duncan paused for a long moment. “Another opinion isn’t going to change anything.” He looked squarely at his da with both belligerence and sadness written on his face. “I have leukemia. Merry Christmas.”
Chapter Sixteen
“No!” Graham bellowed so loud that the family portraits shook on the wall.
Deydie hobbled from the room, tears winding through the wrinkles on her cheeks.
Poor Duncan, thought Cait. Death and sickness had stalked her all the way to Scotland and found its next victim.
Graham paced in front of the large screen. “Ye’re only tired, Duncan. That’s all. Rest more.”
Duncan looked wilted. “Da, the tests were conclusive.”
Graham stopped suddenly. “We’ll see another doctor. A better doctor. Get a second opinion.”
Duncan shook his head. “The second and third opinions agreed with the first.”
“You haven’t seen my physician. I’m going to get Dr. Jackson on the next plane here.”
Cait went and stood by Graham. When he reached for his phone, she laid her hand over his. “Duncan, what is the prognosis?” she asked.
Graham looked at her as if she’d betrayed him. “Prognosis?” He spewed the word like it was poison.
“Acute-blast phase,” Duncan said flatly.
“What does that mean?” Cait asked.
Graham turned his anger on her. “It means nothing. We’re not even sure he’s sick.” He turned to Duncan—a desperate man, clinging to a rocky precipice.
“It means I’m very sick.”
Graham stared at him in disbelief. “Stop saying that. We’ll get you to Mayo Clinic or Guy’s and St. Thomas’.”
“No, Da. I’m off on the morrow. For a week. I got into a study—an experimental trial at the University of Aberdeen. It’s the only treatment available to me at this point. Rhona has agreed to stay with Mattie.”
“Rhona?” Graham yelled. “Why not his own grandda?”
“You said you’re going on location on Wednesday.”
Graham did hit speed dial then. “Sid?” A pause. “Cancel all of my commitments for the next month.” There was a longer pause. “I don’t care about contracts. Just do it.” He pocketed his phone.
The two Buchanan men glared at each other.
Cait stuck herself between them. “Duncan, I’ll help out, do whatever I can.”
Graham spoke before Duncan opened his mouth. “Yes, good. Caitie, you’ll take care of Mattie.” It wasn’t a question. “I’ll be going to Aberdeen, too.”
Duncan tried to speak, but Graham beat him to it once again. “I’ll take no argument from you,” he said.
Duncan hauled himself from the room, scowling at his father on the way.
Cait put her hand on Graham’s arm. He didn’t look at her, his eyes glued to the doorway his son had just passed through. “Go home,” he finally said.
She stared at his face. She knew that look. He was ticked off—at God, at life, at the whole universe. When Mama died, Cait had cornered the market on that look. Cait tried one more time. “I should stay.” It wasn’t about the two of them. She just wanted to give him comfort.
But when she moved to put her arms around his waist, he sidestepped.
“I mean it. Go home, Caitie.”
Dingus, who’d been lying quietly on Precious’s fluffy bed, perked up his ears at his master’s terse tone and whined. It was the wrong move on the puppy’s part. Graham grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa. For a second, Cait worried he might lob it at the dog. Instead, he let it fall near the fireplace. He picked up the dog and unceremoniously plopped him on the throw pillow. Dingus growled.
“Stay,” the master said, assuming the dog would do as he was told. Graham began switching off the lights.
Dingus stuck his nose in the air and pawed his way defiantly back over to Precious’s pillow. He circled three times and dropped into a puppy C in the middle of the fluff. He was asleep before his master turned off the last light.
Cait didn’t know what to do. Graham shouldn’t be alone.
He stood in the doorway of the parlor, glaring at her. “Deydie needs you.” The underlying I don’t came through perfectly clear.
She gathered up her new quilt and took Mama’s framed picture from the table. “Thank you for this.”
He stared right through her and then walked away.
When she went to fetch her coat from the room off the kitchen, Deydie sat there motionless on the bed.
“Are you all right?” Cait asked.
Deydie glowered at her, the red around her eyes the only sign that she was upset. “Of course I’m all right. But ye should stay here tonight for Mattie’s sake. I’ve made up the guest bed. I’d stay meself, but me back is killing me.” She shuddered at her own choice of words. “I need me own bed.”
“I can’t. I’m going back to the cottage.”
Deydie stood up and put her wide body in Cait’s personal space. “Rebellious lass. How many nights have I told you to come home to the cottage and instead your skinny arse stays up here on the bluff? Now I’m telling you to stay here and you insist on coming home.”
“Graham doesn’t want me here.”
“That’s rot. He’s in no condition. He needs you here for Mattie.” Deydie shook a knobby finger at her. “Mind ye stay in yere own bed and don’t sneak into Graham’s.”
Cait haed. “No chance of that.”
The back door slammed.
Deydie unfolded herself from the bed. “He’s gone out now for a walk. Get yereself to bed before he comes back.”
Cait couldn’t help herself. She hugged Deydie fiercely. Her gran stiffened like a week-old corpse but didn’t immediately push her away.
“Bring Mattie to the cottage tomorrow for Boxing Day. The quilting ladies will be there. We’ll make a party of it.” Deydie’s old face fell and she spoke to herself. “Or at least it’s been a party in the past.”
As Cait climbed the back stairs to the bedrooms above, she heard Deydie lett
ing herself out of the house. As Cait opened the guest bedroom door, Mattie cried out, making her jump.
She quietly slipped into Mattie’s room and found the boy sitting up stiffly, trembling, his eyes blank. Cait knew he was reliving the horror of the accident. She climbed in beside him and put her arm around his shoulder, shushing him, coaxing him into lying back down.
Mattie relaxed and slumped against her. She slid farther into the bed and held him close, her heart aching for him. He’d already endured so much, and now his own da was in mortal danger. She kissed his forehead and closed her eyes.
Sometime later, the bedroom door opened. Graham stood there a long time. Finally, he turned off the hall light. At first she thought he might join her and Mattie in the bed, but instead the bedroom door closed, shutting him out.
* * *
The next morning, when she awoke, the other side of the bed was empty. In the kitchen, she found Mattie and Graham sitting on barstools at the peninsula, eating pancakes.
Graham barely glanced up. “I see you stayed anyway. Coffee’s in the maker.”
Mattie shot his grandda a questioning frown.
“Caitie is going to watch you for a few days while your da and I go to Aberdeen. We’re going to see a man about building your da a new boat. Isn’t that grand?” Graham’s blatant lie sounded hollow, and Mattie’s eyebrows narrowed.
“Really,” Graham assured him. “Isn’t that right, Caitie?”
She avoided the question. “You’ll help me take care of Dingus, won’t you, Mattie? He’ll have to learn the ropes around here. You’ll have to show him where your grandda keeps his favorite slippers. Dingus needs to become acquainted with them, give them a right good chew before Grandda returns home.”
That earned her a small smile at the corners of Mattie’s mouth.
“Keep that fur ball away from my things. Or else,” Graham threatened.
Cait raised her eyebrows and gave him a scathing look from across the room. Tell Mattie his da is going to see the doctor, she tried to convey.
Graham turned away from her. “I’d better get a shower. I expect yere da to be here any minute.”
When he’d left the room, Mattie came over and took her hand with his sticky syrupy one and led her back to the table. He put a plate and a fork in front of her.
“Thanks, kiddo. I am hungry.” She couldn’t meet his imploring eyes. It wasn’t her place to break the news to the boy, but she wanted to. She remembered clearly the lies she was told when her own mama first got sick. Her father said Mama had gone away on holiday, but Cait knew better—she’d gone to the hospital for surgery. Illness wasn’t something to be swept under the carpet. It was better to tell the truth, and she planned to tell Graham so. Right now.
She pushed herself away from the table. “Save those pancakes. I’ll be right back.”
She steamed up the stairs and straight into Graham’s room. The bathroom door stood open, the shower running, and she decided this wasn’t the time for niceties. She marched into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
The shower was one of those roman showers, no door, just a big open room, big enough for a soccer team. Graham turned toward her and she got quite a view.
“Have ye come to join me?” Sarcasm pricked at his burr.
Cait’s anger had her stepping into the tiled shower, no hesitation, no embarrassment. “I’m certainly not here to scrub your back. I’ve come to rip you a new one.”
“Well, if that be so, you might want to take yere clothes off first.” He turned around, giving her a perfect view of his perfect muscular ass, and stuck his lathered head under one of the oversized showerheads.
This was no time to ogle. She grabbed a wet washcloth and threw it at him. “You’re making a big mistake. Lying to Mattie is not doing him any favors. Tell him the truth. He may be a little kid, but he isn’t stupid. He knows something’s wrong.”
“There is nothing wrong,” Graham said through gritted teeth.
“Lying to yourself is not helping anyone either.” Especially your family. “I know what I’m talking about. Tell him. It will help alleviate his fears.”
At fears, Graham’s head fell.
Without thinking, Cait stepped farther in and reached out, touching Graham’s shoulder.
It was as if she’d burned him. He jerked around so fast that lather from his shampoo shot out and smacked her cheek. By the fierce grimace on his face, she knew he was about to yell loud enough to knock the tiles off the wall. But in an instant and without warning, pain washed over him, making him raw and vulnerable. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly as the water showered over them both. She knew what he felt. She felt it, too. He was alive and he needed to prove it.
Then he pulled away from her, anger replacing his vulnerability. “Get naked or get out.”
Hard words that cut her like a knife. He turned his back on her, those perfect buttocks and the rest of his body fully in the water again, protecting him from the real world.
Defeated, she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, scrubbing it fiercely over her scorched lips and face. But she wasn’t done with him yet. “I mean it, Graham. Mattie will never forgive you for your lies. I’ve never forgiven my father for his.”
She walked out of the bathroom and grabbed a long-sleeved polo shirt from Graham’s walk-in closet. She slipped off her wet shirt and replaced it with Graham’s, tying up one corner to make it fit.
Back downstairs, Mattie sat on the kitchen floor with Dingus in his lap. He looked up when she came in the room.
Not meeting his eyes, she reached down and scratched the dog behind the ears. “Dingus, have you had breakfast yet?” She went to the cabinet to search for food. Sure enough, Deydie had left puppy food in the pantry. “Here you go.” She handed the can to Mattie.
By the way he kept petitioning her with his eyes, she knew he wanted her to spill the beans. And she might’ve caved if Duncan hadn’t saved her by coming in the back door. “Hey, you’re up.” He picked up Mattie and squeezed him. “Where’s yere grandda?”
Mattie pointed up.
“I see.” Duncan scrutinized her, waving at her wet appearance. “Squall?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Something like that.”
He didn’t probe her any further. “Are there any pancakes left for me?”
Cait grabbed a fresh plate. “Sit down, and I’ll get you some coffee, too. Mattie, run upstairs and let his highness know your da is here.”
Mattie gave her a knowing frown. He understood she was trying to get rid of him. He set the dog food on the counter and grabbed Dingus before heading up the stairs.
Cait got right down to business. “Graham lied to your son. Told him you’re off to talk to a boat builder. Somebody had better tell the boy the truth or I will.”
Duncan shook his head. “I know it’s time. I’ll talk to him.”
A few minutes later, Graham appeared at the foot of the steps with Mattie in his arms and Dingus in the boy’s. “I found these ragamuffins upstairs. Does anyone know who these two belong to?” He fake-smiled at the room until his eyes landed on Duncan. He set Mattie down and then glared at Cait.
Duncan put his arms out. “Mattie, come here a moment. I’ve something to say to ye.”
Mattie walked solemnly toward his da.
Avoiding Graham’s sharp, piercing stare, Cait busied herself by preparing Duncan’s breakfast.
Duncan pulled Mattie onto his lap. “Lad, ye know how tired yere da’s been lately?”
Mattie nodded.
Duncan continued. “I’m off to Aberdeen to see some good doctors.”
Graham exhaled exasperatedly.
Duncan ignored him and went on. “Ye’re not to worry. I’m hoping these doctors will make me better. I need you to stay here with Caitie and help take care of things at Grand
da’s. Can ye do that for me?”
Mattie patted Duncan’s cheek, then laid his head on his chest. Duncan kissed the top of his son’s head and then set him on his own feet.
Graham yanked his coat from the back of the chair. “We should get going.” His words sounded like bullets. With stiff, jerky movements, as if poles had replaced his arms, legs, and spine, he walked across the kitchen.
Man, was he ticked at her, and at Duncan, and at the truth.
She silently sent up a plea to heaven. Please heal Duncan. But judging by Duncan’s tired body as the door shut behind him, it was going to take more than a prayer to make him better. It was going to take a miracle.
Chapter Seventeen
After the guys left, Mattie played quietly in the parlor with Dingus. Cait told him she’d be upstairs making beds, but mostly she stared out the window. Or gazed at her shoes. She felt weighted down. Death had taken up residence and was squeezing the life out of her. She felt crushed, miserable, and depressed. Once again, she wasn’t in control of her life.
Her phone tweeted. A text message from Margery Pinchot, People magazine’s editor.
Where’s the story? it read.
For the last few days, Cait had worked hard at pretending she hadn’t committed herself to writing that article. She shoved her phone back in her pocket without answering and haphazardly threw the comforter over Mattie’s bed. Who gave a damn whether the bed was made correctly? In the vast scheme of things, it didn’t matter. The only thing she had to do today was to live. And to take Mattie to Deydie’s, as ordered. Another day of going through the motions.
As she walked from the bedroom, she stubbed her toe.
“Damn! Damn!” She pounded the wall, the pain real and excruciating. And suddenly, she felt liberated—mad as hell, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.
No longer would she be at Death’s beck and call. She’d defy the bastard, stop giving him the deference he expected. Instead, she’d grant herself permission to write them all off. Death couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t give a crap. Even about Deydie, her own family. Too soon, he’d be whisking Gran away to oblivion anyway. Cait could see the handwriting on the wall. Death was going to take Duncan, too. It had been useless to protect him as a little boy against the bullies who threatened him. A waste of time. All of Gandiegow stood defenseless and weak, waiting for Death to suck the life from them.
To Scotland With Love Page 19