He pointed to a sign listing the flights and arrival times. “The next incoming flight from Scotland was delayed. I heard they had some pretty nasty storms over there earlier. But the plane should be arriving in about an hour or so.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I nodded and tucked my phone away. “Thank you so much.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” I replied, smiling gratefully. “We’re fine, thank you.”
I reached up to place a hand against TJ’s shoulder and steered him toward a row of seats. He huffed an aggravated sigh, as he dropped heavily into one of the plastic chairs and crossed his arms.
“Do you want to use my phone?” I asked, offering it to him. “You can play some games or—”
“No,” he grumbled.
“If you wanted to listen to your music, I—”
“I said, no,” he repeated loudly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “I’m taking a nap. Wake me up when it’s time to go home.”
I sighed, missing so much the days of playing I Spy and talking about nothing at all, as I said, “Okay. Sure.”
***
“TJ.” I shook him again, unable to believe the kid could sleep this heavily in a loud, crowded airport. “TJ!”
He swatted me away and turned his face in the other direction. “God, go away!”
“Thomas, wake up,” I hissed, gripping his forearm in my hand. “I need you to help me look for GiGi.”
Finally opening his eyes to slits, he peered at me with a blend of curiosity and irritation. “What? Why do you need me?”
“Because I don’t see her,” I stated, not meaning to sound so panicked and concerned. But I couldn’t help it. The plane had landed forty minutes ago, and I had watched the spill of passengers flowing into the terminal. But Gracie was nowhere in sight.
“So, look harder,” he grumbled obnoxiously, as he closed his eyes again, but I wouldn’t give him the chance to dismiss me. Not this time.
“I am not in the mood to put up with your attitude right now,” I hissed angrily, tightening my hold on his arm. “Get up right now and help me.”
He groaned and forcefully pulled himself from my grasp. “Fine,” he shouted, standing up abruptly and walking off in a huff to help find his aunt. There was nothing satisfactory in the victory, but I was glad to have another set of eyes, as I got up to continue the search. But after another forty minutes of scouring the terminal, bathrooms, and parking lot, I was convinced she wasn’t there.
“Something isn’t right.”
I hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud, not wanting to worry TJ just yet. But I couldn’t take them back once they were said and as he looked down at me from his six-foot-two perch. I felt relief in seeing a similar concern in his eyes.
“She’s fine,” he said, even though his tone and gaze didn’t agree. “She probably just missed her flight.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I pulled my phone out and dialed her number for the third time since entering the airport. It was sent to voicemail. Again.
“Gracie, I’m at the airport. Where the hell are you? Call me when you get this.”
Hanging up, I stuffed the phone back into my pocket and turned in a slow circle, sweeping my gaze over the sea of travelers one last time. I watched as they collected their luggage and greeted their loved ones with smiles and kisses. I envied them for knowing where their person was, while simultaneously insisting that she was fine, because she had to be, and I pulled out my phone to call her again.
CHAPTER TWO
ROSIE
Sleep didn’t come easily for me that night. The constant checking of my phone wouldn’t allow it, and the frequent phone calls from my elderly parents also weren’t helping. They never had any news, and neither did I, so eventually my brain and body resigned to falling asleep. But it was restless and full of nightmares with horrific possibilities, so after only a few hours, I gave up and started my day.
This house had been mine for five years, ever since the divorce and my desperation to start over. And I had grown comfortable within its walls. Over the years, I had become a new version of myself, alongside the seaside décor and palette of beachy colors, and I loved it more than any other house I’d ever called mine. But now, in stillness of the early morning, it was too deathly quiet for my tastes, as I tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. It felt as if I was only a guest and it was never really mine at all. I supposed that was due to never knowing this type of worry before, the concern for the safety of my little sister. Gracie was always so good and so painstakingly careful, that she never gave any of us a reason to worry. And being in that position now, my thoughts felt like those of a stranger and the urge to tear out of my skin was almost impossible to bear.
I sat in the kitchen and waited for the Keurig to do its magic. The sun had barely begun to rise but my mind was already racing with what to do next. Every so often, I would catch myself wondering if I was just panicking and had become ridiculous, but if I could trust anything, it was my intuition. And right now, it was telling me that something was very wrong.
With coffee in hand and the urge to do something with the worry colluding my mind, I called Gracie’s ex-fiancé, not knowing who else to badger about the whereabouts of my sister. As if the prick she caught cheating on her would have heard from her before me. I hadn’t even expected him to answer, to be honest, but he did, and on the first ring at six-thirty in the morning, no less.
“Hey, Rose,” he answered.
“Matt.”
“Wow, this is crazy. How’ve you been?”
I shrugged, not caring at all about small talk and making nice with the man who betrayed my sister and broke her heart. “Fine. Um, so listen. I need to ask you something, okay? And it’s really serious.”
“Okay,” he replied slowly. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Have you heard anything from Grace?”
Matt hummed contemplatively, taking a moment to think, before replying, “Honestly, I haven’t talked to her in months.”
I don’t know why I blew out a breath of disappointment and despair. I knew she wouldn’t have reached out to him before us, but I was slowly burning through all my resources and to no avail.
“Okay,” I replied, wiping a hand over my face. “Thanks, anyway.”
“Why? Everything okay?”
Smiling at the genuine concern in his voice, I said, “I hope so. We just haven’t heard anything from her in a couple of days now. She was supposed to come home yesterday from Scotland, but she wasn’t on the plane.”
“And you tried calling her?”
“Obviously,” I groaned.
“What about the inn?”
I narrowed my eyes, recalling something my mother had said in one of her many phone calls, and said, “My mom tried last night but the line was busy. Not sure if she got a hold of them, but I’m gonna give them a call now.”
“There you go. Get a hold of them. I’m sure she’s fine, though,” he said, so certain of the careful Grace we’d all grown to love.
“Yeah, I’m gonna do that,” I replied, nodding with determination. Then, I found myself adding, “She did meet a guy the other night,” as if it was another piece to this puzzle.
“See? She probably just had a great time, got drunk, and had the hangover from Hell. She’s fine.”
After thanking him for the suggestion, I hung up and went in search of the number for the inn she’d been staying at, not wanting to disturb my parents, in case they had found sleep. The town of Fort Crow was well-loved by the people who knew of it and had been there, but it wasn’t a hot tourist attraction, and so it took a bit of searching to find what I’d been looking for. But when I eventually did, I dialed the number and listened to the phone ring twice before a melodic voice answered.
“The Whisperin’ Crow Inn. What can I do for ye?”
I cleared my throat and sat up straighter in my chair. “Um, yes, hi. I was actually wondering about one o
f your guests, Grace—”
“I’m so sorry, miss. I don’t have the authority to be givin’ out the personal information of our guests.”
I had expected this, and I gripped the phone tighter in my hand, as I said, “No, I understand, but she’s my sister. She was supposed to come home yesterday but I haven’t heard—”
“Have ye tried callin’ her, dear?”
Slapping a hand to my forehead, I sighed. “Yes. I’ve been calling her, but I’m not getting any answer. And I was really just hoping you could tell me if she had checked out, or, or if she was even still there. I just …” I took a deep breath, calming my emotions, then continued, “Please. I just want to know if she’s okay.”
I listened to the woman on the other line sigh, as if I was asking her to break the law, before saying, “All right, just give me a moment here. What did ye say her name was?”
Relief washed over me, and I clutched my hand over my heart. “Oh, God, thank you so much. Um, her name is Grace. Grace Allan.”
“All right, let me see …” I listened to the clacking of computer keys as she typed and then said, “Ah, y’see, she hasn’t checked out yet, lass.”
“But she was supposed to check out yesterday,” I muttered aloud, covering my mouth with a hand. “God, Gracie, where the hell are you?”
“Is there anythin’ else I can do for ye, miss?” the woman on the phone asked uncomfortably.
I should have asked her to check on Grace. I should have asked that she went up to her room and demanded that she give her worried big sister a call. But I didn’t. Instead, I reluctantly told her no and that I’d call later if I needed anything else, then hung up, determined to go about the rest of my day in a somewhat normal manner.
So, I decided to make some breakfast and woke TJ up, asking him if he was in the mood for pancakes. We ate together in silence, while he stared at his phone and I tried desperately not to think about Grace and what she was doing. After breakfast, I dusted the furniture and vacuumed the floors. I polished the kitchen hardware and buffed my grandmother’s crystal to a pristine shine. All of this busywork and yet none of it really kept me busy at all, not in my head, where I constantly worried about Grace and what she was doing.
“She’s fine,” I scolded myself, wondering how many times I’d have to say it before the instinctive feeling in my gut finally dissipated to nothing.
***
“How was school?” I called to TJ, as he walked through the door and dropped his heavy backpack by the stairs.
“Wonderful,” he muttered dryly, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of soda.
He twisted the cap off, and instead of getting himself a glass, he drank directly from the bottle. I gawked at him, in complete disbelief that this was the boy I had raised, and he scoffed at me. “What?”
“Have you completely forgotten how to be civilized?”
His lips curled with disgust. “What are you even talking about?” he asked, and I gestured toward the soda in his hand. He rolled his eyes. “Dad doesn’t care.”
“I bet that, if I called your father right now, I would find that he does care,” I countered, crossing my arms, and leaning my hip against the counter.
“He doesn’t.”
“Oh, so should I just give him a call, then? We can settle this right—”
I was interrupted by my phone, chiming with an incoming text message. It was Gracie’s sound, a little chirp, and I turned on my heel so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. Snatching my phone from the counter, I opened the message.
Hey! Sorry, I’ve been so busy. I hope you haven’t been too worried.
I didn’t bother typing a reply. Instead, I called and waited for her to answer. But it went straight to voicemail.
“What the actual hell?” I muttered, staring at the blank screen.
Moments later, I received another message.
I’m at the pub. It’s so loud, I can’t talk right now. Sorry!
“Hm,” I mumbled, and looked at my son, watching me with an odd blend of interest and distaste. I held my phone up to him and said, “GiGi finally texted me.”
“Ha!” He pointed at me, his stance triumphant. “What did I tell you? She’s fine.”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered, finding my smile and shaking my head. “I’ll let you have this victory.”
Then, he asked, “So, why did she miss her plane?”
Pursing my lips and beginning to type out a message of my own, I replied, “That’s a good question. Let’s find out.”
Where the hell have you been? And why the hell haven’t you called me or texted? AND why didn’t you tell me you were missing your flight?
I waited as the three little indicative dots popped up, then disappeared, then popped up again. Minutes passed before finally receiving another message, and it read: I met someone at the pub and decided I wanted to stay a little while longer. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know. I’ve been at his house and didn’t bring my phone charger. So sorry if I made you worry!
I replied: You have absolutely no idea how worried I’ve been. When are you coming home?
She said: I don’t know yet. I really love it here. I’ll let you know, though!
I couldn’t help but smile, even as the sadness of missing my little sister crept in. I remembered her phone call days ago, just before she entered the pub. She had sounded so excited and immediately smitten by the guy she’d seen in the window, and I guess she had found something in him worth staying for. If anyone deserved that, it was her.
So, I asked: So, I take it you really liked that guy, huh?
She replied: Oh, yeah. So much.
I said: You can thank me later.
She said: Ha ha. Okay. It’s late. I’ll talk to you soon.
I smirked at the message and said: Ha ha? What, you spend a couple of weeks overseas and you turn into Dad?
I laughed as I sent my reply and waited for those three dots to reappear, but they never did. I looked up at TJ, now sitting at the kitchen island and waiting expectantly for me to let him know what his aunt had been up to.
“I guess she got distracted,” I muttered disappointedly, sliding the phone hesitantly onto the counter.
“It’s also like, after midnight over there,” he reminded me with a shrug.
“Yeah, that’s true,” I said, quietly watching the phone, just in case she came back to me.
“But hey, at least you know she’s okay,” he offered, letting the boy who still cared out for a moment. I nodded and found my smile, because he certainly had a point. She was okay, and I grabbed a hold of that fact as I busied myself with making dinner.
Yet the longer I let it settle and the more I climbed down from my brief conversation with Gracie, I moved back toward the pit of my anxiety. As we ate our dinner of pasta and Italian bread, I read through the messages again, suddenly startled by the stiff demeanor and vagueness in her responses. But nothing bothered me more, in the silliest of ways, than that trivial, little “ha ha.”
Grace was a “laugh my ass off” kind of girl. She teased people who left the joke with a bland “ha ha,” and now, while I was relieved that she was still out there, I began to question just how fine she really was.
CHAPTER THREE
ALEC
An angry autumnal sky opened to drench the Highlands in a battering rain, booming with a wicked crack of thunder and waking me from an already restless sleep.
“Bloody hell,” I groaned, thrusting both hands into my hair and gripping the strands tightly between clenched fingers.
On the other side of my bedroom door, I listened to the noises of the house I shared with my best pal and roommate, Rick, a shabby fool of a man who made a living as a funeral director and mortician. But contradictory to the spooky nature of his profession, the man loved gardening and early mornings, and I winced at the sudden shattering of glass coming from somewhere in the house.
“Fuck,” he exclaimed, and I bolted from my bed to pull on some pants and hurry
from my room. I soon found him bleeding from his hand and dripping onto the kitchen floor.
“What the hell did ye do now, man?” I asked urgently, grabbing a rag from the counter and wrapping it around his bloody fingers.
Rick’s gaze dropped to the shards of glass on the floor at his feet. “Ah, y’know, just thought I’d pour myself some juice to have with my breakfast,” he replied sardonically, squeezing the towel with his other hand, as I rushed to retrieve the bandages from the bathroom cabinet.
“And what happened? The glass spontaneously combusted in yer hand?” I asked, before ordering him to sit at the table.
“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbled.
I shook my head and set to work wrapping his sliced fingers that had barely begun to heal from the last incident with a pair of pruning shears. To say the man was accident prone was a huge understatement. He really was a damned walking time bomb, that’s exactly what he was, and if I hadn’t parked my sorry arse on his front door months ago, I was sure he would’ve bled to death by now.
“Keepin’ ye young, though,” he jested, waggling his bushy brows. “We both know ye wouldnae be able to bolt outta yer bed like that at yer age if it werenae for me.”
“Hm,” I grunted with a short nod, knowing there was likely a truth in his words.
There was no denying that my life had grown pathetically stagnant since returning to Fort Crow. The work I’d done in Edinburgh had kept me sharp as a tack and on my toes, but now, the layers of rust were multiplying by the day and the old screws were in desperate need of oiling. God forbid something other than lost purses and missing cats were to happen. At this rate, I wasn’t sure it would ever get solved.
“All right, lad. Good as new,” I announced, standing up and collecting the unused bandages and ointment.
A Circle of Crows Page 2