by Daya Daniels
“Um, yeah, sure. That’d be nice. Thanks.” I follow behind her, right alongside Jack.
Once inside the kitchen, I take a seat on one of the stools. Jack plops down at my feet and sprawls out.
Grace rushes around unpacking the basket, mumbling things to herself. She removes her coat and stands in front of the sink for a moment and just stares out the window. “Gosh, it’s beautiful here.”
“Where’d you get the fennel?”
“At the edge of the property. I’m going to use it to make soup.”
“Soup?”
“Yes, soup,” she says, pulling out a frying pan and ingredients from the fridge.
Admittedly, since she’d been here I’d never seen so much food in that fridge. I rarely ate and when I did it wasn’t healthy. It was amazing I hadn’t managed to pack on a few pounds. Funny enough, I think I’m losing weight.
“You should come out in the mornings. When it’s early is the best time.”
I smile. I usually slept until eleven or twelve, unless someone had to be here to fix something. I’d never been an early bird.
“Yeah, sometime,” I say softly.
Soon, the kitchen fills with the aroma of onions and peppers. The kettle whistles again. Grace snatches up my cup before I have time to stand and do it myself. She makes me another cup of tea and sets it back down in front of me.
“Thanks.”
She nods as she kicks a basket across the floor full of folded laundry. “It’s done.”
She did my laundry? Even my own mother didn’t do my laundry! This woman is like Mary Poppins without the rich, bratty kids trailing behind her.
I make a face. “You didn’t have to do that, Grace. Really.”
“Well, it was piling up. I don’t mind honestly. I like to stay busy.”
“Thanks.” I take a deep breath.
When the eggs are done, Grace places everything on the center island. One plate in front of me and one for her. Buttered rye toast is on the side along with sliced strawberries.
She takes a seat next to me and smiles crookedly. “You should really get out. I know it’s cold outside but the nature just makes you feel so...I don’t know... It allows you to breathe.”
I fiddle with the eggs in my plate and eat slowly.
Jack has fallen asleep on the floor.
“You have family here?” I ask Grace.
She nods and tucks a lock of hair behind her left ear. Delicate hands. Small ears. It had been a while since I’d looked at a woman like this. This one is much older and straight, I have to remind myself.
She gives me a sidelong glance, turns away from me and continues to eat.
I like this woman but something about her irritates me. She’s too happy. Too carefree. There must be something in her life going wrong. I didn’t need to feel like the only depressed soul sitting here at seven in the morning reeking of last night’s booze. Did I?
“Why don’t you stay with them then?” I question.
Grace hums. “I haven’t seen them in a while. And before I left we didn’t really get along.”
“Oh, how long have you been gone?”
Grace laughs. “A while. Years. More than twenty years. Closer to thirty actually.”
“Oh.”
“I’m going to try and see them today after I stop to get some more paint.”
I nod.
“Where is your family?” she asks.
“They live in Buffalo. I’m only close with my sister. I grew up in a very strict Muslim household. They weren’t exactly overjoyed when I told them that I was a lesbian.”
“I see. My parents are Catholic.”
“Well, my parents were even assholes before that. Like real assholes so I don’t have much of a relationship with them.”
Grace smiles. “Parents.”
“Yeah, parents.” I pause. “How do you know Aidan?”
She rests her silverware down and takes a sip of her tea. “I grew up with Aidan. I lost my virginity to him. We were both very young.” She giggles. “But we’re just friends now. I think somewhere along the way I broke his heart. He’s married now with kids, so I’m sure he got over it.”
I laugh.
“What happened to your husband?”
“Stomach cancer,” she replies in a whisper.
I’m envious and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because she can talk about it with ease and I can barely force the words out of my throat about what happened to my wife.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Yeah, me too.”
Grace finishes her food. I finish mine. She snatches both plates up when she’s done and washes them in the sink. “Aidan is going to come and install a dishwasher before the end of the week and soon this kitchen is going to be redone completely.”
I nod, still feeling tired.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come into town with me?” she asks with a hopeful smile.
I shake my head.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll only have the car for a few hours.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“A woman came by here this morning too. Kind of older, white hair, a bit chubby, kind smile. She said her name is Maureen.”
Oh, her.
Maureen Colm is my next-door neighbor. I’m not entirely sure if you can really call it “next door” seeing that her property is almost a mile away from The Cliffs. Maureen is a widow, like me, and she lovvves to talk.
“Ah, yeah. Maureen.”
Grace waits for me to say more.
“She’s nice but she’s kind of a pain in the ass. She comes here to check on me sometimes, brings groceries and shit like that. She loves to shove food down my throat and she collects the empty bottles around here, encouraging me to recycle, since there are so many, she says.”
Grace snorts with a laugh. “Oh, I thought she was sweet. We talked for a while. She asked about you since she said she hadn’t seen you in a few days. She had a lot of questions.”
“Yeah, she’s the nosey type.”
“Or just curious,” Grace defends. “It’s probably innocent.”
“Either way you look at it, she wants to know the answers to questions that aren’t any of her business in the first place.”
“I suppose,” Grace says. “Well, she dropped off a large tin of shortbreads for you. They’re in the kitchen.”
I laugh. “She does that.”
“And she had a really ugly dog with her.” Grace smiles.
“His name is Max. Maximillian.”
“Oh, I was afraid Jack would eat him.”
We both laugh.
“I like her,” Grace says with a genuine smile.
“I suppose she’s likeable.”
“Well, okay then,” Grace says, heading to the door. Jack hops up with a bark and follows behind her.
When the front door shuts, I leave the stool and stand at the window to watch them.
Grace jogs across the driveway. She stops and stares at a patch of weeds in the garden box near the edge of the parking lot. She fiddles with them and then heads to the car. Once she’s there she opens the door, lets Jack in first and then hops into the driver’s seat.
She brushes her hair away from her face and pulls her hat on. I visibly see her take a few large exhales. She just breathes before she starts the engine and drives off.
Spinning around, I head up the stairs, taking each one slowly, listening to the creak of the oak beneath my feet. When I get to the top, I amble down the hallway to my bedroom. Once inside, I shut the door and look around.
It’s a mess in here. Clothes strewn everywhere. Stained walls. Empty bottles in sorts of colors, shapes and sizes, full ashtrays and unpacked boxes everywhere. Not to mention the dust. It’s everywhere.
I’d packed all the pictures away, her artwork and her clothes. I’d buried every single reminder that I’d once had a wife, maybe hoping that someday I’d forget that I did too.
But I can’t forget...
This room still smells like her—sweet like roses, warm and exotic like vanilla. Everything around this place reminds me of her.
Heading toward the bed, I snuggle up in my sweater and lie in the middle of it on top of all the blankets, finding a fetal position.
Outside the window, the sun cuts through the clouds for just a moment before it disappears. I smile at the ray of light that’s warming my cheek. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to dream of her.
“Don’t move,” she whispers against the shell of my ear.
I keep the pose as I lie naked on my back in the middle of our queen-sized bed. One of my hands skims my stomach and the other is above my head atop the plush pillows.
She adjusts her glasses and gives me an adorable look, pouting her lips. “Yara, you aren’t taking this seriously.”
“I am,” I say dramatically.
She sketches some more, taking occasional glances at me over the top of the large pad in her hands. The charcoal she holds is turning the tips of her fingers black. Every now and again she smudges the skin on her face leaving it black when she nudges her glasses.
I turn on my side, reaching for my morning mimosa that she’d prepared for me. It’s perfectly made, with just the right amount of Taittinger and orange juice. I take a sip and resume my pose.
It’s Sunday morning.
Open by Rhye sounds from the stereo.
We’ve been married a week. This is our honeymoon since we couldn’t afford an expensive vacation to the Amalfi Coast that she really wanted. But this is just as perfect. As long as we are together, it’s perfect.
The sound of traffic outside fills our tiny apartment, since the busy New York City streets are just below where we live.
“Argh, this looks like shit,” she mutters, slapping the pad down on the bed.
“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I deadpan. “I’m too much of a babe for you to make me look like shit.”
“Excuse me!” She laughs and I join in with the giggles.
The strap of her slip falls down her arm as she leans forward. I have plans to take it completely off. Her sweet breaths ghost my lips as she gazes down at me.
Beautiful eyes. Pink lips. Gorgeous, curly hair that has a midnight hue.
“You are amazing,” she says, peering into my very soul.
“So are you,” I whisper. “I think you might be the only person in the world that really likes me.”
She smiles. “That’s probably true.”
We giggle at the joke.
“You know I’m kidding, Yara.”
I nod and run a hand through her thick hair. I stare at her for a long while. “Don’t ever leave,” I beg.
“Never, Yara. But no matter what happens...”
I kiss her.
“You must never forget to love,” she says. “You must never forget our love.”
Grace
PARKING THE CAR ON the side of the winding road, I pull up the handbrake. My heart thumps maniacally in my chest and my hands are clammy. The sign on the building across the street reads: Mackenzie’s. It’s a pub with an adjoining restaurant. This is where they told me I’d find Georgiana. I knew she’d always wanted to run a restaurant.
It’s just getting up to lunch time. Hopping out of the car, Jack follows behind me.
“Stay,” I tell him, leaving him to wait just outside the door next to a bench.
When I get to the heavy door, I push it open with a shaky hand. The darkness of the place assaults my eyes. I allow them to adjust for a moment before walking farther inside through the sea of tables and chairs. Twinkling strings of Christmas lights edge the bar area. Assorted business cards and graffiti decorate the walls. Ellie Goulding’s Beating Heart rains down from the speakers above me on low volume. I sing along to the song as I head deeper into the semi-dark room. The sound of pots and pans rattling in the back kitchen catches my attention.
“Hello,” I sing out.
A large man walks out of the kitchen toward me, wiping his hands on his dirty apron. His eyes narrow when he sees me.
I remove my hat. “I’m looking for Georgiana.”
He doesn’t speak, only nods and disappears again.
A moment later, a woman comes into view. She looks just like me, exactly as I remember. The same hauntingly beautiful eyes and innocent face. Her sharp brows furl as she steps toward me wringing her hands nervously. “Grace,” she says in a whisper.
I nod a few times.
She approaches me cautiously as if she’s afraid. “What are y-y-you doing here?”
Still, she has her stutter that she’d had since we were children but it seems to be much worse now and her hands shake a little.
I give her a small hug, while she still looks at me as if she isn’t certain it’s really me standing here in front of her. She gestures for us to sit at a table. Her breaths are loud and she continues the wringing of those hands. Her mannerisms are making me nervous. I take a seat across from her.
“I-I-I didn’t think you’d come here to see me,” she says.
“Well, why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought you might’ve still been mad.”
“No,” I say softly.
She nods. “I’m sorry I never wrote.”
“It’s okay.” I smile, not wanting to get into things we’d rather forget.
“Well, how are you? Are you back here for good?”
“I think so.”
“I thought you would’ve come to Niall’s funeral but then I thought better of it.” Her eyes tear over. “I miss him so much, Gracie.”
I take her hand across the table and squeeze it. “He was so young,” I say.
Niall had died in a car accident after a drunken night out with the boys. His car had gone off a cliff and that was the end of him. I was devastated when I’d heard the news but nothing could make me come back here. Nothing.
“He barely remembered you when he died.”
I purse my lips. “I know.”
She sniffles. “I always thought I’d leave this place but I love it here, Gracie. I was never a big city girl, like you.”
I stifle a laugh at her statement. I wasn’t a big city girl either. The only reason I lived in London in the first place was because that’s where I’d been sent. I had no choice. Georgiana wouldn’t understand. No one would.
This place was my home and it was ripped right out from underneath me. I was sent away. Banished. Forgotten.
“Would you like a soda or something, or a beer?” she asks, pushing up to stand from her seat. I guess anything would break the awkward discomfort of this surprise visit.
I shake my head vigorously. “No, I just came to see you. I can’t stay long anyways. I have a dog outside waiting for me.”
Georgiana’s brows hit her hairline. “A dog?”
“Yes.” I wave a hand around. “I just really came to say hello.”
“And I appreciate it, Grace.”
“So, you own this place now?”
“Yeah.” She smiles.
“I want to see them soon,” I say, not adding anything to the statement.
“She’s eight-years old now. The oldest is twenty-seven.”
“Yes, I know.
“I want to see them soon,” I tell her again.
“But yes, of course.” She exhales and bobs her head nonstop. “Yes, of course. But I do want to say that I’m sorry about your husband, Grace. And I’m just sorry about everything.”
“It’s okay, Georgiana, really. It is. It was a long time ago.”
William had been gone for over a decade now.
“You’re married now,” I say.
Georgiana smiles. “Yes, his n-n-name is Callum. He’s nice. You’ll like him, Grace.”
“I’m sure I will.”
She runs her hand over her arm and I know it’s because she’s nervous. “I feel like I only moved out of Mamaidh is Dadaidh’s house just yesterday even though I’ve been gone for ten years.”
I smile at her
Scottish Gaelic that I hadn’t heard spoken in quite some time.
Georgiana goes on. “I spent way too many years living there,” she whispers. “It was a blessing when I got married.”
I bet.
“It was no different when you left, Grace. In fact, maybe they were worse. Sometimes, you realize that some things never change.”
I nod.
Checking my watch, I realize that twenty minutes have already passed. “I should probably go.”
We exchange telephone numbers. I tell her that I’m staying at the old inn on the cliffs, leaving out the part about my plans to buy it and she promises to see me soon. A few patrons trickle in from the street and the pub goes from quiet to bustling in an instant. I give Georgiana a hug and head away from her toward the door.
“Are you going to go and see Mum and Dad?” she calls out.
I freeze.
Spinning around, I face Georgiana’s sad but hopeful expression. “I don’t know,” I say softly. You know I can’t do that.
She only nods and presses her lips into a hard line. “Okay, Grace. I’ll c-c-come and see you soon. I promise.”
“Okay,” I whisper before I head out.
Grace
STANDING ON THE SHORE of Loch Carron, I watch the old man who wears a hat and blue coat. He sits in the same boat I remember (although it’s been painted green now), casts his line and waits for the fish to take the bait. I used to watch him from here for hours as he fished. He’d fish day and night. It didn’t matter the time or the weather. It could’ve been freezing and he’d be out in that boat. Often, he’d take us out in the boat with him and we’d spend the afternoon hooking cod, pollock, and dogfish that we’d eventually eat for dinner. They were happy memories.
I look at the water again.
The depth of Loch Carron (loch meaning: lake) is around sixty-five feet but deeper in the narrows at around three-hundred and twenty-eight feet. And believe it or not, this body of water has nothing to do with the Loch Ness monster.
If you stare at the sea long enough from here, you might spot a seal pop its head out of the water. Just above the cliffs stands Strome Castle that was originally built in the 1400s. The ruins sit on a rocky bluff, surrounded by steep drops to the shore with the sea on all three sides of it. All that’s left of Strome Castle now is a courtyard and the remains of its square tower.