Page 5 of Highland Stars
I stand and straighten my shoulders, then grab my luggage and turn toward the front of the plane. I make my way down the aisle as quickly as possible, holding back tears until I can get to a bathroom.
After I’ve cleaned my face to the best of my ability in anairport bathroom, I go in search of food. I have celiac disease and when I travel I have to have a plan if I want to eat. I researched the celiac-safe, gluten-free food at Heathrow and found a restaurant where I could get a burger and fries. I rarely get to have fries because they are so often cooked in a shared fryer. That’s not the case here! Thank you, random airport restaurant!
My two-hour layover passes quickly, and before I know it, I’m back on a plane. Thankfully, the flight to Inverness is much less traumatic. I have an aisle seat beside an Englishman heading north for business. At least, that’s what I assume given his dress and the use of his laptop. He doesn’t speak, which is fine by me because, A, I’m sure I look like a troll, and B, I don’t have the energy to speak to anyone.
After the travel and the extreme focus required to drive on the wrong side of the road, my mind and body are at about two percent battery by the time I pull up in front of the cottage I’ll be staying at for the next couple of days. The faint scent of what I know to be the River Ness perfumes the air as I drag myself and my suitcase up the sidewalk and through the front door.
I can’t take in the space around me. I barely manage to make it to the bed, set an alarm and get the covers pulled down before I’m asleep.
The stupid woman that thought a two-hour nap was a great idea; I’ll never listen to her again. Except I know I will, because it was me. How is it possible that I feel worse? I feel like crying and wallowing in regret over all my life choices until I look out the window and remember where I am. I mean, I only see a line of other cottages across the street, but Inverness is out there. Scotland is out there!
Excitement gives me just enough energy to walk to Aldi for a few groceries. I decided to eat from grocery stores for breakfast and lunch, and go all out for dinner. Just call me Frugal McDougal.
I eat quickly, then I’m off to explore Inverness. I plan to hike tomorrow, but today is all about history and architecture. I love old things. Buildings, monuments, antiques, people, hobbies, and ways of life. It was calligraphy that led me to wedding planning. I taught myself in high school because I love the romantic look of the script. I love the care that was once put into letters and invitations. Eventually, my invitations became a big deal for weddings in Atlanta. My heart seizes remembering the couples I had begun working with before I was let go. They were so sweet, and so excited. I had tons of ideas for them that I’ve had to tuck away for another day. I hope they will be happy with their weddings, even if I’m not the one planning them.
I begin my adventure with a walk along the River Ness. Loads of people are out enjoying what is, for them, a warm Saturday. My phone tells me it’s in the mid-sixties, but the sun is warm, so I pull off my jacket, and tie it around my waist.
Inverness is clearly a city that enjoys the summer. Cheerful flowers hang from baskets, café tables spill out onto the sidewalks, and music drifts from many of the restaurants and pubs I pass. The bright rays sparkle off the water and create a warm glow on the stone buildings to my left. I scan the buildings in the distance, both along my path and across the river, and there are several church steeples jutting out into the blue. I hope one of them is open for me to explore.
I miss Mai, but I’m so glad I’m here.
4
Malcolm
Everyonceinawhile, my sister Fiona and I have what we call “secret fun visits” (she named them). Either I go down to Edinburgh, or she drives up to Inverness, and we hang out for a couple of days. We don’t invite our older sisters, Isla and Ailsa. They’d be fair scunnered with us if they found out. But Fiona and I are twins, so we figure they can get over it. Not that they’ll ever find out.
The rest of my family is in, or near, Inverness, but Fiona left for school and never came back. We’ve always been close, and she says we need our twin times, so this is our solution.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Fiona says after the server brings us our food.
I scratch my beard. Fiona is not one towant to talk. It’sanother reason we have secret fun visits. Ailsa is the sister most likely to try to get into your business. Fiona’s always had a live-and-let-live kind of attitude. I’ve been here a day and a half, and she’s been sitting on whatever this is. It can’t be good.
“About what?”
“I know Cait broke your heart, but you can’t go on like this forever. You're too good to stay single.”
Hearing my former fiancé’s name doesn’t hurt like it did a year ago, but I still don’t love it. Cait and I were a month from our wedding when she called it off. She said she didny want to live in Scotland anymore, and she knew I’d never leave. Instead of asking me if I’d consider moving, she assumed I wouldn’t and called it off.
“You’re single,” I point out.
“I only broke up with Andrew a couple of months ago. And I’m not actively avoiding dating.”
“I’m not staying single on purpose.” I’m also not trying to date. Cait left a mark, and I don’t want to fall for another woman who’ll decide the Highlands aren’t for her.
“Uh, huh. Tell me then … when did you last speak to a woman, hoping to take her out?” Fiona pops a chip into her mouth.
“Oh look. She didny bring you a fork for your fish. I’ll be back.” I give my sister a wicked grin and take off from the table. I’m studying the tiles under my feet when I literally run intoa small woman. The woman begins to bounce backwards, so I reach out for her. Fiona will be thrilled.
“I’m sorry about that. I need to pay better attention,” said a beautiful, green-eyed woman with wild curls. Did Fiona somehow have a hand in this?
I take my hand from her elbow, waving off her apology. “Ah. An American. You’ve got a braw accent. From the Southern part, I guess?”
“You are correct. I’m from North Carolina,” she says. She’s friendly, but there’s definitely something off about her.
“North Carolina,” I say. “I’m Malcolm, by the way.”
“Ivy.”
