Page 11 of Kilt Trip

“Oh, posh,” Neil said with a dismissive wrist flick.

Addie pasted a smile on her face. She should be laughing at their easy banter and appreciating their generosity, but she was bone weary and out of her depth. Maybe this was why she always stayed in hotels.

Gemma moved to the picture of purple flowers across the rolling hills. “Heather in bloom, my favorite part of late summer.”

Addie’s mom’s name was Heather.

She blinked back the weepiness that was surely the sleep deprivation getting to her. If she calculated how many hours she’d been awake, the number might break her.

This city had apparently given her memories a get-out-of-jail-free card, and she needed some space to pull herself together. “This is so thoughtful. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m exhausted.”

“Of course, hen. There’s soup on the stove for you before you turn in.” Gemma bundled Addie in a hug wrapped in the scent of cloves and cranberries. Addie stiffened. The embrace was too comforting, reaching a part of her heart that barely remembered being mothered. Addie was spent and overwhelmed by a prickling of homesickness for a family that didn’t exist anymore. She pulled back.

“Soup sounds wonderful, and I’ll see you two tomorrow at the office,” she said to Neil and Jack. She wasn’t here to be fussed over. Or for castles or lochs or silly traditions. She had a job to do.

“Oh, not me. My brother. A right bawbag,” Jack said, like it was an endearment. “You’ve been warned.”

“Jack!” Gemma admonished.

Addie and Jack shared a smile, and he pushed his hands together, elbows out. “Right, then. Off with you two, and, Addie, let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Jack forcibly removed his parents from the flat, and Addie sat down in the kitchen with drooping eyelids, the warm soup pulling her into an all-out delirium.

When she finished, she unpacked Frank in less than four minutes, climbed into the soft bed, and texted Devika.

Addie: All settled.

Devika: Get out and explore while you’re there.

Addie: Rich coming from you.

Devika: I mean it. You’re finally in Scotland.

After so many years.

Devika: And you’re not going back anytime soon. Next three vacays are beachy!! No take-backs.

Addie grinned. Iceland had lived up to its name, and Devika still hadn’t forgiven her.

But Devika was right. Addie’s next project could be in Thailand or Morocco or Edinburg, Texas. There was no reason she’d be back.

She pulled her shoulder bag onto the bed and took out the Polaroids of her parents’ honeymoon in Scotland.

Her family had never captured the big moments. She didn’t have the quintessential pictures of the first day of school or crying with a mall Santa or blowing out birthday candles. The pictures she had were quiet. Holding a ladybug, pointing to a double rainbow. Resting an arm out the driver’s-side window with impatient teenage surliness while her mom leaned against the dusty pickup truck, Tevas on her feet, a flowy hippie skirt ballooning in the breeze.

Pictures of landscapes lost their power when time had stripped away the magnitude of the mountains, the grit of the sand, or the humid scent of flowers clinging to salt-curled hair.

Only pictures of people could hold those emotions, ready to resurface with one look, like the ones her dad had taken of her mom all those years ago.

Addie drew a finger along the worn edges of her mom’s pictures. They were their very own love language, their very own vow.

They said, I will bear witness to your joy as well as your anguish. I’ll cradle the snapshots of your life as if they were my own. I’ll hold your hand. I’ll love you forever.

Back when her dad still believed he had a forever.

Before he abandoned Addie in his grief.

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