Page 2 of So Close To Heaven
It had been that easy, that fast.
He had a way of laughing that made everything around him feel warmer, lighter. His voice was rich, his r’s rolling just enough to curl against the ear, and he had an effortless knack for drawing Ivy out of her shell without making her feel small for needing the coaxing.
By the end of the night, they had traded numbers, shared a cab, and had made plans to meet up again the next day.
And the day after that. And the one after that.
Coffee dates, wandering through secondhand bookstores, ferry rides out to craggy shores where the sea foam slapped against the rocks. A week later, Ivy wasn’t thinking about the semester but about David. He was magnetic, clever, teasing, and just reckless enough to make her feel young and alive and bold in ways she hadn’t dared before.
They had kissed for the first time on the North Bridge, the wind tearing at their jackets, the city lights spilling below them in a haze of gold and stone. David had cupped her face in his hands and said, with the kind of certainty Ivy had always craved, "You are wildfire, Ivy Mitchell. Scotland's lucky to know you."
It had been exactly what she needed to hear. Maybe exactly what she had been waiting her whole life to hear.
A wry smile tugged at her mouth now, as she trudged onward.
The dream she’d begun to imagine with David had ended the moment she told him about the baby.
He hadn’t been cruel; he’d been shocked. There was some—wisely cut-off—attempt to blame her for the unexpected pregnancy, though that had been panic speaking, she still allowed.
He hadn’t shouted or stormed out. He had simply gone still.
Shock, then reason.
"It’s not the right time,” he’d said, as if they were considering getting a pet or rescheduling a flight. "I have...other plans... so much ahead of me. We both do,” he’d been quick to qualify.
A few weeks later, he’d accepted a job offer in London. He hadn’t asked her to go with him.
After many long nights, crying lonely tears, Ivy had exchanged a handshake and an impersonal last kiss with David before he’d left. A neat, civilized end. David had already moved on, she’d felt, had probably begun to do so on the very day she’d told him she was carrying his child.
She didn’t hate him. She was only sad that he’d not lived up to the promise of what she thought he was, and thattheyhadn’t either.
He wanted a life that didn’t include her, maybe never had in terms of longevity as she’d dreamed. She wanted a life he wasn’t willing to make room for. She absolutely didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with her.
She thought about him, here and there, since then—what ifsandmaybe one day—but not with any true sadness. More often, she thought,Oh my God, I’m going to have a baby.
Her boots scuffed to a halt at a rise in the trail. The ground leveled out into a wide, open moor. In the distance, the hills rose higher, gray-blue and mist-laced against the pale spring sky. Somewhere beyond them, the true Highlands stretched wild and unreachable.
Her hand drifted again to her belly, smoothing gently over the small, solid curve.
A now-familiar sense of unease swept over her, wondering if she were strong enough, sensible enough, mature enough, to raise a child by herself. She would find out, she imagined. This was her last weekend in Scotland. She had a flight scheduled for Monday evening to return home. It was time to get on with her life at Four Corners Farm. She would miss Scotland but wanted now to be surrounded by the familiar, by people she knew and who cared for her, by her own things and in her own place.
The wind picked up again, sharper, threading through the thin layers of her jacket. It carried with it a scent she couldn’t quite place, something that reminded her of rain, but oddly seemed more ancient.
Ivy frowned, glancing around. She shifted her weight, unsettled by the way the land seemed to blur at the edges. The air had gone still, seemed suddenly heavy. A prickle of unease climbed the back of her neck, but now it hadn’t anything to do with her anxiety over becoming a single mother. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe the weight of everything—school, the pregnancy, the thought of leaving Scotland and any hope of David changing his mind—was finally catching up to her.
She turned to start back down the trail.
The mist thickened without warning, rolling in low and fast, rose up so quickly that Ivy frowned at it, confused. It curled against her skin, clammy and cold, and for a second Ivy could barely see the trail under her boots. She paused, waiting for the fog to lift — but instead, the ground shifted beneath her. Shefroze but knew she hadn’t slipped or mis-stepped. The land itself tilted subtly, feeling strangely as if the earth had just drawn a breath.
Ivy staggered, lifting her arms to steady herself, and held her breath, puzzled, as she glanced behind her. The trail she'd been following, the narrow ribbon winding between the low stone walls, was gone.
Her stomach gave a slow, sick twist.
The hills were still there, but rougher now, and the stone walls appeared broken and scattered. The grass was longer, thicker, and wild. Farther down, the line of trees looked different, older, thicker, and more plentiful. The air smelled different too, sharp and raw.
Somewhere beyond the nearest rise, a noise broke through the mist. It was distinct, harsh—an unmistakable metallic clash, like metal striking metal, followed by a ragged surge of voices raised in something that sounded closer to anger than conversation.
Ivy went still, straining to listen.
