Page 55 of Some Like It Scot
Thursday—a special surprise event, to be revealed the day of
Friday—a morning at the beach, archery
Mrs. Lennox certainly offered an experience. Language of fans? I grinned. Archery? Well, at least on that one I wouldn’t embarrass myself too much. Lawn tennis, however? I wish you got points for playing passionately, if not accurately.
I propped the card against the nearby lamp as a reminder of my upcoming week and readied to open the second paper, when my phone buzzed to life.
Mom:I hope you’re enjoying Scotland.
My entire body stiffened. She never started texting like that without an ulterior motive. And what was she doing up at five in the morning in the States? I racked my brain to recall her schedule. Morning tennis at the club?
I slowly picked up my phone, and the screen blinked again.
Mom:I saw your latest video, Katherine. Don’t you think you ought to do a little something more with yourself before you make those? Candace at the club barely recognized you in that ball cap. And were you even wearing makeup?
I lowered the phone back to the desk. How did she always seem to wound me no matter how far away I was?
Mom:You know, you’ve always liked the color pink. Maybe you could wear that little dress I got you for Christmas and make a new video.
Pink? Pink was my least favorite color. And depending on the shade, it looked horrible on me.
But it had been Sarah’s favorite.
And I’d never measure up to her, no matter how hard I tried or how far I went.
And I had to respond to Mom, because if I didn’t, she’d extend her texts through the rest of the day until I replied.
Me:Grandpa was right. Scotland is beautiful.
I waited, muscles tight in preparation for some other sting I couldn’t stop. I’d tried. So had Brett.
And she wouldn’t stop, fueled by the need to have the world view her family as perfect or the desire to keep Sarah’s memory alive in unhealthy ways. Or maybe a combination of both?
When she didn’t respond for a few minutes, my body began to uncoil from flight mode. Grandpa came to the rescue again, even from the grave, creating a safe buffer between me and my mom’s criticism. He’d been the only one who held some sort of ability to redirect her stings or quiet her criticisms.
Heat rose into my eyes as I leaned back in the chair, running my palms over my face to get control of my emotions. Brett understood.
My gaze dropped to the time on my phone.
But it was much too early to call him.
I buried my face in my hands. “Please, help me.”
I’d been on my own for years, but for the first time in a long time, the gravity of being... alone hit me. God felt so very far away.
The second piece of paper—the one that looked like it had been torn from a notebook—caught my attention on the desk, so I opened it to find only one scrawled sentence.
If you want stories, visit Iona.
My breath froze, and I reread the note.
No signature, but from the warmth spilling through me, my body knew.
And the stinging in my eyes became nearly unbearable.
Graeme showed up at the right time even when he didn’t know it.
I sniffled and rubbed at my nose, allowing his unintended sweetness to settle into my hurting heart. Only for a second.
