Page 93 of Some Like It Scot
But I shouldn’t rely on them. It wasn’t their job to be my pick-me-up. And it was too early to call Brett. But with all he had going on, it wasn’t his job either.
The sunshine out my window brought the warmth and birdsong of the day, almost as if God was trying to get my attention. I chuckled. And maybe that’s exactly what He was doing. Reminding me not just of the beauty of the day, but that He was here.
And maybe the love I needed to linger in most was His?
The idea of the watergaw hit me all over again.
Fear kept me in check for so long, moving me away from relationships, keeping me on the run, feeding my insecurities. Fear of letting people down. Fear that my perfect little dream of home and love and happily-ever-after would never measure up in reality.
But love was messy. Life was hard.
Forgiving and being forgiven.
Falling and learning from the fall.
Breaking and healing through the love of others.
Even if I only had a little while with the MacKerrows, their brand of care shored up my fearful heart like nothing I’d known in a long time.
And I didn’t mean the swooning.
Or the shoulders.
But the real sense of belonging.
So I embraced the forthcoming sadness just to enjoy the present. Watergaw.
I quickly finished getting ready, choosing a blue blouse to wear with my skirt. With a smile to myself in the mirror, I slung my bag over my shoulder and slipped from the quiet manor house.
The sun shone clear and beautiful upon the waking world. For now. Who knew what the weather would be like in an hour?
So I borrowed one of Craighill’s bicycles and started down the hill.
The fresh air provided the morning perspective I needed. And the beauty of the surroundings pulled my mind toward better things. Higher things. Truths I needed to fill my head and aching heart with after a phone conversation with my mom.
My value wasn’t measured by her behavior. Or my mistakes. It was measured by God’s love. A love I couldn’t out-fail. Ever. I needed the reminder so badly, and it was almost as if every flower and sea-scented breath joined in a massive chorus to remind me.
Graeme’s directions (including another self-drawn map) led me to an iconic view to add to the many I’d seen so far. A stone chapelhovered between a rocky hill on one side and an open glen full of flowers on the other. It welcomed me forward with the same sweetness as Mirren and Graeme, who met me at the door. After the phone call with my mom, sitting between Mirren and Graeme in the little chapel as songs rang out and sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, a battle between longing and belonging wrestled in my heart. I hadn’t shared a moment this intimate with other people since my grandparents died, and the memory sank deep into my home-parched soul.
At one point during the service, Graeme’s arm came up to rest on the pew behind me, bringing an extra waft of his yummy scent, and then Lachlan offered me a piece of gum, and Mirren gave a comment or two about the “Scottishness” of the pastor. I wanted to nestle into the experience like a warm blanket on a cold night and never emerge.
So I held on. Daydreamed. Hoped.
What could my world look like if everything turned out like the storybooks? If Graeme offered me his heart and his family embraced me and my traveling? If my fear, clumsiness, and unintentional troublemaking didn’t derail any possible happily-ever-afters? If home came with more of a Scottish accent and salt-sea air than anything I’d ever envisioned for my life?
The temptation to give in to the what-if tugged me deeper into a hope that terrified me and enchanted me all at once. And promised me that if I fell this time... I’d never recover.
***
“I cannae believe you’ve never had steak pie.” This from Lachlan, who’d sat across from me at the long dining room table in the MacKerrows’ cottage. “You’ve lived a poor life in America, and that’s a fact.”
“Come now, lad.” Kenneth MacKerrow, the patriarch of the family, and the leader of the gene pool where his sons were concerned, chuckled as he served some of the steak pie on a plate for me. “Katie’sscran in America mayn’t be as tasty as what we have here in Scotland, but I doubt it’s poor.”
He winked over at me, the ease at which this family moved among one another giving off all sorts of snuggly vibes. They loved one another.
I don’t know if they realized what they had, but any onlooker with a history like mine saw it glaring in neon from every side hug or easy exchange. The gentle way Mirren placed her palm on Kenneth’s shoulder as she stood near him, and the instance when he tugged her against him as she asked if anyone needed more to drink.
The way the brothers shoved one another around in playful annoyance and everyone kept an eye and ear out for Lachlan.Thiswas finding the needle in the glen.
