Page 21 of Lochlan

“I've spent summers and a few Christmas holidays in Edinburgh and they'd play their songs everywhere. I saw them with my cousins a few years ago at Concert in the Gardens when they played at Hogmanay.”

It's strange hearing her talk about Edinburgh, the places I know well; it makes me nostalgic for home. There's no one here who knows about home except Geordie. He helps me remember the good times. If he hadn't come with me after my exile, I would have gone mad. As it is, some days, I might still get there.

I connect my laptop to the television to have a larger screen to view the photos. I put them on a ten-second delay. It's enough time to study a photo before another one appears. Kenzie unwraps the plates while I open the wine. I talk about the wine a little before I pour. “This wine has notes of blackberry and licorice; see if you can taste that on the middle of your tongue.” I show her how to swish the wine around in her mouth to release the flavors. She gives me a child-like smile while she mimics me. I nearly laugh at her liveliness; the display puts me at ease and tugs at my heart.

“You're right. I can taste blackberry and I think that's cherry. Is that right?”

“Aye, the cherry flavor is subtle. Good call.”

The photos light up the screen with places and people I've almost forgotten. The music seems to coordinate with the images as if watching a montage scene in a movie. Faces flash on the screen and we sit back, observing the show. She's snatching morsels from a plate balanced on her lap, while I feed myself from the side table. Both of us have not put down our wine. Kenzie comments on each image, identifying places she knows. I'm caught up in her interest and the questions she asks. I can't believe I'm enjoying her company without us naked in my bed. It hasn't been like this since Edinburgh.

“Tell me where you were?” she asks, covering her mouth so I can't see what she's chewing.

“You must know that place,” I say, but look closer. It's a tight image of a busker playing and the location isn't obvious. “It's Rose Street,” I say.

She giggles. “That's right, I see it now.”

The phone on the table comes to life with a particular ring that has me cold. I push away from the couch to retrieve my cell, and the name of Ian MacTavish illuminates the screen.

“This is Lochlan,” I bark into the phone like I'm speaking to an intruding stranger.

“Well, this is your granda. I want a few minutes of your time.”

“Just a moment while I find better reception.” And I put him on mute before he can respond. Kenzie pauses the slideshow while the music continues to play.

“I have to take this. It will be fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

“Take your time; there's no hurry.”

I shrug into my jacket and head out the door. I don't want her to hear the conversation. He never calls to chat; he always has something on his mind. There's a nip in the air as I move a short distance down the path. I lean against the side of the building and unmute.

“Granda, how's your health?”

“My health is nothing of your concern, unless you're hoping for my demise?”

“I always pray for your well-being, as I should. Is there something on your mind?”

“Is my soundness your only concern? Do you not want to know how the rest of your family is faring?”

Anger tightens my chest at the mention of my brother Harris. “You are my only concern.”

“Well, then I'll tell you. Harris is...”

I'm tuning out the brief accounting of my brother's life, peppered with his own judgements on the subject, until he has reached the end or realizes I'm not listening.

“Geordie has told you I'm visiting America?”

“He did. Although I don't know why you didn't tell me directly.”

“I thought the announcement would be easier coming from your cousin. It was a way to get you used to the idea of Fiona and I coming together for a visit. I'm thinking of placing her in charge of Catriona.”

“This is my project, my idea. I don't need her help.”

“The plan should be further along; Fiona can help with securing backers and media coverage.”

I'm silent, not wanting to say what I think.

A rumbling sigh of disapproval comes through. “The project was your idea, and I know it can be a profitable venture, so I'll give you a chance to convince me that you should continue managing on your own. If I'm not satisfied, then Fiona will have free rein. You have a week to prepare. See that you use your time wisely.”

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