46. Now
46
NOW
Brooke stood at the back of the community garden , surrounded by low stone walls holding back cascading blooms and ringed by spherical trees, leafed out in their midsummer glory. In the center of the garden, wooden folding chairs were lined up in the gravel around an aisle. At the front, a podium and potted flowers made a small stage.
A projector screen was set up on one side and on the other, four pictures rested on easels. Brooke could guess whose photographs they were. She scanned the crowd of Mhairi’s friends and family for him as she curled the program in her hands.
Kieran, Rohan, and Chels had come as moral support and they chatted in the back row with Jack’s brother Logan—his arm around a pretty blonde woman dressed in a chic black dress. The other young man beside them looked familiar with his unkempt sandy blond hair and broad shoulders—Reid. And wow, had he had a glow-up since high school. He’d filled out, stood with a confident stance, his arms clasped behind his back.
Brooke spotted Jack across the garden talking to his parents, and her heart slammed against her chest like it could reach him if it only pounded hard enough. She wanted to hightail it through the gravel parking lot as fast as her too-high heels would take her. And simultaneously go to him—throw her arms around his waist, rest her cheek against his chest, feel his chin tip down as he wrapped her up. Take comfort in his soothing embrace, face the day and what came next, together.
If she’d thought the book signing stirred up a chaos of emotions, it had nothing on this.
Brooke took deliberate breaths in through her nose but couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from him. Jack’s white button-up stretched across his broad shoulders and tapered at his waist. He wore a kilt meant for special occasions, the navy-blue-and-forest-green fabric swishing around his knees, and tartan flashes peeked out from the cuff of his tall black socks like bookmarks.
Jack in a kilt —damn, didn’t know that was on my bucket list.
She let out a loud breath right as Mhairi appeared at her side. Brooke’s eyes immediately began to water and she didn’t see the use in trying to hold it back. “I’m going to cry today.”
Mhairi patted her hand and Brooke turned hers to hold it. “So am I, dear.”
They stood beneath the poplar tree, watching the buzz of the gathering, clasped together in a stolen moment—one of so few left.
They’d spent afternoons in Mhairi’s kitchen when she was feeling up to it. Brooke treasured every laugh, every piece of advice, every moment of Mhairi’s time. Brooke was writing faster than she ever had before, changing the narrative to deepen Mhairi’s impact and her joy. Turning over words to find the perfect ones. And some nights, when she was feeling brave, and especially when she was feeling scared, Brooke kept writing the story she’d started on the trail. Her story.
“I’ve been writing,” Brooke told Mhairi, like a promise.
Even if no one ever read it, even if it was terrible, now that she’d started, there was no way she could stop. She would tell her story and even though Mhairi wouldn’t be there to read it, to see what she’d created, she would live on in Brooke’s pages.
Mhairi squeezed Brooke’s hand and held on tight. “I have every faith in you.”
A tear leaked out of Brooke’s eye for Mhairi’s trust. For how much further those words would have to carry her.
Gemma moved to the podium and tapped the microphone, sending static into the air. “Let’s all take our seats,” she said, squinting into the sun.
Brooke resettled Mhairi’s hand on her arm and walked her down the aisle like a bride, but she wasn’t sure who was giving who away. Brooke’s eyes filled until the colorful gathering swam before her and when they reached the front row, Mhairi squeezed Brooke’s hand and nodded like they both had to walk their own paths from here on out.
Brooke took the empty seat behind Mhairi and caught Jack’s gaze from the front row. His look felt like a lingering kiss to the forehead. His lips twisted in their shared pain and Brooke pulled a tissue from her purse, dabbing at the corners of her eyes as she sniffed back tears.
Gemma adjusted the microphone again. “Thank you all for joining us and what a lovely day to come together and celebrate my sister, Mhairi McCallister. For all our lives, Mhairi has been the adventurer, the risk-taker, the one looking toward the future and the impact she can make. One thing I’ve always loved about you, sister, is your sureness in yourself. So many of us spend our time trying to understand ourselves, to figure out what we want from this life.” Gemma wiped away a tear.
“But from the moment you were born, you’ve seemed to know exactly who you are and what you want in life. You forge communities wherever you go.” Gemma gestured to the audience. “This gathering is a testament to that. You see needs and fill them. You founded a hiking trail that thousands of people visit every year, many drawn to our island because of it. And you’ve taught countless students, shaped them into better writers and better people. Written stories that’ve moved people, the world over.”
Gemma’s mouth pinched at the sides, and she blinked quickly. Brooke held back her tears, too—both for herself and for Gemma’s pain. For what they would all miss in this incredible woman.
“But more than all those crowning achievements, you are open and generous with your love and your time. You are an absolute light in this world and we love you so much.”
A tear trickled down Brooke’s cheek and she brushed it away.
Gemma returned to her seat, smiling at Brooke as she made her way past Mhairi. Gemma had always made Brooke feel welcome and taken care of, even now.
A middle-aged man in a red-and-black kilt and faded jacket took Gemma’s place behind the podium. He fiddled with the bow tie that looked out of place with his unruly beard. “I knew Mhairi when we both lived on Skye.”
“And who are ye?” a shout rang out from behind Brooke.
The man at the podium shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun as if the driving cap offered little relief and said, “Och, your own brother, ye daftie. But for the rest of you, I’m Callum.”
Mhairi turned in her seat to whisper-shout to Brooke, “Part of the Troublesome Trio.”
“Now, if you’re from here, and of a certain age, you’ll recall the addition of the Skye Bridge and that damnable tax to pass to and fro across it.”
This earned a booing kind of grumble from a contingent in the back and “A right scam!” from Callum’s brother.
Callum told a story about Mhairi arriving at a pub one night with a brown paper bag of 1p coins she’d gotten at the bank so they could pay the fee in the most obnoxious way possible, about her uncanny ability to create joy where there was none.
“Don’t forget the best part!” Mhairi called out.
“Och, quite right.” Callum scratched his chin through his thick beard, a smile blooming on his face. Mhairi turned in her seat to smile devilishly at her childhood friends. “Mhairi goes, ‘We might be leavin’ out one or two, to make the countin’ worthwhile.’”
Mhairi’s friends whooped, cheering for their fearless leader, and Brooke laughed despite herself. She caught Jack’s eye again, the smile on his face stealing her breath. Callum took off his black cap and held it against his heart. “You’ll be missed, my dear.”
Brooke blinked fast, her relief from a humorous story short-lived.
Reid bounded up from his seat to the podium with a stack of note cards he fanned out and back like playing cards. “Hello, everyone. For those who don’t know me, I’m Reid, Mhairi’s favorite nephew.”
Logan called out a loud “Oy!” and everyone laughed at Reid’s devil-may-care grin. Mhairi turned to blow Logan a kiss but Brooke didn’t miss the way her eyes landed on Jack as she turned back around, the soft smile she had just for him, the way his eyes crinkled in response. It somehow warmed and broke her heart at the same time, seeing that love and affection on his face, wanting it turned in her direction again.
“When I was a kid, maybe five, Aunt Mhairi had just gotten a butterfly tattoo. She showed it to me—” He tapped his inner forearm to demonstrate. “Oh, shit, is this public knowledge? Sorry, Grandma.” His wide eyes cut to Mhairi, who rocked back in her chair with laughter, as a devious smile spread across Reid’s lips.
“Anyway,” he said, pulling the attention back. “She showed me her tattoo and said, ‘Don’t tell anyone.’” He rested his forearm on the podium and leaned over it. “Now, we all know you don’t ask kids to keep secrets anymore.” He shook his head in Mhairi’s direction with a little tut-tut and another ripple of laughter went through the gathering; Reid had grown into a natural charmer.
Reid laid down the note cards he hadn’t been using anyway and curled his fingers around the edges of the podium, straightening. “But being included in this secret made me feel special. And seen—like I was worth confiding in. And I think Mhairi makes a lot of people feel that way. I’ve never met a better listener. Or someone who can so clearly see through to the heart of a problem or to the heart of a person.”
Mhairi had always made Brooke feel the same way. Tears leaked out of Brooke’s eyes and she blotted them with the tissue she’d wrapped around her index finger at the touching and true sentiment.
Mhairi’s friends and family took the stage one at a time, each sharing anecdotes and embarrassing stories, and the warmth radiating from Mhairi’s joy seeped into Brooke.
Jack walked toward the podium, a remote in his hand. He fussed with the projector, dropping to one knee, and his kilt swished while he twisted the lens to bring it into focus. Brooke couldn’t help watching his every moment, yearning for him to look at her, to make this easier, to calm her mind and her heart.
When he got the video playing, a dim version from all the sunlight, he stepped out of the way. A stunning image of the Storr filled the screen. “I don’t know if you heard, but my aunt helped found the Skye Trail,” Jack said into the mic.
“We know!” Reid shouted and the ripple of laughter sounded again. Brooke wanted to join in but her heart was still in her throat.
“Brooke Sinclair and I—” his eyes found hers and her breath caught “—just got back and we met amazing people along the way who wanted to share their love.”
The video of Cat at the beach outside Portree played. “Hi, Aunt Mhairi! I’m Catalina! We’re a little off your trail here, but you’d love it. Look at this beach,” Cat said from the screen, the beach coming into view with the tilt of her camera.
Jack pressed his palms flat on the podium top. “You’ve impacted the lives of countless people. People who’ve never even met you.”
Oliver and Murray, then Anya and Duncan, filled the screen, all saying their hellos and best wishes.
“You inspire people, you’re a part of their stories.”
Natalia and Catalina were back, smiles shining in the dim light of the bothy, and Brooke’s stomach swooped with the anticipation of the moment, even though she’d been there, even though she’d known the answer the minute she’d met them.
“Catalina, will you marry me?”
“You’ve been a part of the most important moments of our lives.”
Jack’s eyes were back on Brooke and she couldn’t breathe. Mhairi had altered the course of Brooke’s life so many times. She might not have crossed the ocean or that room at a house party. Might not have crossed the Bad Step or the lines she’d drawn with Jack before she’d let him back into her heart.
He turned his attention back to Mhairi. “But to me, you’re Auntie. This larger-than-life person I’ve always idolized. You draw people to you. It’s something that’s never come naturally to me—”
“Oh, posh,” Mhairi said from the front row.
“I was never very good with words. Or saying what I wanted…” His eyes cut to Brooke. “Or how I was feeling.” Jack gestured to the screen, the picture he took that night over the Isle of Raasay when things first started feeling hopeful between them. Still images faded in and out: the pastel harbor in Portree, the gray stone bridge in Sligachan, the white bothy against the blue sea.
“I hope my pictures can show you the profound impact you’ve had on my life,” he said. “The profound impact you’ve had on people you’ve never even met, but especially on each and every person gathered here today.”
When Jack finished, Brooke summoned her courage and made her way to the front for her turn to speak, wobbling through the gravel, still unused to wearing shoes like this after the hike. Her throat ached from holding back tears and anxiety fluttered under her breastbone, unsure how she was going to get through what she wanted to say.
As Jack drew close on his way back to his seat, Brooke’s ankle gave out and she stumbled. He caught her arm and steadied her and her racing heart reached for him. She looked up into his dark eyes, full of such warmth and love. “You can do this,” he said under his breath.
She nodded back. He always made her feel like she could do anything she put her mind to.
When she made it to the podium and turned to face the group assembled in front of her, she said, “Whew. That was a dicey trek.”
Friendly laughter floated to her, but the weight of Jack’s gaze eclipsed it. Soothed her, grounded her, gave her the push to go on.
“I’m Brooke,” she said. “I’m one of Mhairi’s former students and I’ve been writing with her over the last seven years. Because of that, I naively thought it would be easier to put Mhairi’s impact on my life into words. But I could actually write a whole book about her.”
She and Mhairi shared a smile and like the other speakers, Brooke laid her palms on the podium, the sun-warmed wood a calming force.
“My admiration for Mhairi stretches back before I even met her. I read Black Currents in high school and it was filled with such adventure and promise that I chose to study at the University of Edinburgh, to experience Scotland for myself.” She looked at Mhairi. “It was everything you wrote about and more.”
Brooke swallowed and flipped to her next note card, the black ink swimming. “Then I took Mhairi’s class, and talk about a fangirl. I may or may not have asked her to sign my book on the first day.”
“We’ve all been there, lass,” Callum called from the audience.
Brooke laughed and cleared her throat, rubbing a hand against the tightness in her chest. Her heart swelled with the knowledge that Mhairi’s stories would live on. This group of people would share Mhairi with those they loved. This wouldn’t be the end.
“I remember Mhairi talked about experiencing the world to become a better writer. She encouraged us to live a life worth writing about. To take chances and step out of our comfort zones, to love fearlessly.” Brooke couldn’t keep her gaze from traveling to the first row. Jack’s hair lay in gentle waves, his white shirt rolled to his elbows, his mere presence calming her racing heart.
Brooke wet her lips and brushed away tears with the heel of her hand and looked back to Mhairi. “Thank you for investing in me and sharing your wisdom. I am so grateful for all the stories we’ve worked on together, and all the ones that are still to come. You had to force me out on a formidable hike—but I think I finally learned your lesson.”
When Brooke’s eyes settled on Jack’s, he was looking at her like she was the whole world.
She’d been chasing the wrong second chance.