Chapter 1
Chapter
One
My bag hits the floor with a hollow smack that ricochets off the dank stone walls of the inn. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
Where on earth is my mother?
The young receptionist doesn’t look up. She just nods at the bill, filing her nails with a bored shrug. “We take cash or card, miss.”
My mother ditched me. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s kind of her thing. Edinburgh was just her latest disappearing act, and here I am, searching for her all over again. Only this time, I’m in a foreign country.
“We’ll go to Scotland,” she told me out of the blue.
“Tour that school you like.” We saved up for months, or at least I did.
Heaven forbid Janet work a day in her life.
But still, this was supposed to be our trip together.
Our first anything together. A mother-daughter bonding moment.
Just a quick jaunt during midterm break, a long weekend in late October.
I should be home by now, studying for exams. Instead, I’m chasing after her.
My eyes blur, anger threatening to slide into the familiar dejection that defined my childhood.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, hard. I will not cry in front of this stranger.
Instead, I focus on the peeling sign over her head like I might be quizzed on it.
THE MERRY WIDOW INN, ESTABLISHED 1605. Which, judging by the state of this place, is probably the last time anyone dusted.
Why did my mother come here? She hasn’t been back to Scotland since before I was born. She refuses to talk about it.
Is this where she’s from?
Not that I’ve had a chance to ask. Our first morning together, she went to the bathroom and never came back. I’d have called her cell phone, if she had one. She claims she doesn’t believe in them, which is like not believing in the wheel, but whatever.
That was two days ago. I’ve been searching for her ever since…until this place called. “Janet Campbell is racking up a bill she can’t pay.” Four hours, one train, and two buses later, here I am. In the wilds of Scotland.
I missed my college tour, of course.
Just the thought of it makes my head ache. What else did I miss? Was I supposed to have an interview?
I didn’t even get to see the campus. The physics department at the University of Edinburgh is world famous.
It’s my dream to transfer there. But instead of exploring the school, I spent two days scouring every pub while staving off panic attacks.
More than ever, I need to get away from my mother.
Study abroad. Worry about nothing and nobody but myself for once.
But first, I have to find her.
I glance at the invoice. Nausea rolls through me.
“Um, okay. This is…okay.” I chew my thumbnail, trying to figure out what to do.
“But you said you know where Janet is? Janet Campbell.” I say her name extra slowly, like the problem here is my accent and not basic human decency.
“My name’s Rose. You called me? You said she was here. ”
The receptionist finally looks up. Expression flat. Unimpressed. “She’s nae here. Not anymore. Just the bill.” She slides the paper forward, tapping the total with a bright red nail. “Cash or card.”
This was supposed to be my moment.
All my old classmates have moved on, but I stayed home to help my grandfather with the farm. Poppa says we can afford for me to go away to school, but there’s always something. Some crisis that drains our savings. And I’ve always—always—put everything aside to help.
But this?
This is next-level Janet. Worse than the time I missed my calc exam to drive three hours and bail her out of jail.
(Indecent exposure. A music festival. Don’t ask.) I’m almost twenty.
An adult. I need my own life. I don’t even know what that looks like.
But I do know it’s not minding my mother or tending Poppa’s animals.
So I’ve done everything I can. Worked my butt off. Taken every possible science and math class at the community college. And this trip? It’d finally felt like Janet was doing something for me. Supporting me.
How wrong I was. It was never about me. It was just another way for her to get what she wants.
She always gets what she wants.
“Um, okay.” I try to buy time, because I have no idea what to do next. “We were supposed to go home yesterday. I already had to change our flights once. It’s not cheap.”
No reaction.
“We came all the way from New York.”
Silence.
“Like…in America?”
The receptionist’s nail file stops mid-stroke. She gives me a slack-jawed scowl. “I ken where New York is.”
I rub my arms. I’m tired and cold, and I swear, it feels like it’s actually wet in here. “Well, Janet’s my mother, and—”
A laugh explodes from her. “Your mum?” Her eyes shine as she scans me, head to toe, like she’s just realizing something. “Well, your mum fair showed our lads a good time. Singing and carrying on in the pub. One too many pints, I hear.”
Heat flares in my cheeks. “Yeah, sorry,” I mumble. If carrying on were an Olympic sport, Janet would be a gold medalist.
“The woman wouldnae even tell us where she lives.” The receptionist leans against the desk, smirking. “We had to look through her things to find your number. That’s how we got you.”
My stomach tightens.
“I thought old Dan—this is his place, aye?—I thought he might have a cardiac when he learned the woman’s from America.
Your mum’s accent is as Scottish as a square sausage.
The man was besotted. I was beginning to think he might propose.
” She stops filing, pins me with a sudden, assessing stare.
Then she shakes her head and lets out another explosive laugh. “And she’s your mum.”
Like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.
“Yep.” I force a smile through gritted teeth. “My mom.”
Dan wouldn’t be Janet’s first proposal. She stands out. Always has. She’s movie-star beautiful—fresh-faced, delicate, luminous. Like a porcelain doll.
But, wow, is she ugly on the inside.
My whole life, she’s been consumed by one thing: herself. Her desires. Her beauty. She’s the only star in her personal sky, and that star is a black hole, insatiable for an ever-growing list of esoteric demands. Poppa once said she’s selfish as a fox and twice as sly.
Poor Poppa. My grandfather didn’t know what hit him when Janet showed up on his doorstep, newly married to his son.
She and my father met during a whirlwind weekend at some Scottish music festival.
They were only supposed to stay at Poppa’s farm while they got on their feet, but then my father died when I was a baby.
And Janet—with no family, no job, no plan—never left. Poppa took her in. Took us in. It’s been just the three of us ever since. I wouldn’t have survived my mother without him.
I mean, it wasn’t all bad. There were times when my mother was pure magic.
She was the mom who’d call in sick for me with elaborate stories about exotic diseases so we could spend the day at the zoo instead.
She was particularly delighted by the chimps who’d throw their poop at the tourists.
Those days, she made me feel important, like her co-conspirator.
By middle school, I knew she wasn’t like other moms. But it was my eleventh birthday when she stopped being Mom and became Janet. She promised a massive party—balloons, a sundae bar, pony rides. She invited my whole class.
And then…nothing.
No party. No presents. Just me, standing in our empty yard, apologizing to twenty confused kids.
But I still have to track her down. I mean, she is my mother. I need to find her before she gets into real trouble. Or bankrupts Poppa.
“So,” I say, scanning the receptionist’s name tag, “Annie. What do you think I should do? I have to find her.” On a hunch, I add, “We’re running out of money.”
That sure gets her attention.
She starts ranting at me—something about a damaged room, an unpaid bar tab—but I’ve stopped listening. A strange click, followed by an eerie moan, echoes around me. There’s a moment’s whirring. Then—bells.
My breath catches. I turn. A hulking grandfather clock looms in the corner, carved from wood so dark it’s nearly black.
Bong. The sound is slow, deep, rolling through the inn like the groan of some slumbering beast.
I gaze at the clock’s ancient face. It’s mottled yellow-brown, the Roman numerals faded but legible.
A small dial in the center tracks the sun and moon.
Four o’clock. Not quite day. Not quite night.
The sun, poised to sink, grins at me. A broad, toothy leer, like a cartoon villain about to twirl his mustache.
Bong. The second toll thrums in my ribs. Something about this moment feels wrong. Familiar, but wrong.
Bong. A strange, bewildering grief wells up, sudden and unshakable.
Bong. The last chime stretches long, lazily fading into silence. The hour hand clicks into place with a decisive snick.
Annie’s voice yanks me back. “Hae you got it?”
I blink hard, shaking my head as I force myself to look away from the clock. “Sorry, yeah. I’ll pay for her room. Or whatever.”
I just need to hold it together a little longer. I’ve been running on anxiety, adrenaline, and Diet Coke, and I’m beyond exhausted. I shake out my ice-cold hands, then scoop up my bag. “I’d like one, too. A room, I mean. Please.”
Annie narrows her eyes. Mascara clumps her lashes into thick, blue-black spikes. “You’ll need to pay for both.”
“Yeah, of course.”
I swing my backpack around, dig for my wallet, and hand her my debit card. I’m genuinely astounded when it works.
Thank you, Poppa.
He must’ve put money in my account. Even though we don’t have a penny to spare, he always looks out for me.
I take my key and head down a dark-paneled hallway, the air instantly growing cooler. Shadows press close as I climb the narrow staircase. Every step groans, ancient floorboards creaking beneath my weight. By the time I enter my room, dread sits heavy on my shoulders.
I lock my door. Jiggle the handle. Check it again.