Chapter 14
“You don’t have to come to the funeral,” Jacob says. “It’s—I’d be fine going by myself.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and no matter how calm his voice sounds, I can tell he’s uneasy.
I haven’t been to a funeral in years. Not since my grandfather died. I was nineteen and had only met the man twice. My mother’s side of the family kept their distance after her divorce, so I never spent much time with them. We flew to India for the service, only stayed for two days, then went home.
My mother never asked me to go with her. I’d been in college at the time and had classes, but even though she’d said she’d be okay going alone, I’d known she needed someone with her.
Just like I know Jacob needs someone with him now.
“I want to go,” I say. “After all, Elsie invited me. It’d be rude of me not to show.”
His shoulders relax a fraction at that.
“Only…what’s a purvey?” I ask.
“The reception. After the funeral,” he says. “Usually hosted by the family, with some food and drink.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay. I’ll be there for that too.” I look down at my clothes, then back up. “I’ll just run upstairs and change. I’ll be back in five.”
I rush up to my room and put on the navy-blue dress I wore to the wedding. I take my hair out of its bun, finger-brushing the waves as best I can, and meet Jacob in the lobby.
He’s carrying his bagpipe case in one hand and typing something on his phone with the other. When my shoes clack on the hardwood, he turns to look at me. His eyes drop to my feet, then trail up my body, then slide down again.
I run my palms down the sides of my dress. “I don’t have a ton of options,” I say. “But I think this should be fine?”
It’s not black, but I think it’s dark and somber enough for a funeral. And it’s a pretty conservative cut. Square neckline, and a hem that stops at my knee.
But Jacob’s still staring at me.
I frown. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” He blinks. “Yes, sorry. You look…It’s fine.” He shakes his head slightly. “Are you okay walking in those? We have to walk the whole length of the street.”
“Yeah.” I look down at my shoes. “They’re flats.” The same shoes I wore to the wedding.
“Oh,” he says. “Okay, then.”
He hikes the bagpipe case higher on his arm and heads out of the inn. I follow him, surprised to find that the weather is pleasant. Sunlight’s peeking through the clouds. It’s overcast, but brighter than usual, and there isn’t a trace of water in the air, the ever-present mist lifted for a moment.
We don’t say much to each other as we walk to the garage, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something feels off.
Was he just being polite before? Or are funerals in Scotland different? Is what I’m wearing totally out of the norm?
“Are you sure what I’m wearing is okay?” I ask. “If you think this is inappropriate or—”
“No,” he says. “You just—it took me by surprise, that’s all.”
My forehead wrinkles. “Why?”
“Because I—” His mouth closes, then opens again.
“It’s nothing. Sorry.” He looks over at me, his expression tentative.
“I’m just feeling a little nervous right now.
I didn’t think it all through when I was talking to Iain and Elsie.
I just kind of reacted to what they were saying, but now I’m realizing that the last time I played a funeral, well, it was for James. ”
A string wraps tight around my heart.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. It was nice of you to offer, but if you need to back out, you can.”
He shakes his head. “No, I want to do this.” We reach the garage, and he holds the door open for me. I step under his arm, squeezing close to him, my shoulder brushing against his chest.
“It was always one of the things I liked most about piping,” he says, following me inside.
“When we were in school, James and I would do these gigs for extra spending money. We did some graduation ceremonies, and a few weddings, but a lot of funerals. And it was nice, being able to be there for those families in that way. To meet all of them, to see the impact, the comfort our music could provide. Maybe it’s strange to say, but I enjoyed playing at funerals more than anything else.
More than school or the competitions we used to do.
I would have kept doing it, only…after my parents’ service, I didn’t feel like doing it anymore. ”
The garage is quiet, something electric humming faintly in a neighboring room, but there’s no one else in here.
“I can understand that,” I say.
He sets his bagpipe case on the floor, scanning the room for a mechanic.
“I’m sorry, I remember you saying it happened a few years ago, but I never asked…How did they—”
“Car accident,” he says, turning to look at me. “I was away from home when it happened. At university.”
Something twists in my chest.
It was more than a few years ago, then. He would have been so young.
“I’m going to go look for someone to help us,” he says, rolling back his shoulders.
“I’ll go with you.”
We search one office only to find it empty, then walk down a hallway, heading toward the buzzing sound.
“And your parents—I never—” He clears his throat. “You said you were young when you moved from here. Is that when they split?”
“Yeah. I was four, maybe five. I don’t remember much of it.” I pause. “I can kind of picture our house if I try. I remember always being cold, and not feeling like that anymore once we moved.”
The electric buzzing sound gets louder, and Jacob raises his voice over it. “Where did you move to? When you left with your mother?”
“L.A.,” I respond. “We’ve been there ever since.”
He squints a little at that, but before I can figure out what his reaction means, another voice calls out.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” a man says. We can’t see him, his face hidden by the raised hood of a car, but he must have heard us talking. “We’re closed.”
Jacob steps forward. “I’m sorry. It’s just—we have a car here getting repaired and we wanted to see if we could get an update. I tried calling, but no one answered.”
“No one answered because we’re closed,” the man says. The hood slams down, and the man wipes his hands on his coveralls. “Anyone tell you it’s rude to trespass?”
Jacob frowns, adjusting his glasses. “The front door was open.”
The man snorts, coming around the car. “And that just gives you license to—” When he looks up, his mouth snaps shut, his eyes bouncing between Jacob and me.
From the smoky tone of his voice I assumed he was older, but he can’t be that much older than Jacob and me. Late thirties, at most. He has a shock of dark, thick brown hair, and a short beard the same color, with a little gray mixed in.
He’s handsome, I realize, even with the grease stain smeared down his cheek. And there’s something about this outfit that’s really working for him. A thin white undershirt, with his coveralls rolled down and tied at his waist.
“Sorry,” he says, lifting a hand in my direction. “I’m not even supposed to be here today. I just snuck in to finish this, but now I’m going to be late, and I really need to lock up.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “We can leave.”
“No,” the man replies quickly. “That’s—I can walk you out.”
He looks over at Jacob again, then back to me, his eyes flicking up and down. “I’m guessing you’re going to the funeral?”
“Yes,” Jacob responds. “We are.”
We shuffle single file out the small door, then back through the hallway. “I’ll be there too,” the man says. “Brian was a relative.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say.
“Thanks, but he was a pretty distant relation. I knew him, because everyone knows everyone here, but I don’t know if I’d be able to tell you exactly how we were related. Third cousin, I think? But really, he was just like another uncle.”
He ushers us back through the office, grabs a few things, then gestures for us to exit first. “Anyway, I think I know the car you mean. It came in yesterday?” he asks me.
“Yes, it—”
“They told us it needs a part that wasn’t in stock,” Jacob says, moving a hair closer to me. “So I just wanted to see if it had come in, or if there was any kind of estimate on when it would be available.”
I frown, glancing up at Jacob, surprised to find a similar frown on his face. I don’t know why he’s upset. He’s the one who interrupted me.
“Sorry—if that’s what they told you last night, I doubt anything’s changed since then.
It takes a couple days for those kinds of shipments to come through.
” The man locks up the shop, and the wind picks up in the street, blowing his scent our way, something like pine mixed with the faintest hint of gasoline.
“But I’ll try to check on it for you,” he continues. He extends a hand in my direction. “Callum,” he says. “Guess I’ll be seeing you later? At the service?”
“Neelu,” I say. “And yes. You’ll see us there.”
He throws a final assessing look over at Jacob—who’s still wearing a sour, pinched expression—before saying goodbye and parting ways with us.
—
We end up barely having time to pick up takeaway for my father, but we still manage to order all his favorites. That is, Jacob orders all his favorites. I don’t really know what my father’s favorite foods are.
Some sharp emotion scrapes the back of my throat, as if I swallowed something with a pointed edge, but I push it down, adding an order of kheer when Jacob’s done listing dishes.
“Kheer,” the man at the counter repeats, penciling it on the notepad in front of him, and Jacob turns my way.
His earlier frown is gone, something gentle blossoming around his mouth instead.
“Their kheer is the kind with rice,” Jacob tells me when we walk back to the inn. “Not vermicelli. I got a peek when they were packing it up.”
“Is that how you make it?” I ask. “With vermicelli?”
He moves the plastic bag of takeout from one hand to the other. “Yes.” He shifts, and I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, like I’ve walked into a patch of sunshine, my skin turning warm. “Maybe I’ll get to make it for you sometime,” he says. “And you’ll see for yourself.”