Chapter 19 #2
“The snow fell early and heavy that year. It was the year I lived rough in a cave after I was forced out of the hovel my mum and I lived in. My food stores were low. I was still learning to fend for myself. There were days when I thought I might not make it, and I dinna care.”
He paused, the weight of the memory heavy in his chest.
“I remember huddling by the fire, my breath visible in the cold air. I rationed what little food I had, but it never seemed enough. There were nights I would wake, shivering, unable to feel my fingers or toes.”
Hunger like that was something she’d never experienced. “How did you manage?”
“I hunted what I could,” Callan continued, his voice steady. “But the game was scarce, and the cold made everything more difficult. I learned to trap small animals, to find edible roots and plants beneath the snow. It was a hard winter.”
He glanced over at Daisy, his green eyes intense. “But I survived. And after that, I made sure I always had enough food put away for winter, even if I stole some of it from neighboring villages.”
Daisy reached over and squeezed his hand. “You were very brave, and you did what you had to.”
They drove for a while, and when they were about twenty minutes from Richmond, he asked her about her own life.
Daisy sighed, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Well, by the time I graduated high school, I had gone to twenty-three different schools. I was always the new kid, and I hated it.”
Callan frowned. “Why did you move so often?”
“My parents traveled a lot for work,” Daisy explained. “We were always packing up and moving to a new place. It was hard to make friends, and I always felt out of place. I’d get settled, start to make friends, and then we’d move again. I never felt like I belonged anywhere.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, gently, as if she were precious. Her throat closed up when he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Had he changed his mind about trying to go back to his own time? Afraid to ask, she turned her head and looked out the window.
Richmond ended up being a quick stop. They wandered through the halls of the Virginia State Capitol, admiring the historical exhibits and learning about the state’s role in the Civil War, then visited The American Civil War Museum at Historic Tredegar, a site that had been crucial during the Civil War.
Callan asked so many questions, even the guide was worn out by the time they were done.
They spent the rest of the day relaxing.
Their routine was well established, with Callan setting up the outdoor chairs while she started an early dinner since he’d said he was starving.
He wasn’t a good cook, and while she wasn’t much better, at least she didn’t burn the food until it was unrecognizable.
So she cooked, and he cleaned up, and as Daisy despised hand washing dishes, it worked out well.
There was an enormous brand new RV parked next to them. As Callan threw away their trash, he saw the man struggling with a hose.
“Do ye need some help?” He strode over to the man who was standing back, a book in his hand and a look of confusion on his face.
“That would be great. I’m trying to empty the grey and black water tanks.” The man shook his head.
“I told the missus we should have tried this out before coming here, but here we are.”
He scratched his white beard. “We love having a bathroom onboard, but it’s not so fun emptying the mess.”
When Callan had asked Daisy about the lack of a bathing chamber, she shook her head vehemently and said she preferred to use the facilities at a rest area or when they were out, because it was not romantic at all to use a tiny toilet behind a curtain when the guy you had fallen head over heels for was on the other side and could hear everything.
He was so pleased that she cared for him, he’d forgotten to ask her any other questions.
One night, when she’d had an extra glass of wine, she told him about going camping with a man who was wooing her. She had used the tiny bathing chamber in the large RV when she let out what she called a toot, and was so mortified when she came out and he was laughing that she said never again.
The man showed him the book and together they started the process. It did not go well.
As the man began the process, things went haywire. The hose slipped from his grasp, and in a moment of panic, he tried to catch it, only for both of them to end up covered in a mess that was utterly revolting.
“Bloody hell.” Callan jumped back.
It was at that moment that Daisy saw him. Hand over her mouth, she doubled over, shaking until she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“You’re not stepping foot inside the van until you’ve showered and burned those clothes.”
Glad the lass did not have the Gaelic, he swore as he and the man cleaned up the mess, the man apologizing profusely as his wife scolded him.
At least Daisy brought him a towel and soap, lots of soap, along with a change of clothes.
When he returned, he found Daisy brushing Frankie.
“I am grateful we do not have to empty the shite,” he said, trying to make light of the situation.
She sniffed. “I think you got it all.” Then a shocked look crossed her face as she pointed. “Is that … is that poo in your ear?”
“Bloody hell.”
When he jumped, wiping at his ear, she held her stomach, laughing until tears ran down her face.
“Verra funny, lass.” He narrowed his eyes, and before she could run, scooped her up and ran through the sprinklers until they were both soaked.
“You’re going to need another shower.”
He wiped the water from her cheek. “’Twas worth it to see the look on your face.”
Since they were already soaked, they decided to take a swim in the campground’s pool since it was still light out. The water was cool and inviting, a perfect way to unwind after the day’s mishap.
As they swam, Callan noticed the markings on Daisy’s ribcage. He swam closer, intrigued. “What’s that?”
When she lifted her arms, he could see the tattoo ran down her entire left side.
“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” He read aloud. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”
She leaned against the concrete edge of the pool, enjoying the warmth.
“It’s by Mary Oliver, a poet. It’s a reminder to make the most of the life we’re given.”
He looked like a Greek god come to life with the water running down his tanned chest.
“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo? Maybe something to remember your brother? You know, just in case you can’t go back.”
“Perhaps,” he mused. “Something to honor him, aye. It would be a fitting tribute.”