Chapter 2 #2
I find a corner table in the pub, retreat with my pint of Guinness.
It’s a tiny place, ceilings so low I have to duck every time I stand.
The whole place is covered in collections of neckties, all displayed in glass cases.
They’re from colleges, clubs, all kinds of places – it’s an interesting thing, and you never get bored in here.
I wonder if I should send them one from Chicago PD to add to the mix.
I check my phone, see on the tracking app that Shannon is still at her college. It’s not as creepy as it sounds, we both have them, and I suspect she uses hers as much as I use mine. Right that second, a message lands from her:
The Bear again Dad? Try somewhere new why don’t you?
I smile and send her a photo of my Guinness. Maybe it’ll put her mind at rest that I’m out and at least attempting to enjoy myself, and maybe that will mean she’ll have more fun tonight. With the boys, and the drink, and the rock and roll music, and the boys…
I realise I’m growling out loud, and snap myself out of it.
She’s twenty-two. She’s gorgeous. There will be boys, and they will be very different to me and to most of the men I know – my police buddies, my brothers and cousins.
Maybe these new boys will suck at plumbing or repairing fenders, but they’ll be better with emotions.
With discussing their feelings. That might make me cringe, but I know it’s a good thing – you can pay a guy to fix the shower, but you can’t pay a guy to understand you.
A group of students walk in through the tiny door to the pub, filling the room with their laughter. They look impossibly carefree, and that’s what I want for Shannon. That’s what I hope she looks like right now.
She was supposed to be starting here last fall, but kept finding reasons to delay.
She’d won a scholarship, but stayed at home doing distance learning for the first months instead of making the jump across the pond.
That was partly because of me, I know. She was worried about me once I lost my job, worried about how I’d cope without the work that defined me as much as being a husband and father did.
And also maybe because Chicago was all she’d ever known, the place where the memories of her mom lived.
Leaving all that behind took courage, and now she’s here, I need her to be happy. I need her to thrive. She deserves it.
One of the students nudges my table, and my Guinness spills a little.
He looks at me, and shrivels in fear as he apologises.
I have that effect on people, especially in a place like this.
I still have my cop face, and I’m a big man.
Truthfully, I hate violence, I’ve seen too much of it – but I know how I look.
‘That’s okay, pal,’ I reassure him. ‘No harm done.’
I scoop up the package Shannon gave to me, protecting it from the trickle of black liquid.
The guy mops it up with his college scarf, still looking nervous, then backs away to his friends.
They all glance over, and I give them a wave.
I must stand out like a saint in hell here, not looking like a philosopher or a guy who’s about to find a cure for cancer.
I look more like the kind of guy who handles security outside a nightclub.
Ignoring the attention, I open the package, and tug out the book she chose for me. There’s some heft to it, a weighty hardback you could easily use as a murder weapon. Huh. I really need to change my mindset.
The cover shows a spectacular landscape, all mountain peaks and pine trees and fast-running rivers.
The sky is a dazzling blue, and eagles are soaring on the wind currents.
It looks so real I almost feel like I’m there.
I smile as I read the title – Hiking in the Highlands: A Journey in Pictures.
We always loved hiking. The three of us would take off for the weekend, heading on out to the state parks and hitting the trails.
Trekking through woodland and cooling down in waterfalls, surrounded by nature.
It was one of the only ways I could switch off from the job, and Shannon loved it, from when she was tiny and toddling along through the trees.
Even after Sandy died, we carried on hiking.
In the early days our walks were sad and silent, following the same paths, missing her so much we were both numb.
But eventually we started striking out, finding new places.
We’d drive as far as the Ozarks or up to the woods of Wisconsin, camping out and laughing together under the stars of the big skies.
Not so much since I hurt my back and walking more than a few miles turns me into a big crying baby – but one day, maybe.
Hopefully my physical therapist is right, and with time and effort, I’ll get back to normal.
For now, maybe I can just enjoy this – a Journey in Pictures is better than no journey at all.
I flick through the pages, admiring the spectacular scenery.
I especially love the panels about seabirds, because I am sneakily a bit of a bird nerd.
Since my own hikes have been reduced, I’ve found a lot of enjoyment in watching wildlife nearer to home.
I have feeders set up in our yard, and learned a lot about the birds you can see in Chicago.
It might be a city, but it has impressive green spaces and lakefronts, home to wrens and cardinals and all kinds of gulls.
There are even city-dwelling peregrine falcons who use the skyscrapers as cliffs.
And… yeah. More of a bird nerd than I thought.
Right in the middle pages of the book, tucked into a photo-spread of walks around Loch Lomond, I come across an envelope. Like the falcons in Chicago, it’s both out of place and perfectly at home, a pale green paper that blends in with the forested background.
At first I assume it’s from Shannon. I smile as I pick it up, noticing that someone has written the words ‘bonne chance!’ on the back.
It’s not her handwriting, and she doesn’t tend to talk to me in French.
Which I think it is. I do a quick google, and find out that yeah, it means ‘good luck’.
It’s also not addressed to Dad, it’s addressed to ‘the right person, at the right time’.
All of this leads me to deduce that maybe it’s not from Shannon after all. Call me Sherlock Holmes – I might not wear the uniform any more, but those instincts are still there.
I frown, then decide to open the envelope.
It’s a card, and when I tug it out, I see it shows a scene just as stunning as the ones in the book.
A cliff face, soaring from a wild sea up into a clear blue sky, almost completely covered in puffins.
I grin at the sight of them – a man who is tired of puffins is tired of life.
I love their crazy orange beaks and their weird round heads, the way they look like they were made up of leftover scraps of other birds. I’ve never seen one in real life.
I open the card up, and find a handwritten section. I’d been half expecting it to be blank, or some kind of sales gimmick, but this looks far more personal.
Hello my friend! Yes, I mean you! You, sitting there, holding this card, wondering what on earth it’s all about.
Maybe you’re confused, or maybe you’re still smiling at the puffins, or maybe you’re intrigued enough to read on.
If you are, and you decide this invitation isn’t right for you, then please leave the card where you found it.
If you’re still with me, then I say again: hello my friend!
It’s easy to feel alone in this world, to forget that there is still kindness out there, that there is still potential.
Sometimes we’re in so much pain that we can’t ever imagine feeling normal again.
Sometimes, we’re so lonely we can’t ever imagine reaching out again.
Sometimes, we feel so trapped in our suffering that it’s impossible to see an escape.
Is that you? If it is, then take heart – like these pretty puffins, you could find a new nest. A new place to roost, up here with us in Scotland.
This isn’t a hoax or a scam, I promise – it’s an invitation.
Come and visit us. Relax and rest. Let go of some of that pain that’s trapping you.
Sleep soundly, live fully, and learn to love the world again.
Maybe even help us out, here in our cosy bookshop at the Edge of the World!
Stay for a day, stay for a week, stay forever – who knows?
No need to call us, or book ahead – in fact that would be breaking the only rule we have.
Take a deep breath, and follow your heart – just turn up.
The address is on the back of this card. We’ll be waiting!
Huh. I glance around suspiciously, looking for the hidden cameras.
This has got to be some kind of set-up, right?
Some kind of con? I flip the card over, see a stamp on the back.
The Edge of the World Bookshop, in Bonnie Bay.
Sounds like the kind of place a fictional detective would live, a Jessica Fletcher kind of vibe.
Still half expecting Shannon to appear pointing and laughing, I check out Bonnie Bay on my phone.
I frown as I scroll through the images, seeing a perfect little place on the far north coast of Scotland, complete with, yeah, its own bookstore overlooking the sea.
The only online presence seems to be one webpage that gives its opening hours – no Facebook, no TikTok, no Instagram, all of which goes in the plus column in my opinion.
I stare from the phone to the card and back again, wondering exactly how someone is making money from this set-up.
Or maybe it’s more sinister than that. Maybe they’re expecting that the only people who might actually fall for it will be the vulnerable, the emotionally unstable – because nobody in their actual right minds would ever be fooled, would they?