Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Rhys
Let's Go Have a Sword Fight
I use the tiny flashlight on my key ring to alert my mother to my presence. She's pretty good at feeling the vibrations of us moving through our ancient home but when she's curled up on the sofa under blankets, lost in a book, I use our old system.
Hi Mom I sign as I come and join her on the sofa in the den.
Where'd you run off to today? She signs.
I smile. Helped a friend and hung out a bit.
Duncan Paisley. I spell his name with each letter but I'm desperate to find a nickname sign for him.
At the moment I can't think of anything appropriate. It’s either an eloquent explanation of the way his scent lingers on the collar of this sweatshirt and my mouth has been drooling trying to get more of it since I pulled it over my head or his nickname would be some version of the word "coming".
I'm not sure my mother would appreciate either.
Franny's grandson? Usually he visits in the summer. She pauses. Do you want to have them up for dinner?
No, not yet. I tack on a shrug.
I lift my head as my dad shuffles into the room.
He settles into the chair across from us and signs with my mother about some news from the gardener. My mind wanders back to Duncan and how loud and boisterous his family was together.
Their love and joy felt so different than ours.
My eyes settle on the grand piano on the far end of the room by the windows. Memories of my mother pressing her palms onto the lacquered black surface to feel the vibrations of the music I was playing roll like a movie clip.
Next to the piano is an amp and a smirk lifts one side of my mouth remembering how she’d perch on it as I played. She’d sign more! and turn it up louder.
They brought in the best instructors, they bought me any records or CDs I wanted. To this day my mother helps me rework lyrics, somehow she innately understands the flow and cadence of the words.
She loves poetry and she has never admitted it but I think she pretended not to understand it so Da would have to spend more time with her, using his hands to spell the lovely sentiments of the poems.
Da was brought to the estate to help teach her sign language. She was seventeen, he was twenty two. The local school had done their best but for higher education, she'd need to know the proper movements.
To hear him say it, or sign it, he was immediately smitten but didn’t make a move until after she graduated high school.
Ma fully admits she doodled his name in her diary for months.
Da was only partially deaf then, it's deteriorated in the years since. But their devotion to each other has only strengthened.
It's inspiring.
It’s impossible not to marvel at how the universe put them in each other's path. How their friendship blossomed into so much more.
My mother pulls me from my thoughts with a pat on my knee. Did you have tea?
Aye, at Duncan's.
She smiles and sits up. She reaches for the tablet on the side table and taps out a message. I wonder if she knows the volume is on and I can hear each keystroke?
More tea is on the way. She signs after setting it down. What's your new song?
New song?
The one in your head. She taps her temple.
How'd you know? I shake my head with astonishment.
My sixth sense is stronger because one of my five sucks.
My dad and I both spurt out a laugh.
When life gives you lemons... she signs and then shrugs.
Actually, Franny has a spin on that phrase. She says, life is the whole fruit salad!
My mom presses her palm to her chest as she laughs, her way of feeling the sound. My dad claps his hands together with mirth. My smile stretches wide.
Things might be quieter up here than down at the Paisley Cottage but there's no less joy.
No less love.
***
After tea and a detailed accounting of the spring onion crop from my father, I move over to the piano.
My mother was right, of course, the step, step, clop-clop beat has been steady in my chest all afternoon.
I balance my fingers over the cold keys and lightly start to find the notes to convey the sounds in my head.
As things fall into place my eyes flutter closed and I press the keys harder. The tempo moves easily across a few octaves and it starts to feel like an actual song.
A hand on my shoulder startles me.
Sorry. My mom signs. This is a happy song.
No words yet. I tell her.
There will be. She smiles and moves to the side of the piano. C'mon, play. I want to hear it again.
I grin and play the melody again. My mom's eyes fall closed as she leans into it. Her head sways side to side as she anticipates each shift and the small smile on her face confirms it.
This is a happy song.
***
The Bonn na Craic Pub is lively tonight and I know why. The steady drizzle of the last two days lifted this afternoon and the sun came out. It was like the entire village came out of hibernation.
It's early for tourists but there are a few and I give them a tight smile when they start to point. Duncan is sitting in the corner by the front window but he's left the seat next to it for me. So when people walk by they'll only see the back of my head.
Was that on purpose?
The last thing I need is to add "he's thoughtful" to the running list of redeeming qualities I can't seem to ignore.
I stop at the bar and get a pint, watching Duncan focus on his phone. He hasn’t seen me yet and I like being able to see him in this unprepared state.
Except, he seems just as relaxed as ever.
Fluidly, he takes a sip of his drink, his throat working the liquid down, then runs his fingers through his thick brown hair, the natural waves rolling with the movements of his large hand. What would it feel like to run mine through his hair?
I glance down and observe my WILD HOPE tattoos and for the first time since learning Mike cheated on me I don’t feel like they’re taunting me.
Pint in hand, I turn and ready myself for a drink with Duncan.
Duncan who is wearing a black t-shirt with jeans and brown chelsea boots.
He looks good, and relaxed, and I need to chill out because being nervous to just talk with him over a beer is silly.
"Hey," I greet him with a slight squeak to my voice. "Uh," I clear my throat. "Here are your clothes." I hand over a bag our housekeeper gave me. "I think she even threw in some shortbread."
Duncan peeks into the bag enthusiastically and pulls out a tin with our family crest on the top. "This is like a collector's item!" He shakes it like it’s a Christmas present. "That's so kind of your mom to make me cookies."
"Oh," I laugh. "No. Ma is not a baker. Our cook made those and I'm guessing our house manager packaged them up."
"If your mom's not a baker, who did you make the Christmas cookies with? What about school charity sales?"
"Well, I didn't really help out with the Christmas cookie baking. And my family basically owns the local school so I don't remember us bringing a cake to the tent."
"Now that's a show I'd watch."
"What?"
"Aristocrats trying to bake for Paul Hollywood." He takes a sip and I watch his lips press against the glass before snapping myself out of it.
"I doubt they'd ever let that happen. Too much pride at stake."
"True, I'll stick to the regular season then. The celebrity ones bother me because I don't watch British TV all year long so I don't know who they are."
"My Ma and Da love the celebrity ones." I laugh. "She texts me while we stream them together."
"Granny Franny is more into the murder mystery thriller entertainment believe it or not."
"Oh, I believe it."
"So we often have to text her reassurances that she's going to be just fine and doesn’t need to stage an attack." He takes a sip. "Alright." He says as he finishes swallowing. "Tell me about those."
I watch his finger travel across the table and tap the I on my knuckle. "Originally, they were my mom’s idea." I had gotten some tattoos right out of high school, most notably the sign for I love you above my heart.
"Why is WILD upside down?" Duncan asks as he tilts his hand.
I flip my hand over and mime holding the neck of my guitar. "It’s spelled so you can read it while I play chords"
"That’s genius." Duncan says as his eyes move to HOPE on my other hand. "And this one is straight so it can be read while you strum."
"Exactly."
When she suggested them, my hair was longer, shaggier, and she called me her wild boy. I had just signed a contract for my first album and I was hopeful. I was excited. I couldn’t wait to leave home.
I wanted to go out into the world and be loud. Be heard.
Ironically now I crave quiet moments alone.
"Do you have any tattoos?" I didn’t see any when he was nearly naked in front of me yesterday.
"Nah, I haven't felt the need to permanently commemorate anything." He shrugs. "So, is it true you're here running away from a broken heart?"
He says it in a thick Scottish drawl and it makes me laugh. "It's not fair you can turn that on and off so easily."
He laughs. "It's my only party trick."
"I highly doubt that."
He shrugs.
"But, to answer your question, yes, I am here at home in the highlands to escape the media coverage of my ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend."
I sigh and take a sip of my beer.
"That sarcasm didn't really hit. Are you actually heartbroken?"
"Maybe."
"Woof. No thank you."
I chuckle. "You've never been heartbroken?"
"Personally? No. But I’m sure I've left a trail of them behind me over the years." He raises an eyebrow playfully and it’s so endearing I have to look away.
"I bet you have." I say half to my drink and half to him.
"Nah," his head shakes as he spins his glass on the table. "I stick to friendships and one-night-stands."
"I've never had a one-night-stand." I admit and as soon as the words leave my mouth I realize I sound like a total prude.
"Really? I would have expected the opposite for the hot Scottish country star." He pulls his beer up to his lips and pauses to say, "that's a mouthful." Before taking a sip.
"Yes, I am."
My bold and flirty remark is met with a face full of spittle and beer as Duncan sprays it across my face.
He gasps for air and chuckles through a cough. "Shit, I'm sorry, but holy shit. Not what I was expecting out of your mouth."
"Duncan," I wipe my face with my sleeve, "listen to what you've just said."
He thinks for a moment and then shakes his head. "Alright, fair enough. You've clearly got me beat with sexual innuendos tonight."
I smirk. "Well, you're easy."
"Hey!" He pulls back offended. "Just for that I'm going to make you work for it."
I laugh. "I can't."
"Can't?"
"No, it isn't the move right now for me to get into another relationship." Zara would manage it if I did but she’d be annoyed to have to pivot the narrative.
"Who said anything about a relationship?"
"Well, no one, but I don't like hook-ups."
"How do you know if you haven't had one?"
"I have a feeling." I say.
"Alright, how about a fuck buddy? You ever had one of those?"
"No."
"Hmm." He takes a sip and leans back in his seat contemplating. "My team comes to Nashville a few times a year."
"Do you need restaurant recommendations or something?" I ask, unsure where he's going.
"Nah, I'm thinking we could see each other when I'm in town."
"Oh, yeah, sure." I scoff as the bartender rings a bell signaling last call.
"And, I'm sure there's some reason for a mouthful of a rockstar to come to D.C." Duncan leads and I chuckle.
"Not many honestly."
He leans back looking impressed. "I don't usually have to work for it."
"And here I thought I was the spoiled kid."
He barks out a warm laugh and I marvel at how natural and comfortable I feel with him. Would a one-night-stand be so bad?
I mean, no, I know it would be good. Like, it would be really good. But, I'm more worried about after, would I be able to walk away? Or would I be in even more trouble than I already am.
Zara told me to come home and write a heartbreak album but every time I've tried I come up blank. I can't put into words how much the cheating hurt. How I thought I had finally broken through the noise of everything and found someone who understood the pressure and the fame.
But, he didn't feel that way about me.
Or, he found a better source of it.
"You've drifted." Duncan says placing his hand on my forearm and I blink back to the present.
"Yeah, sorry, occupational hazard." I shrug.
"Coming up with song lyrics?"
"The opposite. I haven't been able to write anything new in a while." But, that's not true, I developed a new melody this afternoon. I look up into Duncan's intoxicating brown eyes and he gives me a quizzical look. "Maybe you're right, maybe I need a shake up."
His eyebrow lifts.
"Where would we? Like your whole family is in your granny's cottage."
"Well, you've got a whole castle don't you?"
"I do."
"Then let's go have a sword fight, Charming."