CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Jamie – Now
Igroan as I flop onto the bed, perpendicular to the mattress, legs hanging off the side. I toe off my shoes, listening to the soft thud they make as they hit the floor.
Today was busy. The beginning of the summer tourist season is upon us and there were more new arrivals than any other day since I’ve been here. But I savored the busyness, as it worked to keep my mind off Avi… and Lennox.
Grandad oversaw things in the kitchen while Hamish filled in for Avi… but we all know the “Angus version” is much more hands-on than the doctor would prefer.
Gran had her hands full ensuring all the rooms got turned over with the housekeeping staff, that everything was clean and tidy around the inn, and doing the other millions of things she does on a daily basis to keep this place running smoothly.
I was even relieved when the night manager called to say she was running late so I could offer to cover the front desk while Gran and Grandad ate dinner together.
I know the conversation about what comes next, what they’ve known about Lennox and when they learned it, will have to happen eventually, but I’d like one more night to think about all of this—or not—before we have to have it.
A knock at the door pulls me away from staring blankly at the ceiling and I roll toward the pillows with a groan. The crinkle of paper against my face brings me up short and I pull back, seeing a cream-colored envelope beside a small bundle tied together with red-and-white string.
Another knock. “Coming,” I say, narrowing my eyes on the envelope.
I grab it and head for the door, pulling it open to reveal Hector from the kitchen with a tray laden with food.
“Angus asked me to deliver this to you,” he says with a flat smile.
Of course he did. “Thank you,” I say, taking the tray. The comforting smell of shepherd’s pie engulfs me as I set it on my small table. Crunchy bread accompanies it and I rip off a piece and pop it into my mouth, its warmth spreading through me.
Damn, that’s good.
I sit down and contemplate the envelope in my hands.
At first I thought it might be from Avi, but we were never the letter writers. Tipping my forefinger under the upper corner, I slide it across, tearing it open and pulling out the singular piece of paper within.
My lips tilt up when I see the writing.
I settle the letter on the table, smoothing it out, and reach for another piece of bread. Then I begin to read.
Jameson,
I’m sure you noticed that there are no letters between your Gran and I from 1967 to 1968. I’ve known the time for this part of the story was coming—the broken part—and I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m writing to you about this now. I promise there’s a reason.
The bundle of letters are the ones I wrote to your gran during that time, but I never sent them. She’s never read them. Never wanted to. She knows I’m giving them to you now though, and she approves.
This is part of our story. A story I think you’ve romanticized into this perfect thing in your head. But love is never perfect. It’s always messy. It’s always hard. It’s always work.
Even ours.
You’ve seen the ‘other side’ of our story, but you haven’t seen the middle—the mess, the hard…
That’s what’s in these letters.
My wish for what you’ll find in them is hope.
Hope that even in a situation that feels as impossible and messy and hard as yours does right now, that there is beauty on the other side. Hope that there is healing and reconciliation on the other side. Hope that there is love on the other side.
Your gran and I will never be able to change the part we played in keeping Lennox from you for this past year.
There will never be a reasonable explanation for it in your eyes, and we understand that too.
The choice to either respect Avi’s wishes where Lennox was concerned or to tell you was never an easy one, and with the past couple months, it only became more complicated.
Perhaps we made the wrong one but second-guessing it now won’t change anything. We can only apologize for the hurt we caused, and hope for your forgiveness.
We love you so much, Jameson. Having you home is the greatest gift you could have ever given us—given me.
We are here if you need to yell and be angry. We are here if you need comfort. We are here. You can ask us anything you want. You can give us the silent treatment. You can choose to leave—though we hope you will not.
But remember that in whatever you need to do or feel right now, we will be here on the other side because we love you. And for what it’s worth, if you’ll let her, I think that Avi will be here on the other side as well, because she does too.
All our love,
Grandad & Gran
I wake with a start, my glasses askew on my face and with what I’m pretty sure is drool on my cheek. I pull my glasses off and scrub a hand over my eyes, blinking the world into a semi-blurry reality.
Letters are scattered around me on the bedspread. My legal pad of notes and questions sits on the bedside table. I wipe my glasses clean on my wrinkled T-shirt and slide them back into place.
My dishes from dinner still sit on the table because once I ripped into the first letter last night, there was nothing that could pull me away.
What looked like a modest stack of letters actually contained twenty-four—and with them the piece I didn’t even know I was missing was found.
I tap my mousepad on my laptop—also still on the bed—and find that it’s dead.
Of course it is, because I was up writing half the night before I passed out fully clothed.
The sunlight streaming through my window tells me I slept past breakfast. That’s what happens when you stay up until three a.m. lost in a story, an idea.
The new manuscript on my computer may be bare bones, but there’s something that tugs me toward the words, even now after a full night of working on it.
It’s the same way I felt when I was writing Journals of Elsewhere and it’s something I haven’t felt since I turned in the final manuscript for book three.
There hasn’t been a story to captivate me like this and there’s something even deeper in this one.
More than I ever expected when I picked up that box of letters in the attic.
I got lost in Gran and Grandad’s story last night, pushing my own aside. But in the light of today, I realize how much I learned about myself, my life, my story at the same time. I don’t have all the answers, but maybe I’m learning I don’t always have to.
They didn’t, yet here they are on the other side as they said in their letter to me, and better for all the things they went through together.
Is that what I want? Someone on the other side? Is that what I’ve been searching for all these years and never found, despite the fact that it was right where I left it?
An ache I’ve always had—like a piece of myself is missing—thrums dully in my chest. I guess a piece has been missing for a long time, I just didn’t know it. But now that I do, I want to fill it—I want to find it.
Within an hour, my disaster writing session is set to rights—all the letters neatly stacked, my computer charging, notes where they should be on my desk—and I’m showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt.
I slip on my wellies, aware of the fact that it poured rain all night while I was working and it’ll be a mess outside.
I’ve got a single-track mind, but I allow it to take a small detour…
I find Gran leaning against Grandad’s desk in the kitchen.
He sits in the chair and their knees are pressed together, hands laced on top of her thigh.
It’s funny to see them this way, almost eye to eye.
Grandad is an imposing Scotsman through and through—even with dark circles under his eyes and a cane by his side—and Gran is this petite little thing, a dichotomy I’ve always loved.
They’re opposites in so many ways, but perfectly compatible, or at least as perfect as two imperfect people can be.
“Afternoon,” I say, drawing their attention and hesitant smiles.
I walk over and draw Gran into a hug. She seems to melt into it, wrapping her arms around my waist. Then I reach back and grip Grandad’s hand until he also stands on shaky legs and engulfs me.
We’re here, together, on the other side of all of this, and I don’t even need more explanations or apologies. This is family, and it’s all I need.
The chirping of birdsong and the crunch of my boots over the gravel while I walk alongside the loch isn’t enough to distract me from the ringing in my ear as I wait for my dad to answer his phone.
It’s no use putting off the inevitable, and after the clarity of last night, I don’t want to wait. I can’t run from this, nor do I want to.
“Jamie?” Dad’s voice is laced with concern, groggy with sleep. “Are you okay?”
Shit. I once again didn’t consider the time difference.
“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry to call so early.”
“It’s okay,” he says, and I can hear him shifting in the bed. “You’re sure you’re alright? Is Dad okay?”
“Grandad’s good. I just had lunch with him and Gran a bit ago. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Through the phone, I hear Mum too—though she’s muffled and I can’t make out what she’s saying.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Her voice rings through clearer now.
“Hey. I’m sorry I woke you.” I scrub a hand across my bearded jaw and let my feet carry me up the porch steps.
Avi’s porch steps.
I want to be close to her when I tell my parents about Lennox—even if she’s not here.
“Oh stop apologizing,” she chides lovingly, bringing a smile to my face and a pang to my heart. I miss her. I miss them. “Was there a reason for this particular wake-up call? Not that you ever need a reason to call us.”
I sink down on the top step and stretch my legs out long in front of me.
Here we go. This is about to become a lot more real.
“I have some news.” I work to keep my voice even, but as the words begin to bubble up toward the surface, I can feel it waver. How do I say this? “I—god, I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Jamie…” Mum’s voice rises an octave, and I know I’m making it worse by dragging it out.
Rip it off like a bandage, she always said, so that’s what I do.
“Lennox, Avi’s son, is… well, he’s mine. He’s my son.” I say the words so fast I’m afraid they might not have caught them. “And I know that’s not what you were expecting and you’re going to have a lot of questions but—”
Dad cuts me off. “Jamie, stop worrying about us. Are you okay?”
I move my feet to the bottom step so I can rest my elbows on my knees. “Still kind of in shock. But I’m alright.”
“How long have you known?” Mum asks, her voice still too high.
“A couple days,” I say with a wince. I’m sure they’ll be mad I didn’t tell them immediately.
“Bloody hell, that’s quite the news. Did you tell your grandparents?” Dad asks.
I don’t want to throw Gran and Grandad under the bus, but with all the lies and deception going around, I don’t want to perpetuate that habit. “They’ve known for a while—but before you get mad, just know they had their reasons and—”
“They knew?!” Mum shouts, incredulous.
“Maeve…” Dad says at the same time I say, “Mum, please…”
“And Avi, she obviously knew all this time. Isn’t Lennox ten years old?” she continues, not heeding our warning tones for even a moment.
“Yes, he’s ten. And, yes, they all knew.
Though Gran and Grandad have only known for about a year,” I explain, and Mum harrumphs in her throat.
I almost laugh because it’s such a Scottish noise and it’s one I haven’t heard from her in a long time.
“I understand you being upset. I was too, but none of us can change what happened in the past. She had her reasons as well… It’s all very complicated. ”
“It sounds like it,” Dad says, and I can’t read his reactions over the phone like I can when I’m with him in person. He’s always been a pretty stoic man. “And Lennox… Does he know?”
I blow out a breath and lift my eyes to look out at the loch across the way from Avi’s cottage.
“He does now. He’s—” I don’t know what to say.
How do you explain to your parents how it felt to meet your son for the first time?
“He’s a great kid. Avi’s done an amazing job with him.
He—he actually reminds me a lot of myself at that age. ”
My throat stings, and there’s a pinching pain behind my eyes and in my nose. Gah, I don’t want to cry on the phone with my parents about this. I don’t want to cry about it at all. But god, I have a son, and I’ve missed so much, and now that I know some things about him, I just want more.
“You’re truly doing okay, Jamie?” Mum’s voice has gentled, all her concern for me laced into each and every word.
“It’s a lot, but I’m wrapping my head around it.”
“You have a son,” she says, like she’s testing the words and finding them just as foreign as I did the first time I said them.
“I do,” I respond, relaxing further into that truth the more I hear it and say it myself. “You guys have a grandson.”
She laughs, but it’s watery—she’s definitely crying.
“Och, mo chridhe,” Dad lovingly admonishes her. “A grandson.” There’s a different kind of wonder in his voice. “So, what happens now, Jameson?” he asks, and it brings me up short.
“That’s a great question. Any advice?”
He barks a laugh. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a scenario I’ve ever been through. But you’ve loved that girl for most of your life, maybe it’s time you stopped running from that and try embracing it instead.”
Wait… what? “What are you talking about?” I ask in disbelief.
“Jamie, you might not have told us what happened between you two all those years ago, but we’ve watched you pursue nothing but casual relationships ever since… It wasn’t hard to put it together.”
“We’re your parents. You didn’t have to tell us for us to know,” Mum tacks on.
“But…” I want to ask for more about what they knew, how they knew, but this isn’t the time. “Never mind. I still don’t know how we move forward.”
“With one step at a time,” she says, and her voice sounds watery again, though I think it’s with a different kind of tears.
“One step at a time,” I repeat. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”