“Listen, I know you have a life back in America. I’m not denying that. But you had a life here once too. This was your home… Still is. We think it’s time you came home. At least for a little while. Your Grandad wants you here. Isn’t that enough?”
Her bright green eyes—nearly identical to mine—plead with me to listen to her. My heart wrenches open and the place inside it whereI’d hidden my love for this country, for our home on Skye, pours free.
“I can’t stay forever. You know that,” I say, and she nods. “But I can figure out a way to make it work—at least for a while.”
“Your grandad would love that. I would too.” She wraps me in another hug, her size once again no match for the fierceness of her embrace. It rings with everything we’ve left unsaid and serves as a reminder of the distance I put between us. “Welcome home, Jameson.”
I lean into the railing and inhale the scent of the sea, relishing the shifting of my hair as it blows in the breeze. The sun shines on the lush trees and hills of the island in the distance.
Skye.
The memories bombard me in a torrent: this ferry, that island, the inn, my home,her. I wish I could say the ten years I’ve been gone have healed old wounds, but it’s clear that isn’t the case.
I drag my gaze away from the shoreline, drawing nearer with each passing minute, and look at where my hands grip the bar, my knuckles white.
I need a distraction—and my phone vibrating against my leg presents me with exactly that.
“Hey, Mum.”
“Jamie.” She sighs, and with that one word, I breathe a little easier. “How are you holding up?”
Finding time for a call yesterday wasn’t feasible between talking with the doctors and fighting off the jet lag. But I’ve needed this call. I’m guessing they have too.
“Alright, I guess.” Even to my own ears, I sound tired. “How’s Dad?”
“He hates that he can’t be there.”
“I really do,” Dad says, and I can picture him squishing in next to Mum to get near the phone.
“It’s not like you could’ve known Grandad would have a heart attack the same day you had your knee replaced.” Talk about the world’s shittiest timing.
“I know,” he says, sighing deeply. “How is he? Did you have a chance to talk to the doctors?”
“You know him; he’s sick of being in the hospital, but he can’t resist joking with the nurses and driving Gran crazy.” I turn away from the view of Skye and lean back against the rail, crossing my ankles in front of me. “But the doctors are honestly shocked this was his first heart attack.”
Mum inhales abruptly and I hear them shifting, and then it’s just Dad’s voice on the line.
“Sorry, she needs a minute,” he says. Angus might be my dad’s father, but he’s been as good as a parent to Mum too. “The prognosis is really only a few months?” he asks. The sadness in his voice is something I’ve rarely heard.
“They said it could be as little as a few months, but that it’s hard to tell how long his heart will hold out. If he steps back from workat the pub, eats something besides red meat, and takes his meds, it could be longer. Maybe a year?”
I lower my chin toward my chest and slide my thumb and pointer finger up under my glasses to squeeze the bridge of my nose.
“He won’t like being told he can’t cook,” Dad supplies.
“He actually already has a chef lined up to take his place. I guess he’s been talking about stepping back for a while.”
“Well, that’s news to me. But we haven’t been over there in a year. Maybe they saw the signs and just didn’t tell us?”
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “I’m going to stay a while, I think.”
“How long is a while?”
“Not sure. I figure I can cover some of his tasks at the inn, maybe help with the transition a bit. I’ve—” I break off, running my tongue over my teeth to hold back my emotions. “I’ve missed too much time with them, you know? I don’t want to miss any of what’s left.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Jamie. You’re there now, and I’m sure it means everything to them that you’re staying.”
Dad’s never been a particularly emotional man, but he tends to know exactly what I need to hear.
