Page 5 of Not Quite a Scot


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Chapter 3

Hindsight is 20/20.I’d heard my grandmother spout that maxim a hundred times while I was growing up—usually in the context of some mischief I’d created. She was always trying to show me the error of my ways…to teach me how to look before I leaped. Sadly, she was gone now, and I was still the same impulsive, leap-before-you-look kind of woman.

Today was a case in point. After leaving my two friends in Inverness, I should have driven immediately to my destination and settled in. Privacy was important to me…that, and the space to breathe. Instead of booking a hotel somewhere, I’d chosen to rent a small cottage on the Isle of Skye for the entire month.

My goal, other than the only-half-serious one of finding a hunky Scotsman, was to polish my photography skills. I was a good amateur, but I wanted to take things a step farther…maybe even snag a gallery exhibition of my work.

It’s not like I needed the money. Even if no one bought a single print, it would be okay—disappointing, but okay. I just wanted to prove to myself that I was good at something other than being McKenzie Taylor.

The trip from Inverness to the charming town of Portree on Skye was two and a half hours. Even on a rainy day. I should have arrived well before dinner. That timeline, however, assumed I was a straight-from-A-to-B kind of person, which I wasn’t.

First off, I lingered in Inverness. Tucked away on a side street, I found a secondhand bookstore I’d read about. Leakey’s was housed in an old church with floor to ceiling shelves and the aroma of aging paper and fresh-baked scones. Thousands of books, mostly out-of-print, were crammed into every nook and corner. I lost myself in the crowded aisles.

Though I could easily have left with a dozen volumes, I limited my purchase to only three: a history of the Highlands published in the late 1800s, a coffee table book of Highland photographs and essays and a book of recipes that looked interesting. I wasn’t a gourmet cook, but I did like to putter in the kitchen. Perhaps I would perfect a dish or two while here in Scotland.

By the time I finished shopping, my stomach growled. I lingered in the store’s coffee shop corner for a bowl of soup. Then by early afternoon, I was on my way.

Cloudy days might be dismal to some travelers, but for a would-be photographer, the weather was perfect, especially since the rain had dwindled to a non-threatening mist. The light was amazing, the scenery even more so. I found myself stopping every couple of miles to take shots of moody lochs and raw, windswept hills.

I’d splurged before leaving home and bought a brand new, high-end digital SLR camera. With the online manual and my own fairly extensive experience with the latest photo editing software, I was convinced I’d be able to satisfy my artistic ambitions.

Unfortunately, my fascination with the Scottish countryside, particularly as seen through the lens of my new camera, made me lose track of time. By the time I finally made it out to the island of Skye and up to the tiny town of Portree, I was starving again. Though I was eager to find my rental house, I stopped for a late dinner of sautéed scallops, warm, fresh-baked bread, and a single glass of perfectly chilled Pinot Grigio. I knew my accommodations would not be stocked with groceries. That would be up to me.

By the time I was done eating, the light had begun to fade. I wasn’t too worried. I’d been given good directions, and though it had been some time since I’d driven on the left side of the road, after today’s trip, it was coming back to me.

Once again behind the wheel of my rental car, I headed north up the hill and out of town. Soon, dwellings were fewer and far between, and I was out on my own. A shiver of unease snaked up my spine. “Don’t be silly,”I said out loud, giving myself a pep talk. I couldn’t be more than a couple of miles from my destination.

Though I was driving slowly, it was difficult to make out signposts until I was practically on top of them. Twice, I backed up carefully to see if I had missed my turn-off. Here was a situation where it would have been nice to have a passenger to navigate while I concentrated on the road.

My pulse picked up speed in inverse proportion to the pace at which the car now crawled. I wanted to pull over and consult my map, but the road was narrow. What if someone came flying over a small rise and rear-ended me?

Despite my many travels, I was not at my best. Every shadow in the dark seemed threatening. Losing patience, I pressed down on the accelerator. What’s the worst that could happen? If I passed my turn-off, all I had to do was back up or turn around.

As I sailed along, cocooned in the relative naiveté of my plan, some kind of small animal darted out in front of me. Its frantic eyes glowed momentarily in the beam of my headlights. “Hell’s bells!” I jerked the wheel to keep from hitting the creature and promptly ended up in a ditch.

The impact jarred everything from my teeth to my tailbone. I shut off the engine and sucked in great gulps of oxygen, trying not to cry.

The car was tilted at a forty-five-degree angle. Fortunately, my side was up and not down. Though I knew instinctively it would do no good, I carefully shifted from park into drive and gave it some gas. Nothing happened. Unless I missed my guess, I had at least two wheels not making contact with anything at all. Even more worrisome was the loud noise that had accompanied my precipitous stop. I was very much afraid I had broken an axle.

In the grand scheme of things, that was no big deal. I had signed off on the extra insurance at the rental company. Even if this car was not drivable, I would surely be able to get a replacement in the morning.

That, however, was cold comfort at the moment. It wasn’t as if I could call Triple A for a tow. I was well and truly stuck.

Though I might eventually be reduced to sleeping in my disabled car, I had to do something in the meantime. I was wearing the same white pantsuit I had traveled in yesterday, with a clean silk tank top underneath. The night was cool but not uncomfortably so. My jacket was long-sleeved, so I was fine for the moment.

Thankful for the yoga lessons I had taken continually since my junior year in high school, I lowered the window and levered myself up and out of the vehicle. I knew I couldn’t be far from the ocean. In daylight I could probably see it from where I stood.

Water didn’t scare me. I did, however, have a healthy fear of plunging over a cliff. For the first time it occurred to me that the wise thing to have done was book a hotel room in Portree and make this trip tomorrow morning.

With keys in hand, I went to the rear of the vehicle and tried to open the trunk. The electronic button on the key fob produced no results. Next, I inserted the key and tried to open it the old-fashioned way. No luck.

It seemed as if the frame had bent, just enough to keep me out of my belongings. I was deeply thankful that I had put my purse and carry-on up front with me. At least I had something.

Standing in the middle of the road, I pondered my next move. Willow and Hayley and I had agreed not to use technology for the next month except in an emergency. This definitely qualified. When I pulled out my phone and powered it on, I saw only a single bar. Even that small glimmer of positivity went in and out.

I tried anyway, choosing to call the restaurant where I had dined not long ago. I’d found the phone number on my credit card receipt. Portree was a small place. I was sure that whoever answered would be willing to direct me to a roadside assistance service.

It was a sensible, well-thought-out plan. Except for the part where I couldn’t get the call to connect. That was the trouble with the modern world. Technology made us dependent on the bells and whistles. When they didn’t work, we were up a creek.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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