Chapter Thirty-Seven
Amelia
One minute, I was staring through tears at a shining rock that I could swear was Connor’s spirit saying goodbye to Rory, and the next I was staring at a thick mist that had come from nowhere. “Rory?” His hand went rigid and clammy in mine, and he didn’t answer.
Oh no. Not now. Not here, on top of this mountain that took away everything from him. Not after that heartbreaking, beautiful eulogy.
I knew—I knew—that we were on level ground, that although we faced the edge, there was plenty of space right behind us. But not being able to see that edge—it was like being underwater in the dark, where you have no sense of which way is up. Suddenly, I didn’t know for certain that we faced the edge. Maybe we’d gotten turned around when we looked to see where that beam of light had come from. Maybe the edge was to the right, or maybe it was behind us.
I couldn’t see anything, Rory had said when he told me about Bla Bheinn. It was…like being smothered with a blanket. I couldn’t see the edge, so I was afraid to move.
That was exactly how I felt.
“Rory? Are you okay?”
His hand remained locked around mine, and his eyes had gone vacant.
“Rory?” Nothing. Shit, was he having another flashback? “Please tell me you’re okay, because this mist is really freaking me out.”
Then he turned to me…and smiled. “It’s okay, love, I know what to do.”
His smile was so unexpected that it took me a moment to realize he’d spoken. He knew what to do? Of course he does. This is his job, what he’s trained for. Surely he’s been surrounded by mist before while on a mountain. It’s fucking Scotland.
“We’re just going to sit down, right here,” he said.
“What?”
He knelt beside me. “Hold on to me, and just sit down.”
“Are you sure it’s okay to sit here?”
“Aye, we’re fine here. Just sit.”
I braced my hands on his shoulders and lowered myself to the ground, wincing at the ache in my knee. “Okay, now what?”
“We’re going to wait until the mist dissipates.”
“For how long? I mean…does it generally disappear as fast as it came?”
“Hard to say—sometimes yes, sometimes no. But the clouds have been fast-moving, so hopefully it’ll clear enough for us to descend.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“It will.” He said it so confidently that I believed him. Also, I had no choice.
“I saw fog like this once before,” I said. “Back home, with Carrie.” I’d forgotten about it until just now.
“Tell me,” he said.
“It was a few years ago. I live on Long Island, which may not be much for hills and terrain, but it does have beautiful beaches. The ones on the south shore face the Atlantic Ocean, and Lido Beach is Carrie’s and my favorite. We went down there one day in early spring to walk on the beach. It was a mild afternoon, but overcast, and there was no one else out there. And between one minute and the next, we were completely surrounded by fog. You couldn’t see anything—not the sand, not the ocean, nothing.
“We were weirdly frightened. I mean, it wasn’t like being on a mountain top, where if you can’t see, you could…”
“You could fall off the edge,” Rory said, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay, you can say the words.”
I leaned against his shoulder. “Right. We were just on the beach. The worst that would happen is we’d stumble into some cold water and get our feet wet. But we just froze in place and clutched each other’s hands like scared children. We were afraid to head back the way we came, because we didn’t think we’d find the path between the dunes. We stayed there for maybe half an hour, damp and shivering, until the fog cleared enough for us to find our way back.” I smiled up at him. “It seems silly to compare that to this, I guess.”
“No, not silly at all. We fear the unknown, and suddenly being unable to see is a huge unknown. I’m glad you and Carrie were there together.”
“Me, too. And Rory? I’m glad I was with you today, even though it’s my fault you had to come this way.”
“What are you talking about? How is it your fault?”
“If I hadn’t insisted on continuing the trek after hurting my knee, you wouldn’t have been two days behind the group. You would have taken the path along the cliffs with no problem and avoided Bla Bheinn.”
He shook his head. “Amelia, I knew I’d have to go over Bla Bheinn eventually. I guide the Skye Trail often enough that it’s shocking that it hasn’t happened before now.” He laughed. “I always figured Tommy and Gav would get me pissed on cheap beer and convince me to do it, then drag my ass up here before I sobered up enough to refuse.”
His smile faded, and he gazed at me with eyes the soft green of sea glass. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then traced my cheek with his thumb.
“There’s no one I would have rather had here with me than you. Because of you, I can think of my brother—and talk about him—without being crushed by grief and guilt. I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.”
“You don’t have to.” I laid my hand on his thigh, blinking away a sudden rush of tears. “But if you insist, I might be able to come up with a few ways.”
This time, his grin was wicked. “Oh, I definitely insist.”
…
We spent the next hour talking. He shared some more stories about Connor, and asked me more about Miami.
“It’s beautiful there. You can go to the beach year-round. There’s no real hiking, but Carrie’s already started looking into other outdoor things we can do, like scuba diving.”
“My mate Tristan, Mrs. Mac’s son, is a scuba diver. From everything he’s said about it, I think you’d love it.”
I probably would, though thinking about Miami was making me sad. No jagged mountain ranges outlined against the sky, no otherworldly-looking rock formations jutting up from the sea, no towering peaks half-collapsed by some ancient landslide. No misty glens, no sapphire-blue lochs. No terrain at all.
And no Rory.
“Though it sounds a little dull to me, having the weather be the same all year ’round,” he continued. “Won’t you miss the snow?”
That was an easy one. “Ugh, snow in New York is miserable. It’s pretty when it’s falling and just after, but then it gets filthy and the roads are treacherous. No, I won’t miss that.”
“You should see Skye in the winter, with the Cuillins covered in a blanket of snow, sparkling in the sunlight. All around you is blue sky and white snow, and you breathe in that cold, clean air, and you just…feel alive.”
I closed my eyes and pictured it.
Rory, in his winter gear, carrying an ice axe and wearing crampons on his boots, reaches the top of the Munro. The snow is pristine and unbroken all around because he’s the first person up there since the last snowfall. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are rosy from the cold. He turns, his grin stretching from ear to ear, and holds out a gloved hand—
To me.
Wait, what? No. I wouldn’t be climbing Munros in Scotland in the winter. I’d be in Miami, out on the beach with Carrie, checking out the guys playing beach volleyball, or maybe paddle-boarding, laughing at our friends back home who were shivering in the cold.
I was here for Carrie, and I couldn’t forget that. I couldn’t forget that in a few days, I’d be heading back home to her, to begin the life that was waiting for me there.
I looked down at my hands, sadness overwhelming me. “Carrie and I are supposed to go to Miami in a few weeks to look for an apartment.” I swallowed hard. “If she wakes up.”
He tipped my chin up so our eyes met. “She will,” he said fiercely. “You’re going to have such an adventure to tell her about when you get home that she won’t have any choice but to wake up so she can hear all the details.”
“I hope you’re right,” I whispered.
He pulled me close, and we stayed like that, arms around each other, each lost in our own thoughts, until the mist dissipated.
We retrieved our packs, and I stood a few feet back while Rory said one last goodbye to Connor, touching his heart and then touching his fingers to the stone. “Soraidh leat, mo bhràthar. Farewell, brother,” he murmured.
I had a feeling that he would be back here again soon.
The descent was challenging—one of the most difficult parts of the entire trail. There were sheer vertical cliffs on our left side, and the way down was over rocky ground, with no real path. After the first few minutes of trying to step down like a normal person would, I gave up and just scooted down on my butt until we reached a clear path that eventually led to a road and the car park for Bla Bheinn.
I never was so happy to see pavement in my life.
“It’s another two miles along this road to Torrin,” said Rory. “There’s a café there, as well as a few B&Bs. I know it’s only mid-afternoon, but I think I’ve had it for today, if that’s okay with you. We can have an early dinner—the café closes at five—and then…”
And then… “Say no more. I’m in.”
True to his word, less than an hour later, we reached the small village. As it was a weeknight, there was a vacancy at the B&B, a lovely en-suite room on the second floor with spectacular views of Bla Bheinn, nearby Loch Slapin, and the Red Cuillins.
And a king-sized bed.