I didn'tsee Alec again before leaving Scotland. Not when Tom and I went to Rick's houseto get my belongings, or when we stopped at Rick's funeral home to pick upGracie's ashes. I assumed he was avoiding me, to make my departure easier onboth of us, but his disappearance didn'tactually makethings easier. If anything, it was the exact opposite, and on the ride to theairport, I told Rick and Tom as much while fighting back another bout of tears.
“It'sjust who he is, lass,” Rick told me, saying the words as if they were anapology.
“Iknow,” I said, staring out the window at the picturesque Scottish landscape.“But it doesn't make it easier.”
“He'snever been able to deal withlettin' go,” heexplained. “When his mother passed away, he threw himself entirely into hiswork, and when Aileen lost the baby, itwasnaeanydifferent. He'd rather not get attached at all than to deal with the pain ofsayin' goodbye.”
“Then,maybe he shouldn't have gotten attached in the first place,” Tom mutteredbegrudgingly.
Hewas bitter and who could blame him? In the week since I'd woken up, he hadheard his fair share about Alec and my feelings toward him. That was the pricehe now had to pay, for being my only living best friend, and he did so withoutcomplaint. But he made no secret of how he felt, after witnessing the emotionalhurt I'd suffered after saying goodbye to Alec Brodie. He couldn't understandwhy we weren't at least giving the long-distance thing a fair shot. It made nosense to him, but it was a silent agreement Alec and I had come to, and Icouldn't make anybody understand if they weren't willing.
“Hedidnaewant to,” Rick replied, offering a miserableshrug. “But hedidnaehave much choice in this case.”
Aswe turned into the airport parking lot, I looked in the direction of Fort Crow,where I knew he was, sitting and brooding inside his best friend's house, and Ithought,that makes two of us, Alec, and it wasn't all bad.
***
With atearful goodbye, Tom and I left Rick at the gate and boarded our plane. Iclutched the box of Gracie's ashes in my lap as we flew over the AtlanticOcean, and I thought of how she had never wanted to travel alone. She didn’twant to tour Scotland byherself, whenall she reallywanted was for me to have been there with her. Now, I stared below, through ahaze of clouds and toward the never-ending sea, clutching her tight. It washeartbreaking and tragic, but also perfectly bittersweet, that she wasn'ttaking the trip back to River Canyon by herself.
Welanded in Hartford late in the evening and drove straight to my parents' houseto bring Gracie home. They greeted me with wide open arms, a thousand kisses,and twice as many tears. Then, we ordered food from the local diner for dinnerand Tom went to pick it up, while TJ begged to see my healing gunshot wound.
“Wedon't need to see that,” Mom said dismissively, scowling at my son and me fromher favorite spot on the couch.
“Comeon, Grandma,” TJ groaned, rolling his eyes. “It's cool.”
Thecomment struck a nerve in me, but Mom was the one to lash out. “Thomas, thereis absolutely nothing cool about it,” she exclaimed, shrill and on the verge ofbreaking. “Your mother almost died. Do you think that's cool?”
Takenaback and looking like my mother had just whipped him across the face, he shookhis head and said, “N-no, I just--”
“Then,what? What the hell do you think is so cool about almost losing your mother?”
“Marjorie,”Dad said in his signature soothing tone, reaching out to rest a hand on herback. “I'm sure he didn't mean it like that.”
“Well,then he can explain what he meant. Because I see nothing cool about almostlosing my last living child,” she snapped, before clamping her quivering lipbetween her teeth.
TJlooked between my mother and me, and his eyes flooded with tears. Then, withhis gaze fixed on mine, he said, “I just think it's cool that she went afterthe bad guy and lived. She helped to catchGiGi'smurderer, so that makes her a hero. I thinkthat'scool.”
Then,for the first time in years, without a plea or any persuasion, my son gave me ahug, and in his ear, I whispered that I'd show him my scar later.
***
Momrequested that I stay at their home for the night, despite my place being onlya few blocks away, and I gratefully accepted the invitation. After Tom leftwith TJ, I sat on the couch between my parents, with Grace's ashes on thecoffee table, and we talked about her. About all the things she would say anddo, her favorite songs and TV shows, and the moments we would never, everforget, no matter how faded they became with time and age. It felt good to talkabout her now when we couldn't before I left. Too much was hanging in the airthen, and too much was uncertain and unsettled. But with her murderer found andkilled, our hearts seemed to rest reluctantly into the closure of knowing shewas gone.
Then,Mom sighed and shook her head, keeping her eyes on the white box. “I can'tbelieve any of this,” she whispered, touching her fingertips to her thinninglips.
“Iknow,” Dad replied, reaching over my shoulders to gently brush his fingersagainst hers.
“Weshould do something for her,” I decided, nodding affirmatively. “A memorial orsomething.”
Neitherof them answered right away, and they didn't need to say why for me tounderstand. To do nothing allowed for the belief to hang in the air that shemight come home one day. As if this entire ordealwassimply one long, horrific dream and we would eventually wake up to find heralive and well. But I couldn't see anything healthy in that kind of trickery.The sooner my heart accepted that she was truly gone, the sooner I could movebeyond this awful, uneasy feeling in my gut, and I hoped my parents would feelthe same way.
“Maybeone day,” Dad said, staring blankly at the box.
“Butnot yet,” Mom added in a hoarse tone. “Soon, maybe, but …”
“Notyet,” I agreed quietly, thinking that maybe it wouldn't hurt to keep that foolishhope alive for just a little longer.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
