Even though it was early evening, the sun was still in the sky, due to how far north Gandiegow was. They walked through the miniscule town along a concrete path which served as a wall against the ocean with no railings for safety. Moira pointed to where Oliver was to stay, Duncan’s Den, and then took Sadie next door to the other quilting dorm, Thistle Glen Lodge. It was nothing more than a bungalow set against the green bluffs of summer which rose nearly straight up at the back of the town.
Glenna shot Sadie a shy glance, then turned to Moira. “Should I let Deydie know that she’s made it?”
“Aye. We’ll be along shortly,” Moira said. The girl ran off between the buildings.
Moira led Sadie inside to the way-too-cheery interior and down the hall to a room with three beds. The decorations were plaid and floral—a little French country on the northeast coast of Scotland—and too optimistic and exuberant for Sadie.
Moira motioned for her to go on in. “You can store yere clothes in the armoire. The kitchen is stocked with tea, coffee, and snacks. But all yere meals are provided either at Quilting Central or the restaurant. I can bring ye scones and tea in the morns, if ye like, though.”
Sadie set her Mondo bag on one of the beds. Moira was nice, but Sadie only wanted to be left alone to crawl under the quilt and hibernate until life wasn’t so crushing. And she was so very tired. People didn’t understand that though she looked fine, she was often exhausted and feeling generally cruddy . . . her new norm. Patients with Chronic Kidney Disease, CKD, usually weren’t diagnosed until it was too late, already in Stage Four like herself, and in need of a kidney transplant.
She’d only found out last month. Gigi had promised to be with Sadie every step of the way. But Gigi was gone, leaving Sadie to deal with everything alone. Oliver couldn’t; he had his own life, his cyber-security consulting business. He didn’t have time to sit with her while she had her blood drawn week after week. He couldn’t put his life on hold while Sadie waited for the day to come when the doctors would move her to the active transplant list.
Sadie looked up, realizing she’d slipped into herself again, something she’d been doing a lot ever since her diagnosis.
Moira, though, seemed to understand and went to the doorway. “I’ll give ye a few minutes to settle in. Then Deydie expects all the quilters at Quilting Central for introductions and the quilting stories.” It was another warning that Sadie shouldn’t dawdle.
She jumped at the sound of hard knocking at the front door.
Moira put her hand up, either to calm Sadie’s frazzled nerves or to stop her from going for the door herself. “I’ll see who it is.”
Sadie dropped down beside her bag and smoothed her hand over the Pinwheel quilt that covered the bed. A minute later she heard her brother’s exasperating voice at the entrance. Heavy footsteps came down the hall. She thought seriously about crawling out the window to escape what was sure to be more nagging.
She didn’t turn to greet him. “What do you want, Oliver?”
“I came to walk you to the retreat. We have to hurry though. One of my clients needs me to hop online and check for a bug.”
If only Gandiegow didn’t have high speed internet then Oliver wouldn’t have been hell-bent on coming to Scotland to keep an eye on me! But her brother’s IT business was portable.
Moira saved Sadie. “Don’t worry. I’ll get her to Quilting Central safely.”
He remained where he was. Sadie could feel his gaze boring into her back.
“Go on, Oliver. Your customer is waiting.”
She still didn’t hear him leave. Sadie rolled her eyes heavenward and heaved herself off the bed. She plastered on a fake smile and faced him. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Okay. But if you need me, I’ll be next door at Duncan’s Den.” The other quilting dorm, only a few steps from this one.
Sadie nodded.
Oliver held his phone up as if to show her he was only a call away.
“Come,” Moira said. “It’s time to meet Deydie and the other quilting ladies.”
Oliver pinned one more worried glance on Sadie, then left. She grabbed her bag and a sweater.
Outside, Sadie trudged along, wishing to be anywhere but here.
Moira peeked over at her. “Gandiegow only has sixty-three houses.”
“It’s very quaint.” For the first time, Sadie really looked around. The village arced like a smile facing the ocean, the little stone cottages an array of mismatched teeth, but seemed to fit together. The rounded green bluff loomed at the backs of the houses, a town blocked in, but cozy. Yes, the village was quaint with its oceanfront views from nearly every house. But sadness swept over Sadie once again. Gigi would’ve loved it here, as she’d often reminisced fondly about the small town in Montana along the Bitterroot River where she’d grown up.
Moira stopped in front of a building with a sign that read Quilting Central. “This is it.”
Without realizing that she should prepare herself, Sadie opened the door and stepped in. A tidal wave of anxiety hit her, the emotion so overwhelming, she wanted to flee.
The smell of starch.
White and gray-headed women.
Fabric stacked and stashed everywhere.
All the things that reminded her of Gigi. If that wasn’t enough to have her bolting for the door, a crowd of women scuttled toward her. She backed up.
One tall, thin, elderly woman clasped her arm, stilling her. “We’re so glad ye’re here. I’m Bethia.”
A short battleax of a woman barreled through to get to Sadie, grabbing her other arm. “I’m Deydie. We’ve been waiting on ye.”
Sadie was short of oxygen. She desperately wanted out.
Gray-haired twins, wearing matching plaid dresses of different colors, stepped in her path. The red plaid one spoke first.
“Sister and I were distraught when we lost our gran.”
They knew. Sadie looked at the faces around the room. They all knew.
The green-plaided one bobbed her head up and down. “That was many years ago. We’ve all experienced loss.” She gestured toward the crowd. “We understand what ye’re going through.”
The other whispered loudly to her sister. “But not about the kidney disease.”
No! How could he! Sadie wasn’t the all-out swearing type, but internally she formed a string of obscenities to sling at her brother that made her cringe.
“Back,” Deydie said to the twins. “Give the lass room to breathe and to get her bearings. She’s not well.”
Well enough to scream!
A thirty-something woman, carrying a baby, made her way to Sadie. “I’m Emma. And this is Angus.” She had a British accent, not a Scots like the others. She turned to Deydie. “I should take over, don’t you think?”
Deydie nodded vigorously. “Right. Right. It should be ye.” The old woman cleared the others away.
“Come sit down,” Emma said. “The town can be a bit overbearing. But they mean well.” She led Sadie to a sofa.
Deydie called everyone’s attention to the front and began welcoming all the quilters.
Emma leaned over. “I’m a therapist. Most people when they’re grieving should talk to someone. I wanted to let you know that I’m available if you need me.”
A moment ago, Sadie thought the woman had her best interest at heart, but she was like the others, trying to suffocate her, trying to tell her how to deal with her grief. Sadie didn’t deserve their attention. Her selfishness had killed her grandmother. She opened her mouth to set the well-meaning therapist straight, but the woman’s baby fortuitously spewed down his mother’s blouse.
“Excuse me.” Emma stood with the little one. “We’ll talk later.”
Or not.
Emma’s leaving should’ve given Sadie’s senses a reprieve, but in some respects, all the women smothering her had bee
n a distraction. The room, this place, was too much; she couldn’t sit here with a huge group of women reminding her of her grandmother. And with Gigi newly buried. The guilt. The grief . . . everything. Sadie had to get out of here . . . escape!
She looked longingly toward the door, only ten feet away. Everyone was listening to Deydie, finally not focused on her. She stood nonchalantly and walked toward the exit, slowly and with purpose, like she’d left her curling iron on back at the dorm.
Two more steps. She eased the door open so carefully that the bell above the door barely jingled.
She slipped out, gulping in the cool evening air like it was water and she’d been stuck in the desert. But it wasn’t enough. The town still felt claustrophobic. She’d do anything to get out of here!
The tide was up and the ocean was slapping itself against the walkway with increasing ferocity and passion. The sea was alive, the waves crashing, telling her to run.
And on the breeze, she heard the strangest thing . . . male voices singing. It was surreal. She followed the sound, heading back in the direction of the parking lot where the van had dropped them off. She stopped outside the first building in town, a pub called The Fisherman where the tune was coming from. The song pulled her up the steps and had her opening the door. As she crossed the threshold, the song came to an end.
The room was mostly filled with men, all sizes. The vast majority looked as if they could’ve done a magazine shoot for Fishermen Now. A few looked her way, but being plain, she didn’t have to worry about anyone hitting on her or even approaching.
She put her head down, made her way to the bar, and sat at the far end on the only open stool. Next to her was a particular large, rugged, all-muscle—and what she could see of his profile—handsome man, undoubtedly one of the fishermen, too. Another man, short and squat, stepped between them, partially blocking her view of Handsome.
Squat clamped a hand on Handsome’s shoulder. “Ye’d like my niece, Euna. She can cook and sew. She’d make ye a good wife. I promise, she will. At least meet her while she’s here for the retreat.”
The way Handsome was scowling over his drink, Sadie was certain he hadn’t been one of the men singing moments ago. He looked as if he’d given up singing permanently.
The bartender waved to Sadie. “What can I get ye?”
“Water,” she said automatically. Cola and alcohol were out-of-bounds. She would do everything she could to keep off the active transplant list for as long as possible.
Handsome glanced her way, and damn, he was good-looking. Not that a guy like him would notice someone like her. Sure enough, he went back to his drink without a word.
Squat was fidgeting, beginning to look desperate. “What do ye say? I told Euna ye’d see her. Take her to dinner. Or maybe have a stroll to the top of the bluff.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “The exercise would do her good.”
Sadie felt sorry for Handsome. Couldn’t Squat see that he didn’t want to do it? The bartender set her glass in front of her and left to help a patron at the other end.
“Dammit, Harry,” Handsome growled. “Ye’re putting me in a hell of a spot.”
Sadie made a snap decision. She reached for her glass and clumsily knocked it aside, spilling water all over Harry.
He jumped back. “What’d’ya do that for?”
She reached for the towel at the end of the bar and began blotting at the water on Harry’s shirt. “So sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
When Harry wasn’t looking, she tilted her head at Handsome for him to make a run for it. This fisherman was no dummy. He was out the door before she could order Harry a drink to make up for the drenching she gave him.
Once Harry was settled and complaining to the barkeep about her clumsiness, Sadie decided to leave before she brought any more attention to herself. She headed for the door, no closer to finding a way out of Gandiegow.
Outside, she paused on the top step and spoke to the vast ocean in front on her. “I have to get out of here!” That’s when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Leaning against the edge of the building a few feet away stood Handsome. He walked toward her and stuck out his hand to help her down the last few steps. “I owe you, lass. Tell me where you want to go. I’ve got a truck.”
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
It Happened in Scotland Page 33
