"Everything in the closet," he said with a grin. "Let me load the car, then we’ll start back to Inverness."
Calleigh looked from Dixon and to the four foot high stack of boxes, "Right." She grabbed a box and moved it a couple of inches, planted her feet and heaved again. This time the box moved not a inch, so she turned around and sat down on the box. "I'll be right here."
***
As they cruised down the A835 back toward Inverness, Dixon explained that most of his stock was purchased from small bookshops. It was an inexpensive source of new stock for him, while he could do his part to help other local shops stay profitable by picking up their deadwood. "Everyone wins."
She had not given him enough credit. It was a slap in the face realization. She had taken one look around his shop, looked at him, and made a judgment based on her own expectations for him. She had let that prevent her from seeing the man who sat in the driver's seat of the world's most beaten Scotia. He had taken nothing more than discarded books, and found a way to build something worthwhile for a whole network of people. He was helping support all these other like-minded people, from the eclectic troupe who kept the shop and cafe running, to the many small bookshops across northern Scotland that he apparently frequented.
If I had left, I would have missed the person he has become because it wasn't who I thought he should be.
***
"I need to do something about this car." The wind whistling through the back windows had not bothered him last week, but with Calleigh present, Dixon felt he needed to acknowledge the problem, even if he really had no intention of doing anything about it.
Calleigh was taking photographs of the passing scenery through the passenger side window and shrugged. "Buy a new one."
"Just like that?" His tone mocked her.
She dropped her cell phone back into her purse and then focused on Dixon. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I say things like that. I don't even think about it anymore."
"There is nothing to apologize for. Just took me by surprise, is all." There was concern in his eyes as his gaze flicked from the road to Calleigh and back again in rapid succession. "Are you happy?"
"Generally. I think it is more a level of general life dissatisfaction than unhappiness, you know? They are different things."
He really did not know what to do with that. One moment she seemed to have everything: success, money, and the confidence to flaunt it; and then, she would say things which made it sound as if she did not want any of it. It was why he leaned over and kissed her when he pulled the car up in front of her hotel; an act of comfort, to let her know someone loved her.
And she had kissed him back. She might have kissed him a few times.
***
Calleigh waved as he pulled away from the curb, a giant, love-struck smile on her face. By the time she reached her room, she wanted to scream to herself, What are you doing? Are you really going to do this again? Two days with Dixon and she was right back where she had been ten years ago, in love with a man she felt she could never be with.
In full mope mode as she unlocked the door and pushed her way in, she dropped her purse on the floor and slammed the door behind her. When she flicked on the light, she found the clothes she had tossed aside upon her arrival cleaned, folded, and sitting on the end of the freshly made bed. A small, white square of hotel stationary sat on top of her blouse:
“With compliments of the cleaning staff.”
She had forgotten all about the clothes. As she stared at the note, her eyes welled up. So much in her life had become disposable. Need a new car? Buy one. Clothes too dirty to deal with? Throw them away. The only man you ever loved lives in Scotland? Leave him. Again.
She lay down on the bed and cried herself to sleep.
***
Dixon kicked the bottom of the swollen door to his flat until it gave way and let him pass. There was no point in trying to close it again, so it stood open. He was only a few steps into the flat when he stopped and looked around.
It was not a flat, really. More of a bedsit with a kitchen and en suite, an extended office where he could sleep and eat if The Ladies had not fed him already. Stacks of books, a mangled sofa, an unmade bed, and that was it. For the first time he saw his flat as an outsider. It was more than the lack of physical space; every corner, every drawer, every cabinet was filled with him. It was a place which had no room for another person, or people.
And it smelled of soup.
***
Calleigh endured one day of half-hearted tourist activities before she accepted she was not someone who enjoyed traveling alone. She had still not replied to the facebook message from Muriel Corrie. On a whim, she thought, Why not?, and decided to get in touch with her.
Muriel, it turned out, had done quite well for herself. "I teach bored housewives the fine art of scrapbooking for a not-insubstantial portion of their husband's income. I love it. And I have all day to see what we can get up to."
Unsure how to feel about Muriel’s excitement, or that Dixon had already briefed Muriel on their chance encounter and subsequent cross-county tour, Calleigh hung up the phone and finished getting dressed. Many of the clothes she had brought with her from Houston, the fawn slacks, the pencil skirts, and the kitten heel knee-high boots, seemed ridiculous and impractical. She put on the jeans the cleaning staff had brought back to her, along with a sweater and a pair of sneakers still wedged in the bottom of her suitcase.
Before she left the room, she wrote a thank you note to the staff and laid it on the dresser.
***
Muriel was a vivacious woman who wore a riot of colors from her neon wrist warmers and blue and red scarf, to a shamrock green cashmere sweater. After she had wrapped Calleigh in a hug, greeting Calleigh as if she were a long lost sister, she said, “People only seem to accept the words ‘successful’ and ‘artist’ if I dress like I am color blind.”
Calleigh could not fathom why she had not liked Muriel before.
***
Muriel drove like a maniac in Vauxhall. They tore down twisting, one-lane roads filled with blind corners only to screech to a stops at the next corner. Eventually, and mercifully, they arrived at Dunrobin Castle alive. They took a long walk through the immaculate garden, toured the house, watched the falconry show twice, and then Muriel raced them back into Golspie to eat. After a quick pub lunch wherein Muriel managed to get the contact information for every lady in the room before their sandwiches hit the table, they were off again.
They trekked across the Dornoch Firth, across Comarty Firth, through Inverness, past Culloden, to Cawdor Castle. They walked across the drawbridge over the mote to tour the castle and keep, then viewed the private art collection, toured the garden, and then wandered the grounds.
They were taking tea in the small café when Calleigh blurted out, “What do I do?”
“I’m assumin’ you are talkin’ about Dixon,” said Muriel.
Calleigh put down her tea cup and laid it all out: the job, her life, Dixon, everything.
“You’re making this way too hard. Are you going to fight for what you say you don’t want? Or for what you do want? It’s that simple,” said Muriel.
Wow, when she put it like that, it was something to think about.
***
Calleigh was relaxed. Her phone was on the charger after another marathon conversation with Dixon, she was watching Top Gear on the tele, as they called it, and she was wearing her favorite pajamas.
I could stay. The thought had come from nowhere. What would I do? How would we live? Would there even be a ‘we?’ Dixon hasn’t said anything about wanting me to stay. She took a deep breath. Do I want to fight for what I have or for what I want?
She sat on the floor next to her tethered phone and began searching the internet. Three hours later she knew: A.) “Just deciding to stay” was not appreciated by the UK government and would get her flung out after six months; B.) Her job, at least as she knew it, did not exist here; and C.) Maintaining her lifestyle, to s
ome degree, was more important to her than she first thought. But is it the most important?
She put down the phone and crawled into the bed, where she lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
***
Hiking in Cairngorms National Park had seemed like a good idea at the time, but years behind a desk, and a pile of books, had made them both less than ideal candidates for a trek to the top of Ben Macdui. Both Calleigh and Dixon had played off their worries as they drove toward the peak, nervously laughing as they climbed out of the car to start the journey.
Each time Dixon thought of quitting and going to find a pub, Calleigh was right behind him, determination etched into her every feature. She might have changed in some ways, but she was the same person, the same girl he had fallen in love with a decade before. I can sell the shop. I am ready to get on that plane, if she asks me to.
As they stood on the peak, Dixon looking out across the Highlands, Calleigh looked at Dixon and she knew she loved him as much now as she ever did. She was willing to stay. No, I WANT to stay. I am ready for whatever is next, if he asks me to stay.
Chapter Seven: Home Is Where the Heart Is
Six days. It was all the time Calleigh had left in Scotland. Dixon had dropped hints, said it would be great if she could stay, but had not said anything specific. It was easy to believe she was willing to quit her job, sell the house and car to stay in Scotland and live life like some permanent outward bound experience while she was on vacation. They had not discussed living arrangements, employment -- any of the things which needed to be settled before either of them moved country. As the end crept closer, it become more difficult to imagine walking away from a secure position with a steady pay check to leap into the unknown.
What she did know was that she did not want to leave Dixon again.
Would he be insulted if I asked him to come with me? She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Dixon had spent a lifetime here. He had everything here, a business, friends, employees, and a network of people depending on him.
The phone rang and Calleigh answered with a distracted, “Hello.”
After they plowed through the greetings, office news, and project updates, Beverly asked, “Are you ready to get your head back in the game and get back to work? There is another interest capture project on the table when you get back.”
Calleigh could not work up the enthusiasm for another project she had no interest in. “Not really.”
“Oh, my God. You’re not thinking of staying, are you?” Beverly sounded panicked. “Why would you do that?”
Calleigh explained Dixon’s situation with his business.
“So? He might have been great in college, but why should you be the one to give up everything? You have money and a real career. If anyone is going to do it, he should be the one to sell his shop. I mean, you make more than enough for both of you. Has he even said that he wants you to stay?”
“No,” Calleigh managed to grind out through grit teeth. What if I am alone in this? For all I know, this is just a quick romance with an old girlfriend for him.
***
Six days. It was all the time Calleigh had left in Scotland. Dixon did not want Calleigh to leave, but the practical realities had set in. He had spent the past two nights on the computer looking at American job sites. It convinced him he was not cut out to work for someone else, with their twice yearly reviews, and sliding pay scales. Calculation after calculation had confirmed what he had already suspected: he was not going to get enough out of selling his shop to purchase another in the US. To open something which had even the slimmest hope of competing with the chains or Amazon would require borrowing hundreds of thousands of dollars. A staggering amount of money to lose if it ended in failure.
Not that she had asked him to come with her anyhow. There were hints, little statements about how warm it was in Houston, how new everything was, how much he would like it, but she had not said, “Why don’t you come with me?”
Still, it wasn’t enough to just go jump on plane.
He sat behind his desk, pencil bouncing off his chin as he drummed away the seconds until he made his decision. He picked up the phone and dialed.
A pleasant female voice answered, “Highland Estate Agents.”
“I’d like to talk to someone about selling my business.”
***
Caiden scratched his chin and there was a far-away look in his eyes when he said, “I’ll talk to Ms. Teasel.”
“No thanks, mate. I need to tell her.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Caiden beamed at Dixon, “I’ve saved most of mine over the years.”
“’Cause you live with your Mum.”
“Aye, best rent in town, she has. And Ms. Teasel has a pension she hasn’t used. I’m thinkin’, if you haven’t been too outrageous with the price, we should put in a bid.”
“Ah, mate, that would be brilliant.”
“No promises, but…” Caiden shrugged.
“What about The Ladies?” Dixon asked.
“No way in hell. You’re telling them. I would much prefer to be the hero in their world than the villain.”
***
Dixon tried to talk to The Ladies, but the moment the word’s “estate agent” were uttered, he had to take evasive maneuvers.
“You’ll do no such thing, you bastard,” said The Lady on the right.
He took a dinner roll to the temple.
“They’ll have to carry our cold corpses out of this building!” shouted The Lady on the left.
Two more dinner roll volleys were fired. He took one to the chest, but the other went wide and sailed over the mezzanine railing.
“If there is even a whiff of estate agent on these premises, I’ll hide ya’!” The Ladies each grabbed and end of a baking sheet full of rolls and heaved, the entire contents of the tray raining down on his head as he scrambled down the stairs.
Dixon was hunched over his desk, laughing. He had eaten his way through the dinner roll missiles which had been caught in his clothing before when he called the estate agent back and cancelled the appointment. The shop was not a building filled with books and interesting, possibly otherwise unemployable people, it was home.
He knew he could not leave it.
***
While Dixon was at the shop, Calleigh booked a meeting with an estate agent, as they called them over here. She also had lined up an interview. She pulled the unworn business clothes from her closet and got ready. The estate agent would be downstairs in the hotel lobby in twenty minutes. It’s a fact finding mission, that’s all. I’ll talk to Dixon tonight, then make my decision. Again.
Three dismal flats into the tour with the estate agent, Calleigh stopped the woman and said, “I don’t think we understood each other on the phone. I am looking for a two or three bedroom house with garage.”
The estate agent smiled pleasantly, “Unfortunately, after the conversion from dollars to pounds, the down payment you specified only qualifies you for flats in the £175,000-225,000 range.”
“Okay, so let’s see some of those.” Calleigh knew higher prices and the conversion rate were going eat into her buying power, but she was ready compromise.
“We are. Would you like to see another?”
Calleigh’s mouth dropped open. Her first thought was of her newly built home in Houston Heights. Can I really give that up? “No. I’ll call you if anything changes,” she answered.
***
She had left the afternoon after the interview open. If it was anything like her Commonwealth interview, she would meet with one of the supervisors. They would then go to lunch, and then return to the office after where she would meet some co-workers, talk to HR and pick-up her offer letter. Apparently it would be for a temporary-leading-to-a-long-term position and they were in a hurry to hire. That suited her fine. She could be back at the hotel before Dixon closed the shop.
When she walked into the conference room, her first thought was, I’m in the w
rong place. At one end of the conference table sat two men and a woman, all wearing ill-fitting business suits. There was a single seat at the far end of the room for Calleigh.
The questions started before she was seated. “What is a working interest owner’s royalty rate if it is not stipulated in Joint Operating Agreement? How do you calculate royalty payments when there are different owners in each strata? What is the most complex drilling unit you have ever handled? Was it oil, gas or comingled?”
For two hours the questions came at her non-stop. By the time she dragged herself from the room, she wanted to cry. Never in her life had a group of people left her feeling so stupid and inadequate.
Beverly called as Calleigh walked back to the hotel.
“What are you doing? There are rumors going around that Debbie in HR has been on the phone with some company in Scotland you interviewed with,” Beverly’s voice hissed through the line.
So much for confidentiality. “Yeah, the interview was a disaster.”
“Stop screwing around or there isn’t going to be anything for you to come back to.”
Calleigh stopped in the street. “What does that mean?”
“There’s talk, okay? Decision time. Do you really want to spend your life in the middle of nowhere Scotland? Or do you want to get your life back on track? Think about the bonus for the next project. You could put in a pool or do something nice for yourself.”
“There is a lot more at stake here than a bonus. This is my life!” She hung up in a snit without giving Beverly a chance to respond. Her hands shook with anger as she dialed Muriel’s number. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked without preamble.
“You worry about all the wrong things,” said Muriel.
[Runes of Argyl 01.0] The Runes of Argyl Trilogy Page 132
