Skye turned her thoughts to the two instances she and Callum had shared kisses the past weekend—the first in the Beetle, the second under the mistletoe. Both times had been filled with intensity and passion. Had it been like that for Callum and Katie last night? What would’ve happened if she had waited as Callum asked?
While she ate an early breakfast, trying to enjoy the meal she’d been dreaming of, the hotel staff at reception arranged a rental car for her. This would be the first time she’d drive this road on her own. In fact, it would be the first time she’d drive in Scotland, and Skye was thankful the concierge had the presence of mind to request a car with satellite navigation. She’d still had a year to go before being eligible for a driver’s license when Da died and mother whisked her out of Scotland. The only bonus to moving was that, in an instant, she was able to drive at age sixteen. Of course, there were other benefits, like the opera house, but it took some time for her to see that.
After breakfast Skye gave her mother and stepfather a quick ring to wish them a Merry Christmas. It was seven o’clock in the evening back home—their Christmas was almost over, while hers was just beginning. She didn’t confront her mother about Callum’s letters for now. Christmas day seemed inappropriate. But she would. Soon.
With her bags ready and her stomach full, Skye took to the road. She shouldn’t need to stop until she got to Portree in the early afternoon. The day turned out to be beautiful and clear. Unlike yesterday. Blue skies up above, snow-covered earth below. But as much as she loved the white surroundings, she could’ve done without them today.
She was eager to get to the capital village of Skye, and her journey would be longer than she wanted. She switched on the radio, turned up the heating, and got comfortable. Might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. First thing she’d do when she got to Portree was find a hotel and check in. Then she’d drive out to Stronuirinish Cemetery and look for her father’s grave.
Five hours later, she drove across the Skye Bridge. Her heart beat faster. The dark waters of Loch Alsh beneath were a stark reminder of the last time she’d made this crossing. That, too, had been dark. She’d only driven across this bridge on one other occasion before that—their last family holiday in Portree the year before Da died. She was grateful she didn’t have to get to Skye the way they had when she was a child. She’d never liked those ferry crossings, but the times that Callum had been with her, he’d always held her hand tight and told her they’d soon be safe on the other side.
So much for being alone and clearing her head. Almost every memory over the past few hours had involved Callum. He was woven into the fabric of her past. She couldn’t escape that fact. But could the same be said of her future?
Perhaps she should call McGuire’s when she got to Portree.
No. Callum had hurt her. Let him stew until she got back to Glasgow.
Another hour passed before Skye spotted the familiar green signs on the A87. She smiled. On the left side of the road, in white writing was a sign: Welcome to PORTREE. Underneath it read: Please drive carefully. On the opposite side of the tarmac, the sign was written in yellow.
Fàilte gu PORT RÌGH. Gabhaibh air ur socair.
It had been a lifetime since she’d read Gaelic.
In the distance, the snowy hills of Portree came into view. The picture in its entirety triggered a distant memory. Skye glanced to her right and did a double take. The sparse winter’s hedge along the roadside could not hide the gray, black, and skin-tone gravestones. Skye’s breath caught in her throat. Stronuirinish cemetery. Da.
Overshooting the small road to the right, she slowed and turned the car around. The indicator clicked as she veered to the left and drove through the open entrance.
The cemetery was larger than she remembered, gravestones now filling the open piece of land as she entered. Travelling way below the speed limit, Skye inched her way toward the trees bordering the burial grounds, her mind a whirlwind of painful memories. At sixteen, mourning the loss of her beloved father, the drive down that narrow road had seemed to go on forever, too.
The trees had turned into giants over the years. Heavyset trunks now obliterated most of the view of Portree Bay, their thick branches dressed in winter’s bare, the twigs at their ends raised to the sky—scrawny fingers clawing and grasping at nothing but air. They looked monstrous, menacing…an impenetrable force to be reckoned with.
Something akin to her mother the day of Da’s funeral. Mother was furious when she’d spotted Skye and Callum heading through the trees toward the cold shores of the bay. Overcome with grief after the coffin was lowered into the grave, Callum had taken Skye aside to console her, seeking privacy for them on the other side of the copse. But they never made it through the trees. Mother had followed.
Skye pushed the bleak memory aside as she parked the car. Braving the cold, she stepped outside and pulled on her coat, gloves, hat, earmuffs, and scarf. If not for the overwhelming desire to visit her father’s grave for the very first time since his funeral, she would’ve succumbed to the temptation of the warm vehicle.
Certain the grave was on the left of the cemetery near the back, Skye made her way to the last row of gravestones. Her footprints, imprinted deep into the snow, followed her path. She came to an abrupt halt halfway along the second row, the sight before her, although new, ingrained in her mind.
Friends of Mother’s had sent photos by mail of the headstone above Da’s grave. Skye had stared at them many times over the years, trying to accept that it was all true.
Dr. Lewis Hunter
Absent in the body, present with the Lord.
Always in the hearts of your wife and daughter.
His birth and death dates were carved below in flowing script. Mother only wanted to engrave the last sentence of the epitaph onto the stone. Skye insisted she add the first. Da had always made sure that Skye went to Sunday school and church. Mother came with them most Sundays, although Skye often wondered if she’d ever really listened. Church for Mother always seemed more of a social encounter than a spiritual one.
Callum had always gone with them, too. There was no way Mother could object to a child being taken to Sunday school. And Callum had always listened to both preacher and teacher.
Leaning forward, Skye dusted the snow from the headstone with her gloved hands. Her fingers trailed its stark front and the engraved indentations. Tears mimicked the downward trend of her fingers, traversing her skin before they fell into the snow below. She hugged the headstone. “Oh, Da. I miss you so much.”
Skye spent as long as she could out in the cold, talking to her Lord and Savior, and her Da in heaven. It had been a long time since she’d really communicated with either.
The skies around her eventually darkened. She’d have to return to the car. It had been a good decision to stay and visit her father’s grave. If she’d gone into the village first to find accommodation, she would have been out here in the dark and her visit would’ve been brief. Tomorrow she’d return, with flowers.
By the time Skye drove into Portree village, she could barely make out the colorful buildings that lined the quay. Streetlights washed the area in an amber hue, fading out the buildings’ colors and casting their reflections across the waters of the bay.
The first place she tried was The Royal Hotel. She had stayed there with Mother the night of Da’s funeral, returning to Glasgow the following day. The Royal Hotel was fully booked.
“Let me call a few places for you. ‘Tis not right to be driving about in the dark,” the receptionist said.
Skye ambled around the lobby while she waited.
Soon the woman behind the desk put down the phone, beaming. “The Bosville Hotel, two blocks up on Bosville Terrace are able to assist. They were full, too, but had a cancellation earlier today. It’s really quaint. You’ll be comfortable there and they have such beautiful views over the harbor from their vantage point.”
Skye returned her smile. “Thank you, so much.”
Soon Skye had checked into her room at the Bosville, resisting the temptation to climb into bed. Instead, she took a hot bath before going downstairs for dinner. As she dressed, she chided herself for staying outside as long as she had. Her throat hurt and her cough had worsened. She missed Callum, too. She wanted to sleep and dream of him, but when her growling stomach protested, Skye remembered breakfast had been her last meal.
She chose to dine in the more casual Bistro Restaurant. The cool water she’d ordered didn’t soothe her throat or still her hacking. Any more of this and she’d have to see a doctor. Soon.
An elderly gentleman, dining alone at a nearby table, glanced over at Skye several times. Each time her gaze met with his, she’d offer an apologetic smile. She should go up to her room and get into bed.
Dabbing her mouth with the napkin, her meal only half touched, Skye stood.
The older man scurried to his feet, and strode across to her. “You don’t seem well, lass. Are you all right?”
Skye lied with a nod. She really didn’t feel or sound good tonight.
Too much time spent outdoors earlier, I guess.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve disturbed your dinner.”
He waved his hand in the air. “Nae. Not at all. But that cough of yours is concerning. You should have it seen to.”
“I will. I’ll make a doctor’s appointment when I get back home.” Home. How good that sounded.
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t made up my mind yet how long I’ll be staying in Skye.” She picked up the napkin and twirled it around her fingers before discarding it again. “I came to visit my father’s grave.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Well, you shouldn’t leave that cough unattended, lassie.” Hesitating for a moment, he stuck his hand into his top pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to Skye. “I’m a doctor. If you like, I could get my medical bag from the car and have a look at your throat. Give you some medication perhaps?”
Skye examined the card.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” the old man continued. “It’s just—you seemed to be struggling.”
Grab the opportunity.
“Would you, mind? I do feel like I’m on a downward spiral with this throat of mine.”
“Sit yourself back down, lassie. I won’t be long.” He turned to leave. “I’m Dr. Allen, by the way.” A low chuckle rumbled from his lips. “But you already saw that on my card. So, what’s your name?”
“Skye. Skye Hunter.” She reached for his arm and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Allen. My father was a doctor, too. This is the kind of thing he would have done…help a total stranger.”
His watery gray eyes brightened.
“My Da was born and raised here in Portree. Have you lived here long, Dr. Allen?”
“A great part of my life.” Closing his eyes, he mumbled. “Hunter. Hunter…” His eyes opened wide. “You’re not Lewis Hunter’s daughter are you?”
“I am.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“You knew my father?”
“Yes, very well. At least I did. We grew up together here in Portree, and then went on to study medicine in Glasgow. We lost touch though when I moved to Edinburgh to set up my practice. I returned to Portree last year when—” He shook his head and held out his hand to Skye. “What a small world. Sorry to hear he passed on.”
“It was a long time ago.” She grasped his hand. “It’s good to meet you.” Really good.
While waiting for him to return, Skye ordered another bottled water. Both doctor and water arrived at the same time—each medicine for her throat.
Dr. Allen stopped the waitress. “Do you have an office where I can consult with my patient in private? I’m a doctor, and she needs medical attention.”
The waitress’ gaze darted to Skye, who nodded, indicating that she was comfortable with his request.
“Certainly. Come this way.”
Seated on the desk in the manager’s office, Skye opened her mouth.
Dr. Allen held her tongue with a wooden tongue depressor, shining a sharp light down her throat. “Say ‘ahh’.”
“Ahh.” Familiarity washed over her. How many times hadn’t her father done the same with her?
He felt the glands in her neck, moving his fingers down her throat. “Tell me about your family. Your mother still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Healthy?”
Skye grinned. “Too healthy.”
He chuckled. “I get it. Any siblings?”
She shook her head.
“And your father? How did he die?”
“Brain cancer.”
A look flitted across his face. Surprise? Or concern? His eyes turned teary. Taking a deep breath, he blinked them away. “My wife died last year of the same disease. That’s why I’m here at the hotel having Christmas dinner. I couldn’t bear to face the empty house. Not tonight.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“‘Tis life.” He felt Skye’s glands again, and then glanced down her throat once more before throwing the tongue depressor into the wastepaper bin and placing the penlight back in his bag. “I’ll give you an analgesic spray that will ease your throat. I’ve a good one in my bag. But I’d like you to see an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist immediately. Where do you live?”
Skye managed a whisper. “Australia, but I’m in Glasgow for a few months.” This can’t be happening. An ENT? There couldn’t be something wrong with her throat. She was a singer, and on the brink of the most important role she’d ever played.
Dr. Allen’s voice drew Skye from her consternation.
“Good. I know an excellent one at Southern General Hospital. I’ll contact him and get you an urgent appointment.”
“What do you think is wrong, Dr. Allen?”
“Lassie, I don’t want to speculate. Go see the ENT. Take it from there. I’ll give you feedback regarding an appointment in the morning. Why don’t I meet you for breakfast?” His smile was the same one she’d seen her Da give countless times. Empathetic.
Skye nodded. “That would be nice.”
“Now go and get a good night’s rest. But first—” He pulled a small box from his medical bag and removed the bottle from inside. Rotating the spray head a half circle, he pointed it away from them both and pressed the pump three times to activate. Once again he told Skye to say “ahh.”