To Scotland With Love (26 page)

And because Duncan needed peace of mind, Graham assured him, “Caitie and I talked. She's promised to marry me. She'll do whatever she has to do for Mattie.”

“Did you explain it wasn't just for Mattie? Did you tell her that it was for you, too? That you love her?”

“No, not exactly.” Graham's insides twisted. There was no way he could put into words how he felt about Caitie. Whenever she came into a room, it felt like the sun came with her, warm and bright. But was that love? She said she'd marry him, and at the time, it had made his heart bang against his chest proudly. But she'd said yes because she
loved Mattie, not him. And the fact that she made Graham's life bearable in an unbearable situation said something. But he didn't know if it was love. If it wasn't, it had to be something damn near it.

Duncan stared at him patiently, too wise for one so young. “Do it, Da. Tell her that you love her. Life is short.”

Graham had no real answer for his beloved son.

Duncan turned his head and looked out to the sea as if giving her a last farewell. “I'm ready to go back now.”

When they got back to the house and Duncan got settled into his hospital bed, he asked for Mattie to be sent to him.

* * *

Duncan stared out at the view of the ocean, grateful Da had pushed the hospital bed by the window. He lay back, at peace with where he was. He could feel the end nearing. He didn't want to go. No, but he knew he had to. He hated leaving Mattie, but surely his son, from good Buchanan stock, would be okay. Kids were resilient that way, and Mattie would be all right. Da and Caitie would see to it.

Mattie came to the door and peeked in.

“Come in, lad,” Duncan said.

Mattie shuffled in and climbed into bed with him.

“How is my boy today?”

Mattie snuggled closer.

“'Tis time for us to have a man-to-man talk.”

Mattie looked up at him with big solemn eyes.

“You are the love of my life. You know that, don't you?”

Mattie nodded his head.

“I would never do anything on purpose to hurt you.”

Mattie nodded again.

“But, son, I'm going to be leaving. God is calling me to Him, and I need to know you're going to be okay.”

Mattie shook his head and gave Duncan's chest a hard squeeze, an I'll-never-let-you-go squeeze.

“It's not anything to be sad about. You'll see me again in heaven one day. We could go fishing.”

Tears fell down Mattie's cheeks, soaking Duncan's nightshirt.

“I know you feel sad, son. I'll miss seeing you grow up, but I know you're going to grow into a strong and honorable man. The only thing I wish for before I go, I wish I could've heard your voice just one more time.” Duncan squeezed Mattie, holding back his own tears for the loss of his son's words.

Mattie leaned up and looked into Duncan's eyes. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Panic filled his face. Then terror. But determination came into his eyes, and he twisted up his face, opening his mouth again. This time a small, scratchy sound came out.

“Da.”

Duncan grabbed his shoulders. “Mattie?”

The boy placed both of his hands on Duncan's stubbly cheeks and gazed into his eyes. “Love you, Da.”

Duncan clutched him to his chest, burying his head in his son's neck. “Oh, Mattie.”

That night, Duncan slipped into a coma.

T
he townsfolk kept a vigil at Duncan's side, the schedule organized by Deydie and posted at the store. Cait liked to get up in the wee hours of the morning and sit with him until the sun came up.

Today was Monday of Holy Week, the week before Easter. Cait fixed her customary cup of coffee, extra cream, and made her way into Duncan's room.

“Why don't you take a break?” Cait said to the nurse on duty. “I'll call you if he needs anything.”

“Thanks,” she said and left them alone.

Cait took a seat and sipped her coffee. Not five minutes later, Deydie showed up and sat in the other chair at the end of Duncan's bed.

Deydie cleared her throat, regarding Cait closely and looking hesitant.

Cait waited for her to speak, and it took her a few moments to get it out.

“I need to say something.” Deydie's voice sounded like gravel this early in the morn. “It's about you and me and that article for
People
magazine.”

Cait braced herself. Enough harsh words had been said already. “I should never have agreed to do it. I was
just desperate to get my life back, and I believed my career was the only way.” All the emotions she'd been feeling since she arrived in Scotland swelled up inside her and spilled out like water over a flooded dam. “I'm sorry I've been such a disappointment to you. I never do the right thing. Do you think if I try harder that you'll be able to like me again?”

“Hesh up,” Deydie said kindly. “I told ye I've something to say. I can be a terrible ole biddy, and I never should've said those things to ye. I shouldn't have. And I'm sorry for it.” She nodded her head like that was that. “And ye know, Caitie, I like ye just fine. Ye're family, and I'm right proud of you. I knew that any granddaughter of mine would do the right thing when it came to writing that article. Did that snooty Margaret Pincher, or whatever her name is, did she take the news all right?”

“No, not really. But I don't blame her,” Cait said.

“Maybe you could do something nice for her in the future,” Deydie offered.

“Maybe,” Cait concurred.

And it hit her. She and her gran were finally getting along. A certain kind of peace came over her. It was the only thing she'd really needed since she'd come home.

“In a while, after ye've finished yere coffee, we should go to the cottage. I've some things to show you.” Deydie adjusted the blanket about Duncan's feet.

“What things?” Cait asked.

“Never you mind,” her gran said. “Ye've always been a curious one. Just like my Nora.” Cait wasn't sure, but she could've sworn that Deydie swiped at a tear.

“Well, I'd better make some fresh scones for those coming through today. Do ye want me to freshen up yere coffee?” Deydie had a sheepish look on her face.

Cait didn't answer but carefully set her cup on the nightstand and went to Deydie, wrapping her in her arms. “I'm grateful for you, Gran. I love you so very much.”

Deydie didn't swat her away but hugged her back with the strength of an old grizzly.

Cait kissed her cheek. “Get on, now, and get those scones made. I'm getting hungry, you ole bird.” She wiped at her own tears.

“Cheeky lass,” Deydie said, stepping lightly from the room.

“I take after my gran.” Cait's voice broke, but it was just loud enough to get in the last word.

* * *

An hour later, the smell of scones filled the house. Deydie brought two to Cait on a beautiful stoneware plate and left to go clean up the kitchen. When the nurse came in to check Duncan's vitals, Cait went in search of Deydie for their walk to the cottage. Her gran was folding laundry in the room off the kitchen.

“I'm ready.” Cait grabbed the last bath towel and folded it into thirds.

“Moira just got here and went up to see about Mattie.” Deydie grabbed her coat. “We won't be gone too long.”

They walked down the bluff in silence, the good feelings still flowing between them. The crisp air had something in it that spoke of spring, but in truth it was still quite cold. The sea, though, looked calm, at peace with the coastline.

When they got to the cottage, Deydie went to her bed. “You get some tea going while I get these out.”

Cait went to do as she was told but was still curious. “What are you doing over there?”

Deydie pulled the stack of quilts from her bed, lugging them to the dining room table. “You asked me before what quilts I'd worked on. If you want, I'll show you now.”

This was not the same grandmother she'd dropped in on four months ago. Cait helped Deydie position the stack across the table.

Deydie lifted up the first quilt, a Sampler. “Every few years, I take time to make meself a quilt. This is the one I made in 2009, when the winter seemed to go on forever. I hand stitched it.”

Cait took it, imagining the love her gran had put into each pull of the thread.

One by one, Deydie revealed her quilts, nine in all. Each one had a story, and Cait lapped up every one. When she pulled out the final quilt, one wrapped in tissue paper, her gran's eyes misted over.

“This is the last quilt that my Nora ever made. She called it Walking with My Daughter.” Deydie adjusted the quilt so Cait could see. “Up here at the top, that's supposed to represent me and Nora, walking along the seashore.” Sure enough, Cait could pick out the abstract figures of a woman and a child.

Deydie pointed to the middle section. “This part is supposed to represent the world.” Blue, brown, and green blocks came together to make the earth, the sea, and the sky. Her gran moved her worn-out hand to the bottom of the quilt. “And this is where Nora is walking with you.”

Two more abstract figures were stitched there. The woman was made from the same fabric as the little-girl block up above, but bigger now. Cait's fabric was the same cheery yellow gingham as in the picture with her
mama. Lovingly, she touched the image first of the mother and then the little girl.

“Nora always said you were her little sunshine, the reason for every new day.” Deydie's old eyes found Cait's. “I think it's time you take this quilt. Nora gave it to me, and I knew one day I was to give it to you.”

Cait hugged the quilt to her. “Thanks, Gran. This means the world.” She teared up.

Deydie grabbed for it. “Don't go wallering all over it. You want it to last for yere own little girl one day, don't you?”

Cait handed it over. “I won't be having a little girl. Mattie's the closest thing I'll have to my own bairn.”

Deydie shook her head. “I don't think so, lass. That's not what Bethia says is written in the stars.”

* * *

The walk back to the big house was freezing. After she hung up her coat, Cait headed upstairs to put on a sweatshirt, peeking into Duncan's room as she passed. She saw Mattie and Dingus lying in the bed beside Duncan, while Graham sat in the chair beside the bed, holding his son's limp hand.

Dr. Tsang walked past her and into the room. “Can I have a word with you?” he said to Graham.

“Sure. Mattie, take Dingus outside so he can go to the bathroom.”

As Mattie walked out, he looked up at her and she ruffled his hair.

She stayed where she was, even though Ms. Manners wouldn't have approved of her eavesdropping.

“Do we have any news?” Graham sounded half hopeful, half dreading the doctor's answer.

“I think it's just a matter of time. If you want your
pastor to deliver last rites, he should do it now,” Dr. Tsang said gravely.

“Then Duncan won't wake up again?” Graham asked.

“No. I don't believe he will.”

Cait peeked in again and saw Dr. Tsang put a hand on Graham's shoulder.

“The only thing we can do now is to make him comfortable.” Dr. Tsang stayed a moment longer, then turned and left.

Cait went straight to Graham then, hugging him to her body as he sat with his chin to his chest.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

Graham held her tight. “I've been honored to have him as my son.”

“I know,” she said.
You're such a good man
.
And you don't deserve this.

They stayed like that for a long while. Finally, Cait pulled away, and Graham stood, stroking her bare arms.

“God, Caitie, you're an ice cube.”

“I was on my way to get something warm to wear,” she said.

He kissed her forehead. “Let me. What do you want?”

“There's a hoodie in my bottom drawer.”

He left, and she settled into the chair he'd occupied. Poor Duncan lay lifeless in the bed, so pale, so fragile. What a raw deal he'd gotten. A shiver ran through her, and she rubbed her arms.

And then panic hit her. She jumped up. Had she just sent Graham to her room to go through her things? Her hoodie concealed the stack of notebooks where she'd written about him, the movie star.

About him, the philanthropist.

About him, the loving father.

“Oh crap,” she hissed. She started toward the door. And stopped.

Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe he wouldn't notice the notebooks. Maybe he'd grab the hoodie and rush back to her.
Yeah, and maybe two-ton pigs would up and fly
.

She ran out of Duncan's room and crashed into Graham. Unfortunately, the stack of notebooks he'd been holding went flying, one smacking him square in the face.

“I'm sorry,” she began.

He glowered at her. “For what? For betraying me? For getting caught? Or for not making a fast enough getaway?”

“It's not what you think,” she cried. Then she frowned at him. “Well, it is what you think, but you've got it all wrong.”

“Oh, I have it wrong,” he said sarcastically, picking up the red notebook and flipping open to the first page, jabbing at the heading. “List of publications for the Graham Buchanan article,” he read. “
People
,
Entertainment Weekly
,
Us.
” He stopped and glared at her again. “Shall I go on?”

“It's . . . Well, I . . .” She floundered.

He went stony on her, all emotion wiping itself from his face. “I want you gone. Now. Leave Gandiegow and don't come back.”

Indignation replaced her contrition of a moment ago. “You can't tell me what to do. I'm not going anywhere. This is my town. Besides, Duncan asked me to be here for Mattie.”

Graham put his large hands on his hips, glaring down, trying to intimidate her. “If Duncan knew what you were up to, he never would've come up with such an asinine request.”

“Then lucky for me he's in a coma.” As soon as she'd said the words, she wanted to take them back. But they hung in the air like a noose. “I'm sorry,” she said desperately. “That was an awful thing to say. I didn't mean it.”

Graham turned his stiff back on her. “Aye, like a lot of things you say.”

* * *

Great timing, Caitie.
She threw her things into a suitcase. She wasn't leaving Gandiegow, but she would have to leave his house.

It was going to be tricky. She hadn't figured out yet how she was going to care for Mattie and keep her distance from his irate grandfather.

If only she'd come clean with Graham first, laid it all out for him in a logical manner. He still would've been upset with her, but he would've forgiven her. Especially since she'd decided not to go through with it. Now he didn't even want to be in the same country as her.

She sank to her knees and laid her head on the bed. “Why? Why?” she whispered to the comforter.

Deydie stuck her nose in. “Come to Duncan's room. Father Gregory is going to deliver last rites.”

Cait did her best to straighten her emotions up so Deydie wouldn't see.

“Graham said it's getting to be Duncan's time.” Deydie eyed her closely. “What are ye doing with yere things?”

There was a clatter from downstairs.

Deydie turned around. “Dammit. That sounded like the sandwiches.”

Before Cait could explain anything, her gran was gone.

Downstairs, the house was filling up with
Gandiegowans. Cait made her way to Duncan's room.
For Mattie's sake.
She stepped in and clung to the back wall. Graham, Mattie, Deydie, Rhona, and Bethia surrounded the bed. Dingus sat respectfully at the end, by Duncan's covered feet.

It was hard to be in the same room with Graham, knowing how he felt about her—
a traitor, a backstabber
. If only he'd give her the chance to explain.

She bowed her head as Father Gregory began. The packed room became eerily quiet. It was a prayer of safe passage, one appropriate for a fisherman such as Duncan. The prayer also spoke of love, mercy, and forgiveness. How she needed to hear those words right now! They comforted her as her own life twisted and was once again transforming. Cait glanced at Mattie. Though sad, he held his head high, remembering to be brave and strong for his da.

When the prayers were over, a collective sigh went up to heaven and slowly people began whispering, then talking and milling about again. Deydie shooed most of the villagers out so Graham and Mattie could have some privacy.

“Come to the store with me,” Deydie said. “To honor Duncan, I'm making his favorite—fisherman's pie and Aberdeen butteries.”

“Sure.” Cait grabbed her coat and followed her outside.

In silence, they trudged down the bluff and headed toward the store. Along the boardwalk where the sea kissed the coast, Cait and Deydie came across a dead gannet. Without a moment's hesitation, Deydie picked up the lifeless bird by the tail feathers and flung it into the ocean.

Cait stood there shocked and amazed. “How can you do that? You didn't even think twice about sending that poor thing to its watery grave.”

“Just tidying the walkway.” Deydie gestured to the water. “I'm sure that old bird has led a long life.”