Secret Garden. Cathryn Parry

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СКАЧАТЬ silent, waiting.

      Finally, Jamie snapped a coat from a peg on the wall and then limped toward the back door. “The sooner he’s back to Texas,” Jamie said, pointing to Colin again, “the better off we’ll be.”

      His grandmother cringed and Colin’s heart went out to her.

      But after the door had shut, Jessie just smiled sadly and looked at Colin. He could see the tears she was doing her best to blink away.

      “Don’t pay him any mind,” she said. “He has the gout. It’s painful for him.”

      “Is that why you left the restaurant early last night?” Colin asked.

      “Yes,” she said, looking relieved and turning back to the egg she was cooking. “I’m glad you understand.”

      He sighed and sat back in his chair. “Nana, I should’ve called to tell you we were running late. I’m sorry.”

      She waved her hand. “Don’t fash yourself.” It was a Scottish phrase that meant “don’t worry about a thing.” His grandmother said “don’t fash yourself” the same way he said “keep it light.”

      Chuckling, he picked up his spoon.

      “What’s funny?”

      “Nothing,” he said. “We’re more alike than I’d realized.”

      She reached over to pat his hand. “I do wish I’d tried harder to reach you when you were younger.”

      Tried harder. Maybe she had called. Maybe Daisie Lee hadn’t wanted her to talk with him. “My mother wasn’t keen on phone calls.” He glanced at her.

      Jessie waved a hand. “Say no more.”

      He nodded again. She didn’t want to revisit the past any more than he did.

      Still, he felt guilty. “My manager told me that you sent some emails to my website. I’m sorry I didn’t read them.”

      “It’s not important now,” Jessie insisted. She took a plate from a cabinet and arranged toast, two eggs and his black pudding on it. As she put it down at his place, he had a thought.

      “You’re afraid to fly,” he said. “That’s why you never came to Texas.”

      “Eat your breakfast.” She sat across from him and urged him to pick up his fork.

      He ate most of it; he was ravenous and it was delicious. But as he contemplated the last blood sausage, he stared down at his plate, feeling ashamed.

      He was able-bodied and had enough money to pay for plane tickets. He could have flown to Scotland and visited his grandmother. His mother wouldn’t have needed to hear about it, or even known what he’d done. It wouldn’t have been disloyal to her.

      “We’re together now, better late than never,” Jessie said, rolling her r in that delightful way.

      “Aye, better late than never,” he mimicked.

      She laughed, swatting his hand.

      “I am sorry,” he murmured to her.

      She picked up the French press, but he shook his head because he didn’t need any more caffeine in his system. He was wired from the flight, from the night of drinking, from staying up late.

      From hitting Rhiannon with a golf ball.

      He put the heel of his hand to his head. He just wanted to make up for...everything. His father was dead, and it was too late to do anything about that, but Colin was tired of regrets. There were things now, today, he could do.

      “How do you apologize to a woman?” he said aloud to Jessie.

      “Oh, no. You don’t need to apologize to me.”

      “It’s for someone else, actually.”

      She peered at him. “What have you done?”

      He stabbed his blood sausage with his fork. “I hit a golf ball and broke Rhiannon’s camera, and then I inadvertently insulted her.” He shook his head. “Why would Jamie tell me that she’s married with kids if she isn’t?”

      “Oh,” Jessie murmured. “Your grandfather, he’s...” She waved her hand. “Never mind about him. You let me handle his temper. Now, are you saying that you want to apologize to Rhiannon?”

      “I do.” He thought of the landscape on the wall, the one that Rhiannon had painted. Then he gazed at his grandmother. “I don’t want bad blood between us,” he said meaningfully. “Not anymore.”

      Jessie clasped her hands and put them to her mouth. Then she took off her glasses and wiped her eyes with a tissue. Smiling at him, she stood and padded to a drawer, then came back with an old-fashioned box of notepaper and a pen.

      The notepaper had a sketch of a bird on it.

      He laughed. “Seriously?”

      She just raised her eyes and gave him a look.

      “Right.” He pushed aside his empty plate and took the pen and paper from her.

      So much could be said in a simple letter. He should have written. Rhiannon should have written. They all should have written.

      “So...if I tell her I’m sorry, do you think that’ll help?” he asked.

      Jessie tilted her head. “My rosebush has budded. Cut a nice stem and strip off the thorns. That can’t hurt, either.”

      He nodded. “Women like flowers.”

      “Is there no one special in your life? Another young woman, perhaps?”

      “No.” He clicked the pen open and then shut it. He’d never given anyone flowers. He’d also never written a personal letter.

      This should be interesting.

      He blinked, rubbing his fist against his eye. His vision was getting scratchy with lack of sleep.

      Jessie noticed. “Aye.” She picked up his empty plate. “Have you slept yet?”

      He shook his head.

      “I’ve made up a bed for you. Get some sleep, and then worry about the rest of the day. After you rest, everything else will come easier.”

      She was right. He really wasn’t functioning well. His brain was messed-up like a zombie’s.

      He grabbed his bag and followed her into the front room, though he didn’t need to follow her because he knew this place by heart and always would, until the day he died. He walked behind his grandmother up a creaky, steep length of stairs that she didn’t navigate as well as she used to.

      Inside the modest guest room was an ancient, wrought-iron twin bed, a scatter rug over a painted wooden floor and a set of drawers that had seen better days. СКАЧАТЬ