“Mr. McCrae?” One of the movers approached, clipboard in hand. “We need your signature on these inventory forms.”
“Of course.” I took the clipboard and looked over the list of items being shipped to California. Business materials mostly—research documents, specialized equipment, my personal library of medical texts. The bulk of our household items would be purchased new in California. Mrs. Kowalski had already furnished the house we’d be renting in San Jose—but with my brood, would a six-bedroom mansion really be enough?
I handed back the clipboard and checked my watch. Nearly four. If I wanted to visit Shannon’s burial site before dinner, I needed to go now.
“I’ll be back within the hour,” I told the mover. “The office is yours until then.”
The cemetery was a fifteen-minute drive from the castle, a peaceful plot of land overlooking the loch.
I parked near the iron gates and walked the path to her resting place. The headstone was simple, elegant gray marble with her name and dates.Shannon Allen McCrae. Beloved wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend.
I knelt on the damp grass beside her plot, the cold seeping through my trousers. Good Scottish weather—misty, melancholy, appropriate for conversations with the dead.
“Hello, love.” The words came more easily now than they had in the early months. “It’s me again.”
The breeze rustled through the nearby trees, the only response I’d ever get.
“We’re leaving Scotland on Saturday. I told you about it last week, but I thought I should mention it again. In case you’d forgotten.” A pause. “Though I suppose you don’t forget things anymore. Either you know everything or nothing at all, and I’m damned if I know which would be worse.”
My fingers traced her name slowly, the ritual unchanged since the first time I came here.
“Alec’s taking it hard. He thinks I’m trying to make everyone forget you.” I let out a breath. “Maybe he’s right. Not about forgetting—I could never forget you, Shannon. But about moving on. Is that what I’m about? Is that why I’m really going to California?”
My Shannon had been gone for a year. One year, two months, and seventeen days, to be precise. Was that long enough? Was there even such a thing as “long enough” when it came to grief?
The breeze picked up, sending a shower of spring blossoms across the cemetery like confetti at a wedding. Or a funeral.
I thought of Shannon’s last moments—how even as the pulmonary embolism claimed her life, her last words had been of love. For me. For our bairns. She’d lived fully, loved fiercely, and faced death with a courage I still couldn’t comprehend.
She wouldn’t want me to stop living. She wouldn’t want our six raised by a ghost wearing their father’s face.
“I’m scared,” I admitted to the silent headstone. “Terrified, actually. What if I’m making a huge mistake? What if this ruins the bairns? What if I get there and not only does MIRI’s new West Coast division fail spectacularly, but the people there want nothing to do with me?”
The questions had been circling in my head for weeks, keeping me awake at night, following me through my days like persistent ravens.
“But I have to try,” I said. “For them. For me. And I think... I hope... you’d understand.”
I stayed there for several minutes more, my hand resting on her headstone. Then I stood, brushing grass from my trousers.
“I’ll bring the bairns before we go. Let them say goodbye properly.” I paused. “And Shannon... if you’re listening, wherever you are... I’m sorry. For surviving when you didn’t. For whatever comes next.”
As I walked back to my car, I felt lighter somehow. Not unburdened—I would carry Shannon’s loss with me always, wear it like a scar across my heart. But clearer. More certain that the path I’d chosen, however risky, was the right one.
Or at least the only one I could see from here.
Back at the castle, I found the answering machine blinking with a new message. I pressed play, and Duncan MacLeod’s voice filled the study—warm, familiar, with that Highland lilt that made even business sound like poetry.
“Patrick, it’s Duncan. Reviewed the preliminary specs you sent on that glucose monitoring technology. Very interested indeed. Give me a ring when you have a moment—we should discuss licensing possibilities. My daughter’s endocrinologist is quite excited about the applications.”
I smiled, rewinding the tape. This was the business justification I needed for my interest in Theresa’s company. I could tell myself—tell anyone who asked—that I was following up on a partnership opportunity for MIRI. The fact that it might also give me a legitimate reason to see Theresa again was just... serendipity.
Convenient serendipity.
The kind that a man could build an entire relocation around if he were so inclined.
The last days passed in a blur of packing and logistics. By Saturday morning, we were ready. The private jet waited at Edinburgh Airport, our essential belongings loaded, the castlesecured for our absence. Mrs. Kowalski had rung the night before to confirm the house in California was fully prepared, the kitchen stocked, everything organized to her exact standards.
The flight was long, made longer by six tired souls and the seven-hour time difference. The twins fought over movie selections—Carson wantedThe Lion King, Cory insisted onAladdin, and neither would budge. Eoin asked, “Are we there yet?” approximately seventy-three times, possibly more. Maggie had a meltdown somewhere over Greenland, her wails reverberating through the cabin despite my best efforts to soothe her. Brody retreated into a book about marine biology, while Alec stared out the window, refusing to speak to anyone.
