Offered. Apparently, I’d offered. I’m sonice.
But once Dad said it, I couldn’t say no. We get in my car, and I crank up the stereo for two reasons. One, it’s The Ramones, and The Ramones should always be played at full volume. And two, I want to discourage any kind of conversation. It’s a forty-minute drive to Inverness on a clear day. In the rain that’s now coming down in relentless sheets, it’ll probably be closer to an hour. I’m still in shock that my father didn’t tell me about this whole renting out our home to complete strangers. Well, not complete strangers, if a humiliating letter from nearly a decade ago counts.
“So, you’re a music fan, huh?” Miles practically shouts over Joey Ramone.
I nod.
“What’s your favorite band?”
Even though I don’t want to talk, I answer automatically. “The Rolling Stones.”
“Oh yeah. That’s cool. I met Mick a couple times.”
I turn down the music. “What?”
“Yeah. I met him on set. He and Keith. They were doing a song forthe soundtrack ofThat Night, and they came to set to check it out. Get a feel for the film.”
My heart is in my throat. I don’t want to be impressed by his shameless name-dropping, butMick Fucking Jagger. “What was he like?”
We talk about Mick and Keith—he calls them by their first names.
“When they showed up, I knew they were a big deal by how everyone else was acting, but I had no idea who they were.”
I suck in a breath. “Shame on you.”
“Hey! I was eleven. It was the nineties. If it had been NSYNC, I would’ve been hyped.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
“Don’t worry. My music taste has evolved since then.” Miles gazes out the window, watching the countryside go by. “What got you into classic rock?”
“I listen to all sorts of music,” I deflect, not wanting to share that my mother is the reason. Miles tells me about his record collection. We both love vinyl. I almost forget that I don’t want to be in a car with him, that I want to find a way for the production not to come here.
“Everything just sounds rich—” Miles stops what he’s saying and gasps.
“What?” I ask.
He looks at me and smiles,then points back out the window. “Rainbow.”
The hills are green, wet and lush with the rainfall, stones jutting up here and there. In a stream, as if it’s shooting directly from a cloud, is a hazy but vivid rainbow. My chest fills with pride, like I’m somehow responsible for the beauty of the land.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Aye.”
“Have you always lived here?”
I pause, considering my answer. “For the most part.”
Miles smiles at me, his eyes twinkling. “There’s a story there.”
“For another time, maybe.”
I get some coffee while Miles does his shopping. I have a draft due by Friday for work, but I can’t exactly write it up on my phone. Anyway, I have a more immediate problem. I call my friend Logan, who works for the tourism board.
“Skye, long time. How’s it going?”
“Great. How is the babe?”
