“No.” Brie sat back in her chair. “Some World War II vet built it back in the late fifties, I think, on the most remote property he could find. My dad bought it from his widow in ninety-five, just before I was born. Over the years, my parents had some improvements put in, like an updated bathroom, the gas lights, better cabinets, a new roof, stuff like that. But the place is old,” she laughed. “Which accounts for itsrustic charm.”
World War IIvet. Mac rolled the words around in his head. He knew he should be able to ken what they meant, or how long agoninety-fivewas, but so much that should be familiar to him wasna. He’d begun to fear his memories wouldna return.
“I grew up here,” Brie continued. “Well, summers, anyway. My father worked for the forest service and was gone a lot, so most of the time it was just my mother and me.” She picked at the bit of soup left in her bowl, then set it aside. “She died when I was eleven, leaving my dad to care for me.” She shrugged. “I learned to get by on my own pretty early.”
Mac wished he could wipe away the look of melancholy that stole the glow from her face.
“He sent me to boarding-school during the winter and brought me here in the summer.” She stared at the windows, even though ’twas dark out now, and all she could see was their reflection. “I lived for summer, every year thinkingthiswould be the year he’d take an interest in me, but…” She shrugged and twisted the narrow gold band on her little finger.
“Your da dinna spend any time with ye?” he asked, trying to imagine a child left to manage on their own. A sudden flash of a dirty little boy, digging in a wooden crate of garbage for something to eat, filled his mind.
“Oh, he did, when it suited him,” Brie answered, shattering the image. “He taught me how to work on mechanical things, like a generator, or the ATV. The summer after my mom died, I learned how to use a chain saw and a splitter to keep the cabin in firewood. But most importantly, I learned how tonotbe afraid of the dark when he didn’t come home for days.”
“Sounds like ’twas a lonely childhood.”
She shrugged. “I had Sam. He was Gus’s predecessor, in the early years. And then, when my dad drank himself into an early grave, I went off to college and the rest, as they say, is ‘history’.”
Brie rose and began to clear the table. “That’s enough ‘poor-me’ for one evening. Let’s talk about you.”
“How? I dinna ken anything tae tell ye.” The limitations imposed on him closed in and he had to consciously keep his frustration from showing in his voice. “I wish I could share a lifetime of memories wi’ ye, Brie. But I canna conjure a single one.”
“I’m sorry, Mac. My heart breaks that you can’t. I’m praying your memory comes back quickly. But maybe there could be a hidden gift in the time before they do.” She set the dishes back down and sat beside him on the bench. “I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon. Right now, before your memory returns, you have the enviable opportunity to design your future from a blank slate. Think of it. Youcurrentlyhave no history and no predetermined future. You get toreallyidentify what matters to you. Do you know how few people get such a chance?”
“I dinna ken yer full meaning.”
“Okay.” She said cautiously, “Let’s look at it another way. Say we boil your existence down to…. I don’t know, several days, a week, maybe. If you could do anything in the world you wanted to do, but only had that narrow window of time to do it, what would matter so much—be so important, that you’d choose it, over anything else?”
A wave of something passed through him. No’ dizziness, but just as unnerving. Had he heard that same notion before? Where? From whom?
Brie picked up the dishes again and walked to the sink. “I’m actually kind of jealous of the opportunity to discover something so significant. Who wouldn’t want a do-over for at least some part of their life? I know I would.”
CHAPTER SIX
Brie’s question turned over in Alistair’s mind. Whatwouldhe choose? He folded his arms to hide his clenched fists as he strode to the windows, staring at something he couldna see. Everything beyond them was hidden in the dark, like the life he’d lived, locked now, behind a wall he found impossible to penetrate.
How could a man choose his deepest desires from a place of such emptiness? Especially, when he dinna even ken who he was. Had the life he couldna remember turned him into the man standing here now, or did he stand heredespitethe life he’d led? Was it no’ a man’s experiences that taught him to value certain things?
Och! ’Twas all making his head throb.
Suddenly, Gus was at his side, growling low, his attention on something beyond the windows.
“Gus! Stop.” Brie called from the kitchen. “No squirrels tonight. Go lay down.”
Gus whined and took another look at the window, but obeyed, stopping to lick Mac’s hand and receive a pat on the head before curling in front of the fire.
Brie shook her head and sighed. “He has this thing for squirrels. There’s probably one on the deck. Or a raccoon, or any of a few dozen other forest creatures.
“Aye,” Mac grinned, noting Gus’s gloomy posture. “I ken the anticipation of a good hunt, myself.”
Wherehad that thought come from?
Stunned, his gaze flew to Brie’s who had a surprised, but pleased look on her face. “You remembered something. That’s great, Mac!” she grinned. “And very encouraging. Does that memory prompt any others?”
’Twas more a feeling than a memory, but the more he concentrated, the further the notion escaped him. “Nae.” He shook his head, trying to mask his disappointment.
“Maybe you just need a little more time.” Brie assured him, folding the towel she’d used to dry the dishes, laid it aside, and lit one of the gas lights over her worktable. “I’ll go turn off the generator. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll go w’ye,” Mac blurted out. “If ye dinna mind, that is.” He suddenly needed some fresh air and open space. “I’ll just get my boots.”
