I toss my crumpled napkin onto my plate. I don’t have the energy for her riddles today. “Great to see you, too.”
She pauses to give me a slow, deliberate scan, then barks a laugh. “Oh, lass. Has your room no mirror?”
I smooth back my hair, grumbling, “I didn’t sleep well.”
She peers closer, shaking her head. “’Tisnae just that. You’re all peely-wally.”
“Peely-what-ty?”
“Pale, child. Your skin. Like you seen a tattie-bogle.”
I sigh. “Can we please speak English?”
“English.” She sneers and makes like she’s spitting on the floor. “Do you nae remember the tale of the tattie-bogle?” She pinches my chin a little too hard, forcing my head to jerk along to a childhood chant. “‘The tattie-bogle waves his arms,caw caw caw.’”
“Just stop.” I yank my chin free, darting a quick glancearound to make sure no one saw. “The word is scarecrow. And, no, it wasn’t like that. But…”
For a moment, I just look at her. Just a kid needing her mom.
“Actually, last night there was?—”
“Well, you seem fit enough now.” She claps my cheek a few times, just almost too hard to be affectionate. “Me, though. I’m as knackered as a salmon.”
“You, though.”I mimic her under my breath. Exhaustion crashes over me, heavier than any jet lag. “Of course you’re tired. I’ll just bet you need a vacation from your vacation.”
“I could’ve left you sooner.” Her voice pitches lower, accusatory. “That man would’ve cared for you. And you’re a brilliant lass. You could’ve managed.”
The words hit like slaps, but they also trigger a memory. My mother at my eighth-grade science fair, charming my teacher into letting me give a longer presentation because “my daughter’s a brilliant lass.” She’d been so proud, calling attention to me. That’s the Janet I’m always hoping to catch.
I swallow hard, mustering a reply. “That manis my grandfather. And you’re my mother—what do you want, a trophy for doing your job?”
“Atrohhh-phy.” She snickers, mimicking me under her breath. “Aye, that’d be grand.”
“Glad this amuses you.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, sudden and razor-sharp. “You’re nineteen now.Iwas nineteen. I could’ve left sooner but waited for you to finish the schooling that’s so important to you.”
“That was calledhigh school, and I’m pretty sure you were legally required to care for me.”
“Pssht.” She waves that away. “You’re old enough to manage. Have been for years.”
“With no help from you,” I mutter. Anything to ease the sting.
I knew Janet didn’t enjoy her life, but hearing it laid out so frankly—that she wanted something more than me—is a pain too sharp to consider.
I harden my tone. “You can’t just run around Scotland. You don’t have a visa, a job—not the slightest clue what you’re doing. No, you’re going home before you empty Poppa’s retirement account.”
“Aye. Iamgoing home.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Och, but what I said isnae what you heard.I want to go home.” She draws out the words, like I’m the obstinate one. “It’s why we’re here, now. At this verra moment in time. I’m being called. I canfeelit. Can you nae?”
Something cold prickles at the base of my neck. The way she says it—like she’s hearing voices I can’t. Shaking off the weird feeling, I snap, “We’re here for my University of Edinburgh tour. Which I missed, thank you very much.”
“You dinnae understand. It’s time for me to go.”
“I’m trying. You’re the one who left me at some restaurant. To pay the check,” I add with a hard stare. “Alone.”
