A woman rushes over, taking responsibility for the child and introducing herself as Iain and Elsie’s daughter. And the next hour is a blur. We’re offered some food and drink, and various members of the family approach us, complimenting Jacob’s playing, asking us if we’re new to town, and telling us stories about Brian.
“We’re just visiting,” Jacob tells someone, when we’re asked again.
“Yes,” Elsie adds. “They had some car trouble. Not a great thing for them, but I’m glad it meant they could be here.”
“Car trouble?” the man replies. “Why isn’t Callum taking care of that? Callum?”
From across the room, Callum turns, a tall bottle of amber liquid in his hand. “Need a refill?” he asks.
“No,” the man says. “But can you come over here?”
Callum joins us a moment later, bottle still in hand.
“Callum, this is Jacob. You might have seen him playing at the service? And his girlfriend, Neelu,” Elsie says.
My face grows hot. “We’ve met,” I say quickly. “Callum’s been helping us with everything.”
Next to me, Jacob shifts the glass tumbler he’s holding from one hand to the other. I don’t look up to check his expression, but I catch Callum watching us, his eyes flitting from Jacob to me.
“I don’t know how much I’ve been helping,” Callum says. “Considering I can’t do anything at the moment.”
“No update on the parts, then?” Jacob asks.
Callum shakes his head. “We’re expecting a shipment tomorrow morning, but I don’t know if it’ll have everything you need.” He pauses. “Excellent playing, by the way.” He leans in closer. “Don’t tell anyone, but it was a relief to hear you instead of Colin. I don’t know if his pipes are the problem or what, but every time he plays ‘Amazing Grace,’ it sounds like an owl’s dying.”
“Callum,” Elsie says, her tone chastising.
Callum grins, slow and lazy. “Auntie, don’t tell me you actuallylikehis playing?”
“I—well, an owl’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
Callum nods. “Right, then. More like a cat.”
I snort, and Callum’s smile grows wider.
He gestures to my nearly empty glass. “Do you want some more?” he asks, waving the bottle in his hand slightly.
“No,” I say. “Thank you, but I’m good.”
“And what about you?” he asks Jacob and the other man in our circle. I can’t remember his name.
They both say yes, and I watch as Callum pours more-than-generous portions for them before turning back to me.
“You sure you don’t want any? You’ll need it for the toast.”
“The toast?”
“Yes,” he says. “They should be giving it shortly.”
Another relative comes up to Elsie, and soon our group is divided, a smaller circle forming of just Callum and Jacob and me.
I guess I don’t have much experience with funerals, but I’vealways thought of toasts as celebratory things, reserved for birthdays and weddings.
“Some families do a toast for the deceased,” Jacob says to me, as if he read the confusion on my face.
A voice calls out for Callum, and we all turn to see Brian’s son waving for him.
“Some of us are meeting at the Hart after,” Callum says as he steps away. “It was Brian’s favorite pub and the invitation’s open to everyone.” He looks over at me. “So, maybe I’ll see you there.”
