“Uncle,” Jacob says softly, and my father startles.
He must not have realized Jacob was awake.
“There’s a lookout coming up in a kilometer,” Jacob continues. “Let’s pull over there.”
My father glances at the dashboard, checking the digital clock.
“But Maggie—”
“Let’s stop there,” Jacob says, his voice firm, and my father listens, driving the remaining distance in silence, stopping when we reach the lookout.
—
The second my father puts the car in park, I open my door, practically leaping out.
I hear my name called, but I don’t turn back to see which man said it.
Instead, I take a slow inhale and let the mist settle over my skin. Cool and calming.
I didn’t come here for this,I think. I didn’t come here to hash things out with my dad. To find some kind of reconciliation. I didn’t come here wanting any of that.
Didn’t you?another voice says, some young, small part of me that makes me tear up again, blurring the rich landscape of green in front of me.
“Here,” a voice says, and I feel heavy fabric settle over my shoulders.
My sweater.
I push my arms through it and pivot to find Jacob, the lenses of his glasses fogged up.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and sweet, and for a moment, I want to fall into it. I want to press my forehead against the center of his chest. I want to scream. And maybe cry, and know that someone will be there through all of it. Will be willing to listen, to hold me. Will be willing to stay.
But I can’t. Not with my father a few feet away, probably looking at us through his window. So instead, I reach for Jacob’s glasses, plucking them off his face and cleaning them with the corner of my sweater.
“I’m fine,” I say, rubbing one lens and then the other. Once done, I lift them up to put them back on the bridge of his nose, and Jacob bends his knees, meeting my height, making it easier for me.
I slide them on just as the sun peeks out from behind a cloud, casting him in its warmth. Making his brown eyes glow.
Light shining through whiskey. I remember thinking that the night we met.
Jacob raises a hand, adjusting the frames of his glasses, but he doesn’t move away. He stays like this, only an inch from me, his expression gentle. “You don’t have to be,” he says softly.
“What?”
“You don’t have to be fine.”
And just like that, my eyes sting again. I blink quickly, and Jacob’s hand lifts, hovering in the air between us for a moment, then dropping.
“Sorry,” he says as a tear spills out, trailing down my cheek. His gaze follows it, and I watch his fingers flex. “I can’t—” He looks upset, helpless as he watches me, and the strain in my body begins to ease.
“It’s all right,” I say. I glance over Jacob’s shoulder and see that my father has stepped out of the car. Our eyes latch, and my father quickly turns away, looking out at the view. My gaze follows out of instinct, toward the edge of this lookout, and my breath catches.
I’ve seen several lochs on this drive. I’ve seen countless rolling green hills and lush glens. I’ve seen so much natural beauty it’s become expected, part of the surroundings.
But I haven’t seen anything like this.
Because here, the clouds are…dancing. Drifting in and out of the hills, blending with the mist, and I can’t quite tell where the earth ends and the sky begins. It’s all one great expanse. Green and blue and gray.
The sun peeks out again, and the colors shift, the green growing more vibrant, the purple flowers on the slopes vivid and bright.
