CHAPTER EIGHT ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
When Graeme and Brodietold us their parents lived in Canongate, the name didn’t mean much to me.I had heard of it, along with various other neighbourhoods in Edinburgh, and knew of a dozen or so things I wanted to do in the city, but didn’t know many specifics about the different areas.
So when the taxi from the airport turned onto the famous Royal Mile a couple of minutes ago, I assumed it was simply one of many streets on what I knew was a half-hour drive to the MacKinlays’ place.From my seat in the back between Drew and Fern, I have a perfect view out the windshield as well as the windows on either side.The others laughed at me when I confessed I had a crick in my neck from swivelling my head from side to side, taking in as much as possible since the moment we left the airport.
Now, the car pulls to a stop in front of a five-storey building made of ancient-looking stone.I glance around, wondering why we’ve stopped, then do a double-take when Brodie unbuckles his seatbelt and pays the driver.Movement outside catches my eye, and I turn to see Graeme stepping out of the large wooden door of the building we’ve stopped at.His flight home was already booked to align with his visa expiring, and the rest of us weren’t able to get on the same flight, so he arrived a few days ago.
He opens the taxi door and beams in at us, his gaze lingering on me.He hugs Drew when she steps out of the car, then offers me a hand to help me out.“Welcome to your home for the next two weeks.”He kisses my cheek and squeezes my fingers before releasing me to greet Fern and then help Brodie with our luggage.
Drew slings an arm around my shoulders as she peers up at the building.The building the MacKinlaysown.Graeme and Brodie have always referred to their Edinburgh home as MacKinlay Tower, which I assumed was an affectionate joke or maybe even a Scottish thing.I always suspected they were well off; I was aware the family owned property in both the Highlands and Edinburgh, and had sent their two sons to Canada to attend one of the most prestigious universities in the country.And yet it never occurred to me they weretrulywealthy.
I’m rubbernecking again, this time between the building and my best friend.Fern is on Drew’s other side, doing the same.
“Did you know?”I whisper-hiss.
“That the MacKinlays are big rich?”Drew says under her breath.“I had some idea, but...I wasnotexpecting this.”A high-pitched giggle erupts from her throat, the kind she often releases when she’s surprised or nervous.Within seconds, the three of us are cackling and leaning on each other for support.
The taxi is gone now, and Graeme and Brodie are standing in front of the door with our luggage, watching us with twin expressions of amused indulgence.After almost three years, they’re used to our antics and don’t even question it anymore.
Graeme opens the door, and as I step inside the low-lit entryway with a curved stone staircase to the right, I get the feeling this trip is going to be even more interesting than I originally anticipated.
* * *
The wind whips my hairin front of my face, momentarily obscuring the screen of my camera.I angle myself so the breeze is at my back, and peer once more at the astounding view in front of me before returning my attention to my camera.
We’ve been in Scotland for five days, and I’m officially, one hundred percent in love with this country.From the very first day, I felt a sense ofrightnesshere.I adore Kingston and the life I’ve had there these last four years; if there were better opportunities to work in publishing, I doubt I’d have even considered moving to Toronto.But as much as I love Kingston, being here is a totally different feeling.It’s something visceral—a tugging sensation deep in my gut and behind my ribcage.It’s as if part of me has been asleep my whole life, and it woke up five days ago and started whispering in my ear that this is where I belong.
Laughter draws me from my thoughts.I glance over my shoulder to where Drew is sprawled on a tartan blanket, tossing grapes at Brodie and laughing as he attempts to catch them in his mouth.At the same moment I register that Graeme is no longer with them, he appears at my side.
He motions to the large, flat rock I’m sitting on, and I make room for him to join me.“What are you doing over here all by yourself?”
“I’m...marvelling.”I glance at his profile—ruddy cheeks, strong jaw dusted in a light layer of stubble, and hair mussed from the wind.He turns his head, a questioning look in his eyes, and I jerk my gaze back to the view in front of us.“Marvelling at the fact we’re literally on top of an extinct volcano right now.Marvelling at this ancient city that’s been our playground for the last few days.”
Marvelling at the fact I get to do it all with the people I love most.The threat of tears stops me from saying that last part out loud.
After a jam-packed morning of sightseeing, Fern suggested we hit up a grocery store for picnic supplies and then hike Arthur’s Seat.We wanted to make the climb on our second day here, but Graeme pointed out that between the wind and the forecasted rain, we risked pulling a Mary Poppins and flying off the hill, umbrella or not.I’d laughed at the imagery, considering I’d already learned the umbrella I packed was basically useless.Graeme said while some Scots use them regardless of the wind, most know a sturdy, well-made waterproof jacket—also known as a mackintosh—is your best bet against the unpredictable Scottish weather.The point gets driven home on a daily basis as I encounter frustrated people with bent or inside-out umbrellas.
“Let’s see, then,” Graeme says, jerking his chin toward my camera.I inch closer to him, and he shifts so his arm is around my back with his hand planted on the rock we’re sitting on.
