Page 10 of Highlander Unraveled
I grabbed for theoh shithandle near the top of the passenger side window—again, my other hand clutched the beige, fabric seat.
The woman drove like a maniac.
Not at all what one would expect from someone in her aged years. My hands ached from holding tight the entirety of the ride. I was a little dizzy from being whipped around.
The countryside had sped past us in beautiful blurs of green, orange, red and yellow. If I squinted my eyes enough to blur out the modern corners of the houses and shops we passed, it could almost pass for 1544.
Mrs. MacDonald whipped the car around to the right, nearly taking out a mother pushing a stroller—which sent my heart into palpitations of sorrow and fear.
Oh, Saor.How was my baby?
The mother shouted, shaking her fist at us, but Mrs. MacDonald barely seemed to notice. My gut ached from her neglect for their safety.
I was honestly surprised we’d made it here alive. The car jerked to a stop, and I slapped my hand on the dash to keep from hitting my head. We’d finally reached Coates Garden where Moira and Shona had lived.
“That’s it there, lass.” She pulled up in front of a pretty, stone, row home. Flowers in the window-baskets wilted over the side, dead.
Trees lining the street had lost most of their leaves, but a few orange and red ones hung on for dear life. Lampposts dotted the sidewalk, and I imagined then when it grew dark, this was a picturesque street.
A woman a few houses down from the Ayreshires swept her broom with fury on the path, eyeing us with curiosity. From Shona’s description of her matronly, nosy neighbor, I recognized her instantly. Stout and big bosomed. Her graying hair was pulled back in a bun that frayed at the sides. It had probably been neater that morning, but fallen loose from the head whipping she must do as she snooped on her neighbors.
What had Shona said her neighbor’s name was?
I couldn’t remember, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to make friends, let alone speak to her. The less people knew who I was, the better.
“Is this your place?” Mrs. MacDonald asked again, even though she’d asked me the same thing when she looked in the phonebook.
I could tell she wanted to know more. Wanted to ask me a thousand questions. But I didn’t have any answers for her. The effort to talk seemed like too much. I couldn’t tell her the whole truth, and then I’d have to try and remember what I’d omitted and what I’d made up. I’d just need to stick to simple facts. Mundane truths. Kind of like what I had to do when I’d first met Logan, so he wouldn’t know at the time that I was from another time. I was amazed and grateful that he’d listened to my truth when I was ready, and accepted it. Loving me no matter what.
“No.” I shook my head and reached for the car handle, wanting to escape the small car and breathe in deeply of the cool November air. I felt like I was suffocating under her prying gaze and the secrets I kept. “My friends’ house.” I glanced at Mrs. MacDonald, saw that she’d turned the key in the ignition and was making way to climb out of the vehicle. “Thanks for dropping me off,” I said, hoping, but not hopeful, that she would take the hint I didn’t want her to come inside.
It was uncharitable of me. After four hours in the car, her old bladder most likely needed to relieve itself, I knew I did, and she might want a cup of tea, or even to stay for a while before making her way back. I couldn’t blame her. That was a lot of driving, and I’d not want to whip around and return, even if I knew Steven wasn’t there.
“I’m coming in.” Her words were filled with conviction, and so I didn’t argue.
After all, the woman had saved me from Steven. A virtual stranger. I owed her more than she even realized.
“All right,” I said wearily, climbing from the car.
I made my way up the short walk to the front door, surreptitiously glancing down the street.
The nosy neighbor waddled faster than Mrs. MacDonald drove, up the walk toward us. I recalled what Shona told me about this woman. How she stuck her nose into everyone’s business—as though it were her life’s purpose to know everything about everyone. How they’d been terrified that she would figure out what they were up to when they’d come home from jail still in cellblock uniform. How they’d lied and said they were in their workout clothes.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Have you seen the Ayreshire lassies?”
I forced a smile on my face and rounded to meet her meddlesome regard. “Why, yes, I have.” My voice sounded entirely too cheerful and fake to my own ears.
“Oh.” She squinted her eyes, looking me up and down and then doing the same to Mrs. MacDonald. Thank God I couldn’t hear her thoughts. “Where are they?”
So blunt, she was. I guess I didn’t expect anything different.
“They went on a vacation,” I said, the first thing that came to mind.
“A vacation.” She narrowed her eyes, and I kept my gaze steady, going for the look a teacher gave a student when questioned. “For several weeks.”
She wasn’t asking, but stating a fact, and it came out rather judgmentally.
I nodded, not feeling required to explain their situation to an outsider.
