LITMIR.BIZ

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see it from my house too.”

      A hand came to rest on Nick’s shoulder, turning him slightly so that he was looking beyond the cemetery to a small gray house in the distance. The warmth of the touch was a welcome distraction. “Over there, see? On top of the hill. If you don’t count the sheep and the rabbits, I’m your closest neighbor, now I come to think of it.”

      There was a faint whisper in the back of Nick’s head, but he didn’t want to listen to it. “I remember. I must have still been awake when we drove past it.” Nick didn’t comment on the graveyard because there was nothing he could say that would change anything, and anything he did say was likely to make him sound even stranger than he probably already did, an outsider and an American. The graveyard was there. Sooner or later, he’d have to deal with it.

      “I didn’t know there was a church so close by. Does everyone on the island go?” He hoped that might be an indirect way of asking if John went.

      “Most do, aye.” John’s hand dropped away, leaving Nick standing alone. “I go myself once in a while, but I can’t say that it’s for more than the chance to make my mother smile. I’m not much for being told what to do and I can’t be doing with the notion that something’s sinful on Sunday and not on Monday.” He sighed. “There’s people on the island won’t watch television on the Sabbath, let alone fish. Pure foolishness to my mind.” He paused, and then added diffidently, “I’ve not offended you? Are you a churchgoer yourself then?”

      Nick looked out across the fields between the house and the church, the blue sky and clouds, the rays of sunshine, then shook his head. “No. I’m not ... no.” He turned again to John, who was watching him with what might have been relief. “My mother always said that she thought God could hear her better when she wasn’t in a building full of other people all trying to talk to him, too.”

      “She sounds like she was a sensible woman. Although I’ve sat in the church as a boy, when every soul in it was praying for one thing and felt the comfort of it.” John’s eyes clouded. “I can’t seem to recall a time when the prayers were answered, mind you.” He shook himself and gave Nick a small smile. “Not even when it was for Scotland to do well in the World Cup, and you’d think the Lord would’ve been merciful then, if only to prove that he could still pull off a miracle or two.”

      There was something there, hovering at the edges of Nick’s vision, but he couldn’t quite see it, and more importantly he didn’t want to. He didn’t want whatever memories -- memories that didn’t belong to him -- waiting for him; and he didn’t know John well enough to say anything. Nick thought that if he wanted to get to know John better, which he did, this wasn’t the time.

      Nick realized he’d been staring at John for several very long seconds, memorizing the lines of his face, the shape of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, which was the wrong thing to say.

      “For what?” John gave him a quizzical smile and then shook his head. “We keep chatting like this and we’ll never get you settled. If you’ve the energy, unpack what you’ll need and go and take a shower; the heater’s working fine. I’ll start a fire and bring in the bedding so that you can get some rest. I’m thinking it’s what you need more than anything, although if you’re hungry?”

      “No, you’re right -- sleep’s probably top of the list.” Nick looked over at his suitcase, feeling weariness wash through him now that it had been acknowledged, leaving him warm and weak. “That’d be great. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

      John had disappeared downstairs before Nick had finished unlatching his suitcase. He found a pair of flannel pants and a sweatshirt, thinking that he’d definitely need to buy some new clothes once he’d figured out what the weather was going to be like long term.

      He struggled briefly with the shower, trying to get the water to the right temperature, but once he had, he was able to wash away the worst of the travel grime. There were towels on a small shelf, and he pulled out the bottom one, shaking it out and sniffing it tentatively to check for mildew, but it seemed okay. He quickly scrubbed himself dry, pulled on the clothes, and went back to the bedroom, where John had moved his suitcase to the floor underneath the window and was just starting to put the sheets onto the bed.

      “I can do that,” Nick protested, putting the clothes he’d been wearing and the ace bandage from his wrist down on the chair near the wall.

      “You can help me do it.” John sounded as if that was as much of a compromise as he was willing to make.

      Nick moved to the opposite side of the bed and caught hold of the edge of the sheet, pulling it taut and tucking it under, using his good hand to lift up the edge of the mattress. There was an unfamiliar smell drifting through the house that had to be the fire; smoky, yes, but oddly homey.

      John must’ve noticed him sniffing at the air, because he said, “I’ve banked the fire up well and the chimney’s drawing nicely; it should burn for a good few hours and just take the chill off. There’s rain coming in, and you’ll be glad of the warmth when you wake.” He shook out a thick blanket, letting it settle on top of the sheet, and then added another and a feather quilt, thick and soft.

      “There. That’ll do.” He gave Nick one of the nods that seemed to say more than his words sometimes and stepped back from the bed, heading towards the door. “I’ve left you my number on the kitchen table if you’re wanting anything. I’ll drop by tomorrow and see how you’re faring, though.”

      The urge to ask John not to go was there, but Nick bit back the words. “Thank you. For everything. You’ve been great. I really appreciate it.”

      John paused in the doorway and glanced back at him. “You’re welcome.” Words that would usually have been an automatic response regained their meaning in his soft voice. “Sleep well.” His unhurried footsteps sounded loud on the thin, worn stair carpet as he left.

      Nick crawled between the sheets, laid his head on the pillow, and was instantly asleep.

      Chapter Three

      He didn’t know if it was the jet lag, sheer exhaustion, or a combination of the two, but Nick slept the rest of the afternoon and through the night, not waking until the first rays of morning light came in through the window. Yawning, he blinked and rolled over onto his back, keeping his arms underneath the covers, gathering his thoughts.

      Scotland. He was in Scotland. Where he owned a house.

      As someone who’d grown up in apartments and hadn’t owned anything bigger than a car ever, the idea was more than a little bit alarming. Nick knew that his mother would have been disappointed in his decision to come to Traighshee and settle down, and that her attempts to hide her disappointment would have fallen short of the mark.

      Eventually, hunger and the need for caffeine drove Nick out of bed. He changed into a pair of jeans and put on his socks and shoes, then rummaged around in his suitcase until he found his toothbrush. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth with the unfamiliar brand of toothpaste that was sitting on the back edge of the sink, and went downstairs.

      The windows were closed; John must have done that before he left. Nick felt a surge of gratitude toward the man. Sighing, Nick turned. He’d hoped that there’d be enough of a spark left in the fireplace that he wouldn’t have to start from scratch, but there wasn’t, and it was just warm enough that he decided not to bother. Instead, he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then went through the cupboards until he found a frying pan. There wasn’t a toaster, so he fried a couple of eggs and put them between two slices of bread as a sandwich, which he then ate in about four bites. Licking his fingers, he sat at the kitchen table and drank his coffee, looking out the window that faced the sea.

      Because he didn’t know where to start, Nick chose the kitchen. He found that John had been right; the women who’d come in had made sure that there wasn’t anything left that might spoil or attract mice. The cupboards were close to bare, although there were a few cans of soup and beans on the shelves.

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