Highland Magic
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Aimee Ginger
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1,6M
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49
Chapter 1
GILLIAN
“Gillian?... Gigi?” A soft voice called out to her, but she chose to ignore it. She was too drained, too numb to engage in conversation.
All she wanted was to rewind time by seventy-two hours, to plead with him to see a doctor, to fight the illness that was slowly consuming him. But she hadn’t known then what she knew now, and the pain was overwhelming.
A hand touched her arm, and the voice called her name again.
She turned her head and saw her best friend, Carrie, her cheeks wet with tears, and Carrie’s husband, Kurt, his arm around her, his face etched with worry and sadness.
“Gigi, honey, are you ready? Everyone else has left…,” Carrie asked softly.
Gillian looked at her, struggling to understand her words. It was as if Carrie was speaking a foreign language. She sensed they were trying to get her to leave, and she finally gave in.
She was tired and cold, or at least she thought she was, after standing in the cemetery for so long.
She felt nothing.
Kurt moved to one side of her, Carrie to the other. They helped her into the limo and cranked up the heat, trying to warm her as they drove to the reception.
They guided her into the room, a hot cup of coffee pressed into her hands.
It seemed like hundreds of people came by to express their condolences, to say how sorry they were for her loss. They had no idea how profound her loss truly was.
Mike Bryant had been more than just her guardian. He was her world; the one person who loved her unconditionally, the only family she knew.
Carrie placed a plate of food in front of her, giving her a stern look that clearly said she needed to eat.
With a deep sigh, Gillian picked up the fork and put the closest morsel into her mouth. She didn’t know what it was, but it was warm.
She continued to eat mechanically, taking in several more forkfuls.
“Gillian?” She looked up to see Harold Jenson, Mike’s lawyer, smiling gently at her.
“Sweetie, I’ll see you tomorrow at my office, okay? We need to get Mike’s will read and settled. I’ll have the hall send me any other bills, all right?”
Gillian nodded, stood up to hug the kind man, and whispered her thanks.
He kissed the top of her head and gave her a sad smile as his wife Janet hugged her too.
She watched them leave and sat back down, only to see her ex-boyfriend approaching. He sat next to her, draping an arm over the back of her chair in his usual confident manner.
“Gill, I just wanted to say how sorry I am. Mike was a good man. If you need anything, you have my number. I’ll always be there for you.”
“Thanks, Ian. I appreciate it…,” she replied, wishing he would just leave like the rest of the lingering crowd.
“I heard Mike’s lawyer mention the reading tomorrow. Do you need a ride to his office? I can do that for you…,” Ian offered.
Not really caring, she nodded and replied, “That’s fine, Ian. Thanks.”
He smiled and leaned in, kissing her half on the cheek and half on her lips, then left. Finally, the last of the guests said their goodbyes, and Kurt and Carrie helped her back into the limo.
They’d left their car at her condo, so they could ride with her in the limo. They thanked the driver when they arrived and took her upstairs to get her settled.
Carrie could see she was beyond exhausted and helped her change into some sweats and a long-sleeve T-shirt. February in Montana was bitterly cold, and she had been outside for too long.
Kurt set her alarm clock for ten-thirty the next morning, so she could get up and get to the lawyer’s office. He collected the mail from her box and put it on the table as he heard them talking.
“So call me when you’re awake so I know you’re up. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you? I will.”
“No, Carrie, you’ve already taken too much time off. Ian said he’d take me, so I’ll let him, I guess…”
Kurt didn’t seem thrilled that Ian was hanging around again, trying to worm his way back into Gillian’s life now that she was about to come into some money. Maybe he would have to have a word with a few people to make sure that didn’t happen.
Satisfied that she was settled for the night, they kissed her, hugged her tightly, and closed the door behind them.
Alone for the first time in three days, Gillian collapsed on the couch and wrapped a blanket around herself, welcoming the silence.
She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the onset of a headache from all the crying and exhaustion.
She went to the bathroom, took a few pills, and then returned, grabbing a photo album from the bookcase on her way back to the couch.
She sat back down and began flipping through the pages. She was grateful for the protective plastic over the pictures as tears streamed down her face.
She saw herself growing up with the man she loved dearly, always there for her, encouraging her, loving her, building her up. From horseback riding to dance classes, reading, teaching her to fish and hunt, he was always there.
She loved her childhood, and the only thing she would have changed was having her parents there with her.
She turned to the last page and saw the one photo she had with her mother and father before her mother passed away in the hospital the day after she was born. For the next six years, her father raised her alone.
Mike was his boss, best friend, and the owner of the construction company where he worked as an electrician when a freak accident took his life.
Mike had taken Gillian in and petitioned to be her guardian, so she wouldn’t end up in foster care. Mike was older than her dad and had recently divorced when he’d hired her father several years earlier.
He had found out that he couldn’t have kids and adored Gillian, so it seemed only natural to take her in and raise her. She already knew him, and he had a relationship with her.
Gillian and her father had lived in the apartment over the garage at his house. The three of them were together quite a bit.
Gillian’s mind drifted back to those camping trips, to the first time she’d ever caught a fish. She’d been so proud, yet she’d flat-out refused to clean it.
That had been the last trip the three of them—her, her father, and Mike—had taken before she started kindergarten. Before her father passed away.
Her fingers traced the edges of a photograph, one that captured her father in a fit of laughter. He was laughing at Gillian’s expression of pure disgust at the sight of the dead fish on the table.
Looking at the picture, Gillian could see the resemblance between her and her father. The sunlight in the photo caught their hair, setting it ablaze.
Mike and her father had always encouraged her to take pride in her auburn hair, regardless of what the other kids said. They’d told her it was the most beautiful color, and that she was special for having it.
It wasn’t until she was older, when Mike had shared more about her father, that she realized how little she actually knew about him. All she knew was that he was from Scotland.
Her parents had eloped to America because Gillian’s mother was pregnant with her. Coming from a devout Catholic family, the news hadn’t been well received.
As the familiar ache of loss began to creep back into her chest, Gillian set the photo album down on the coffee table. She rested her head on the pillows, surrendering to the wave of pain that threatened to consume her.
