7

Keyanna

It takes me far longer than it should to realize that I’ve been had.

To be fair, the outside of Loch Land seems legitimate, and I suppose in a sense it is legitimate—but not in the way that Rory and Blair led me to believe. I don’t fully grasp the weight of my complete and utter foolishness until I’m stepping into the room just beyond the front desk where you purchase tickets, and once I do, it’s all too clear why the woman out front gave me an odd look when I told her I just needed one ticket.

Museum, my ass.

The walls are adorned with bright-colored childlike murals that depict a cartoon Loch Ness Monster sporting a wide humanlike grin that is objectively terrifying, and littered around the room are miniature interactive exhibits that barely come up to my waist. Because they aren’t intended for adults, obviously. Because this is a fucking children’s attraction.

I can’t decide what would be more embarrassing—wandering around the place by myself or turning around and leaving barely even a minute after buying my ticket, and after a beat, I come to the decision that leaving so soon will just give Rory and Blair more to laugh about.

And Lachlan, I think bitterly. Since he had every opportunity at the bar to tell me what was going on, and even again when I saw him during Finlay’s tour of the grounds yesterday, but apparently, he was having just as much of a laugh at my expense as the twins were. The thought makes my cheeks heat, and I tell myself that the next time I see him, I’ll be sure to let him know exactly what I think about that.

There is a family here with their two young children—a little boy and girl who can’t be any older than ten giggling over the exhibits, the older boy teasing the smaller girl for seeming afraid of some of the more monstrous depictions. Their dad comes over to break up their tussle, and I feel my stomach clench as he bends to one knee to murmur something to his son. I wonder if my dad did ever come here. It looks like it’s been around for quite some time, if the aging paint job is any indication, and I make a mental note to ask Finlay about it later.

For now, though, I urge my feet forward, forcing an air of interest about myself as I meander over to one of the exhibits. It’s a tiny paper theater of sorts with a wood handle protruding from the front that lets you move the Loch Ness Monster cutout back and forth through the paper waves, and below it there is a wide plaque with block letters that summarizes the legend of the beast itself.

The Loch Ness Monster:
A legendary creature of large size said to inhabit the depths of Loch Ness.

I pull the handle back and forth idly as I continue to consider the fact that my dad might have come here, maybe even as a child. That thought eases some of the irritation at having been duped. Maybe he stood here as a kid at some point, turning this same handle as I am and wondering about the monster that was said to be only a few miles from this very spot.

I shake off my melancholy before shuffling over to another exhibit, a wide, flat map of the entirety of Loch Ness laid into a table and resting under glass. I trace a finger over the top, letting it linger near the little marker that reads Skallangal Cove, frowning when I remember that I will have to make my way back there somehow. I didn’t love the sympathy that flashed in Lachlan’s eyes when he heard what I was doing on his property—but the guilt that followed felt pretty good. Bastard could stand to be taken down a peg.

I frown. I don’t even know why I’m wondering about him. He’s just an asshole.

The next room has a wall-to-wall collage of what has to be every photo and news article that was ever printed on the monster, all carefully placed into a neat, tight display. I can see the famous “surgeon’s photo” from 1934 that started it all, the grainy print just as ambiguous up close as it’s always been on a screen. The caption even says that it was later proven that the photo was a hoax, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped anyone from pursuing the possibility of some massive beast lurking in the loch.

“S’gonna get ya!”

The little boy growls as he chases his squealing sister, holding a paper Loch Ness Monster attached to a thin wooden rod. Their mother shakes her head from where she leans against the wall, and their father scrubs a hand down his face before sharing a wry look with her; I’m sure that instances like this are commonplace, given how close in age the children seem to be. Their dad once again moves between them to break things up, and the old fluorescents catch on his hair, reflecting the red highlights in it.

I can’t help but picture my dad again, younger than I last saw him but not a child—a young man with hair like mine being pulled to shore in the dead of night by something that by all means shouldn’t exist. I’ve heard the story so many times in my life, renditions at bedtime when I was sick, over and over again until I could recite it by heart, and now that I’m here…I don’t know. Looking at this childish little attraction that barely seems to take itself seriously makes me doubt everything.

But I also remember the look in my dad’s eyes in those last few days. I remember how he told the story again, how he had forgotten so much of his life because of his affliction but still remembered every detail of that one moment. I remember the sincerity in his gaze when he recounted it for what would be the very last time, the way he gripped my arm and asked me to take him back there—something I am fairly certain he didn’t even realize he was asking. I would even go so far as to imagine it’s something he wouldn’t have asked had he been in his right mind. Which means I didn’t have to honor it. I know he wouldn’t have held it against me. And yet here I am, in a fucking children’s museum about a damned cryptid, trying to cobble together some connection to the only person who ever loved me.

I miss him.

That’s the crux of it all. It’s why I’m here, if I’m being honest. Because I am terrified of moving forward with my life without him. Maybe I thought that by coming here, I could find some piece of him left behind, something I could cling to so it felt a little less like he was gone forever. Something that won’t make me feel so utterly alone in this world.

Judging by the awkward dinner last night and the breakfast this morning that wasn’t much better—I have a niggling worry that I won’t be finding anything like that.

I wander around Loch Land for another half hour just so it doesn’t feel like I completely wasted thirty pounds—which feels like highway robbery now that I’ve been inside—finding most of the exhibits to be more of the same. There’s nothing here that I haven’t already read myself online, and there’s definitely nothing that would lead me closer to finding any sort of truth in my dad’s stories.

The older woman up front gives me that same quirk of her brow when I quietly thank her while walking out, probably wondering what a grown woman is doing playing around with the Loch Ness Monster block puzzle in the back. Which I did, but only because I accidentally knocked it over, and it bothered me to leave it a mess.

It’s misty outside—the weather still dreary from the heavy rain the day before—and I pull the hood up on my raincoat in a meager attempt to keep my hair from turning into a frizzy nightmare, blowing a stray curl away from my face as I pass the horrendous statue posted by the front gate that leads out to the street. I had sort of hurried past it on my way in, because it’s truly awful; it has a face that resembles more closely a giraffe, and horns that point straight up like an antelope, which even by myth standard, I’m sure isn’t accurate. The entire thing is painted in rings of neon colors down to where it ends at the belly that rests in the dirt, and the arms that stick straight out like a Tyrannosaurus rex’s are misshapen and slightly crooked, making the thing as a whole appear kind of sad and silly all at once.

I jolt when a car door slamming sounds behind me, feeling my entire body stiffen when I turn to see the person I’d least like to catch me here only a few feet away, smirking at me from the driver’s side of his Rover. He locks the car behind him before circling to step onto the sidewalk, and I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes at him as he approaches.

“Are you following me?”

Lachlan cocks a brow. “Following you? I’ve got a lot better things to do than follow you around, princess.” My hackles rise at the stupid nickname he won’t let go of, but his finger jabbing behind me distracts me from telling him to fuck off, turning to notice the metal building across the street whose sign tells me it’s a feed store of some kind. “Your granny sent me after a few things. She had a calf drop this morning whose mum abandoned her. Need bottles and such.”

“You’re going to feed it?”

“Aye,” he says, cocking his head. “Unless you’d like to?” His eyes move to the ugly statue beside us, his lips twitching with amusement. “Och, but you’re busy, yeah?”

My lips purse. “Yeah, laugh it up. You guys think you’re so fucking funny.”

“Ah, don’t mind the twins, lass. They meant no harm. They’re just nutty, is all. They can’t resist.”

“I notice you didn’t say anything either,” I point out.

“Well, I reckon Loch Land is a safer bet for your adventuring than climbing over the rocks of Skallangal Cove. At least here you aren’t in danger of breaking your legs.”

“I told you what I was doing at the cove,” I huff.

His eyes soften then, his mouth turning down in a frown. “You did. You might have mentioned that earlier, you know. But it’s still dangerous to be out at the cove by yourself.”

“I can handle myself just fine,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.

“I believe that you believe that,” he laughs, letting his eyes sweep across our surroundings with a grin before he adds, “I notice you didn’t bring your dear cousin with you. Did he bore you to death on the drive home?”

I don’t really want to give Lachlan any kind of ammunition to use against me, because it seems like he might have discovered that he loves to irritate me, so I just shrug nonchalantly. “Brodie is fine,” I say. “He was just busy this morning.”

Not that I would know, I think, since I snuck out after breakfast before he could spot me.

Again, it’s not that I dislike Brodie; he actually seems like a nice guy, but this is something I wanted to do on my own. Not with someone I just met. Not that I’m going to tell Lachlan that, since it all turned out to be bogus.

“Oh, is that right?” Lachlan’s smile widens, turning a bit sly and causing a dimple to pop in his cheek that immediately draws my eye. Fuck. That’s not fair. He shouldn’t be allowed to look like he does and have dimples when he’s such a dick. “You two fast friends, then?”

I scowl, tearing my eyes away from the offensive dimple that on anyone else would be utterly lickable. “You’re such an ass.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he chuckles.

“What’s the deal between you and Brodie anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“You two were glaring at each other the other day at the bar. It was pretty obvious.”

“Och. Brodie never really warmed to me when we were kids. Can’t really remember when it started. Always had his nose stuck in a book, that one. S’pose he thought he was better than the rest of us.”

“Or maybe he just knew you’d grow up to be an asshole.”

“Could be,” Lachlan chuckles. He eyes the statue again, still looking entirely too amused on my behalf. “So how did you find Loch Land? Learned a lot, did you?”

“It was about as useful as this…” I gesture to what might be the world’s ugliest statue, trying to find the words. “Whatever this is. I guess I should have known when I passed it what I was in for.”

“You don’t think this is a fair representation?”

Now it’s my turn to quirk an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Who knows.” He shrugs. “The beast is a mystery.”

“You believe in Nessie?” I squint at him in disbelief. “Somehow I highly doubt that you believe she exists.”

“Oh, it’s she, is it?”

“Well, yeah? The Loch Ness Monster is canonically known as being female.”

There’s a sparkle of…something in his eyes, and paired with that maddening smirk he’s wearing, I feel my stomach twist with something I can’t quite name. I decide it’s aggravation.

“Canonically,” he echoes. “Well, far be it from me to argue with an expert.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, moving to step past me, but not before leaving me with parting words over his shoulder. “I’m sure you learned all sorts of things in there, after all.”

I feel my cheeks heat moments before the sensation spreads into my ears, shooting daggers at his retreating figure as I try to spit out some sort of retort. My tongue seems to be tied into a knot if the way I sit there floundering is any indication, and I finally let out a frustrated sound, stomping my foot on the sidewalk moments before realizing what I just did and cursing myself.

What is it about Lachlan Greer that makes me act like a twelve-year-old?

I stomp off in the opposite direction of him toward the place where I parked my car, telling myself he isn’t worth my time. I owe the twins a visit at the pub to give them a thorough thank-you for the recommendation of such an educational trip—deciding then and there that I won’t be letting any more Scots poke fun at me while I’m here.

“Don’t slip on the curb, Your Grace,” Lachlan calls after me.

I give him the finger over my shoulder as I climb back into my car.

The rain is coming down harder now, and I scowl at the pitter-patter of droplets colliding with my windshield, already feeling my hair start to frizz up from the weather. Of course, it’s not enough for me to be sent on some pointless wild-goose chase, no, the weather had to be abysmal too. I already know it’s going to make the road back to my grandparents’ a muddy mess, and I can only hope that my tiny car won’t get stuck somewhere along the way. Heaven forbid I need Lachlan to come to my rescue again.

“You could work with me here,” I grumble to the air as I crank my car. “Knock it off with the shitty weather.”

I blink in surprise when the rain starts to slow at that very moment, my hand still lingering on the key in the ignition as I stare out the window with an open mouth. Did I…?

I shake away the thought, given that it’s a ridiculous one.

It’s Scotland, I remind myself. The weather is temperamental.

I cast one last irritated look at the hideous statue outside Loch Land as I pull away from the sidewalk, shaking my head at my own naivete, not knowing what I’m dreading more—another dose of awkward time spent with my “family” or more fruitless searching for some flimsy connection to my dad. Maybe I’m making it harder on myself than it needs to be. Maybe I should be trying harder to connect with my estranged family. Maybe I shouldn’t be making enemies of the locals—namely, one very attractive but infuriating farmhand who apparently isn’t going anywhere.

Not for the first time, I wonder if coming here was a stupid idea.

Stupid, I hear the echo of Lachlan’s voice in my head. That’s what you are.

As I pull away from the curb, I wonder to myself if hitting someone with your car warrants the same punishment here as it does back home.