Chapter Two

Amelia

The “welcome” dinner was at a pub a short walk down the street from the B&B. A long table was set up for us in the middle, and I took a seat next to Lucy, the woman from Florida.

“How are you feeling, dear? You look more rested than you did before.”

I smiled. “Don’t underestimate the value of a hot shower and some makeup.”

“Oh, I never do.”

The table filled in with the rest of the group, including two women who hadn’t been in the van, and Tommy, Rory, and another woman, all in polo shirts bearing the “Scotland by Foot” logo of a figure with a walking stick.

Rory had ditched his hat and shades, and I finally got a good look at him. The light in the pub was dim, but there was enough sunlight coming in through the curtains to see that his wavy, longish hair was a lovely dark red color and his eyes were light—I couldn’t tell the color from where I sat. He was also younger than I thought, probably not much more than twenty-one, like me.

Unlike Tommy, whose default expression seemed to be a cheerful grin, I’d yet to see Rory smile, even a little. In spite of the attitude, he was hot, and I couldn’t help but imagine what he would look like if he did smile.

We all ordered drinks, and then the woman from SBF stood. She was in her thirties and lean and pretty, with a blonde ponytail.

“Hi, everyone, I’m Scarlet. I’ve been in touch with all of you via email, and I’m thrilled to welcome you to Skye in person. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Skye has an extremely varied landscape. It won’t be an easy week, but I promise you that it will be amazing to experience Skye on foot. You will feel small in the shadow of the Cuillins and the Quiraing, and you will feel tall when you stand atop Beinn Edra on the Trotternish Ridge.

“Rory Sutherland and Tommy MacDonald will be your guides. They’re both certified Mountain Leaders, trained in first aid and with extensive experience leading treks all over Scotland, so you’re in excellent hands.”

She paused while the waitress passed around our drinks. “A quick toast to the start of our trek. Slàinte mhath!”

I raised my glass of white wine and repeated the toast.

We ordered our dinner, and then everyone went around the table to introduce themselves. The new arrivals were sisters in their mid-twenties from Edinburgh, who’d driven up that morning. I was glad there were some girls my own age, though it made my chest ache to look at them. Their constant touches—a hand on the other’s arm as a story was shared, a shoulder jostle when one of them razzed the other—was so reminiscent of how Carrie and I were together that it just made me miss her even more.

Each of the others mentioned some of the previous hikes they’d been on. I mumbled something about some of the day hikes I’d done with Carrie back home (when I was like fifteen, which I didn’t mention), but reality was setting in fast.

I was so out of my league.

The group seemed nice, and dinner was fun. But before long, I could feel my body begin to crash.

“I can see that you’re all tired, so we’re going to wrap this up,” said Scarlet. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet at eight forty-five, at the market right across from your B&B so you can get your lunch for tomorrow and the day after. You’ll also want to have at least two to three liters of water with you, as well as some bags for trash.”

We settled the bill and exited the pub into the early evening. It was May, and although it was after eight p.m., the sun was only now beginning to set. The road we walked along was atop a hill, providing a view of the brightly colored buildings along the waterfront below.

“I’m going to take a walk by the water,” I said to Pat, the fifty-something woman from London, who was traveling with her friend Linda while their husbands were golfing in St. Andrews. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You sure you can find your way back to the B&B?”

She sounded like a British version of my mother, and I had to smile. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”

“All right, then. Good night.”

“’Night.”

I snapped a few shots of the waterfront and then followed the road down and leaned against the railing. Small boats and dinghies were tied off to cleats, and sailboats sat quietly at anchor.

I glanced at the time. Just after three p.m. back home. I dialed the number.

“Amelia? Where are you?”

“Hey, Helen,” I said to Carrie’s mom. “I’m on Skye. We just had dinner, and we start the walk tomorrow. How is she?”

“No change. But that means she’s not any worse,” she added brightly.

Every day for three weeks now, it was the same. No change. And every day, it killed me a little more to hear that desperate brightness in Helen’s voice. She was right; “no change” meant that she wasn’t any worse. But would she ever get better?

“We just have to stay positive,” I said, knowing I should take my own advice. “Can I say a quick hi to her?”

I gave Carrie a quick rundown of the scenic drive to Skye and briefly described the group, making sure I sounded as upbeat as possible.

After I ended the call, I gazed out at the harbor, willing the serenity of the scene before me to seep into my soul and relieve some of the ache that had been there for so long.

The two sisters from Edinburgh, Molly and Megan, walked on the shore below, their arms linked, laughing about something.

One blonde and one brunette, just like Carrie and me. They could be Carrie and me, the way their strides matched exactly, the way their long ponytails swung from side to side as they walked. The way they laughed so hard that they had to hold onto each other to keep from toppling over.

Tears filled my eyes, and a wave of pain washed over me, so intense that I had to clutch the rail. Would Carrie and I laugh like that again?

Yes, we will. I had to believe it. Anything less was unacceptable.

“You should get to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.”

I wiped my eyes and turned to see Rory standing a few feet away. Something about his tone got my back up. “Scarlet didn’t mention that we had a curfew.”

He frowned, clearly not expecting my sarcasm. “You don’t. But even though it’s only about eight miles tomorrow, I don’t want you holding up the group because you’re tired and jet-lagged.”

My whole body stiffened. “First I’m addicted to social media, now I’m holding up the group. Looks like I’m off to a good start. Thank you for your concern,” I hissed. “It’s time for me to go, anyway.”

He looked down for a moment. “Amelia—”

I held up a hand. “You’re right. I am tired, and it’ll be a long day tomorrow. But you don’t need to be a jerk about it. Again.”

I stomped up the hill, all of my earlier serenity gone. Why was he such an ass to me?

It didn’t matter. I didn’t need him to like me. He just had to do his job and guide the trek.

Only eight miles tomorrow, he’d said. I’d done a few ten-mile walks back home over the last two weeks in an effort to prepare myself. But as I looked at the hills overlooking Portree and remembered the peaks that loomed in the distance on the way here, I didn’t think that those flat, paved paths on Long Island were going to be any help at all.

I had bigger things to concern myself with than Rory not liking me.