The Highland Fling(17)

“And look where that got me.” I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my shins. “By now, people our age at least have a direction they want to take their life. I’m still lost.”

“Not true. They might have adult jobs and degrees, but a lot of people our age aren’t really doing what they want to do. They’re working to pay the bills. You have a unique opportunity to truly reflect and figure out who you want to become.”

“I don’t know where to start,” I say. “My self-worth is pretty low. I know I’ve tried to laugh everything off, make jokes about my situation, but after just a day here, I already see that our fast-paced life was a distraction. We’re surrounded by peace and beauty, and all it’s doing is bringing all my fears to the forefront of my mind. What if I truly never amount to anything? What if I never live up to my full potential?”

Dakota shifts on her rock while picking a piece of lint off her pants. She’s taking her time responding. Dakota is always thoughtful and insightful. She doesn’t spew nonsense, and when she has to be real with me, she is. There is no fluff in our friendship, just pure love for each other, and honesty.

“What would you define as a successful life? Does a job really matter that much to you? Is that how you think you’re going to find purpose?”

“It will give me something to strive for, something to challenge me.”

She slowly nods. “You know, sometimes I think we get caught up in the idea that our jobs make or break us as humans, when that’s not the case at all. A job is a means to make money and provide for yourself. I think it’s the relationships we cultivate, the energy we put out into the world, that define us. You could be a billionaire with all the riches in the world, but that wouldn’t mean your life was truly rich. I think we’re both lucky, because we have each other—a true friendship that has stood the test of time, especially through the teenager hormone years.” We both chuckle. “We’re an example of women lifting each other up, and to me, that’s powerful.”

“Yeah, it is,” I say, feeling a little lighter. “But why do I still feel like I’m missing something?”

“Because you are, and it will take some time to figure out what that is, but while you’re here, with all this beauty in your backyard, you should try to find that missing puzzle piece.”

“You’re right.” I sigh and again lean back on my hands, stretching my legs out. “Do you think this trip is going to change us?”

“Us, as in our friendship? Never. But us as in individuals? I hope so.”

She rests her head on my shoulder and I rest my head on hers, letting the birds fill the silence with their morning songs.

I truly hope Dakota is right.



“Aye, they’re dead,” a voice says as something stiff and hard pokes me in the shoulder.

“Should we call the police? Look for a medic?”

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

“What are you doing?” I mumble, shifting, only to feel a million needles pierce my back.

Oh dear God, my ass is numb.

“Och, she’s alive,” someone calls out. “What about t’other one?”

The sun is blazing on me as I try to open my eyes. Lifting one hand in front of my face, I block out the intense rays and squint them open. Dakota is lying near me, her head resting on my lap.

“Dakota.” I sit up and give her a gentle shake.

“Hmm . . .”

“Wake up. We fell asleep on the rocks.”

“What?” She tries to open her eyes as well but must realize—like I did—that Scotland resides on the surface of the sun. “Oh God, why is it so bright?” She sits up and blinks at our surroundings.

I do the same.

Our backpack’s contents are strewn about the rocks, along with our bodies. Our thermoses of coffee have been tossed to the side, and our feet dangle above the lapping water, just begging to be dragged in.

“What time is it?”

“Half ten,” the voices above us answer.

“Half ten?” I ask, my mind mush. “What is that? Half of ten? So, five in the morning? Good God, it’s this bright out at five in the morning?”

“Nay. Half ten.”

I finally turn and spot two older-looking women standing over us. They both have red hair and matching concerned expressions. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what ‘half ten’ means.”

“The Americans,” one of the women scoffs.

“Aye, they are bonny, aren’t they?”

“Yes, that’s me, Bonnie—and you are?”

“Full of themselves too.” They chuckle together and reach out, giving us a helping hand. “I’m Innis, and I run the inn here. This is Shona—she owns the Mill Market.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, straightening up as much as I can, even though I can’t feel the entire back side of my body. “This is Dakota, and I’m Bonnie.”

“Oh, Bonnie is your name?” Innis asks. “Aye. Nice to meet you. Are ye Scottish?”

“One-sixteenth,” I say, puffing my chest. I watch Innis and Shona exchange a quick look of amusement.

“Well, then, the coffee shop is in good hands, even if you are tardy to open.”