“Well, I was hoping to have some for today, but it’s been an absolute disaster trying to make them.” Her voice is full of defeat, and it makes me wonder if there’s more to her failed attempts at making butteries, something adding to her melancholy. “Just add it to the list of things I can’t do.”
“How bad was it?”
“Bad.”
“Were you using my da’s recipe?” I ask.
“No, I found one on the internet.”
“Mistake number one, lass. Online recipes don’t have the special touch.”
“Well, I wasn’t about to call up your dad while he’s on holi-boobies.”
“Holibags.” I let out the smallest of chuckles. I feel her glance my way, but I keep my gaze on the path, not wanting to show her that I actually thought that was funny. “Maw keeps a recipe book in the cottage for guests who want to try some traditional Scottish recipes while they’re here. Butteries and red current jam are on the first page, I believe.”
“That’s good to know. Although, given my track record, I think I would screw up your dad’s recipe too.”
“The hardest part is folding in all the butter. But once you have the technique down, you get used to it.”
“Have you made them?” she asks.
A large rock about two feet high blocks our path, and I lift myself onto it first, ducking out of the way of another branch. I turn to assist Bonnie, but she already has one foot up on the rock, hoisting herself up. When she stands, she sets her hands on her hips and glances around. We’re still under heavy tree cover at this point, but it will clear out soon, and I’ll be interested to see her reaction when the pristine valley comes into view. “Yeah, I used to help me da make ’em early in the morning.” I let out a heavy breath, remembering those mornings.
Take pride in everything you do, son.
The menial tasks, the ones no one wants to do, those are the tasks you should always take on to help the town.
Remember who you are. You’re a MacGregor, and we take care of our own.
Throwing pottery isn’t helping this town—it’s a waste of time better spent somewhere else.
Those early mornings held some good moments, but most of them sit sour in my gut—especially since he retired quickly and left Maw in the lurch with the shop, essentially turning away tourists and going against everything he’d ever instilled in me.
Not to mention the fact that he wouldn’t let me anywhere near the kitchen to help out Maw.
Hell . . . I can’t even think about that now.
Not when I’m trying to wash away those painful memories as I hike up this hill . . .
“Wow, I had no clue. You must have a good relationship with your dad, then.” If only she knew. “My parents wanted me to go to college; I told them I didn’t need to and that I would find what I was looking for in Los Angeles. Funny thing is, I wanted to go to college.” She pauses, her voice a little shaky, and I wonder if she’s going to cry. Please don’t cry. I wouldn’t know what to do. Hold her? Comfort her? Before I can make a decision, she continues. “I wanted to surprise my parents and tell them I actually was accepted into college, but the rejection letters rolled in, one right after the other. I could have gone to community college, but I was too proud for that. I decided I didn’t need college and moved to Los Angeles with Dakota.” She sighs. “I barely speak with my parents now. If I truly needed them, they’d be there for me, but I know they’re ashamed of me.”
“I know shame well,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Really? But it seems like you get along so well with your parents.”
Well, that just goes to show—you can never judge a family from the outside. When you dive deep, you might find years upon years of pain.
Wanting to avoid any serious conversation about my parents, I stay silent and continue to push back branches as we make our way up the hill. We’re starting to get to the steep part, where the path narrows and we’ll need to file together into a line. It’s the most grueling part of the hike, but well worth it.
“Might want to drink some water. It’s going to get tough in a few,” I say.
“Oh . . . okay.”
And just like that, silence falls upon us once again.
“Take my hand,” I say, leaning over the last boulder Bonnie has to climb.
She doesn’t even second-guess it this time. Instead, she slips her small hand into mine, and I help pull her up. When she makes it over the rock, she lets out a big breath and drops my hand.