Bad Blood Page 8

  As have her twin daughters.

  I sigh and close my eyes. I’ll wait until Gram has another good day, one when she is truly present, and ask her to help me sort things out.

  My dreams are trying to tell me something. Maybe they’re warning me not to cut myself, to fight the compulsion. As if I could. But I did, for six whole weeks. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that once I got out of the Wellness Center, I’d be free to cut again. I waited and thought of blood to come.

  I pull the blanket over my head, creating a cloth cave in which to hide. Why can’t I just have normal thoughts? Normal problems? I close my eyes tight and try to think of nothing.

  A thought that is not my own bounces through my head.

  I will not let Prudence win. Not again.

  In the morning, I catch my aunt talking on the phone with my mother, telling her about my nightmare. I flash her a betrayed look before going into the kitchen and pouring myself some cereal. She thinks she’s being quiet, but I can hear every word.

  “I dinnae know….I’m sure that’s no’ necessary. No. She wouldnae tell me.” After that I actually can’t hear what she’s saying. When she appears in the kitchen I give her another look, eyebrows raised.

  “What did Mom have to say?”

  She sighs. “She wants you to come home. She thinks you might need more help than your weekly sessions with Dr. Casella can provide.”

  I pause mid-bite. “She wants me to go back to Great Lakes?”

  “No. Not exactly. Between the cutting and the new developments…she thinks you might be better spending the summer in…well, I dinnae know how else to say this…in hospital.”

  “Like, a mental hospital?” And I thought the Wellness Center was bad. I take a deep breath and put my spoon down in my bowl. “I mean, I have some serious issues, but I’m not crazy.”

  “No one thinks you are.” She sits next to me at the table.

  “If anyone is crazy, it’s my mom if she thinks I’m going to fly home just so she can keep an eye on me.”

  “I talked her out of it,” my aunt says. “Your father wasn’t exactly on board either.”

  “Oh. Good.” I pick my spoon back up, then immediately put it down again. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Honestly, I dinnae want you to leave. And I dinnae believe you’re nearly as bad as your mother thinks, but she’s worried.”

  “She’s always worried. I just can’t believe she wants to have me committed….No, I do believe it. She didn’t want me to leave the Wellness Center, and she didn’t want me to come here.”

  “She’s just worried about you. And she never said ‘committed.’ ”

  I tilt my head. “What does having me stay in a hospital against my will sound like to you?” At least at Great Lakes, there was some semblance of free will, and being there was completely voluntary. Theoretically, I could have walked out at any time. Not that I had a choice. My mom would have freaked and I never would have made it to Scotland. A lot of the girls there were like that. They stayed not to get help, but to appease their parents. They only wanted to get better so they could get back to their lives.

  Aunt Abbie fiddles with the napkins on the table. “She wanted me to ask you…well, she thought you might tell me things you might no’ feel comfortable telling her. You know, you can always confide in me.”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” I lie.

  She looks at me. “But you can tell me anything you want, Heather. I thought your mum needed to know about the night terror, but…if there was something else that you dinnae want her to know, I would try to help you as best I could.”

  I nod. “I know, Aunt Abbie.”

  She stands. “I’m going to call to check on Gram….Why dinnae you skip visiting with her today and go have fun with your friends?”

  “Okay.” I push away my breakfast, no longer hungry. “Thanks again, Aunt Abbie. For calming Mom down, convincing her to let me stay.”

  “No problem,” she tells me with a wink. “We MacNair girls have to stick together.”

  The night of the ceilidh, I’m weirdly excited to see Robby again, and I don’t want to think about what that means. What I’m not so eager for is the actual dancing part of the ceilidh. Scottish dancing is complicated. It’s also high-energy and requires a lot of stamina. I’ve only ever watched people dance at a ceilidh before. I’ve never joined in myself.

  Before I head out, my aunt looks me up and down. “You are no’ going to a ceilidh dressed like that.”

  “What?” I ask. I’m wearing jeans, but I put on a dressy shirt and nice flats. She grabs me by the hand and leads me into her room, mumbling that my father isn’t doing an adequate job teaching me about Scottish culture. Even though she’s basically insulting me, I can’t help but smile that she at least has the energy to rant.

  She rummages around her closet and pulls out a black dress bag. “Here it is!” She puts it on her bed. “This is vintage, so don’t spill anything on it,” she warns as she unzips the bag. “It was your grandma’s, and then mine, and now I’m giving it to you.”

  She pulls out the contents and holds it up and I gasp. It’s beautiful. The shift dress is slim with a large black belt at the waist and looks both vintage and modern at the same time. There are always variations on a family tartan, but this version of the MacNair tartan is one of the girlier ones. Rich pink and magenta squares are bisected with white and navy blue intersecting threads. The neckline is ruched, with a navy silk bow that ties at the left shoulder strap.

  “Here, let me help you get into it,” my aunt offers.

  “No,” I quickly say, a little too loudly.

  She gives me a strange look.

  “I…don’t want you to see my scars. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Please yourself,” she says kindly, and leaves me to change in her room. I slip into the dress, and even though I can’t do up the back on my own, I know it will fit perfectly. One major problem, though: it’s sleeveless. I hold up my arm and look in the mirror….What am I going to do about the mark I’ve carved there? Normally it wouldn’t matter—I could keep my elbows pinned securely at my side—but Scottish dancing often requires you to throw your arms in the air. I grab a couple of bandages and layer them over the wound. This will have to do. At least the bandages are sort of the same color as my skin, and maybe the dance hall will be dark. If anyone notices I can say I cut myself shaving. No, that’s lame. Maybe that I had a mole removed. Yeah, still lame, but better.

  I slip on my flats, grab my purse, and find my aunt to do up the back of my dress, which incorporates buttons instead of a zipper. “You look lovely.” She sounds as if she’s about to cry. She turns me around and takes me in. “Fits like a glove. You know, your grandmother’s grandmother made this dress for her.”

  “The witch?” I ask without thinking.

  My aunt looks confused. “Did Mum tell you that? She always told me that her gram was a lovely woman. Not a mean bone in her body.”

  “Maybe I got it wrong,” I say.

  “That is until she got really old. Then she went a little crazy and tried to hitchhike to the Highlands. She tried to steal some bloke’s car whilst wielding a butter knife.”

  “Another family member who went crazy-cakes? Not exactly comforting.”

  My aunt laughs. “We MacNairs lucked out on the gene front. We’ve got a history of mental illness and cancer—and dinnae forget the heart disease.” My grandfather Michael MacNair died of a heart attack at the ripe old age of forty-five.

  “Great. No offense, Aunt Abbie, but can we talk about something else? My friends are going to wonder why I’ve suddenly become suicidal.”

  “No’ funny, young lady. But you’re right, I shouldnae have brought it up.” She grabs her phone off the table. “Let me take a picture to send to your parents and then you can be on your way.” She takes some snaps as I grin, trying to look as happy as I can. I want my mom to see I’m okay, not at all in need of medical attention.
When she’s satisfied with the pictures, Aunt Abbie walks with me to the door, slipping me a few bills.

  “I promised your mum I’d escort you to and from the dance, but I figure you’ll be fine if you take a cab,” she tells me. “Be safe.”

  I give her a hug. “I will.”

  I type the address Robby gave me into my phone to get directions. It’s in the area called Haymarket, so I hail a cab to get there. Normally, despite my mom’s wishes, I’d just walk, but I have a feeling I need to conserve my energy.

  When I spot Robby and Duncan waiting outside, I’m glad my aunt made me change. They’re each wearing kilts in the family tartan, as well as jackets and bow ties, Scottish formal dress.

  Asha is there too, and though her family doesn’t have a tartan, she wears a cute black A-line dress with a ribbon of Duncan’s family tartan tied around her waist, a deep purple with hints of white and gray. I always sort of thought Duncan was kind of cute, in a tall and gangly way. I actually liked his long, messy blond mane of head-banger hair. With it short, though, I can see why Asha suddenly noticed him. Clean-cut is definitely more her type.

  She spots me getting out of the cab and waves. “Heather, you look smashing!”

  “Thank you. You look amazing, all of you,” I say, catching Robby’s eye, and blush. I’m strangely out of breath. I fiddle with the Trinity knot necklace, tucking it into the front of my dress.

  “Where’s Fiona?” I ask.

  “Inside, with my mate Craig,” Duncan tells me. “Fiona refused to come if she was the fifth wheel of our double date, so I invited a friend for her.”

  “It’s not a date,” I say at the same time as Robby, and I can feel my face once again warm. I quickly add, “We’re just friends.”

  “Really?” Duncan asks. “Then he talks about you much more than is healthy.” Asha gives him a look and elbows him in the side. “What?” he asks with a grin. “It’s true.”

  “Thanks, Duncan,” Robby says, avoiding my gaze. “That was helpful. Now if we’re done embarrassing me, perhaps we can go inside?”

  He holds open the door and we walk into a ballroom of organized chaos. Scottish country music is a lot like bluegrass, with upbeat rhythms and lively fiddles. This band is a modern version, complete with electric guitar and keyboard. The rhythm is kept on a large, round hand drum.

  “Is everyone in Scotland here?” I ask as we push our way through the crowd. The dance floor is filled with kilt-clad men and women in their best “dancing” dresses. It makes me think of an older time, a time before Scotland was “tame.”

  “My tour company throws a ceilidh once a year,” Robert leans down and tells me. “Mostly it’s the people who work for them and their families.” He leads us to a table to the side, where Fiona sits with a boy, chatting excitedly. She’s wearing a short green dress that shows off her long legs, and she holds a glass of amber liquid. She takes a few gulps before she spots us.

  “Heather! Asha!” She hugs us and we sit. “This is Craig. He’s eighteen and said he’ll buy us beer.” She winks at him.

  “Hi.” Craig gives us an uncomfortable smile. “She actually just swiped my pint, but I guess I can get drinks for you guys….” He looks to Duncan.

  “Um, thanks, but no thanks,” Asha says immediately. “My parents would kill me if they thought I’d been out drinking. They’d never let me leave the house again.”

  “That’s me out, then, too,” Duncan says, giving Asha a sweet smile.

  “You’re no fun!” Fiona says, taking another gulp and mumbling, “Whipped already,” under her breath. “What about you, Heather?”

  I feel a bit put on the spot, so I just shake my head. Robert leans down and whispers to me, “If you want to have a drink or two, I’ll make sure you get home okay.”

  “No…it’s just that my aunt pretty much lets me do anything I want when I’m here. I don’t want to mess that up. Especially if my parents found out…my mom would go ballistic.”

  He nods, and I wonder if he thinks I’m lame. Whatever. He’s been un-dorked for all of five seconds and—

  “Let’s dance,” he says with a grin, pulling me onto the dance floor.

  Scottish dancing is a lot like square dancing…with kilts instead of cowboy hats. There’s even a person calling out the moves over the music. At first I’m scared I’ll misstep. Robert drags me into a group of four other people and we form a large circle, and suddenly we’re galloping around the circle like crazy people. When the caller tells us to stop, we each grab a partner and link arms and fling each other around. By the end of the first dance I’m sweating, out of breath, and having the time of my life.

  “Ready for another go?” Robby asks me, panting slightly.

  “You bet your sweet Scottish ass I am,” I tell him with a grin. This time I pull him onto the dance floor.

  “Oh…it looks like she’s going to finally get it out. Wait….Wait for it….There she goes!” Robby shouts as Fiona vomits on the sidewalk. He walks to her where she’s bent over and puts a hand on her back. “You all right, love?” he asks kindly.

  “I’m fine.” She pushes him away. She stands up and wipes her mouth. “Better now, actually.”

  Craig bailed halfway through the dance when it was clear Fiona was only interested in him for his legal-to-buy-alcohol status. But by that time, Fiona was already blitzed. Asha and Duncan left a little afterward to keep her curfew. I took it upon myself to get Fiona home safe and sound, and Robby came along because, well, he’s Robby and a good guy.

  “Fiona, I love you,” I say, standing back slightly. “But I really need you not to puke on me tonight.”

  Robby gives me a look.

  “What? This dress is vintage,” I say. Then laugh. “And also, I try to avoid being puked on as a general rule.”

  “Yeah, she got a little on my shoes with that one,” Robby admits. “Let’s get her home quick.”

  Fiona does seem better after she vomits, and is able to walk without our support. We were going to hail a cab but thought better of it when she started to look as green as her dress. I didn’t want to inflict a puked-in car on some unsuspecting cabbie, or be in an enclosed space when she finally erupted.

  Fiona’s family lives in a flat above their café. It’s not late, only about ten-thirty, and the café is open and packed. Her mom is super-permissive, but still, I think it’s best to avoid her family at this point. I take the keys from her and help her upstairs. I lead/carry her to her bed. After that I get her a glass of water and her small garbage can to puke in if necessary. She’s snoring before I even leave the room.

  Downstairs, Robby is waiting for me. His mom has a small house in the New Town part of Edinburgh. Since we live in completely opposite directions, I assume we’re going to part ways, but instead he grabs my hand and starts to walk me toward my aunt’s place.

  “Don’t you want to get home?” I ask.

  “And leave a damsel alone in the night?”

  “Sexist much?” I say. “I’m not a damsel. Besides, I can catch a cab.”

  “Let’s walk. It’s nice outside.”

  It is nice. The night is warm and clear. He starts to walk toward the Meadows and the shortcut home, and for a moment I pause, remembering my weird panic attack and my near fall at the castle afterward. Robby misreads my hesitation and drops my hand.

  “Unless…you’d rather be alone.”

  “No…it’s just…” I eye the Meadows. There are still people out, the carnival in full swing, rides lit up like fireworks.

  “Come on, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He grabs my hand again and pulls me forward. When my feet touch the grass I brace myself for a horrible reaction, but none comes. Instead, I get an eerie feeling of being followed, but when I turn around, there’s nobody there.

  We walk on the soft earth in silence, until Robby starts to hum a tune…then starts to sing in a strangely hypnotic voice.

  “Oh, my love is like a red, red rose…that’s newly sprung in June.”
>
  I roll my eyes and his voice gets louder. He always used to do stuff like this when we were kids, trying to desperately grab attention.

  “Oh, my love is like the melody that’s sweetly played in tune.”

  He hums a bit more and winks at me, and then he gets really loud, belting out each word until a crowd gathers. Once a ham, always a ham. He actually pulls my hand up and puts it on his chest.

  “As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, so deep in love am I, and I will love thee still, my dear, till a’ the seas gang dry!”

  “You are such a dork,” I tell him as he takes a long sweeping bow to the gathered crowd. He gets a nice round of applause.

  “What? A little Robbie Burns is perfect on a moonlit night.” He grins at the dispersing crowd.

  “Does anything ever embarrass you?” I ask as I pull him across the park, toward the safety of my street.

  “Let’s see….Once a girl called me a dork in front of about twenty people. That was pretty rough.” He grins. “But it happened ages ago, a whole three minutes, so I’m actually over it now.”

  I sigh as I reach the building for my aunt’s flat. “Well, this is me,” I say wistfully. I don’t want the night to be over, but I don’t have a choice. It’s not like I’m going to invite Robby up for a make-out session. We actually have kissed once before, when we were kids. My face goes red at the memory.

  “Do you remember?” he asks, as if reading my thoughts, “when we stood right here…no, wait…” He takes my shoulders and moves me a few feet over, into a shadowy spot under the overhang, “and we kissed?”

  I laugh nervously. “We were like, thirteen.” It was the first summer I was here without my parents. It was amazing to have all that freedom.

  “Yeah, and we’d just gone to some zombie film…no, wait, let me correct that…you dragged me to some zombie film, refused to share your popcorn with me, and then blathered on about Alistair the whole way home.”

  “I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate…,” I lie.