when his sister interrupted his drinking. Good thing she’d happened along. If Chris had continued to drink, he’d probably be dead, what with all the other drugs he had on board.
Maggie sighed. She’d signed orders to keep him in-house until he stabilized. After that, he really needed a board-and-care placement to make certain he took medications for his bipolar disorder and stayed away from other mind-altering substances. She pursed her lips and strode down the corridor, heading for the parking lot. What were the odds of Chris being even marginally compliant? Less than fifty-fifty, for sure. While he may have dulled his mental processes from years of boozing, he was far from stupid. The drugs she prescribed made him feel like crap, while the ones he procured on the street amped his mania.
“Why didn’t I go into ophthalmology or dermatology—or even plastic surgery?” she muttered and got into her car. Maggie started for home, remembered clothes for Lachlan, and navigated to a shopping center where the stores stayed open late.
By the time she left a menswear shop laden with bags, Maggie felt much better. The shopkeeper had been a hoot as Maggie described Lachlan’s build. “Och, aye, lassie,” she’d crowed, “and ’tis a fair brawny lad ye’re shopping for. With those broad shoulders and long legs, how’s the rest of him equipped, eh?”
Maybe to defuse the tension from her truncated conversation with her grandmother and the drama at the hospital, Maggie had laughed so hard with the shopkeeper tears rolled down her face. She’d just dumped Lachlan’s jeans, sweaters, and jacket in the backseat of her car when her phone trilled its text tone.
Grannie! Maggie dug the phone out of her bag. Sure enough, it was indeed a text from Mary Elma informing her she’d be arriving day after tomorrow at six in the morning. Maggie’s nostrils quivered with annoyance. Why the hell did all trans-Atlantic flights to Glasgow have to show up at some ungodly hour?
Maggie drove automatically as she mentally rearranged her schedule so she could meet her grandmother’s flight. Maybe I’ll bring Lachlan with me. Sounds as if the two of them will be kindred spirits… Still running on autopilot, she pulled into the parking lot adjacent to her house and glanced up at her apartment. Days were long in June, yet it seemed odd he hadn’t turned on any of the lights. Her flat didn’t have all that many windows and tended to feel dark and shut-in once light faded from the day.
Perhaps he doesn’t understand how the switches work.
Balancing her purse and purchases, she locked her medical bag in her car, and trudged up the steps to her flat. Maggie knocked softly, expecting Lachlan to open the door. He didn’t. Her heart suddenly beat much too fast; her throat felt thick. She pushed her fragile magic outward. It didn’t tell her a thing. Big surprise. I never embraced it, so why should it help me now?
Maggie set the bags down in the carpeted hall and fished her key out of her purse with none-too-steady hands. She twisted it in the lock and pushed the door open. Knowledge struck her like a blow to the gut. Lachlan wasn’t there; she didn’t bother calling his name. Her flat felt empty without him in it. He had a vibrant energy, almost like a force field, and it was definitely absent.
Don’t panic. Maybe he left me a note like I told him.
Sure. That’s probably it. He got restless. Went out to stretch his legs.
Oh, bullshit. Who am I kidding here?
She kicked the bags of clothes inside, pulled the door shut, and flipped on a light. Sure enough, a single sheet of paper sat atop her desk. She dropped her purse onto a chair and hurried over to it. In strong script, with many flourishes, he’d written an almost indecipherable note. After trying to figure out what was, in essence, an archaic form of English, she finally grabbed another piece of paper and wrote out the parts she knew. At length, she thought she had the gist
Maggie sighed. She’d signed orders to keep him in-house until he stabilized. After that, he really needed a board-and-care placement to make certain he took medications for his bipolar disorder and stayed away from other mind-altering substances. She pursed her lips and strode down the corridor, heading for the parking lot. What were the odds of Chris being even marginally compliant? Less than fifty-fifty, for sure. While he may have dulled his mental processes from years of boozing, he was far from stupid. The drugs she prescribed made him feel like crap, while the ones he procured on the street amped his mania.
“Why didn’t I go into ophthalmology or dermatology—or even plastic surgery?” she muttered and got into her car. Maggie started for home, remembered clothes for Lachlan, and navigated to a shopping center where the stores stayed open late.
By the time she left a menswear shop laden with bags, Maggie felt much better. The shopkeeper had been a hoot as Maggie described Lachlan’s build. “Och, aye, lassie,” she’d crowed, “and ’tis a fair brawny lad ye’re shopping for. With those broad shoulders and long legs, how’s the rest of him equipped, eh?”
Maybe to defuse the tension from her truncated conversation with her grandmother and the drama at the hospital, Maggie had laughed so hard with the shopkeeper tears rolled down her face. She’d just dumped Lachlan’s jeans, sweaters, and jacket in the backseat of her car when her phone trilled its text tone.
Grannie! Maggie dug the phone out of her bag. Sure enough, it was indeed a text from Mary Elma informing her she’d be arriving day after tomorrow at six in the morning. Maggie’s nostrils quivered with annoyance. Why the hell did all trans-Atlantic flights to Glasgow have to show up at some ungodly hour?
Maggie drove automatically as she mentally rearranged her schedule so she could meet her grandmother’s flight. Maybe I’ll bring Lachlan with me. Sounds as if the two of them will be kindred spirits… Still running on autopilot, she pulled into the parking lot adjacent to her house and glanced up at her apartment. Days were long in June, yet it seemed odd he hadn’t turned on any of the lights. Her flat didn’t have all that many windows and tended to feel dark and shut-in once light faded from the day.
Perhaps he doesn’t understand how the switches work.
Balancing her purse and purchases, she locked her medical bag in her car, and trudged up the steps to her flat. Maggie knocked softly, expecting Lachlan to open the door. He didn’t. Her heart suddenly beat much too fast; her throat felt thick. She pushed her fragile magic outward. It didn’t tell her a thing. Big surprise. I never embraced it, so why should it help me now?
Maggie set the bags down in the carpeted hall and fished her key out of her purse with none-too-steady hands. She twisted it in the lock and pushed the door open. Knowledge struck her like a blow to the gut. Lachlan wasn’t there; she didn’t bother calling his name. Her flat felt empty without him in it. He had a vibrant energy, almost like a force field, and it was definitely absent.
Don’t panic. Maybe he left me a note like I told him.
Sure. That’s probably it. He got restless. Went out to stretch his legs.
Oh, bullshit. Who am I kidding here?
She kicked the bags of clothes inside, pulled the door shut, and flipped on a light. Sure enough, a single sheet of paper sat atop her desk. She dropped her purse onto a chair and hurried over to it. In strong script, with many flourishes, he’d written an almost indecipherable note. After trying to figure out what was, in essence, an archaic form of English, she finally grabbed another piece of paper and wrote out the parts she knew. At length, she thought she had the gist
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