been missing out. Scotland’s food was proving more interesting than its reputation let on. Establishing Glenbroch as a dining destination might be a viable opportunity.
Busy putting away ample amounts of my new food obsessions, I grew quiet. Ben didn’t speak either but his fidgeting was hard to ignore. I had a feeling he was working up to something.
“Coming here must be a big change for you. How does your family feel about it?”
“It’s a world away from the life I had and more than in distance. I’m sitting here eating food I’ve never heard of in a two-thousand-year-old broch.” I popped another quince-covered oatcake in my mouth.
I know how to talk about this without feeling any pain . I’ve done it countless times.
I began my practiced self-disclosure. “My parents were killed in a car accident—drunk driver—when I was five. I was home with the sitter. She stayed with me all night because the police were going to take me away right then. I didn’t have anywhere to go. My parents didn’t have close friends except each other, and no other family. Well, my birth mother, Sarah, is out there somewhere I suppose. She refused to meet me when I found her, wanted nothing to do with me, and I have no idea if she’s still alive. You know about Gerard. That’s about it. No family to feel anything about what I do.”
Ben’s face creased with what looked like concern. At least his expression wasn’t one of pity. I’d supply it myself if pity was needed, but I couldn’t stand it from someone else.
“I’m sorry about your parents. Who did you live with after they died?” He added quickly, “If you don’t mind the questions.”
“It’s fine. I bounced around. Landed with a foster family who had a farm out in Oklahoma and stayed there for two years. I would have stayed with Alan and Sandra forever because believe me, none of my other foster experiences were anything like that one. In fact, by the time I came into Alan and Sandra’s home, I wasn’t easy to be around, had an attitude. But they loved me like real parents. Some of my favorite memories to this day are flying on the tire swing over the creek, pouring in the rock salt and ice and cranking the ice cream churn, riding my bicycle up and down the dirt roads . . .”
“Sounds like a wonderful home. You were there two years? What happened?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I hear myself grilling you. I’ll stop. Sorry.”
I waved my hand to indicate it was okay and swallowed my mouthful of food. “Alan was out working in a field a long way from the house. I’d taken my bike out to bring him lunch and a fresh canteen of water. He’d been driving the combine that morning and it was sitting in the field with the engine on. I remember thinking it was strange. Anyway, he was gone. Heart attack they said.”
I untied and retied the wet laces of my boots as memories I hadn’t visited in years engulfed me. “Sandra didn’t feel she could adopt me on her own—they’d planned to—and I had to go.” My shoulders shrugged off the pain swooping through my heart. “It’s hard to believe that anything I really want will work out. I mean, I still hope, but something always seems to mess it up.” A hesitant smile worked its way free and onto my face. “Yet I keep trying . . .”
Why do I want to tell you secret things?
Opening up and trusting someone wasn’t like me, but I wanted it to be.
“What you’ve been through . . .” Ben’s gentle tone drew me to lift my head and look him in the eyes. “And now more change. Moving over here must have been hard, leaving everything.”
I watched him twist a long blade of grass into a knot. My voice came out hushed. “Most of my life I’ve wandered, kind of lost, like I’d been dropped off on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Couldn’t find my way back. Didn’t know where I’d come from in the first place. I’ve had an ache in my heart for so long . . . the first
Busy putting away ample amounts of my new food obsessions, I grew quiet. Ben didn’t speak either but his fidgeting was hard to ignore. I had a feeling he was working up to something.
“Coming here must be a big change for you. How does your family feel about it?”
“It’s a world away from the life I had and more than in distance. I’m sitting here eating food I’ve never heard of in a two-thousand-year-old broch.” I popped another quince-covered oatcake in my mouth.
I know how to talk about this without feeling any pain . I’ve done it countless times.
I began my practiced self-disclosure. “My parents were killed in a car accident—drunk driver—when I was five. I was home with the sitter. She stayed with me all night because the police were going to take me away right then. I didn’t have anywhere to go. My parents didn’t have close friends except each other, and no other family. Well, my birth mother, Sarah, is out there somewhere I suppose. She refused to meet me when I found her, wanted nothing to do with me, and I have no idea if she’s still alive. You know about Gerard. That’s about it. No family to feel anything about what I do.”
Ben’s face creased with what looked like concern. At least his expression wasn’t one of pity. I’d supply it myself if pity was needed, but I couldn’t stand it from someone else.
“I’m sorry about your parents. Who did you live with after they died?” He added quickly, “If you don’t mind the questions.”
“It’s fine. I bounced around. Landed with a foster family who had a farm out in Oklahoma and stayed there for two years. I would have stayed with Alan and Sandra forever because believe me, none of my other foster experiences were anything like that one. In fact, by the time I came into Alan and Sandra’s home, I wasn’t easy to be around, had an attitude. But they loved me like real parents. Some of my favorite memories to this day are flying on the tire swing over the creek, pouring in the rock salt and ice and cranking the ice cream churn, riding my bicycle up and down the dirt roads . . .”
“Sounds like a wonderful home. You were there two years? What happened?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I hear myself grilling you. I’ll stop. Sorry.”
I waved my hand to indicate it was okay and swallowed my mouthful of food. “Alan was out working in a field a long way from the house. I’d taken my bike out to bring him lunch and a fresh canteen of water. He’d been driving the combine that morning and it was sitting in the field with the engine on. I remember thinking it was strange. Anyway, he was gone. Heart attack they said.”
I untied and retied the wet laces of my boots as memories I hadn’t visited in years engulfed me. “Sandra didn’t feel she could adopt me on her own—they’d planned to—and I had to go.” My shoulders shrugged off the pain swooping through my heart. “It’s hard to believe that anything I really want will work out. I mean, I still hope, but something always seems to mess it up.” A hesitant smile worked its way free and onto my face. “Yet I keep trying . . .”
Why do I want to tell you secret things?
Opening up and trusting someone wasn’t like me, but I wanted it to be.
“What you’ve been through . . .” Ben’s gentle tone drew me to lift my head and look him in the eyes. “And now more change. Moving over here must have been hard, leaving everything.”
I watched him twist a long blade of grass into a knot. My voice came out hushed. “Most of my life I’ve wandered, kind of lost, like I’d been dropped off on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Couldn’t find my way back. Didn’t know where I’d come from in the first place. I’ve had an ache in my heart for so long . . . the first
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