July - Chapter Three

“—meeting you and Angus, I’d think every Scotsman had bright red hair and wore a kilt on a day ending in -y!”

Colin laughed, the sound throaty and pleasant, and Jeremy fought a scowl as he came downstairs. Stupid Colin with his stupid face and stupid everything. But at least the kitchen was warm, and he sat down across from Colin, breathing in the thick scent of red pepper, garlic, and chamomile tea. Now that Rochelle had unpacked all the spices she’d smuggled in from the U.S., the house smelled much more like home. His seat was facing the big window, and he had a front-row view of the storm. It was really coming down, and the ocean seemed to boil.

Colin’s glance darted to Jeremy for a split second as he replied, “Oh aye, we’re both very much the stereotype.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. Of course Colin and Angus knew each other.

Rochelle smiled at Colin from the stove, where she was busy finishing off the bouillon. “So it’s easy to farm in a kilt?”

“You have a farm?” Jeremy cut in with a frown. Colin hadn’t mentioned that at all. But it would explain the muscles that were currently stretching MCKINLEY TECH ORCHESTRA to its limit.

Colin nodded. “Just a small one. Sheep and chickens. And yes,” he directed to Rochelle. “It’s not that bad. I wear a utilikilt most days, but I’m not allergic to a pair of jeans.”

Rochelle chuckled, grabbing a stack of soup bowls from the cupboard. “Getting Jeremy to wear something other than jeans is like pulling teeth.”

“Oh, good.” Jeremy reached for the teapot in the middle of the table and went about filling his mug. The chamomile was a burnt orange color and steaming hot. “We’ve moved into the Embarrass Jeremy part of the evening. Bit of a delayed start this time.”

Colin leaned back in his seat with a knowing smile. “I’m glad to see that he’s as much of an arse around you as he is me,” he said to Rochelle.

“What are you talking about?” Jeremy replied, wrapping his hands around his mug. “I’ve been nothing short of kind and welcoming.”

“Paul was much more polite,” said Colin, indicating the poster on the wall. “The man has impeccable manners.”

Jeremy smirked as he took a sip of tea. “He learned it all from me.”

“Honestly, you two.” Rochelle was shaking her head as she slid a bowl of bouillon in front of Colin. “And,” she said to Jeremy, bumping his arm, “trust you to find someone other than Jo with your sense of humor.”

“Who’s Jo?” Colin asked. He didn’t touch his soup, apparently waiting for Rochelle.

“My best friend back home,” Jeremy said, feeling a brief flare of pride followed by a pang of sadness. God, he missed her. A bowl of bouillon appeared in front of him, and a large dish of rice and beans materialized next to the teapot.

“Those roots run deep,” said Rochelle. She sat down with her own bowl in hand. “They’ve been like two peas in a pod since kindergarten. Eat up, boys,” she added, digging in herself.

Jeremy obeyed with pleasure. The bouillon was warm and hearty, and usually something that his mom only made during the winter, even though it was one of his favorites.

A moment or two passed before Colin said, voice low with embarrassment, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what exactly is this?”

Jeremy looked up. Colin was staring at the soup, hands folded in his lap, the absolute picture of sheepishness, and he had to fight a grin.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” said Rochelle in a rush. “This is bouillon. It’s basically a stew, it’s got beef, veggies, potatoes, and lots of spices in it. This—” she indicated the dish in the middle of the table “—is just red beans and rice. And don’t worry if you don’t like it, we can always find you something else.” She finished with a smile and a pat on Colin’s arm that seemed to put him at ease.

“All right.” Colin smiled back and stuck his spoon in his soup, giving it a gentle stir. “Is it French?”

“It’s Haitian.” Jeremy stared at him, wondering if he should be surprised that Colin seemed to not connect the dots. “You know, used to be a French colony.”

If Colin noticed the jab, he didn’t react. Instead, he put a heaping spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed. A moment later, he broke into a smile. “That’s delicious.”

“Thank you, Colin.” Rochelle smiled again.

“So you’re Haitian?” Colin asked, glancing between the two of them with open curiosity.

Jeremy had wondered when the first, “So you’re brown…” conversation was going to happen. He and his mom traded glances, amused but slightly wary. “Well,” said Jeremy, because why not go full steam ahead, “she is, sort of. I’m not, at least not by blood.”

“My mother is Haitian and my father is from France,” Rochelle chimed in. “They met in New Orleans, then later moved to D.C.”

“My parents are Cuban.” Jeremy slurped up some soup. “At least, as far as we know.”

His mom laughed and reached over to push back Jeremy’s hood and tousle his drying hair. “You certainly didn’t get that hair from my side of the family.”

Colin was staring at Jeremy now, but without hostility or confusion. “You’re adopted?”

“Dammit, mom!” Jeremy slapped his hand on the table, feigning anger. “I thought we weren’t going to tell him until he was old enough to understand!”

Rochelle sighed, pretending to sniffle into her bowl. “I’m sorry, Jer, but the moment seemed right. I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer.”

A smile was sneaking onto Colin’s face. “You’re mad, the pair of you.”

“Yup.” Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “That’s why they kicked us out of the country.”

Rochelle swatted at Jeremy’s arm. “Don’t frighten the poor guy.”

“It’ll take a hell of a lot more than me to frighten him.” Jeremy polished off his bowl and stood up to get more. “By the way, where’s the cat?”

“Under the radiator in the sitting room with a belly full of rice and beef. She’s very friendly. Is it kind of bad that I don’t want her to have a family?” Rochelle wondered. “We’ve never had a pet and I wouldn’t mind keeping her.”

Jeremy frowned at her, and noticed Colin doing the same. “Her?”

Rochelle looked up, raised an eyebrow. “Um, yeah? It’s a lady cat.”

Jeremy gaped at Colin, ladle halfway to his bowl. “Oh my God, you were wrong! Colin thought it was a boy,” he told his mom.

Colin’s frown deepened to a scowl. “Don’t pretend you didn’t do the same.”

“Yeah, but it’s funnier because you’re the son of a vet.” Jeremy sat back down at the table with a full bowl. “You have literally no excuse.”

“Be nice,” Rochelle chided him. Then, to Colin: “Your dad’s a vet?”

Colin nodded. His bowl was almost empty. “He does lots of farm calls, so he stays busy.”

“I bet,” Rochelle marveled. “Do you have any siblings?”

Colin seemed to hesitate before he nodded again. “Older sister. She lives in Glasgow.”

“What does she do?”

“Photography.” Colin looked distinctly uncomfortable now, his expression torn between embarrassment and fondness. “May I have some more bouillon?” He pronounced the word carefully, like it was pronged. Jeremy refused to think it cute.

Rochelle grinned and nodded, taking his bowl. “Of course, dear.” She stood up and went back to the stove. “I’m surprised Jeremy left any for you.”

“Likewise,” Colin quipped, the tension vanishing from his body. He leaned back in his chair and smirked again. “You’re much better when you’re eating,” he said to Jeremy. “You get all quiet.”

Jeremy shook his head and surfaced from his bowl, which was nearly empty. “Gotta act fast when it’s bouillon. Never know how long it’ll be til she makes it again.”

Rochelle passed back Colin’s bowl and sat down again with a small sigh. “Well, it’s much colder here than D.C. Perfect bouillon weather.”

Jeremy hummed as he served himself a heaping portion of rice and beans. “I’m suddenly liking the rain a lot more.”

The conversation continued, and Jeremy found himself learning far too much about Colin.

Not only did Colin spend every summer helping his dad on the farm and on his vet errands, but he also got good grades and was doing his A-levels in Law, Biology, and Environmental Science. Colin, who, like Jeremy, was seventeen, went to a boarding school in Glasgow, where he would spend holidays with his sister, and he was thinking of taking a gap year to renovate the family farm before he went to university. Oh, and he could play bodhrán (a Scottish folk drum, apparently), and in his spare time, he sometimes volunteered at the nursery school in Dunsegall.

Ah shit, Jeremy found himself thinking. He just had to go and be essentially perfect as well as drop-dead gorgeous. Shit shit shit.

“Wow, Colin,” Rochelle said. They had finished the food, and the tea was on its last legs. Around them, the wind howled and battered the windows with rain. “You keep busy.”

Colin smiled in a self-deprecating sort of way. “If you haven’t noticed, there isn’t much to do on this island. It’s keep busy or go insane.”

Rochelle laughed. “How reassuring!” She glanced out the kitchen window at the storm, which hadn’t let up, but rather had worsened, then at the clock next to the sink. “I’ll be frank, Colin, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to get home any time soon. We don’t have a car, and I don’t want to ask Angus to drive in this weather.”

Colin looked out the window. “Nah, it’s just a wee spit.” But then he flashed her a grin.

Rochelle grinned back. “I think you should call your dad and tell him you’ll be staying here for the night. If that’s all right with you, of course,” she added.

Jeremy’s stomach dropped to his feet. This couldn’t be happening.

“Oh, aye,” said Colin, but his gaze darted to Jeremy. “I hate to impose, though.”

Rochelle was shaking her head. “Not at all. You’ll be sleeping on the floor, I’m afraid. I don’t think you’d fit on the couch.” True enough, it was tiny.

“Not a problem in the least.” Colin stood up. “May I ask where the phone is?”

She pointed down the hall. “Table by the coat rack.”

Colin thanked her and left the room. Jeremy stood up and began clearing the dishes on autopilot. He filled the sink and began to run the water, the noise distracting him from the rumble of Colin’s voice. It was weird having a landline again, but according to Angus, everyone on the island had them, since cell reception could be spotty.

“Are you okay with this?” Rochelle was at his side, voice low. She was watching him closely.

He met her gaze and smirked. “Bit late to be asking, mom.”

She squeezed his arm. “I know. But still.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I’ll play nice, I promise.”

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “You better. We have to live here, you know.”

Rochelle went about putting away the leftovers, and just as Jeremy was working up a good set of suds for the dishes, Colin reappeared. “Oh,” he said, stopping inside the kitchen. “I can help.”

“Not at all! Please sit.” Rochelle pushed a small box of After Eights into his hands and pointed at the table. “Did you reach your father?”

Colin sat down again and ran a hand through his hair. “Not exactly. But I left a message. It’s all right,” he added, presumably to reassure Rochelle, “he checks them a lot and he doesn’t worry.”

“Okay,” Rochelle said, but she sounded doubtful. Jeremy had a distinct feeling that the subject wasn’t as dropped as it seemed. “So. How are you boys going to kill the time?”

“Nineteen,” said Colin, throwing down his cards face-up. On-screen, the audience bayed.

Jeremy grunted, dropping his cards — sixteen — and only half paying attention as Colin scooped up the pennies to add to his growing pile.

Colin glanced at the screen as he began to shuffle the cards. “You like this show, huh?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Absolutely hate it.”

Colin laughed, shuffling neatly, cleanly, impeccably. “Sure.”

On-screen, Mrs. Bucket ducked under her kitchen window to avoid getting caught spying on her neighbors, sending a saucepan into the sink as she did so. The suds overflowed, soaking Mrs. Bucket’s head and ruining her dress. The audience roared. “It’s dumb,” Jeremy said, transfixed. He tickled the cat’s chin with his finger. She was on his lap, half-asleep with her paws tucked under her, and purring quietly. She was dry and fluffy now, and presumably exhausted.

Colin snorted. “Hits a little close to home, I imagine.” He dealt quickly, two cards landing by Jeremy’s leg.

He ignored the cards, turned to glare at Colin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Colin raised his eyebrows at the TV as Mrs. Bucket shrieked and ran upstairs, tripping on the carpet and losing a shoe.

“Oh, shut up.” Still scowling, Jeremy picked up his cards. Thirteen. “I’m nothing like that.”

“Sure, sure,” said Colin, airy and light. He tossed a few pennies onto the floor between them. “I’m absolutely positive Mrs. Bucket can swim.”

“So that’s the running bit of the evening?” He did the same, upping Colin’s bet by one. “Jeremy can’t swim, poor useless toddler that he is. Hit me.”

Colin laughed, chucking him a card. His eyes were bright in the light of the lamp as he matched Jeremy’s bet. “Your words, not mine.”

“See, I have this uncanny ability.” Jeremy picked up the card. A six, perfect. A few more pennies to the floor. “I can read people’s thoughts. It’s incredible. I’m practically a psychic, they should put me on TV.”

“Oh, really?” Colin considered for a moment, then matched the bet and leaned back against the couch. “Then what am I thinking right now?”

Jeremy turned, and his breath caught.

They were sitting on the floor against the tiny couch that wouldn’t fit both of them. Colin’s head was tilted back against the seat cushions, his hair tousled, his skin gleaming in the low-light, and his eyes were on Jeremy, his smile teasing but hiding a kernel of warmth. He looked like Apollo, luxurious, languid, confident in his ease. Gorgeous.

Jeremy swallowed and turned back to the screen. “About how I’m going to win this round.” He threw a few more pennies into the pot and stroked the cat’s tail.

“What confidence!” Colin sat up again. “Let’s see if it’s legitimate.” He threw down his cards. Seventeen.

“Told you.” Jeremy did the same and smirked as Colin groaned. “I’m psychic.”

Colin reached for the biscuits as Jeremy gathered his pennies. “You’re dealer,” Colin said, words muffled by a biscuit.

They had been at this for several hours. A warped version of blackjack — the only gambling game they had in common — with a jar of old pennies Rochelle had found in the pantry, and an endless marathon of Keeping Up Appearances on some side channel not swallowed by the storm. Thankfully, they hadn’t lost power, and the TV threw a ghostly gleam across the sitting room, which was lit by the single lamp the boys had bothered to turn on. Outside, the storm itself was still going strong, but the howling wind was practically background noise at this point, and even as the rain streaked down the windows, it was beginning to feel normal. Rochelle was upstairs, and maybe asleep. Jeremy tried not to think about that.

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. 9:30 PM. 21:30, he corrected himself. “I can’t believe it’s still a little light outside,” he said. “Even with the storm.”

“We do endless days up here. You’ll get used to it.” Colin crunched down yet another biscuit, looking sideways at him. “So how come you don’t know how to swim?”

Jeremy eyed him, then dealt. “How come you never stop eating?”

Colin chuckled. “Nice redirect. And I’ve got a working man’s body to maintain, thank you very much.” Another biscuit down the hatch.

Jeremy couldn’t hold back a snort, or a blush. “So that’s what they’re calling it these days.” He checked his cards — fourteen — and gave himself a hit. Twenty-one.

“Seriously, though.” Colin held out his hand and Jeremy passed him a card face-down. “The Highland Games are in August and I’m participating. Got to muscle up.”

Not that you need to. He threw a few pennies onto the floor. “Highland Games?”

“Scottish tradition.” After considering, Colin matched the bet. “There’s a big national competition on the mainland, but we do a smaller version on the island.” At Jeremy’s glance he added, “You compete mostly in feats of strength. Tossing a caber, shot-put, stuff like that. And there’s live music, dancing, food, the whole bit.”

“Caber?” Jeremy asked, upping the bet again.

Colin upped him. “Great big fuckin’ pole.” He grinned.

Jeremy choked on a laugh. “Is that a Scottish unit of measurement?”

“Oh, aye.” Colin threw in another penny. “Along with the great big fuckin’ hammer.”

“Delightful.” Jeremy threw in five more pennies and nudged Colin’s ankle with his foot. “Match or fold?”

Colin sighed and matched the bet. “I’ll regret this.”

Jeremy smiled and put down his cards face-up. “Blackjack.”

Jeremy was swimming, except he wasn’t.

The water was cold, vice-like, gripping him fast and flooding his senses. It filled his nose, his ears, his mouth, and he coughed, inhaling the water, and it was bitter, burning his throat, clogging his lungs, dragging him down, and he tried to thrash against the tide, to scream for help, but his arms wouldn’t move, his legs were locked tight, his words died in bubbles, and he was sinking, he was sinking, he was sinking—

Jeremy choked awake, sitting up into the dark. He was drenched in a cold sweat, soaking through his t-shirt, and his muscles were locked.

Shaking, he sucked in a mouthful of air, and suddenly registered the warm hand gripping his arm. He looked down at the space next to his bed, and found Colin sitting up, staring back at him, his eyes wide and his expression twisted with concern.

“You all right?” Colin said, voice low, rough. The room was pitch-black, but cold, bright, silvery moonlight drifted in through the bare windows, illuminating Colin’s profile and his makeshift bed on Jeremy’s floor. Oh, he thought. The storm must have blown over.

He slumped, scrubbed his free hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”

Colin chewed on his lower lip and kept his hold of Jeremy’s arm. “You were thrashing. Groaning.”

“I said I’m fine.” Jeremy twitched his wrist and Colin released him. Then, he shifted down the bed and stood up, ignoring Colin as he went over to the dresser. “Bad dream.”

“What about?” Colin said, still keeping his voice low. After all, Rochelle was asleep just across the hall.

Jeremy sighed as he pulled out a fresh shirt. “Doesn’t matter.”

Colin didn’t reply, and Jeremy peeled off his wet shirt, throwing it in the corner and shivering before putting on the new one. Too late, it occurred to him that he had just stripped in front of Colin, and too soon, he realized he didn’t care. He went back to his bed, ignoring the way Colin stared at him.

“Sorry I woke you,” said Jeremy, turning his back to the room and sliding under the covers. “Just go back to sleep.”

“All right,” Colin whispered. He heard the rustle of blankets as Colin lay back down and he squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassment prickling down his spine. Jesus.

The minutes ticked past as Jeremy counted the seconds, willing himself to stop shivering. He hadn’t had that nightmare in a while.

Another rustle, and a low murmur: “Are you asleep?”

Jeremy exhaled shakily and rolled his eyes. “No, I guess not.”

He heard Colin sit up, and urgency tinged his next question: “Jeremy, how can I help?”

Goddammit. Now is not the time to be chivalrous. Jeremy forced himself to turn over and lie on his back, trying to stretch out his body. He ignored Colin. “I dreamt I was in the water. Doing the opposite of swimming.” He took another breath and said, “When I was four years old, I fell in a river and nearly drowned. So I guess that’s what my dream is about. My mom couldn’t get me to set foot in water again until I was fourteen, and I’ve never gone further than ankle deep.” Jeremy exhaled slowly and felt his body start to calm. “That’s why I never learned to swim.”

Colin was silent, and the air around them seemed to throb with tension. When Colin did speak, it was just a soft, “Well, shit.”

Jeremy smirked. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

There was an air of realization in Colin’s voice when he said, “That’s why you didn’t want her to know how we actually met.”

“Yup.” Jeremy stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about the way she had screamed all those years ago, yelling his name as she sprinted to the river. “She worries.”

Another brief pause, then Colin cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m… I’d like to apologize for giving you so much grief about it. That was insensitive, a really dick thing of me to do.”

A wave of surprise rushed over Jeremy, and he rolled onto his side to face Colin, meeting his shadowed but earnest gaze. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “You didn’t know, and. Well. I’m an asshole even at the best of times. You were just giving as good as you were getting.”

Colin’s mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. “At least you’re aware of it.” He paused, seemed to roll his thoughts around before he said, “I’m glad I met you, Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat, and he forgot how to speak. “I. Uh, hmm. You. Also. I’m.”

Colin smiled properly, then he said, “Jeremy?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said. He closed his eyes, and before he could think about it, he did.

Several hours later, Jeremy woke bathed in sunlight. He stared at the ceiling, taking stock of all his sore spots, then rolled over to check on Colin.

He frowned, squinted, then frowned some more.

The floor next to his bed was empty. His spare pillow sat on top of a neat stack of folded blankets and sheets. The t-shirt and sweats he had lent to Colin were likewise folded and left on the desk chair. It took a moment for things to click, and when they did, Jeremy noticed that he could smell coffee.

Downstairs, he found his mom at the kitchen table nursing a mug and nose-deep in her tablet. There was no sign of the cat, whom they’d left in the sitting room the night before.

“Morning,” he grunted, heading for the ancient drip coffee pot Rochelle had dug out of some shadowy corner in the general shop. The clock told him it was just past eleven.

“Good morning.” She glanced up from her tablet with a coy smile. “Sleep well?”

“Just peachy.” Jeremy filled a mug and sat down across from her. “Been up long?”

Rochelle nodded. “A while. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

He looked out the window behind her and nodded. The sun was out, the rocky beach was gleaming, the waves were sparkling, the sky was a brilliant blue. In comparison to the night before, it was almost unbelievable. “Were you up when Colin left?” he said, trying to make the question sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Nope.” Rochelle took a sip of her coffee and shot him a knowing glance. “He left pretty early, I guess. There’s a note.” She gestured to a scrap of paper on the table.

Dear Lefebres,

Thank you for your kindness and hospitality yesterday evening. I wish I could convey my

gratitude in person, but I’m afraid that’ll have to wait for another time.

I took the cat with me, and your phone number. Will be in touch.

Colin

Jeremy snorted and slumped back in his chair. “Convey his gratitude,” he mimicked.

“Jeremy.” His mom was giving him a look reminiscent of an irate lioness. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

He accidentally inhaled his coffee and choked. “Jesus,” he coughed, his eyes watering.

“I’m serious.” Rochelle put down her tablet. “It seemed like you two were getting along.”

“We did.” Jeremy wiped at his eyes. “It was fine.”

Rochelle hummed, unconvinced. “Well, I’m glad you both survived the night. You could do with a friend on the island.”

“What are you talking about? I’m a social butterfly. I’ll have reams of friends by August.” Jeremy looked down and noticed that her tablet was showing the front page of The Guardian. “Holy shit,” he gasped, looking up at her as she began to smile. “Wi-fi?”

“Finished installing it this morning,” she replied, smug, then laughed when he jumped up and sprinted for the stairs. “Be careful!” she called after him, but Jeremy wasn’t paying attention. He had a best friend to FaceTime.