Free What Lies Between by Charlena Miller Page B

a break. She started telling me a story of hectic London life, providing a welcome distraction from my unwanted imaginings about what was going on in the front seat.
    Karen and Bill, a couple from Illinois, settled into the second row, and Todd, an Australian who gave a rundown of his Scottish roots, grabbed the spot next to them. Bill announced he would share after Todd, apparently having decided each of us needed to provide a brief bio and declare why we were visiting Scotland. I hated this sort of thing. I’d reached my lifetime limit of circle sharing by age nine. How did I feel? How was it going with my new family? What issues was I burying?
    “I sold my company . . .  we sold our company,” Bill corrected after an intense stare from Karen, “for enough money we can travel the world for, how many years did you figure, Karen, twenty? Nah, I’m joshing. We figured we could go for sixty-two years and three months, isn’t that right, honey? And first class too! Scientists need to determine how to keep us alive that long.”
    Bill didn’t wait for Karen to comment; his vigorous laughter and jiggling belly turned the entire van into a giant vibrator chair.
    Shayne’s high-pitched laugh, at either Bill or whatever conversation she and Ben were having, carried to the rear. Todd elbowed into their discussion, sticking his head in between them and spreading his arms out in an effort to catch Shayne’s attention by taking up space, with no success. Shayne’s eyes and lashes and body were honed in on Ben.
    Groups. Enough said.
    Huge beads of rain plopped on the windshield before we had gotten outside the Inverness city limits. In seconds it blanketed our windows, a never-ending carwash. Instead of the Highland scenery, we would only be able to see each other for far too many miles.
    “We’re crossing over a sea inlet, the Moray Firth, home of a large school of bottlenose dolphins,” Ben said. “On a clearer day, you could probably spot a few. You won’t be able to see much of the Black Isle on the other side of the bridge either. It’s not what its name implies; it’s not an island, and it’s mostly green. Its name comes from its fertile soil. On a less Scottish day, you’d see the loads of Highland farms in the area.”
    The others laughed. I didn’t. I’d inherited the weather along with my new home and didn’t know what it would be like over the course of a year. Hopefully the weather wouldn’t live up to the reputation Calum and Ben gave it.
    Not being able to see anything out of the windows left me feeling claustrophobic, made worse by Bill and Todd’s nonstop chatter and Shayne’s annoying laughter at pretty much anything Ben said.
    I looked from person to person, studying them, taking apart their features, their sounds, the rise of a brow, curve of a mouth. These people possessed breath and life in the cells of their bodies. They had choices. They had time. They were here, unlike some. My father. My parents. My “almost dad,” Alan. Who was alive and who wasn’t felt unfair and random, and banged up against the bizarrely remote chance that this group, each of us, would end up in this small van on this rainy day attempting to see the sights in a country other than our own . . . and our only view would be of each other.
    It started without warning. The laughing, then snorting and sucking in loud inhales like a dying seal. I couldn’t stop even when everyone ceased talking and turned to look at me. The laughter welled up from my belly, deeper even than that, and bent me sideways in the seat—the only direction my body could go in the compact van—and I rolled over onto Li. Couldn’t be helped. I lay nearly in her lap. Our eyes met. Then she started laughing. We leaned on each other, roaring, red-faced, tears streaming, until, miles later, we sobered up.
    They stared. We stared back like chimpanzees in the zoo, watching to see what the strange people would do. Only when Ben exited onto a