A/N: Hi! I just want to thank you all for reading my little story here, and I would really appreciate it if you could tell me what you think of it. The idea for it has been running around inside my head for quite some time now, and I'm finally getting it out now. I really hope you like it, guys!
I stood at the window, peering out to see through the old, warped glass of the century-old farmhouse. I looked past the neat barn yard and down the road, waiting anxiously to see the car coming. My bags were already packed and at the door waiting; I was more than ready to go. I tapped the window-sill impatiently, listening to the slow shuffle as my grandfather came downstairs.
"Is he not here yet?" he asked, his voice rasping roughly. He sat down at his spot at the table and began to cough, hard. I got up from my seat at the window and put the kettle on the stove for him, knowing that he needed a cup of strong tea, maybe with a small splash of whisky, to start the day.
"Not yet, Papa," I said, pulling the decanter of whisky out of the cupboard. "He'll be here soon; it's only early yet. Now, do you want this in your tea, or straight?"
"What kind of question is that?" He glared over at me, but I saw the glint of amusement in his old eyes, and I smirked and brought him a glass and the decanter. I came from a traditionally Scotch family on the East Coast of Canada. That being said, there was nothing that couldn't be cured with a shot of good, strong whisky.
The kettle boiled, and I made Papa up a mug of steaming hot tea, and his blister pack of pills.
"Here you go, old man," I said, popping them out on the table for him. "Now take them all, please."
"Do I have a choice?" he mumbled, but obligingly popped a pill in his mouth.
"You know that you don't," I grinned at him, throwing the blister pack away. "Besides, they make you feel good, don't they? Dr. Colburne said they would."
"Dr. Colburne," Papa said scathingly "also said not to take them with alcohol."
"Oh, go on with you," I told him. "You and I both know that a wee little dram isn't going to make a difference."
"I'll make sure to tell him you said that." The old man looked up from his seat and grinned mischievously up at me. I had worked with the doctor at the local hospital for several years as a receptionist, and sometimes as an assistant. We had differing ideas about alcohol used as medication. Still, he was like another father to me, and I respected him greatly.
"He already knows what I think," I said, cocking an eyebrow. "But if it's that big of an issue, I can easily take that glass back."
Papa quickly reached out and snatched up the carafe before I could get anywhere near it. I laughed and plunked myself into the chair beside him.
"Come on, now," I grinned. "You know I wouldn't do that to you."
"Aye, I do." Papa looked at me sadly for a minute before speaking. "Are you sure that you want to leave, Katie? You don't have to go, you know."
It took a lot of self-control not to roll my eyes, just then. "Yes, Papa, I want to go. And I'll be back soon. It's just a trip."
"Well, I don't like the idea of you going off by yourself with some young man." Papa looked me right in the eye, and I smiled reassuringly to him. He was still going to try every means he had to convince me not to go. I'd thought that we'd gotten over this, but apparently, I was wrong.
"Papa, he's my cousin," I reminded him.
"I know that," he replied. "It's just, I think you need someone older going with you. It's a dangerous world out there."
"I know, Pops," I said, patting his hand. "And it's nice that you are so worried. But I can take care of myself; really, I can. And Mike will be there, too. He won't let anything happen to me."
"I know you can." Papa patted my hand with his wrinkled, stiff one. "With your father's family, how could you not."
I frowned slightly at that. My father's family, known as the 'Aus Family' have been notorious on the Island for several generations. The boys of the family have all been known to drink; and when they drank, they fought. All in all, it wasn't the best reputation to have, especially when you weren't like that at all, like my Dad. He was a pretty peaceful guy, but Mom told me that when they first started dating, he got into a lot of fights just because of who he was. Papa had been completely against Mom dating him, and gave her the ultimatum; Dad or the family. Much to Papa's surprise, she had chosen my father, and, eighteen years later, here I was.
The way they were had some benefits, however. Growing up in a family like that, you learned from a young age how to handle yourself; you had to, or you got hurt. I could easily take on most guys, and come out on top.
And, man, could I drink.
"Let's be nice," I said in a low voice, and he knew I was annoyed. Another one of the Scot's traits, I was insanely loyal, and quick to anger.
He looked up sharply at me, and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he heard the sound of a car coming up the road. We both turned and looked out the window in time to see a bright red, 1965 Mustang roaring into the yard. I jumped to my feet, heart pounding. I couldn't remember the last time I had been so excited.
"Well, it looks like your ride is finally here," Papa said, glaring out the window. He got up from his seat and stalked into the living room so he wouldn't have to associate with my cousin.
Michael was getting out of the car and walking towards the house. As was custom, he opened the door and walked in without knocking.
"Hey," he said, grinning. "Are you ready to go?"
"Sure am," I laughed. "You want to bring my bag out? I'm just going to say goodbye."
"Alright," he agreed, bending down and scooping the bag up. "But hurry up, will you. I want to get out of here, soon."
"No problem," I assured him. "I do, too. It'll take me two minutes."
The door banged shut behind him, and I winced, scared that he had wakened Virginia, my grandfather's wife. That was one thing that had always annoyed me about Mike; he never really cared about inconveniencing anybody else. He didn't mean to be rude at all, he just always thought about himself before anybody else. That was a trait inherited from the Aus's; I was glad that I hadn't got that one. I was a bit more like the Somers' in that manner; more compassionate, like my mom.
Papa was sitting in his favorite leather chair in the corner, staring that the empty screen of the television. His hands were in his lap, absently entwining the fingers together. I frowned; this was an anxious tick that he had, but I hadn't seen him do it since my Nanny had died, almost three years ago. I knelt on the floor beside him and put my hand on top of his. They stopped moving, and he turned to look at me. My heart almost broke when I saw the tears in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" I asked, rubbing his hand.
"I have a bad feeling," he said, his voice thick. "I'm scared, Katie. I don't want you to go. I don't know why, but I just have a bad feeling about this trip."
I felt an unearthly chill run down my spine. There were several people in the Somers family who were prone to 'bad feelings' and they were something that you never wanted to ignore. Papa was one of these people, but the last time he'd had the feeling had been years ago, when my cousin was in a fatal car accident. We had thought he was going insane that day, as he's kept shouting at us to check 'the road not used'. No one had known what he'd meant until that night when my uncle found the car, completely destroyed, on the old homestead road, that hadn't been used in years. No one was sure why she'd been down there, but if we'd found her in time, she would have lived.
"I'm sure everything is going to be fine," I said, trying not to let him know how badly I was scared. "I'll be okay, Papa. I promise."
"You can't promise something like that," he growled.
I heard the horn honk from outside, and I sighed and stood up. "I have to go, Papa. I'll see you soon, okay?" He didn't reply. I leaned in and hugged him tightly to my chest. "I love you, old man. Take care of yourself. And don't let old Colburne tell you what to do."
A small smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't reply. I knew that he wasn't going to say goodbye; he was superstitious, and if he had a 'bad feeling' then he sure wasn't going to give me a farewell. I turned around, and was almost out of the house when I heard him speak.
"Stay away from the snake!" he yelled loudly from the living room. "Stay away from the snake."
I stopped for a minute, and then pulled on my Chucks, not having any clue as to what he was saying about a snake. I hated snakes, why would I go anywhere near one? Shaking my head, I grabbed my purse from the chair in the porch and ran outside, making sure to close the door softly behind me.
"Took you long enough," Michael complained good-naturedly as I climbed into the front seat of the car.
"I'm sorry," I replied, rolling my eyes. "You know how Papa gets sometimes; he just really didn't want me to go."
"Well that's just too bad," Mike said, backing out of the driveway, making sure not to back over any of the several hundred cats that lived on the farm. "I'm taking you away from this hell-hole of an island, and we're going to see the world."
"This side of it, anyway," I laughed as he took off, sending rocks and dust flying behind the car. "We'll worry about the other continents in a couple of years."
"Here we go!" Mike screamed shrilly.
"First stop, New York!" I laughed.
"I'm thinking of a song," Mike giggled in a girly little voice.
"Oh, God, no!" I cried out, laughing hysterically.
"Oh, yes," he continued. "It's a wonderful song. I think you're familiar with it."
"Please don't!" I covered my ears, but it was no use.
"Da da dada da, da da dada da, da da dada DA!" Mike began to sing at the top of his lungs. "Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today -"
"I want to be a part of it," I joined in, still laughing.
"Come on," Mike cried, poking me in the nose. "I know you know the words. Two little words."
"New York." I giggled.
"NEW YORK!" We cried out together, and then laughed hysterically for several minutes.
"You are such a fool," he said to me after a minute.
"Me!" I cried, indignantly. "You're the one who started it!"
"But you followed," he told me, completely seriously. "I wouldn't do things like that if I had to do them alone, so really, it's all your fault."
"I fail to see how your logic works," I stated. "But I guess I'll let you get away with it, for now. Momma always told me not to make fun of the 'special' kids."
"I'll show you 'special'!" he cried, swerving the car all over the road.
"Stop it!" I shrieked, throwing my hands onto the car's dash. "I'll do anything, just don't hurt my baby."
"Our baby," he pointed out, pulling the car back onto the right side of the road. "Remember, I paid for half of this car."
"Yes, well, I think we've just proved who loves her the most," I sniffed, patting the seats comfortingly. "So she's mine."
"That is not the way it works!" Mike cried. We continued to playfully banter for the rest of the day.