All That Was Fair
Inverness was an interesting holiday spot, to say the least, though I knew that Frank was here more for the bodies that lay in the ground here in Scotland than the living one that shared his bed. While he overlooked crumbling records from centuries long passed, I browsed shops filled with new wares, business prosperous after the Great War's long years of uncertainty and fear. I was content with being set aside during Frank's history sessions, for I cared little about Frank's ancestor. He loved dead things and I loved the living plants. That was the way it was going to be until we became like we were wed again. I feared that our relationship would never spark again, and I was trying. Our home in Oxford would probably be the place to start. Passing by a quaint shop just off the main drag, the window filled with bright hues of blues and violet. In the centre, a set of vases, blue as the sea and sky. I marveled at how beautiful they would look on a mantle with white roses spouting from their mouths, so with determination, I bought them. After looking at the time, I figured Frank would be nearly done his session with the Vicar, so I made my way the few blocks to his home to catch the last of the drivel. Vases propped in one arm, I knocked.
The Vicar looked surprised to see me, squinting against the weak sun fighting its way through the clouds. "Mrs. Randall, what a surprise. Where's Frank?"
I gave him an incredulous look, hand on my hip. "Frank told me he would be here this afternoon, so I'm coming by to see how the search is going. Did he step out?" His weathered face and bright gray eyes told me everything before he even shook his head. "Nae, he hasnae been here all day, maybe he fell ill."
I stiffly nodded and apologized for the interruption. I was anxious the entire walk back to the inn, wondering what blasted cold my husband caught this time. I made my way up the creaky steps and jiggled the key in the door before pushing it open with my hip, vases in hand, when I noticed two bodies in our bed instead of one. The vases plummeted to the floor as both figures shot up. "What in the bloody hell is this, Frank?" I exclaimed, though my breath was taken from me. The woman looked vaguely familiar, until I recalled the day I was deployed back to the front lines. She had been on the train platform watching us as Frank sent me off. He even introduced her. Jane McReary. Colleague, trusted friend. I picked up a lamp from the table and threw it above his head, porcelain shattering onto the bed.
"Claire, please stop. You know as well as I that the War-" He was cut off as I threw another lamp, this time clipping McReary in the shoulder, she cried in pain, her green eyes glaring, but saying nothing. She turned her blonde head away in what looked like shame. Frank's eyes were like glass, not yet broken in my fury. My anger subsided enough to pull off my wedding band and toss it at him as I left. He expertly caught it as a sob caught in my throat. "Claire!" I heard him, but he had already lost me forever. I then realized that this was why he had come to Inverness. I took the car and drove, away from Frank, from Jane McReary and her marriage wrecking ways, away from Inverness. I found my way to a landmark stone pointing to what appeared to be a small stonehenge, and recalled the inn's matron speak of it. Craigh na Dun, shrouded in early evening fog. I went up, climbing the steep hill it sat on and then plopping myself down next to a massive stone. I picked small daisies and plucked the tiny petals, tears quietly running down my cheeks. After a while, I stood, tracing my fingers along each stone as I circled them. The stones were ancient and weathered by time, and they felt as if they were humming with life. As I got closer to the centre, the stones vibrated strongly, the buzzing filling my ears and overwhelming my senses. I fell into the centre stone and everything only became louder and darker until suddenly, peace.