Unconventional

Glumly the reality of my situation began to sink in. I’d miss the deadlines, and lose the property rights. They’d go straight back up for auction again, only this time, they’d be purchased by people with far more resources than me.

Hey, look. It’s not your fault.

It wasn’t, really. No one could’ve predicted my uncle’s illness. He got sick so suddenly, and faded so fast. And it was so sad, too. So cold and lonely, trying to care for him all by myself.

And when he was finally gone… somehow care for the castle, too.

Even with the money he left behind, it wasn’t nearly enough to finish the project. It would be several years of backbreaking work, down the drain. My uncle’s last great love, ultimately unfinished. His final legacy, lost.

And certainly not for a lack of trying.

Maybe you could check with another bank. Or maybe—

It was really no use arguing with myself. Trying to figure out a way to somehow keep the payment schedule and finish renovating the property as per the government-issued requirements. That was the hard part, really. I could fight off bill collectors or I could fight off inspectors, but definitely not both.

It was just over two years ago that I’d left California for the promise of something new. To not only see and travel Europe, but to live in a castle while doing it! My uncle Travis had sent me the most breathtaking photos. Everything looked so good, so incredibly amazing…

I’d absolutely adored him since childhood, and so had my older sisters. Every time he stopped in town, our one and only uncle had taken us on a different grand adventure. Rock climbing. Indoor skydiving. Crazy things my mother would never have done with us, even if my father hadn’t been ripped from our lives so long ago.

And now, just like his brother, uncle Travis was gone too.

It would’ve been so easy to leave. To get on the next plane and fly back to California, and forget any of this ever existed. No one would stop me. No one would blame me…

But for once, I wanted to take a stand. To actually accomplish something significant in my young adult life, rather than continue to avoid the burden of responsibility.

Besides, my uncle had begged me to finish what he’d started. In some of his final words to me, right up until his dying breath… he’d made me swear that one last promise.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered into the silence of my tiny car. “I really tried.”

Another vehicle passed going the opposite direction and I instinctively flinched. No matter how long I lived here, I’d never get used to driving on the left side of the road.

I thought back to how happy and full of pride my uncle was, when I’d first arrived in Scotland. He’d practically stolen the property at a public auction, at a price very close to the sum total of his entire life’s savings. But Westgate Castle came with a stipulation as well. That a place of such historic significance could only be kept by someone willing to restore it to its original state — and keep it that way.

This meant that all renovations needed to be checked and rechecked, by some very specific inspectors, on a very specific timeline. Inside, we could do just about whatever we wanted. But on the outside? Every cracked brick and piece of crumbling stone needed to be mortared back in its proper place.

I pulled through the gates well after dark, and rolled to a stop in the old courtyard. Not even Julian or Noah’s trucks were still here. They almost always stayed late, along with Chase, who happened to live with Noah.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t been running out of money for a while now. One by one I’d let the crew go, until only these three men remained. I told myself I’d kept them because they were transplanted Americans, and I could relate to that. That they reminded me of home. But I’d also kept them for another reason, one I was reluctant to admit even to myself, and only then in the dead of night while I stared restlessly up at my painted ceiling:

I’d kept them because they were hot.

More than once, on nights like this, I’d imagined asking them in for a drink. I’d even stocked my fridge with four different beers, in anticipation of my success. In my mind’s eye I pictured approaching Julian, just before he wrapped up for the day. Or asking Noah and Chase in for a cold one, as they packed up their work truck.

But I’d never done it. I’d always chickened out.

And now…

Now I was scraping the bottom of the barrel, and there was nothing else to be had. Virtually nothing left in my uncle’s depleted account, and my own balance long since negative. In other words, I was at the end of my rope.

A warm rain began to fall as I pushed through the great oaken doors of the keep and bolted them securely behind me. I wondered how many people had done the same. How many hundreds of men and women, over dozens of generations, had locked themselves in here, away from the rest of the world.

I looked around as I always did, before heaving a sigh. It was definitely good to be home.

When it came to the interior of Westgate Castle, my uncle had spared no expense. He’d modernized the ancient rooms and soaring chambers, installing full gas, electric, and plumbing. The rooms were all cozy and warm and beautifully-furnished. There was even high-speed wi-fi, to confuse the fuck out of whatever ghosts still happened to be lurking here.

Maybe he’d spent too much of his budget in here, but by the time we realized that it was too late. There was no turning back. He was already sick, and all we could do was look forward.

“I miss you,” I called skyward, into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. If my poor dead uncle heard me, he didn’t respond. “I wish you were here.”