Finding Fraser (38 page)

“Fer yer porridge,” she said, then she
reached up with one hand and patted me on the cheek. “Follow yer heart, lass. If
ye can work things out, it’s all for the good. But if ye can do better, tell
the bugger so.”

I stood beside her, my heart full and the
little pot of butter in my hand. The thought of her kindness overwhelmed me a
moment, and I leaned forward to hug her.

The look of horror on her face stopped me in
mid-air. Clearly even six shots of whiskey were not enough to entice her to
indulge in such a physical display. Instead she thumped me on the shoulder,
held open the kitchen door and waved the scotch bottle at me as I headed out
into the dark.

As I stumbled down the path to the barn,
I knew she was right. One hundred percent, absolutely correct. After all, what
was this whole trip about if not following my dreams? I couldn’t let my time
with Hamish just melt away into the Highland mists.

The air was cool, now that the midnight hour
was well gone. In this part of the Highlands at least, the heat of even the
hottest summer day dissipated as dusk fell. But the fragrance of the warm grass
and whatever else was blooming along the margins of the farmyard persisted. I
gazed for a long moment up into the clear starry sky.

Morag was right. I needed to take her
advice.

I didn’t even stop to go inside.

Carefully placing the pot of fresh butter on
a little wooden shelf beside the door, I threw a leg over my bicycle. The air
held a chill that only someone who had been in the Highlands in August could truly
appreciate, but I didn’t feel the cold. The talk with Morag had given me a fire
in my belly.

Not to mention all the single malt scotch.

The whole ride into town, I replayed
conversations with Hamish in my head. The way he recited song lyrics—that
was endearing. It was. What kind of cold fish didn’t like to be sung to?

The recent rift was repairable. What good
was falling in love with Scotland if I didn’t have a man to love, too? After
all, the whole reason I’d come here was to find my Fraser.

I followed the glow on the road cast from
the headlight on my handlebars. Hamish had adjusted that light for me—made
sure it shone straight and true. The road surface showed clearly ahead of me,
and if my trajectory was not exactly in a straight line on that dark night, the
light gave me notice so I could correct before driving off the edge and into a
ditch.

That headlight was his way of showing his
love for me. So what if he’d never managed to refer to love without it being a
part of a song lyric? That was his way. Scottish men were a breed apart. Anyone
who’d read the OUTLANDER books knew that. And I’d never told him I loved him
either, so how could I judge him by such a harsh standard? I loved his country.
I’d come there to find my Jamie Fraser, and I’d found him— or as close to
him as I could hope for. Any problems we had were fixable.

Rolling into town, I began to feel a
certain chill in my fingertips. Morag’s fuel was burning low, and with the cold
night air in my lungs, I began to think a little more clearly. I’d begun this
journey on little more than a whim, but by the time I’d arrived in Scotland, I’d
had a plan firmly in place.

What I hadn’t really thought about—beyond
tracing the journey in the front of the novel—was Claire’s part in the
love story. Claire’s heart was true, but there was never any doubt that the
woman had standards. Jamie literally lived through hell and more to meet those
standards. Even living with uncertainty and chaos all around her, she knew what
she wanted.

As I rode my bicycle off the High Street and
into the lane that led to Hamish’s flat, I noticed a light was still on in the
back of the garage.

This stopped me in my tracks.

The light was off in his apartment, but
still on in the garage.

The glow inside me from Morag’s scotch
increased once more. The man was so dedicated, he worked until the job was
done. That was why people from miles around came to his garage. How many nights
had he been working late recently? This was a real man.

I choked up a little at the thought that I’d
doubted him—that I’d doubted us, and swung myself off my bike. It was a
little bit of a wild swing, I admit, and my foot missed the curb. But in
moments, I was back on my feet again and had the bike leaned against the wall
of Geordie’s shop. There would be no use trying the front door at this late
hour, so I took the long way around to the back.

The lane was cobbled, and I had to
concentrate on the footing. As I righted one of the bins I’d lurched into in
the dark, I thought about a new plan.

A Hamish-friendly plan.

We needed to talk through what we both
wanted—what was important to each of us as individuals, as well as
together. I needed answers to a few questions, for sure. But after all that, if
he still wanted to go to the US? We could go together. My allotted six months
was nearing its end. Thanks to Sandeep and the tips from my Scottish customers
who were more generous than the world gave them credit for, I had earned enough
for my ticket home, with a little extra. Perhaps even enough for new contact lenses,
as Hamish had suggested. We could start again, but this time in America.

And when he got homesick for his own
beautiful country, which was sure to happen, I could be at his side on the
return journey, too.

A perfect plan.

A foolproof plan.

Light shone around the frame of Geordie’s
back door. The chill in the air had finally worked its way through the alcohol
in my blood and I shivered a little as I thought about sitting in the garage
with Hamish as he finished his work.

It would be warm inside. I would tell him
all my deepest thoughts, and afterwards?

Well, his little flat was just up the
stairs.

As I reached for the door-handle, I silently
thanked the ancient gods for Morag and her scotch-fuelled butter making.
Without her, I’d never have known to follow my heart.

The light blinded me as I stepped into the
delicious, oil-scented warmth of the garage, but the first thing I heard was
Hamish’s voice. He was still singing, god love him.

“I wish they all could be California
Girrrllllssss …”

Though he had a little trouble staying on
key, the man had a fine baritone. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I thought
briefly how nice it would be to hear him singing with Morag. Stepping over a
stray tailpipe on the floor, I walked into the repair bay.

In addition to his fine baritone, Hamish
also had a fine, strong pair of buttocks. And they were the first things I saw
as I stepped into the shop. A fine, strong pair of buttocks, leaning at a very
odd angle against the hood of a car.

I watched them flex, and release, and flex
again.

When I finally managed to drag my eyes away,
I saw his work overalls were puddled around his ankles. My head was spinning a
bit from the ride, and perhaps the scotch, so I was slow to take in the whole
picture. But after a moment, it became clear that the pair of long, finely
tanned legs wrapped around his waist were most definitely not his own.

Any remaining alcohol evaporated from my
system in an instant.

“Oh, honey, you’re right. We are the best,”
came a breathy voice from beneath Hamish.

That is to say, from the person lying on the
hood of the car.

Apart from the legs, all I could see was
impossibly long, straight blonde hair draped over the new chrome fenders on
Alec McGuffin’s car. And a tiny Celtic cross attached to a narrow, silver chain
around one ankle.

Final Farewell…

5:00 pm, Aug 14

Nairn, Scotland

Well, it’s been a long, crazy ride, but
it’s over. I just noticed the date. I guess I am officially twenty nine and a
half today. That is, if a person can still be allowed a half-birthday so far
along into adulthood.

Thank you, each and every one, for your
loyalty. For following me on all my adventures. For always asking the right
questions, especially you, HiHoKitty. To all my followers in Japan and in
Germany and around the globe, thank you.

I am a better person for having known you
all through this blog. I am a better person for having been to Scotland. But my
quest is over——I know it now to be the deluded, foolish thing my
sister has insisted it was all along.

Time for me to go back to Chicago.

- ES

Comments: 197

(Read 197 comments
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…)

A
better person.

I leaned back in the chair and felt nothing
but relief that I’d managed to post something that actually sounded sensible.

Not broken-hearted at all.

I couldn’t read more than a couple of the
comments, though. They started flooding in almost immediately.

What
about Hamish?

What
has become of your Fraser?

At least the man had the decency to pull up
his pants. In fact, as soon as Hamish had realized he wasn’t just serenading
the girl who’d wrapped her legs around him, he’d had his pants up right
quickly.

“Aw, baby,” he said, fumbling over his
buttons. “I was gonna tell you about this, but—you know—
breaking up is hard to do
.”

He actually crooned the last line at me.

I would have thrown a jibe about Neil Sedaka
being for grandparents—for GREAT-grandparents—into his face, but I
was busy staring.

With my mouth open.

At the girl who had just pulled up her
thong, smoothed down her skirt and adjusted white plastic sunglasses onto her
nose.

In the middle of the night.

Now—who would do something like that?
Wear sunglasses after midnight, even after being caught with her thong down?

I took a step closer and peered into her
face. She opened her bag and took out a lipstick.

“Susan …?” I said. I could hardly push any
voice past the giant lump in my throat, so it came out sounding pretty
strangled.

“You must be mistaken,” she said, in a
perfect middle-American accent. “My name is Sunshine.”

“As in
California
Sunshine,” added Hamish, helpfully.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from her face as she
applied her lipstick. From her hair. She’d bleached it to an almost platinum
blonde, and added the long extensions I’d seen draped across the hood of the
car.

She looked
so
different. But there was no question in my mind.

“First my contact lenses and now—my
Jamie?” I whispered.

“I’m sure I don’t know
what
you are talking about. Who is this crazy person, Hamish?”

I was able to look him in the face at last.

“Aw, baby,” he said. “I’m sure there’s a way
for us to stay friends. Yeh know I’ll always ha’e a wee soft spot for ye.”

“A wee soft spot?” I repeated. “Hamish, do
you know who this is?” I’d found my voice somewhere, as evidenced by the way
Hamish kind of wilted back from the volume.

Susan tried to redirect him. “Don’t listen
to her, Sugar. She’s jealous of what we have.”

But he answered me calmly, and with true
conviction. “Her name is Sunshine, Emma. I met her the day we first drove to
Dores. And we are goin’ to California together.”

“Aww, honey,” Susan said. “That’s so sweet!”
Her lips were now a paler shade of pink than her skin. It gave me a moment’s
satisfaction to see how orange they made her artificial tan look.

I turned back to Hamish, sure my head was
going to explode. I wanted to scream at him.

But somehow I found it in me to swallow it
all down.

When my voice came out, it was strangely
calm. “Hamish, this isn’t Sunny Delight or whatever she’s told you her name is.
This is Susan; Susan O’Donnell. She is an actress and a thief. She stole almost
everything I had and ran away. And she’s skipped bail now, for stealing from
other people too.”

He was back in his coveralls, and had the
grace to look uncomfortable. “You’ve got the wrong person, Emma. My sweet
Sunshine could never do that to you. To anyone.”

“Never,” echoed a sincere voice from
somewhere behind me.

I ignored Susan and took a step closer to Hamish.
“You’ve always had my heart, Hamish, from that first night in Edinburgh. And
even when you let me down, I still held onto hope. Even tonight, I wanted to
give you a chance to talk things through. But we are done talking. We are just—
done.”

My voice broke, and I knew if I said another
word I would sob like a baby.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said. “Maybe we can
talk it through tomorrow?”

I took a deep breath, and by the time I had
exhaled, I knew one thing for sure. They deserved each other.

“The luck of the Irish to you both,” I said,
kind of regretting it as it came out of my mouth.

“Aw—ain’t that sweet?,” Sunshine Susan
brayed. “Hamish, honey, ain’t that sweet?”

I stomped to the door. Hamish’s voice
followed me, and I could hear where he was practicing the cadences of Susan’s
accent already. “It shore is, Sugar,” he said, but then something of the Hamish
I thought I knew kicked in.

He took a step toward me. “
I never can say … good-bye,
” he sang,
and then awkwardly added “
Emmaaaaaaahhhh.
”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I can say it.
Goodbye, Hamish.”

And I slammed that garage door behind me,
knowing my dream of ever finding my Fraser had just come to an end.

That was it, really. When I checked my
email the next day, Jack had written to say he’d read my post and wanted to see
if I was all right. Sweet of him. He also wanted to invite me to the launch of
his new book, but I didn’t even bother to click through to the details.

Gerald had written, too, expressing the
standard condolences and asking me to at least come say goodbye before I left
the country.

Reading their notes made me feel a bit
better, but—well, the dream had died, and with it, a little part of my heart
had died, too.

Morag took the news of my leaving stoically,
though she did promise to “Gi’e the boot” to any field hand occupying her spare
room in the barn if I ever decided to return. She tried to talk me into staying
for the Highland Games, which were due to run in just a couple of weeks, even
throwing the little lambs I had helped deliver into the mix as further
incentive.

“They’ll have a place of honor, Emma, and
you’ll get to see it happen!”

But she took my refusal pretty well, in the
end.

When I gave my notice to Sandeep, he told me
he’d accept it, but only if I’d stay until the end of the month.

“You’ll be harboring a fugitive if I stay
that long,” I said. “I’m supposed to leave the country by the 25
^th
.”

“You got yer ticket yet?” he asked.

When I shook my head he smiled. “Then I’ll
have a fugitive making the best coffee in the place.”

I think it was the first real compliment he
had ever paid me.

Ashwin refused to acknowledge I was leaving.
He just stood outside in the back lane, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth,
viciously punching the buttons on his mobile phone.