by kc dyer
I read the note, (Miss U, cant wait to see U soon, it said), and asked Ash about the envelope.
“It came that way,” he said, and stalked off for a smoke behind the cafe.
I just smiled, and tossing the envelope, tucked the note into my bra, close to my heart. I missed him, too, that I did.
That Friday, when Hamish stuck his head in the cafe just before closing, and told me he had only one job to finish before he was off work, and would I care to go for a walk again?
I had every table wiped in under a minute.
We’d headed out right after he finished changing the transmission on the local vet’s van. I’d ridden my bike to work, but we left it leaning against the back wall of the cafe and strolled down the road, instead.
For just a moment, I closed my eyes, walking beside him, and thought about where I was. In the most beautiful part of the most beautiful country in the world, walking under the stars with Hamish.
I thought my heart might just stop beating out of sheer happiness. But when I opened my eyes, my large Scottish male companion was scowling up at the sky.
“Bad enough there’s now’t tae do in this dull place, and now the weather’s gone smirrey.”
“Smirrey?” I said, as a smattering of raindrops smacked me in the face.
He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “It’s hell on mah hair,” he said, touching the blonde tuft in front gingerly. It did look a bit more limp than usual.
I pulled up my hood, and he took my hand and curled it in his.
“I hate the rain,” he said, and circled us around back toward the cafe. “In California, it’s sunny most of the time, did ye know?”
I shrugged. “I’ve gotten kind of used to it, actually. Besides,” I added innocently, “I’m sure there’s lots of things we could come up with to do inside.”
He nodded resolutely, and lengthened his stride as we walked past the cafe door. “You’re right. I’m famished—I’d slay an army for a bi’ o’curry. You?”
“I—uh, okay,” I replied, as he dropped my hand and pushed open the door of the chippy beside his garage. I hurried in behind him, relieved to be out of the wet, but disappointed that my hinting skills seemed not to have improved since my long-ago relationship with Campbell.
We’d stepped outside an hour later, and that time Hamish held the door for me. It had been a spirited meal, as Geordie and another mechanic had been inside and had waved us over to their table. Hamish had taken a fair bit of ribbing over keeping company with the new American waitress, but on the whole it had been—if not exactly what I’d hoped for in a date—still pretty fun.
I stepped out into the rain, and Hamish followed me across the street as I went to collect my bicycle. The gel spikes had fallen out of his hair in the damp, and he pulled a baseball cap from his pocket and jammed it on backwards.
“Hair’s ruined in the dreich, anyroad,” he said.
It had been a long time since I had walked with a male wearing a ball cap on backwards, but I peered up at him through the misty darkness. “California Angels?” I guessed, squinting back at the logo.
“Aye!” he answered, delightedly. “They’re mah team.”
I flipped the switch on the bike lamp and it created a damp puddle of light on the ground in front of us. “I guess I’d better head home,” I said, reluctantly. “Thanks for dinner.”
He burped gently, smothering it in one large fist. “Better up than down,” he said, cheerfully, and put his hands over mine on the handlebars. “And why would ye ride, lass, when I can take ye?”
I pretended I hadn’t heard the burp and grinned up at him. “No reason I can think of,” I said. I followed him over to his van and waited while he loaded the bike in the back.
He came around the side, the rain creating dark patches on both his shoulders. “Plannin’ to take the wheel, are yeh?” he said, and gestured at the van.
I realized I was standing on the drivers’ side. “Old habits …” I muttered, and scurried around to the other door while he grinned at me through the rain-speckled glass.
I slid in beside him and the warm air from the heater enveloped me. Hamish wiped his long arm across the seat between us, sweeping a collection of paper cups and wrappers onto the floor at my feet.
“Sorry ’bout that, luv,” he said. “Two deliveries to Fort Augustus and one to Inverness.”
“Are you on the road often?” I asked, over the roar of the engine.
He nodded and shifted gears, as the road to Morag’s place lurched beneath us. “Aye, quite a bit, actually. No’ really my favorite part of the job, but good practice, for all that.”
“Good practice?”
He shot me a shy smile. “For mah green card application. Though’ I migh’ try mah hand at long-distance truckin’ in America.”
“Ah.” My heart lifted a little. He so loved America. Maybe that meant he could fall for an American girl?
I’d never really pictured myself with a truck-driving guy, but—what was I thinking, anyway? That my Jamie and I would live happily ever after in Scotland? I told myself to quit being so judgmental and just learn to enjoy the moment.
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the van, and he pulled off the motorway at the end of Morag’s lane.
“She’s locked the gate,” he said, peering into the darkness. “I’ll wheel the bike up for ye.”
I jumped out and walked around to the back of the van.
He flung open the doors and hoisted the bike over the gate in one smooth motion, and then patted the seat. “Yer chariot awaits, milady.”
I slipped through the swing door of the gate and lifted my leg across the seat. He stepped through the gate and, with his arms holding me safely in place, wheeled the bike up the path to the house.
The gray stone of the old farmhouse loomed at the end of the drive. The rain had stopped, but a silvery mist crept up from the damp hollows. A lamp burned low over the rear door of the farmhouse and another over the barn door, but apart from those, the landscape was completely dark.
“My room is in the barn,” I whispered, and we skirted the pool of light from the farmhouse and headed for the thatched-roof building off to the left. As we closed the distance to the barn, my heart was pounding like an autumn drum.
I had my feet on the pedals, but Hamish was essentially doing all the work, pushing my bike up the slight rise in the path. We rolled up to the barn door, and I stood up to swing my leg off, but he caught me under the arms and lifted me down. With no one holding the bike, it teetered and fell, and inside the barn, one of the residents lowed, cranky at being awoken at such an ungodly hour.
I glanced over my shoulder guiltily, scanning for movement at Morag’s window. She had to be up at five—an hour that was truly ungodly—but the window remained dark. I turned back to look up at Hamish, and found his lips, warm on my own.
My gasp of surprise was nicely muffled, and we stood there in the dark beside the fallen bicycle. He kissed me, and I kissed him back without any trouble at all.
When we both finally had to pause to breathe, he smiled ruefully down at me. “I’ve got to leave again tonight for a delivery down in Fort William,” he said. “But I wanted to see yeh ‘afore I left, even jes’ for a bit.”
“I’m— I’m so glad you did,” I managed. I ran my hands over his jacket and up to clasp around his neck. “Would you—can you come inside, for a few minutes?”
He pressed his mouth down to mine again, and groaned softly into the corner of my lips. “Geordie’s waitin’ for me at the shop, and I wouldnae put it past him tae come an’ haul me bodily away. I would stay if I could—ye know that, aye?”
Um, yes. And knowing how he felt—feeling how he felt—did not make his leaving any easier. It’s possible my desperation showed in my voice.
“Really? Really? Not for two minutes?”
He shook his head and stepped away, and the cold swirled around me like a living thing.
“Never want to say goodbye …
”
He was through the gate before I realized he was singing. It said something about the state I was in that even the fact he was just a little off-key didn’t affect the level of my ardor.
The cow inside the barn lowed again, and I only had time to lift up my hand before Hamish was gone.
Faraway Fellow…
8:00 pm, June 21
Nairn, Scotland
Well, here it is, my favorite day of the year, because it’s the longest. At home, we call it the first day of summer, though here (or so I’ve been told) this day is considered Midsummer. Anyone care to refute this bit of lore?
I would be spending it with my stalwart Scots boyfriend, but he is once again on the road, delivering auto parts all around the north. I miss him!
But now I am late for work, so I will save news of any celebratory bonfires and so on for another post.
- ES
Comments: 23
HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:
Your love is all we speak of in our book club, Miss Emma-san. You are an inspiration to us all. But still you have not shared the truth of how the fire burns between you. This we long to hear.
Gerald Abernathy, Fort William, Scotland:
Well, girl, I think maybe your dreams have actually come true. From your email it sounds like he’s certainly big enough to be Jamie, and a good kisser, too. Don’t sweat the blonde tips and gel——nothin’ wrong with a California boy wanna-be! And maybe all that singing will land him a spot in a boy band!
As for me, I am out of the rest home, feelin’ fine. I’ve decided to stay on here in Scotland for a while. My nurse——you might remember him?——has a sweet little B&B, and when he’s not nursing people back into the land of the living, he’s cooking full English breakfasts in his little cottage. He’s been showing me around a bit, and as there is so much more to see, I’ve decided to stay awhile.
Stay happy, Emma! I am.
Gerald
Jack Findlay, Edinburgh, Scotland:
Well, I will certainly defy anyone who dares to step forward and refute! For you are most well-informed. When measured properly, summer runs from May Day to Lammas on August first, with the end of June therefore being midpoint.
It’s clear from your other commenters at least, that your quest has been successful. In that regard, I wish you both the best. If you plan to be down near Stirling any time soon, I will certainly be delighted to do so in person.
Jack
(Read 20 more comments here…)
I logged off and looked around. Up front, Katy was just packing up her things. I checked my watch. Right on schedule. Now that I wasn’t blogging as often, she didn’t seem to mind seeing me in the library, as long as one or both of us was on our way out when we met.
After getting to know Hamish a little better, I’d learned that he didn’t even own a computer. I was a bit sad to hear he wasn’t interested in reading anything, but at least I didn’t have to worry about him seeing my writing online. I just—I just wasn’t ready to give it up, yet. I felt so connected to my online community. They were all, to a person, completely delighted for me—well, perhaps not to a person. Jack’s comment had sounded a bit stiff and formal, but I put it down to pre-occupation. He must be getting ready for his new book to come out. And since Hamish had been away, I had been reading my way through his backlist. Katy had a whole shelf devoted to Jack Findlay titles, right up at the front of the library, near her desk.
I gave her a wave and leapt onto my bike to head back to Morag’s. Nothing good came of dwelling on my absent boyfriend, so I spent the ride trying to think cheerful thoughts about Gerald. Staying at a B&B run by a cute English nurse? It sounded to me like he was definitely on the road to recovery.
But try as I might to focus on Gerald and his happiness, my mind still turned magnetically to Hamish. I aimed my bike at a pothole in the road and bounced through it viciously. What could I say to HiHoKitty and the other commenters who demanded details of our first night together?
Up to that point I’d managed to avoid admitting how little time we had actually spent together, but things were getting ridiculous. I wanted to be with him. I knew he liked me back from the way he’d kissed me. And riding at high speed over the rutted lanes on my bike was a poor substitute for what we could actually do with some decent time alone together.
I decided to make plans for the next day. I could just whip over to the garage on my break, and all of this worry would be put to rest. We were both consenting adults. We just needed enough alone time to let things develop naturally. My stomach clenched with anticipation. Things were going to work out just fine.
I’d reached a good rhythm, driven by these pleasant thoughts, as I pedaled past the cafe. I’d almost ridden right on by before I noticed the black smoke pouring out the front door. Screeching the bike to a stop, I didn’t even bother to flip out my kickstand, but hopped off and tipped the bike against a wall. I ran to meet Ashwin, who was walking out the front door.
“Is there a fire?” I gasped, as he stepped out to meet me.
He rolled his eyes. “The percolator blew up. I told Da it was on its way out, but you know …” His voice trailed off, and even through the closed door of the cafe, I could hear his father yelling into the phone. Ashwin nervously pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
I peered into the front window. Sandeep was in the back, a pall of smoke hovering above his head in the kitchen. Nothing else appeared to be damaged.
“We had only one couple in the place, so I’d nipped out back for a fag,” muttered Ashwin in my ear. “It turns out, the coffee machine boiled dry without anyone on hand, which was probably a good thing, seein’ as it shattered into murderous shards that snowed down over everythin’.”
I couldn’t help feeling relieved my shift was long over and there was no way I’d be blamed. “Everything?”
He took a long drag, his eyes slitted and staring into the distance. “The sink, the big bin of sugar, the vat of chocolate powder—ever’thin’.”
“How mad was your dad?” I whispered.
Ash shuddered. “If he could’ve actually flayed me alive using only his voice, I would have no skin left. He yelled for about an hour, then he closed the place down, kicked me out and cleaned the kitchen himself.”
His fingers trembled a little as he lit a new cigarette. “This whole ‘family business’ thing …” He shook his head. Through the window I could see Sandeep slam down the phone and grab his raincoat. Seconds later, he came storming out the door, jamming one arm into the coat. He caught sight of his son and stopped in his tracks.
I could see Ash physically brace himself—eyes half-closed, shoulders hunched.
Sandeep took a deep breath and looked at me.
“Set yer alarm, Emma. I need yeh to consult on the new equipment. We’re headin’ tae Edinburgh in the mornin’.”
He jammed a catalogue into my hand and stabbed a finger in his son’s face. “And yer driven’, if ye can manage it without blowin’ up the fookin’ van!”
Sandeep’s van was parked at the foot of Morag’s driveway by the time I emerged at eight the next morning. With all the bus travel, I had become completely used to driving on the wrong side of the road, though the roads seemed so much narrower when driving in the van. Still, it turned out keeping my eyes closed meant I shrieked less at the sight of giant trucks bearing down on us on the impossibly narrow roads, so I mostly tried to nap.
In all, the trip went very smoothly. The roads were clear, Ash kept his head down and his speed under the limit, and his father spent most of the time ignoring the fact I was trying to snooze, and waxing rhapsodic about the new espresso machine he planned to buy.
Once we passed Fort William, I gave up trying to sleep. Sandeep seemed a little disappointed that I didn’t know the difference between the brand names. I explained that I knew how to run the machine, but the relative manufacturing merits were beyond the scope of my barista experience. I’d read through the catalogue and picked o
ut the one that I thought would look nicest in the shop, which managed to thoroughly disgust Sandeep.
In the end, he decided that since I would be no help in the decision process, I would be allowed an hour to explore Princes Street while the men went and collected the new equipment.
No argument from me. I didn’t have any available funds, but at least I could window shop. And besides—hadn’t Claire spent time in Edinburgh looking for Jamie on her return in DRAGONFLY IN AMBER? It wasn’t technically an OUTLANDER detail, but trying to puzzle out the location of Jamie’s print shop would be a fun way to kill time.
As we drove toward the city over the Forth Bridge, Sandeep had Ashwin pull off and took over the driving. Ash grinned at me and slid into the back seat.
“It’s a madhouse drivin’ this city,” Sandeep muttered, and I had to agree. It took us almost an hour to get into the heart of the city, mostly due to construction and slow-moving traffic.
As we wove through the city streets, I kept my nose glued to the window, watching for a glimpse of the castle. Soon enough there it was, looming through the misty day like a huge guardian on its mammoth pile of granite above the city. I craned my neck to look for the bar where I’d first met Hamish, but it was lost in a puzzle of streets running off at strange angles. I was pretty sure I’d never be able to find it again.
Sandeep’s van pulled up to a red light right beside a huge, soot-blackened structure on Princes Street. He pointed out the window.
“Tha’ ugly thing is the Scott Monument,” he said. “This should only take me an hour, but with traffic it could be as long as two. So how about we meet right here at four, to be safe?”
“I’ll be here,” I said, and hopped out of the van. He honked moodily and rolled forward a couple of feet before stopping again. I walked by his open window.
“Damn tram lines,” he said, and shook his fist at the sky.
