Finding Fraser

by kc dyer

“Can’t be helped, pet,” she said.

  The doctor was right.

  I cannot remember ever having been so sick. I think I may have slept that first night curled around the toilet on my bathroom floor. All I know for sure is that the visit to the doctor began what I remember as my month of darkness.

  It was a bad month. And it was not lost on me that it was pretty much the only warm month of the year in the Highlands.

  July 12

  Notes to self:

  It’s Wednesday, possibly, or maybe Thursday. I have a vague memory of Morag bringing me a wet cloth sometime recently. I found it a few minutes ago, under my pillow.

  I also made the mistake of looking at myself in the bathroom last night. My glands are swollen, so my face is completely round. Round and covered with red, oozing blisters. I’m hoping this thing just takes me. I can never go out in public again.

  July 13, I think.

  Dreamed of the water horse. The kid who hid behind me on the shores of Loch Ness was covered in scabs, wasn’t he? What had his auntie called him ...?

  Oh yeah—the little shite.

  She was right.

  July 16

  Woke up thinking of Hamish. I must have infected him. I pulled a t-shirt on over my pajama top and staggered out to get my bike. I nearly made it to the kissing gate before Morag caught me.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy...?”

  She seemed kinda out of breath. I think maybe she ran all the way from the kitchen.

  So I told her that I needed to see Hamish. What if I’d made him sick?

  She wrested the bike from my hands and told me I was delusional. And all the way back to my room, I tried to talk her into letting me go to him. As sick as I was – he would be so much worse for being so big.

  But Morag was having none of it. She tucked me back into bed – literally jamming the sheets under the mattress so that I was trussed flat as a pack of cello-wrapped chicken.

  I gave it one last shot. “What if he gets scars on his abs?”

  This last thought made me burst into tears.

  Morag looked alarmed, an she promised to call Hamish at Geordie’s before she turned out the light.

  Sometime later that night, I remember her sticking her head into my room. “The great bastard’s had them,” she reported.

  Relief washed over me. “Oh, that’s such good news,” I said into the darkness. “He’ll be safe, then.”

  “Safe as houses, pet,” she said, and closed the door.

  July 18

  Up this morning, and feeling well enough for a bit of guilt to seep through. I hadn’t mentioned a word to my sister, and cranky as she is, she might be worried at my radio silence. Checking the coast was clear on the Morag front, I gingerly pedaled my pockmarked face, (shrouded in my biggest hoodie) into town. I figured no one would recognize me at the Internet cafe, but discovered that sometime over the time I had been sick, it had closed down.

  I slunk into the library to post a quick note to my sister but was immediately caught by Katy.

  She looked so horrified by the sight of my face that I turned and fled in shame. As I pedaled home, I thought about her expression and felt a wash of relief that I hadn’t run into Hamish.

  But as I wrestled my bike through the kissing gate, I thought – why hasn’t Hamish run into me...?

  To: emmasheridan@gmail.com

  From: JackFindlay@*range.co.uk

  July 20

  Dear Emma,

  Haven’t seen any new posts from you in a while. I hope that means you are settled and happy, with no time to write, now that your quest is over. It is over, yes? Things haven’t changed?

  Anyway, just wanted to let you know that the first advanced copies have come back from the printers. My agent emailed me the day after I sent the manuscript to her, saying she’d stayed up all night reading it. Never had a response like that from her before, so hoping it’s a good sign. She tells me they are fast-tracking it, whatever that means. I’m just glad she liked it.

  Thank you again for your honesty.

  And…you are well, yes?

  Jack

  Finally Finished Fever…

  12:15 pm, July 21

  Nairn, Scotland

  So, it turns out that a person can have the chickenpox twice. I clearly remember being very itchy and missing a few days of school when I was in the fifth grade.

  Apparently it was not enough.

  I have to say, that memory doesn’t really compare with what my life’s been like for the past couple of weeks. It’s been brutal. But I am feeling better now. It takes more than a kid’s disease to bring me down for long.

  Unfortunately, it’s set my earnings back a bit, but that is soon remedied. I’m looking forward to life returning to normal.

  - ES

  Comments: 7

  HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

  Be well, Miss Emma. So good your Highland warrior can nurse you back to health.

  (Read 6 more comments here…)

  I woke up in the morning actually feeling like myself again. I’d kicked off the covers in the night, so I lay there and took a good long look at myself in the first light of dawn. The blisters had all scabbed a few days earlier, and it seemed like most of them had finally dried up or fallen off. My body was still red and speckled, but I no longer looked like an active plague victim. And not only that, but from the angle I was lying, I could have sworn I could see the shadow of one hip-bone.

  I’m fairly certain that’s never happened before.

  This cheered me enough to send me into the shower, and then to take another ride into town.

  I got lucky and arrived as Katy was lying outside on the lawn, taking in the sun on her lunch break, so I had time enough to make the post and send Jack a quick reply, telling him briefly what had happened. Then I headed back out into the sunshine to see about getting back to work.

  The long ride had left me a bit winded, so I walked my bike the three blocks or so between the library and the cafe. And while I walked, I thought about HiHoKitty’s remark. I did have a somewhat vague memory of Morag announcing that Hamish was immune to chickenpox.

  So why hadn’t I heard from him? Not even a phone call to Morag’s?

  I wasn’t about to go see him, especially in my speckled state. But since my head had become clearer, I definitely needed to give my Highland warrior some further thought. I mean – even if he hadn’t been immune, he could have sent flowers. Or even called …

  And speaking of which, Sandeep was on the phone when I arrived at the cafe.

  “Aye, now. Righ’. See yeh.”

  “I’m better,” I announced, as soon as he rang off. “I’m ready to come back to work.

  He took one look at me and dragged me back into the kitchen. “Like hell,” he said.

  “No, seriously—I am feeling better. And the doctor said I was only contagious a week, so …”

  “So, yer not working here still looking like a poxy whore.”

  “Oh, very nice. No ‘Welcome back, Emma!’. No ‘How’re you feeling, Emma?’”

  “I’m sorry, luv, but yeh still look awful.”

  “Look, Sandeep—I can’t afford to be off any longer. I’ve already lost, like, two week’s pay.”

  He sighed. “I know. And ye’ve been missed. No one makes a latte like you do. But I can’t have yeh driven’ me customers away wi’ yer face.”

  “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  He scrutinized me closely. “Well, it’s fair hideous, still. But how’s this? You are one of the family. And I don’t want you to worry about the money, so if you stay home for another fortnight, I’ll pay ye at half-wages, aye?”

  “I guess so,” I said. “But, please don’t give my job away, Sandeep. I need …”

  I stopped. I hadn’t mentioned to Sandeep that I was going to have to return to the States soon. All the more reason for him to give my job away.

  “Ach, dinnae worry. The ol’ lady from the Internet Cafe is
lendin’ a hand.”

  “Bet she doesn’t make as good a cappuccino as me,” I muttered.

  “She don’t break as many dishes, neither,” he said.

  There was a rustling behind me, and Morag walked in. “Ye’ve got to quit making these escapes, Emma,” she said. “It’s playin’ hell with mah schedule.”

  I stared at her. “How did you even know I was here?”

  She nodded at Sandeep, and he tucked his phone in his pocket guiltily. “Look, lass—jes’ take a fortnight off. Ye can help me wi’ the garden, aye? A little sun will help that complexion.”

  “I hope so,” Sandeep muttered, darkly.

  I shot him a look. “Fine. I’ll be back in a week. But you are going to miss me, I promise you.”

  Morag tossed my bike into the back of her truck as if it weighed nothing.

  “I’m sure he will. In the meantime, this bicycle is mine for the present, aye?”

  July 25

  So, the truth came out on the drive home. Turns out it was Morag who suggested to Sandeep that I take the time off, and told him she’d waive my rent, while I was sick.

  Argued with her about this long and hard, but deeply touched, actually. What a softie she is, though you’d never know it to look at her.

  Also? It turns out a fortnight is actually TWO weeks.

  She insisted I would work for my keep, and so that’s what I’ve done. Weeded the garden, learned how to feed Reinhardt and the other cattle, and trekked the fields, checking on the sheep every day.

  No sign of Hamish. I think – he might be truly done with me. Yesterday while weeding, I caught myself humming Beach Boys tunes. I miss him so much, but am haunted by one question: would Jamie have left Claire to recover from the plague alone?

  July 30

  Morag won’t let me near the bike, so once again forced to write notes here in the hope that one day I’ll get to my blog again.

  I’ve spent this week mucking out the barn, which is just about as fun as it sounds. Unfortunately, all this labor has meant I have been eating like a horse. I’ve managed to acquire a pretty decent farmer’s tan, and my biceps are looking fine. But I looked this morning and I can’t find the shadow of my hipbone any more.

  I complained bitterly to Morag, who told me that all decent men like something to hold on to. “Hipbones,” she said, “are fookin’ nonsense.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard her use that word before!

  Later...

  I heard Morag yelling at her farmhand this afternoon. Apparently she caught him asleep in the haymow.

  “Ye need to step spritely if ye’re to earn yer salary,” she said, “since mah boarder is doin’ twice the work of you, yeh lazy sow”.

  I flexed my new biceps and beamed for the rest of the day.

  Fondness in the Fields…

  12:15 pm, August 3

  Nairn, Scotland

  Since I have little to discuss of my own life except that I am feeling better, I thought I’d share a quick story about someone else instead.

  This person, whom I will call Mary, has title to her own farm here in the Highlands. Livestock, a huge garden and a few acres of crops. She’s pretty much self-sufficient, and she works very hard, especially at this time of year, getting ready for the harvest.

  No time for anything else, aye?

  The neighboring farmer has a field of spring wheat that is harvested early in August each year. We’ll call him Henry. Since I’ve been here, Henry and Mary have little more to do with each other than any other neighbors would. They help each other out with equipment once and a while, and that’s about it.

  Yesterday was Mary’s birthday, though, and in the morning, as I walked the bull up to his pasture, I noticed something odd. Henry’s field of spring wheat had been plowed. But only part of it. Only the middle.

  In the shape of a heart.

  When I pointed it out to Mary, she shrugged and suggested I was inventing things. I replied that I was not, it was clear to anyone with eyes in their head that the field had been partially plowed, and the wheat that had fallen was in a heart-shaped pattern. She then insisted that it was I who was love-obsessed and it was making me see things. I then noted that the object of my affections had been unexplainedly absent for the duration of my severe and disfiguring illness.

  Her response was only to make that very Scottish noise in the back of her throat and stomp off.

  There the matter might have rested, had I not returned late last night to her kitchen, with an aim to steal one of the sugary doughnuts she had inexplicably produced in the afternoon. As I opened the kitchen door, however, I spied the following:

  · one lit candle, jammed in old wine bottle, centered on large wooden table

  · one new wine bottle, red, open

  · two wine glasses, filled

  · one plate piled high with afore-mentioned sugary doughnuts

  And finally…

  · the backs of two heads, tilted together, voices pitched low in conversation.

  I leave you to draw your own conclusions…

  - ES

  Comments: 14

  HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

  True love for Mary and Henry. Hooray! Glad that you are well, Miss Emma. Perhaps you may become a Scottish farmer yourself. You even start to sound the part…!

  (Read 13 more comments here…)

  The day before I was to return to work, Morag had actually agreed to let me take the bike out for a test ride. So, naturally, I’d headed straight for the library.

  Katy had come over and offered me a polite hello. My shocked expression must have been evident, because she’d looked a little embarrassed and told me that I’d been missed. I’d grinned at her and headed straight over to the computer terminal, my head held high.

  Writing about Morag and her neighbour Hendry (okay, okay, so I didn’t do a great job of inventing aliases) took my mind off Hamish’s disappearance. But it hurt. It hurt and I wanted him back. I still had that note he had signed with a heart. That had to mean something.

  My spirits sank further when there was no email from Jack, but I chastised myself for it. It was Hamish I needed to concentrate on. I might be writing about romance Scottish-farmer style, but what I really needed was romance, Hamish-style. After I finished posting, I decided to walk across the street and talk to Geordie.

  When I stepped inside the office of the garage, Geordie was there already, going through a pile of invoices. As soon as he caught sight of me, he quickly moved over to stand behind the desk.

  “I’m not catching,” I insisted. “The scabs have all fallen off.”

  “Charming,” he said. “But there’s no use you hanging about. Hamish is in Dores—has been all week.”

  “All week?” I said, relief washing through me. So that was why he hadn’t been to see me, at least for the past week. He hadn’t even been in Nairn. “Why?”

  “It’s a—a big job,” said Geordie. He gathered his papers into a pile and scurried into the garage without even saying goodbye.

  Which didn’t explain why Hamish hadn’t called or sent flowers. But it was something.

  Fair Form…

  12:15 pm, August 4

  Nairn, Scotland

  Back to work for me today, and feeling fine. Things are starting to feel normal again.

  Almost completely normal.

  - ES

  Comments: 0

  I didn’t really have time to post, and only put something up because I was in checking for comments. But the site had fallen strangely silent.

  So, yeah … pretty much nothing felt normal. My relationship with my Highland warrior was over before it had really begun, and I hadn’t breathed a word of it online. I had become a serial blog-liar.

  Things picked up a bit once I started work, though. The cafe was busy all morning, and at one point there was an actual line-up for coffee.

  My public had clearly missed me.

  But the best part happened right in the middle of the
lunch rush. The bell on the door jingled, and I looked up to see Hamish.

  I rushed over for a hug, but he side stepped me.

  “Keep it professional, aye?” hissed Ash, as he brushed by me to wipe off one of my tables.

  Sandeep rolled his eyes and held up one finger at me, which I took for permission to go into the back for a minute with Hamish.

  When we got into the kitchen, he took my head in his hands and gently kissed me—on the forehead.

  “I’d heard you were a wee speckled hen,” he said. His voice sounded so wonderful, I thought I might cry at the very sound of it. But then the words sank in.

  “They won’t scar,” I said. “The doctor promised, as long as I don’t scratch, and I’ve been super careful.”

  “Aye,” he said, thoughtfully. And then again. “Aye.”

  I gazed up at his face, brown with the summer sun beneath his baseball cap. “I so missed you,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you call?”

  “Ach, it’s been rare busy,” he said, and patted my arm with two fingers. “I must get back—Geordie only gave me a minute, aye?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, me too. But when can I see you again? I’d really like to talk. Can we make a plan?”