Finding Fraser(101)

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 here…)





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.