Finding Fraser(102)

“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.