Finding Fraser(103)

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 25th.”

“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.





Facing Forward…

12:15 pm, August 31

Nairn, Scotland



Saying goodbye to Nairn is just about the hardest thing I have ever done. But truthfully, compared to the panic attacks and nonsense that attended leaving the US to come here, things have been relatively calm.

I am facing forward with a steely resolve. This country has taken its place in my heart, and I know I will be back.



- ES



Comments: 1

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

So sorry you cannot stay just a short while longer, Emma-san. For we——myself and the members of our book club——have taken you and your adventure into our own hearts. We face the great unknown ourselves…and are set to join you as world travelers. Perhaps one day, we shall meet. We wish you Godspeed, Emma Sheridan.





That HiHoKitty. Loyal to the end. I had to admit to being a little confused by her comments now and again, and this final one that arrived right on the heels of my posting, was no exception. But I could not fault her sincerity, and I was strangely grateful for her good wishes. They had sustained me for so long, I couldn’t really imagine having done without them.

By the time I picked up my final paycheck, I’d been what the United Kingdom Immigration authorities apparently call an “Overstay” for six days. When I sat down and counted my money, I realized that if I passed on buying new contacts, I would have just enough to pay for my ticket home and still stop on the way to see Gerald. He’d sent me an address by email, and since it was walking distance from the bus station in Fort William, I would even be able to save the cab fare.

For all my talk of steely resolve in the blog post, when I climbed onto the bus heading south on that last afternoon of August, and saw Morag lift her arm to wave goodbye, I sat back in my seat and cried like a baby.





Clutching the address Gerald had sent, I walked up to the front door in Fort William, just as a warm, summer dusk was falling. Still, I could feel the cool wind slipping down the slopes of Ben Nevis, and I pulled my hoodie tightly around my waist as I waited for someone to answer my knock.

Gerald and Clarence came to the door together, and welcomed me into their home. Gerald introduced me properly to Clarence, and they shared the news he had been holding out—they were going to be married.

“None of this ‘civil partnership’ for us,” Gerald said, after we’d clinked our glasses. “We’re heading to Canada this fall and doing it right.”

“And then,” added Clarence with a grin, “perhaps a tour of the deep South.”

Gerald snorted, and poured us more champagne.

We had a lovely evening, eating Brie and cranberries melted on crackers, and laughing about our first meeting in that stone circle outside of Inverness.

“It feels like a lifetime ago,” I said, after Gerald had told his side of the story.

He smiled and squeezed the hand of his love. “I am a sucker for a happy ending,” he said.

I grinned at him, knowing I’d heard that somewhere before.





The boys had insisted I stay over, but early the next morning, clutching a cup of tea and leaning against a rock wall, I waited for the bus that would carry me to Edinburgh. I stared through the window of the teashop, watching images flicker across the television screen on the wall inside. Two impossibly perfect-looking hosts bantered as they prepared some kind of elaborate breakfast dish. None of the sound traveled through the window, of course, and for a moment I thought it might be Good Morning America.