Finding Fraser(3)

The crying was over, and so were the pictures.

Over the balcony railing, as a matter of fact.

That shattering noise glass makes on pavement?

Extremely satisfying.

I finished sweeping the entire parking lot free of glass by five-thirty. My building’s Super is small, but she has great deductive reasoning—and she carries a big stick. (Literally. It’s her son’s old baseball bat. This neighborhood can be rough at night.)

She also had my security deposit check in her pocket, which she threatened to tear up if I didn’t get my ass downstairs to clean up the mess I’d made.

When I dumped the last of my shattered memories into the bin, she nodded stiffly. “Men are dicks,” she said. “They can’t help it.”

It was the closest thing to sympathy I’d received all week. I burst into tears, but she brandished the bat at me when I leaned in for a hug.

I figured I could live with that, seeing as she did give me the check.





Figure Four…

8:45 pm, February 18

Chicago, Illinois, USA



Less than a week before my plane leaves. I’m actually flying out of JFK in New York, so I’m going to have to get myself across four states in that time. I haven’t quite sorted this out, as yet. But it is all coming together.

I’m really confident——and excited!



- ES



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It was not all coming together.

And with every day, the blog seemed to be rapidly morphing from true-life travelogue to creative non-fiction.

I decided I was okay with that. Reality TV notwithstanding, public humiliation is not all it’s cracked up to be. Let the world see my best self, right?

And I had managed to find myself a killer deal on the plane ticket, even with the cost of the bus trip to New York tacked on.

My sister had left six messages on my cell phone, alternately haranguing me about shirking my family duties and reminding me to call our mother, so maybe she could talk some sense into me.

I did not call our mother.

Instead, I sold the last of my furniture. The worst was saying goodbye to my Xbox. No more dragon slaying in my future. It’s like—well, it’s kind of like saying goodbye to my youth. I mean, I didn’t even have to give up the Xbox when I got married, for god’s sake. And it’s not like I’ve been playing Dragon Age anywhere near as much as I was two years ago.

But still. It hurts.

On the other hand, the Super’s son paid thirty bucks for my old bed. I didn’t tell him it was the same double bed I’d had since I was seventeen. Kinda sorry to see it go, but really? It’s time. Everything has to go for this trip to even happen. And for it to mean anything at all? I need to make a complete break from the old Emma

By afternoon, I found myself waiting at the passport office. I got there on time for my appointment, but they seemed to be running late and I ended up sitting in the waiting area, roasting in my coat and boots. My number was B48, and with only two officers on duty, the numbers crawled by painfully slowly.

A woman seated in a chair just in front of me was reading her Kindle, and I mentally kicked myself for forgetting to bring a book or a newspaper. With nothing else to do, I began killing time making notes for my next blog post. I was jotting a list of things I’d rather do than wait with fifty strangers for a passport when, out of the blue, the woman made a little involuntary sound.

I recognized that sound. Half gasp, half sigh. I had made it myself.

Over her shoulder I saw a single word, and I knew in an instant what she was reading.

One of the interview windows opened up, and the red digital number on the wall pinged as it changed. B47. No one moved. I gathered my papers together, hoping they’d just go to the next number when the woman in front of me suddenly jumped up. Her handbag and papers cascaded off her lap onto the floor

“That’s me,” she said loudly, pointing at the number on the wall, and scrambling to pick up her papers.

I knelt down and handed her two of the pages that had fallen near my feet.

“Thank you,“ she said, jamming the Kindle into her handbag.

I grinned at her. “OUTLANDER?” I said.

The smile on her face turned to puzzlement. “VOYAGER,” she replied.

I nodded knowingly. “Oh, right. Must be the post-reunion   scene?”

She stared at me suspiciously. “Have you been reading over my shoulder?”

I winced. “Not—not really. Claire’s name just jumped out at me.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow and hurried off to the open window.

When my turn finally came, I paid the fee and picked up my passport. My photo looked like the face of someone who could drive a splintery wooden stake through a newborn puppy’s heart.