I nodded. “Yeah, me too. But when can I see you again? I’d really like to talk. Can we make a plan?”
“Oh, soon …” he said, his voice trailing off. “Maybe we could go to the gym sometime. Have ye been at all, yet?”
And suddenly, everything became clear.
He waved goodbye, and I stood at the back door and watched him walk across the road. A sudden hot fury swept through me, and I leaned out into the street.
“Claire never went to a gym in her life,” I yelled so loudly it hurt my voice.
But the garage door had already closed.
I knew I wouldn’t see him again soon, and I didn’t. He didn’t come in the café next day or the day after that. And when I rode my bike past the garage, his truck was never there.
The anger carried me for the next three days. I threw myself into my work at the café. I scrubbed every corner of the place, adorned every latte with cinnamon masterpieces. But sometime on day four the doubt began to creep in. I admit it. I’m weak. It got so all I could think about was the feel of those abs under my fingertips.
And then…? It became an obsession. Even though I was feeling myself again, I lost all focus except to try to find a way to make it work with Hamish. I spent every spare hour haunting the library, mostly staring at other women’s abdominal muscles on the Internet.
In a way, Susan—or Gail or whatever her real name was—had saved me, because if I’d still had my laptop, I would never have left my room.
He had kissed me. We had nearly been together. We could be still. I just had to figure out how. I had so little time left—how could the time have gone so fast? How could I go home, knowing I had blown my chance with the only Fraser I had managed to find?
As days passed, a pattern began to develop. When I wasn’t at work, I spent as much time as I dared scrolling through image files at the library. The only thing limiting me was my fear that Katy would think I was downloading porn. (I don’t know how people watch porn. Even after only a week of looking at women’s midriffs, they all began to look the same…)
At night, I stood on a milking stool I’d stolen from Morag’s barn, in order to get the right angle to stare at my own stomach in the tiny mirror above the bathroom sink.
Then I’d lie on the floor, cry, and eat chocolate.
I’d had a boyfriend who wanted to take me away and live in California. As long as I managed to whip my abs into shape. And once my problem areas were spray tanned. And yet, even with all the obsessing, I still hadn’t managed to find the time to make a trip to Hamish’s gym.
Instead, I’d drag into work, sleepwalk through my shift, cross over to the garage on my break. Geordie (or the other guy, Jimmie, who only fixed transmissions and had one eye stuck in a permanent squint) would tell me Hamish was on the road or working in Dores. I’d go back to the cafe, finish my shift, then ride up to the library and monopolize the computer until Katy closed the place and I was forced to ride home and spend another night staring at my stomach in the mirror.
I’m not sure how long this pathetic circle of self-destruction would have continued—maybe forever—but one night, a little more than a week into my grim and blurry world of self-loathing, two things happened to change everything.
The first was Katy.
Fine, Fine, Fine…
6:15 pm, August 12
Nairn, Scotland
Things are much the same here. Everything’s fine. Just fine. The town is busy planning the upcoming Highland Games, and the farmers are staring at the sky and fretting over the weather. Harvest time is near.
- ES
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Harvest time is near? No wonder my followers were dropping like flies. I had lost all ability to write anything remotely compelling. Instead, I sat slumped at my terminal, scrolling through pictures of a collection of starlets pre- and post-cosmetic surgery, and thought back on my day.
Work had unfolded as usual. Sandeep was a little crankier than normal, and Ash alternated between smoking furiously behind the cafe and killing zombies on his mobile phone. But sometime mid-morning, I’d spied Geordie’s van parked behind the garage, and that meant Hamish had to be around. I ran over on my break, and as soon as I opened the door, I could hear yelling in the back. That was usually a good sign.
I rang the bell until the yelling stopped and Geordie appeared.
But his story hadn’t changed. “He’s no’ here, I tell yeh.”
“But the van is there. I saw it, parked in the spot behind the garage.”
“Aye. He left it las’ night. He’s gone again, righ’?”
“Geordie, he’s your mechanic. How can you survive if he’s not here working on cars?”