Finding Fraser (35 page)

Hamish stayed true to
his words and gave me some space. The problem was, after a few days of thinking
things through, I didn’t want to any more. Thinking had given me little beyond
sleepless nights, and a pretty decent resentment built up against any mention
of spray tans and gyms. But it didn’t change the way I felt inside about my
Jamie. Besides, I wanted to touch those abs again.

I woke up a week to the
day after our last encounter determined to tell him so, but the morning didn’t
start well. Pedaling to the library left me feeling woozy and confused. Katy
arrived before I even had time to log in, so I had to leave without posting.

Within ten minutes at
work, I dropped a whole stack of plates as I was unloading the dishwasher.

There was no greater sin
in Ashwin’s world than breaking a clean plate, and he elbowed me aside
imperiously to sweep up the mess. Even Sandeep yelled at me.

I crept away into the
back to get ice, and to my embarrassment, leaked a few tears as I reached into
the freezer.

“Get ahold of yourself,
Sheridan,” I muttered into the frozen silence. It felt so good in there. So
cool. I decided to go out and apologize to Sandeep. I couldn’t afford to lose
my job over something as stupid as a couple of plates.

I pulled my head out to
see Ashwin, staring at me.

“You’re talkin’ to yerself,”
he said, shortly, but then his tone softened. “And your face is rare flushed.”

I wiped my eyes. “I’m
okay. I just have a bit of a headache. I’m sorry about the plates, Ash.”

Holding the bag of ice
in one hand, I turned to leave the kitchen, but Ashwin put his hand on my arm. “Ash
…” I said, but he reached up and touched my cheek.

“Either yer just
entering puberty, or ye’ve got the chickenpox,” he said. “Yer face is covered
in spots.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I
had chickenpox in fifth grade,” I said, and fainted dead away.

I have a vague memory of a conversation
with a doctor, though I have no recollection of how I’d made it to his office.

“Young lady, I’m afraid
you have indeed succumbed to chickenpox,” he said, washing his hands. I stared
at the water sluicing across his long white fingers. “When were you exposed?”

“I have no idea. Maybe
at work?”

He dried his hands on a
paper towel. “Aye, perhaps. I’m surprised to see it, in truth. Most people get
it over with as children.”

“I don’t have any
children,” I mumbled. “I’m never around children
.”

The doctor spoke to
someone behind me. “The confusion is normal, I’m afraid. This’ll be no easy
week,” he said, and I turned to see Morag sitting there. “It’s fair serious for
an adult to go through.”

She nodded at him and
smiled at me kindly, and then suddenly we were in her truck.

My glasses knocked
against the side window as she drove.

“I’m sorry, Morag,” I
whispered, so my head would not fall off my neck.

“Can’t be helped, pet,”
she said.

The doctor was right.

I cannot remember ever
having been so sick. I think I may have slept that first night curled around
the toilet on my bathroom floor. All I know for sure is that the visit to the
doctor began what I remember as my month of darkness.

It was a bad month. And
it was not lost on me that it was pretty much the only warm month of the year
in the Highlands.

July 12

Notes to self:

It’s Wednesday, possibly,
or maybe Thursday. I have a vague memory of Morag bringing me a wet cloth
sometime recently. I found it a few minutes ago, under my pillow.

I also made the
mistake of looking at myself in the bathroom last night. My glands are swollen,
so my face is completely round. Round and covered with red, oozing blisters.
I’m hoping this thing just takes me. I can never go out in public again.

July 13, I think.

Dreamed of the water
horse. The kid who hid behind me on the shores of Loch Ness was covered in
scabs, wasn’t he? What had his auntie called him ...?

Oh yeah—the
little shite.

She was right.

July 16

Woke up thinking of
Hamish. I must have infected him. I pulled a t-shirt on over my pajama top and
staggered out to get my bike. I nearly made it to the kissing gate before Morag
caught me.

“What in the name of
all that’s holy
...?
”

She seemed kinda out
of breath. I think maybe she ran all the way from the kitchen.

So I told her that I
needed to see Hamish. What if I’d made him sick?

She wrested the bike
from my hands and told me I was delusional. And all the way back to my room, I
tried to talk her into letting me go to him. As sick as I was – he would
be so much worse for being so big.

But Morag was having
none of it. She tucked me back into bed – literally jamming the sheets
under the mattress so that I was trussed flat as a pack of cello-wrapped
chicken.

I gave it one last
shot. “What if he gets scars on his abs?”

This last thought made
me burst into tears.

Morag looked alarmed,
an she promised to call Hamish at Geordie’s before she turned out the light.
 

Sometime later that
night, I remember her sticking her head into my room. “The great bastard’s had
them,” she reported.

Relief washed over me.
“Oh, that’s such good news,” I said into the darkness. “He’ll be safe, then.”

“Safe as houses, pet,”
she said, and closed the door.

July 18

Up this morning, and
feeling well enough for a bit of guilt to seep through. I hadn’t mentioned a
word to my sister, and cranky as she is, she might be worried at my radio
silence. Checking the coast was clear on the Morag front, I gingerly pedaled my
pockmarked face, (shrouded in my biggest hoodie) into town. I figured no one
would recognize me at the Internet cafe, but discovered that sometime over the
time I had been sick, it had closed down.

I slunk into the
library to post a quick note to my sister but was immediately caught by Katy.

She looked so
horrified by the sight of my face that I turned and fled in shame. As I pedaled
home, I thought about her expression and felt a wash of relief that I hadn’t
run into Hamish.

But as I wrestled my
bike through the kissing gate, I thought – why hasn’t Hamish run into me
...
?

To:
 
[email protected]

From:
    
JackFindlay@*range.co.uk

July 20

Dear Emma,

Haven’t seen any new posts from you in a
while. I hope that means you are settled and happy, with no time to write, now
that your quest is over. It
is
over,
yes? Things haven’t changed?

Anyway, just wanted to let you know that
the first advanced copies have come back from the printers. My agent emailed me
the day after I sent the manuscript to her, saying she’d stayed up all night
reading it. Never had a response like that from her before, so hoping it’s a
good sign. She tells me they are fast-tracking it, whatever that means. I’m
just glad she liked it.

Thank you again for your honesty.

And…you
are
well, yes?

Jack

Finally Finished Fever…

12:15 pm, July 21

Nairn, Scotland

So, it turns out that a person can have
the chickenpox twice. I clearly remember being very itchy and missing a few
days of school when I was in the fifth grade.

Apparently it was not enough.

I have to say, that memory doesn’t really
compare with what my life’s been like for the past couple of weeks. It’s been
brutal. But I am feeling better now. It takes more than a kid’s disease to
bring me down for long.

Unfortunately, it’s set my earnings back
a bit, but that is soon remedied. I’m looking forward to life returning to
normal.

- ES

Comments: 7

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

Be well, Miss Emma. So good your Highland
warrior can nurse you back to health.

(Read 6 more comments
here
…)

I
woke up in the morning actually feeling like myself again.
I’d kicked off the covers in the night, so I lay there and took a
good long look at myself in the first light of dawn. The blisters had all
scabbed a few days earlier, and it seemed like most of them had finally dried
up or fallen off. My body was still red and speckled, but I no longer looked
like an active plague victim. And not only that, but from the angle I was
lying, I could have sworn I could see the shadow of one hip-bone.

I’m fairly certain
that’s
never happened before.

This cheered me enough to send me into the
shower, and then to take another ride into town.

I got lucky and arrived as Katy was lying
outside on the lawn, taking in the sun on her lunch break, so I had time enough
to make the post and send Jack a quick reply, telling him briefly what had
happened. Then I headed back out into the sunshine to see about getting back to
work.

The long ride had left me a bit winded, so I
walked my bike the three blocks or so between the library and the cafe. And
while I walked, I thought about HiHoKitty’s remark. I did have a somewhat vague
memory of Morag announcing that Hamish was immune to chickenpox.

So why hadn’t I heard from him? Not even a
phone call to Morag’s?

I wasn’t about to go see him, especially in
my speckled state. But since my head had become clearer, I definitely needed to
give my Highland warrior some further thought. I mean – even if he hadn’t
been immune, he could have sent flowers. Or even called …

And speaking of which, Sandeep was on the
phone when I arrived at the cafe.

“Aye, now. Righ’. See yeh.”

“I’m better,” I announced, as soon as he
rang off. “I’m ready to come back to work.

He took one look at me and dragged me back
into the kitchen. “Like hell,” he said.

“No, seriously—I am feeling better.
And the doctor said I was only contagious a week, so …”

“So, yer not working here still looking like
a
poxy whore.”

“Oh, very nice. No
‘Welcome back, Emma!’
. No
‘How’re you feeling, Emma?’”

“I’m sorry, luv, but yeh
still look awful.”

“Look, Sandeep
—
I can’t afford to be off any
longer. I’ve already lost, like, two week’s pay.”

He sighed. “I know. And
ye’ve been missed. No one makes a latte like you do. But I can’t have yeh
driven’ me customers away wi’ yer face.”

“It’s not
that
bad, is it?”

He scrutinized me
closely. “Well, it’s fair hideous, still. But how’s this? You are one of the
family. And I don’t want you to worry about the money, so if you stay home for
another fortnight, I’ll pay ye at half-wages, aye?”

“I guess so,” I said.
“But, please don’t give my job away, Sandeep. I need …”

I stopped. I hadn’t
mentioned to Sandeep that I was going to have to return to the States soon. All
the more reason for him to give my job away.

“Ach, dinnae worry. The
ol’ lady from the Internet Cafe is lendin’ a hand.”

“Bet she doesn’t make as
good a cappuccino as me,” I muttered.

“She don’t break as many
dishes, neither,” he said.

There was a rustling
behind me, and Morag walked in. “Ye’ve got to quit making these escapes, Emma,”
she said. “It’s playin’ hell with mah schedule.”

I stared at her. “How
did you even know I was here?”

She nodded at Sandeep,
and he tucked his phone in his pocket guiltily. “Look, lass—jes’ take a
fortnight off. Ye can help me wi’ the garden, aye? A little sun will help that
complexion.”

“I hope so,” Sandeep muttered,
darkly.

I shot him a look.
“Fine. I’ll be back in a week. But you are going to miss me, I promise you.”

Morag tossed my bike
into the back of her truck as if it weighed nothing.

“I’m sure he will. In
the meantime, this bicycle is mine for the present, aye?”

July 25

So, the truth came out
on the drive home. Turns out it was Morag who suggested to Sandeep that I take
the time off, and told him she’d waive my rent, while I was sick.

Argued with her about
this long and hard, but deeply touched, actually. What a softie she is, though
you’d never know it to look at her.

Also?
It
turns out a fortnight is actually TWO weeks.

She insisted I would
work for my keep, and so that’s what I’ve done. Weeded the garden, learned how
to feed Reinhardt and the other cattle, and trekked the fields, checking on the
sheep every day.

No sign of Hamish. I
think – he might be truly done with me. Yesterday while weeding, I caught
myself humming Beach Boys tunes. I miss him so much, but am haunted by one
question: would Jamie have left Claire to recover from the plague alone?

July 30

Morag won’t let me
near the bike, so once again forced to write notes here in the hope that one
day I’ll get to my blog again.

I’ve spent this week
mucking out the barn, which is just about as fun as it sounds. Unfortunately,
all this labor has meant I have been eating like a horse. I’ve managed to
acquire a pretty decent farmer’s tan, and my biceps are looking
fine
.
But I looked this morning and I can’t find the shadow of my hipbone any more.

I complained
bitterly to Morag, who told me that all decent men like something to hold on
to. “Hipbones,” she said, “are fookin’ nonsense.”

I don’t think I’ve
ever heard her use that word before!

Later
...

I heard Morag
yelling at her farmhand this afternoon. Apparently she caught him asleep in the
haymow.

“Ye need to step
spritely if ye’re to earn yer salary,” she said, “since mah boarder is doin’
twice the work of you, yeh lazy sow”.

I flexed my new
biceps and beamed for the rest of the day.