Finding Fraser

by kc dyer

  Doris looked over at me as though she had forgotten my existence. “Oh, righ’,” she said. “She tells me she’s overstayed her visitor’s visa, so I need to run her name through the system.”

  Jack’s face cleared. “Oh, is that all? Well, I’m sure we can clear this up very quickly. Who is it we need to speak to?”

  Doris shook her head regretfully. “I’m afraid there is no speaking to anyone, Mister Findlay, sir. If she is an overstay, I’ll need to bring Miss Sheridan in to the Bannockburn station, and they’ll hold her in a cell until she can be deported, sir.”

  “He—held in a cell …?” I began.

  Jack put a calming hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Emma,” he said to me in a low voice. “I can handle this.”

  “I—I’m not sure I can,” I said, wondering if I had it in me to drop-kick PC Doris and get away with my hands locked behind my back.

  But she must have sensed my thought patterns or something, because before I knew it, she’d jammed me into the back of her car, and slammed the door shut.

  I did not know, until that moment, that the rear seats in Scottish police cars are sound-proofed. PC Doris’s car was, anyway.

  Later, I was grateful for this.

  But at the time, I just screamed.

  To: emmasheridan@gmail.com

  From: SophiaSheridan@angstandarg*t.com

  September 12

  Dear Emma,

  Well, all I feared has come to pass. Detained by the police and asked to leave? Is that the same as being deported? Your email was conveniently unclear.

  Emma, I…I don’t even know what to say. We are your family, and of course will stand behind you, but…deported?

  I will, of course, have Paul research the implications.

  In the meantime, I suppose I should tell you that Starbucks is opening up a new location in my building downtown. Once you get back here safely, we can take you down to fill out an application.

  Please, please try to stay out of any further trouble. It’s only a plane ride. Send the arrival information as soon as you have it.

  Sophia

  PS. We do love you, Emma. See you soon.

  I sat silently in the car as Jack pulled away from the police station and headed north. A doctor had been called and they’d given me something that left me feeling fuzzy-headed but calm. And a bit weepy.

  They’d even let me check my email after I’d calmed down, but with the drugs on board, that had made me weepy, all over again. And Sophia’s swift reply to my confessional email had not helped.

  I clutched a tissue tightly in one hand. “I’m so sorry,” I said, for the nineteenth time. “I don’t know why I ran.”

  Jack shot me a sideways glance and swung expertly through a roundabout and onto the highway. “You ran because you didn’t want to be locked away. You clearly don’t like being locked away.”

  I hung my head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Twenty.

  “Look, I don’t like being locked away either. In theory, anyway, since I’ve never actually had the opportunity. Still, I’m sure it’s quite terrible. So there’s no need to apologize.”

  I took a deep breath and stared out the window as the green and gold Scottish countryside flashed by. “It’s so flat, here,” I said, resting my head back on the seat. “S’beautiful, but I miss the hills.”

  He laughed. “Those hills are our mountains, I’ll have you know. And you’ll see them soon enough.”

  He was quiet then, concentrating on driving. I turned my head and watched him as he did. With full sunlight on his hair, I could see glints of copper and rust woven in with the brown.

  “Did you have red hair when you were a kid?” I blurted.

  He jumped a little at the sound of my voice, but recovered quickly. “Vivid orange, sadly. My nickname was Rusty until I was seventeen,” he said. “Thankfully it’s darkened up a bit since then.”

  “Yeah it really has. I thought it was brown until now.”

  He smiled a little, and tapped a finger lightly against the steering wheel as he drove.

  “I forgot you wore glasses,” I said, idly. The truth was, I felt a little drunk and it was making me dizzy holding my head upright. So much easier to let it loll back.

  “Usually only to read,” he said, a trifle defensively. “But they seem to help when I drive, too. Signs and all.”

  “S’okay by me,” I said, “since I wear ’em myself. I like my contacts better but …”

  “But?”

  “She took ’em. Took ’em all. My contacts and my laptop … and my Jamie.”

  I could feel a teardrop roll down my face and into my ear, and I swiped at it with the tissue.

  Missed. The coordination hadn’t quite come back.

  “I know,” he said, quietly. “I was there when you told the story to the police officer.”

  I turned my head to the window then, and we drove along in silence for a long, long time.

  I woke up as the car slowed down, gravel spitting under the wheels. My head felt clearer, but I was still strangely exhausted. It was completely dark outside, and a cool wind whistled through the trees and made me shiver.

  Jack wrapped a coat around me and took my hand to help me across the cobblestones. A lady held open the door for us, but didn’t say a word as he walked with me inside, down a hallway and into a small bedroom.

  “Are you well, Emma?” he said, when the door closed behind us. “Do you need help to the bathroom or anything?”

  “No—no, I’m good,” I said.

  He turned to leave.

  “Jack, I want to pay for my own flight home. I have enough money. I don’t want the police or the government or whoever to pay.”

  “It’s okay, Emma. I’m sure they’ll be happy to let you do that.”

  “‘Cause if they have to pay to throw me out, they might not want to let me back in. And I’m coming back, Jack.”

  “That’s grand, Emma. I’m so happy you like it here.”

  “Back, Jack. I’m coming back. I’ll be back, Jack.” I started to hum. “Hit the road, Jack, but I’ll be back …”

  Right about then, I burst into tears.

  I think he lay down with me until I fell asleep, but I don’t really remember.

  I woke with the dawn the next morning, feeling completely back to myself again. And therefore? Humiliated.

  Why had I run from that police officer? Why was I even still in Scotland? Why hadn’t I just left and gone back to Chicago before my six months were up?

  I had a long, hot shower and changed into the last set of clean clothes at the bottom of my pack. The famously unsuccessful pink bra, a tank top, jeans and my sweater. I couldn’t find an elastic band or anything to tie my hair back, but there was a hairdryer under the sink, at least.

  It wasn’t until my hair was nearly dry that I remembered Rebecca. Events of the night before were still pretty fuzzy, but I surely would have remembered Jack’s girlfriend, if she’d been waiting at the house. The lady who had answered the door last night hadn’t seemed quite girlfriend material…

  Maybe they didn’t live together? The bathroom was clean and functional, but there were no telltale extra female products lying around. Even the shampoo in the shower seemed pretty— generic.

  By the time my hair was dry and I was dressed, it was a quarter to eight and I could stall no longer. I took a deep breath and headed out into the hall.

  Jack was standing by the front door. Alone. “Hiyeh,” he said. “Are ye well this morning?”

  “Way better,” I said. “But I have a few gaps in what happened yesterday …”

  “That’s to be expected. Think you can eat something? We could talk a bit over breakfast.”

  My stomach rumbled, answering for me.

  “Right then,” he said. “Breakfast it is.”

  I took a last bite of bacon and pushed my chair back. “That was awesome,” I said. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “Grand.” Jack smiled
at me, and then handed his plate to a woman who appeared through a swinging doorway. “That was lovely, Mrs. Moorcock,” he said. “Thank you.”

  She nodded, took my plate as well, and vanished.

  The woman had gray hair done up in tiny curls around her head. Certainly not a look I would associate with the mysterious Rebecca.

  I leaned across the table. “Is that …”

  “Mrs. Moorcock, my housekeeper,” he answered.

  “She looks so familiar,” I muttered.

  “I think ye may just be remembering her from las’ night. She met us at the door?”

  “I guess that’s it.” I took a shot. “Mrs. Rebecca Moorcock?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Gladys, actually.”

  I looked down at the spot where my plate had been, unsure of what to reply. Contrary to his earlier suggestion, our breakfast had been eaten in almost total silence, with the mysterious Mrs. NOT-Rebecca Moorcock delivering food and pouring drinks before vanishing through the green door by the sideboard.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Would you like some more tea?”

  “No, thanks.”

  The awkward silence resumed, until just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, we both broke it at once.

  “What do yeh remember…” he began, while I said, “Can you tell me …?”

  We laughed together, and then said, “You first,” in total unison.

  It was almost worse than the silence.

  After another moment, when it became clear he was going to wait me out, I tried again.

  “I really was heading to Edinburgh to catch a plane,” I said. “I have no idea why the police stopped me. I mean, why stop someone who is leaving anyway? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  He took a sip of his tea. “Emma, I don’t think they were planning to stop you. It’s likely only because you ran off when the policewoman called over to you. They likely didn’t know you were in violation of your visa until they looked up your name.”

  “I actually told her myself,” I muttered. “I’m such an idiot.”

  He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Why were you in Stirling in the first place? You said in the blog you were just stopping there briefly before heading home to America.”

  I sighed and looked up at him. “I know—I hadn’t even planned on going, really. I just—I caught the wrong bus, and had to change, and then—well, I just wanted to see the place you’d been writing about. So I stopped on the way.”

  I toyed with a spoon Mrs. Moorcock had left on the table. “But, I’m still not clear why I am here at all. I mean—here in Scotland, still. And also here … in this house. The last I remember, Constable Doris said she was going to lock me up and then put me on a plane. And then a bit of screaming …”

  He shrugged a little. “Not so very much screaming. Their nurse gave you the shot almost right away.”

  I swallowed, trying to remember if I’d ever had a more embarrassing moment. The only one I could think of was the night I crawled out of the bar in Philadelphia.

  And Jack had been there, too.

  “You have a talent for showing up when things are at their worst,” I whispered. “This is so awful.”

  He grinned. “Not for me,” he said, lightly. “You know, I spend most of my days locked in a dark room, writing stories about heroes who are long-dead. It’s a rare treat to be able to actually lend a hand to someone who needs it.”

  “I do remember the shot, I think,” I said, slowly. “And you promised to …”

  “Take you with me to the airport,” he said, and gave me a slow smile. “My American tour is set to begin in a week or two, so I can move up my flight to New York with no problem. And we had a bit o’ luck in that Constable Doris turned out to be a fan. I signed a book for her, and promised to have ye on a plane soon as possible. Besides, it’ll make a great story for your blog. Your stories always make me laugh out loud.”

  Not likely, I thought, but I beamed at him, anyway.

  He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “But first you need to call and book your ticket for tomorrow.”

  I stood, too. Mrs. Moorcock appeared at the door, and directed me through to a phone in the hallway. Thanks to the long-ago Michael, the airline had my name on file and booked the ticket in under five minutes. As I stepped out to the front door, Jack appeared, holding my pack and his own bag.

  “I have one final commitment before we drive down to Edinburgh. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind,” I said, as we walked to the car, and then I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. “Are you going to say goodbye to Rebecca?”

  He shot me an odd look and shook his head.

  “Nae, I’ve seen the last of her for a while, aye?” he said, unlocking my door. He tossed my pack in the back, and turned to face me. “We’re goin’ to the Games in Nairn.”

  The thought of going to back to Nairn drove everything else out of my head. After assuring PC Doris of my unquestioning obedience to the crown in Stirling, Jack had taken me back to his home just outside of Inverness. So by contrast to the long drive I could barely remember from the night before, our morning trip was a quick jaunt. The games were being held on the estate of the current Thane of Cawdor, just outside Nairn itself, but along roads I recognized instantly.

  It felt like I was going home.

  We pulled up and parked in an area beside Cawdor Castle. On the driveway below, a parade of pipe bands gathered amid a marching of the various Highland colors. The Laird himself led the parade, surrounded by a collection of gentlemen sporting plaids in all possible combinations, mostly topped with white shirt and tie.

  I spent an entertaining few moments comparing sporrans—trust the Scots to have invented the original, most practical man-purse. Some of the younger men had gussied up their kilts with leather sporrans featuring embossed skulls, but most were of the traditional combinations of leather and metal and fur. Some were black and hairy and some were gray and hairy and I even saw one that sported the entire head of an ex-fox.

  Not once did I see a man actually put anything in or take anything out of his sporran, though. A total waste of good space, to my mind.

  After the trooping of the colors, it was time for Jack to head off to assume whatever duties a guest of honor is required to undertake. He asked if I would still be there as promised at the end of the day, with a flash of anxiety on his face I could see he tried very hard to hide.

  I assured him I would, and when I say I meant it with all my heart, well—I did. I’d had enough of running. Sunshine Susan could have the fugitive life. It was not for me anymore.

  Since the drug haze had passed, the memories of events at the police station had come a little clearer. I could recall Constable Doris standing beside a stern looking man who had clearly out-ranked her. He had glared at me and then turned to Jack.

  “Well, sir, in that case we’ll trust you,” the stern cop had said. “But it’ll be on your head if she don’t show.”

  “She’ll show,” Jack said.

  So, there on the field, I promised twice, just so he knew I was good for it, and Jack was whisked away.

  Most of the morning I’d just meandered, enjoying the sunshine and the spectacle. There were caravans parked all around the grounds, delineating the space, and the blue and white-striped awnings were everywhere. I wandered from one to the next, taking in the various exhibits.

  Tiny, kilted dancers took turns on a stage, toes pointed and legs kicking as they skipped and twirled, then bit their fingernails nervously afterward, waiting for the results of the judging.

  I spent a few anxious moments worrying that I would bump into Hamish, but thankfully the first person I ran into that I knew was Katy from the library.

  “Now, this is a surprise! I’d heard ye’d left to go back to America,” she said, after giving me a hug.

  “Yes, well, I’m on my way,” I managed.

  “Grand, grand,” she sighed. “I’d
love tae see America. I’ve been to France a few times and Spain once, but niver across the pond, aye?”

  “It’s a big pond,” I said, and then quickly tried not to think too closely about the crossing of it.

  “I s’pose ye’ve heard that Hamish has finally gone too, then, the big dunderheid? He’n that new hen o’ his.”

  “Hamish is gone? To America?”

  She nodded emphatically. “As he allus wanted. And good riddance to the lad, aye?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wished happiness for him, but mostly? I kinda hoped his Sunshine screwed him as thoroughly as she had me.

  “Weel, have a lovely time today,” said Katy, sincerely. “Ah can’t believe ah’m sayin’ this, but I miss seein’ ye at the library. Haven’t had to clear out a single cache since yeh left. No—wait, I’m lyin’. The Jones boys were in lookin’ up pictures of the Duchess of Cambridge—that time before the babies when she were in France, ye know. I did have to clear those out righ’ quick.” With a final kind pat on my arm, she bustled off.

  I wandered over to watch the older girls compete in Highland dance, whirling in clean right angles above the swords placed beneath their feet. From there I headed over to watch the sporting competitions, from wrestling to hammer throw.

  I arrived just in time to see a long row of men in kilts get dragged through the mud in the tug of war finals. Among the members of the triumphant team, I saw Ashwin running around in jubilation. I waved at him and he leaped the rope barrier and came over to wrap me in a giant bear hug. It was a definite improvement on our last meeting.

  “Congratulations,” I said, after extricating myself.

  “Thank yeh verra much indeed,” he said, proudly. “We won because of mah new fitness regimen.”

  “Fitness regimen? So you’ve quit smoking?” I asked, delighted.

  “Don’t be daft! I’ve shifted from lager to ale. Geordie tol’ me it’d make the difference, and damned if he wasnae righ’!”

  “Ah.” I decided to change the subject, just to be safe. “I’ve never seen you in a kilt, Ash. It suits you.”