Day Two After Surgery ….
Meg smelled the coffee immediately upon waking up. She'd gone on to bed after Fraser had but her last set of eye drops in. Sleeping and dreaming well hadn't been a problem. The lady Mountie went to the dresser and pulled out what she hoped was a pair of dark jeans, a maroon, cashmere sweater and navy blue casual socks. She was in the restroom when she heard a tap at the door.
"I'm coming." She called, having locked the door while she got dressed. Slowly, Meg felt her way to the door and unlocked it to let Fraser in with her breakfast.
"Good morning, Inspector Thatcher." Constable Turnbull's voice greeted her.
"Hello, Constable Turnbull." Meg tried to hide her disappointment as she opened the door for the junior Mountie. He waltzed in and put her breakfast tray on the folding table by the bed.
"Constable Fraser said to tell you he was sorry that he couldn't administer your eye drops this morning, he had to leave early for a court appearance." Turnbull explained.
"Oh yes, they're arraigning the restaurant thief today aren't they." Meg remembered, wishing she were able to go.
"Would you like me to administer the drops, Sir?" Turnbull offered. Meg froze like a deer in the headlights.
"Uh, no thank you, Constable Turnbull, I'll take care of it myself." She rushed to explain.
After Turnbull left, Meg tried to give herself the eye drops. It took three tries and a wet face before she succeeded. She drank her coffee first before diving into Turnbull's peach flavored oatmeal. It was delicious but it wasn't Fraser's cooking.
The consulate seemed empty and lonely without the super Mountie around. He had a way of sending a ripple through the aura of a room, at least to Meg's way of thinking. She knew whether or not he was at the consulate of a morning usually before she even stepped inside. If he were there it felt like home, if Ben were gone it seemed hollow. Meg didn't care if he seemed to talk to himself while standing in the closet. What was a little odd behavior when you were in love with a guy that would dip carrot slices out of your beef stew without being asked?
Meg turned on the television after breakfast just to have some noise that wasn't Turnbull running the vacuum. From the feel of the warmth on the window panes, she could tell that it was a beautiful, sunny day. It made her restless that she couldn't see it for herself. She didn't expect Fraser back any time soon. From experience, Meg knew that things at the Cook County Courthouse moved like maple syrup in Siberia. A nine o'clock court appearance had a tendency to run through lunch and on toward supper. After lunch Meg took a nap, just to pass the time. There wasn't anything on except trashy talk shows anyway. If you've seen one fat, vulgar woman slap a skinny, crude floozy, you've seen them all.
Cook County Courthouse …
"Hey, Fraser, I wasn't expecting to see you here." Ray greeted his friend. The detective had unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie.
"I came to the arraignment of the young thief from the restaurant." Fraser answered, his hat in hand. People moved like water around them along the marble floored corridor outside the courtroom.
"How's the Inspector doing since the surgery?" Ray asked, slipping his hands into his slacks pockets.
"Dr. Brown was very pleased with the results, but the Inspector is frustrated with her recuperation progress." Fraser answered truthfully.
"I can only imagine what she's like when she's sick." Ray grinned, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Fraser looked at his boots for a moment, a forced smile on his handsome features.
"Have you had lunch, Fraser?" Ray asked to change the subject.
"No, I haven't." The Mountie hadn't eaten since five that morning and it was nearly two o'clock.
"There's a sub shop around the corner, are you finished with court?" The detective grinned at the thoughts of a foot long sub and a cup of coffee.
"Yes, I'm ready when you are." Together the pair walked out of the justice building and toward the sub shop frequented by lawyers, clerks, police, as well as others.
Ray gave Fraser a ride back to the consulate. It wasn't really on his way back to the precinct, but he'd long since made a habit of driving the Canadian home. They'd had a leisurely lunch at the sub shop and caught up on precinct and consulate happenings. Neither of them would say so, but men are as bad for gossiping as women.
"Just let me get the correct change from my footlocker." Fraser strode quickly toward his office/ home for the money to pay Ray back for his lunch. The shop owner steadfastly refused to accept the Mountie's Canadian currency.
"You owe me a dime, don't forget." Ray loved to give his friend a hard time.
"There's one in the top desk drawer, see if you can find it won't you." Fraser pointed to the desk as he dug in his father's footlocker. Ray flopped down in Fraser's chair and pulled the right drawer open. No dime. Next he pulled the left drawer open. Just a hole punch, stapler, and tape dispenser. Finally, Ray pulled out the middle drawer and began to search for the elusive dime.
"Hello, what's this?" Ray thought to himself as he pulled out the navy blue journal. He began flipping through the pages. The detective's quick eyes scanned the pages of long hand. Fraser's name popped up nearly every line.
"As we were standing on top of the runaway train, the wind whipping our faces, I stopped and turned to him. My heart pounded as I met his stare and saw the expectant, dizzying gaze he gives me every time we lock eyes." Ray read aloud, grinning like the Cheshire cat. Fraser's head popped up over the edge of the desk like a pop tart in a toaster when he heard the first line.
"I wanted so badly to tell him what I've felt for so long that I stumbled over my words …." Before Ray could say another word Fraser jerked the journal from his hands and snapped it closed.
"Why do you have Thatcher's journal in your desk drawer, Fraser." The detective's eyes gleaned wickedly as he saw red, creeping blush rising up the Mountie's face all the way to his hair line.
"It fell out of her overnight bag when I pulled it from the top shelf of her closet the other day." Fraser swallowed hard. He'd suspected the contents of Meg's journal but to actually hear it was a whole other matter. Hearing it made it real and real was potentially painful, for the both of them.
"If I looked through your footlocker, would I find a similar journal, Fraser?" Ray asked, still studying his friend.
"Perhaps," Fraser rushed to think of an answer, "I intend to put the journal back on the shelf, where it belongs."
"Uh huh, I see, you don't want Thatcher to know you've read her diary." Ray crossed his arms over his chest, grinning as his friend squirmed awkwardly.
"No, I most definitely do not." Fraser's answer popped out quickly. "I haven't read a single word." He fumed, running his thumb nail over his brow.
"Your secret is safe with me, Benny." Ray clapped the Canadian on the shoulder reassuringly.
"I didn't take the journal intentionally, Ray." Ben defended, wishing he'd never laid eyes on it.
"What journal, Fraser." Ray gave him a conspiratorial wink.
"Inspector Thatcher's journal, Ray." Fraser said with deadpan seriousness.
"No, I'm just saying that if anyone asks, I'll say I never saw it, get it, Fraser?" Ray explained. He saw understanding dawn on the Mounties face.
"I get it now." Fraser slipped the book under his pillow on the tightly made cot and handed the detective his lunch money.
"I've got to go, Fraser, Welsh will raise the roof if I don't hand in my reports." They walked back to the front door together. Outside the church bells peeled three o'clock loudly.
"Good afternoon, Ray, I'll call you later." Ben waved as he watched the emerald green Buick pull away from the consulate curb. He turned and walked back into the consulate, his mind pondering what other secrets Meg had written down in the journal. Ben had certainly gained a lot of insight into the lady Mountie since the accident. Still, he didn't begin to know her as well as he'd like. Ben suspected he'd have to be a mind reader to know Meg Thatcher as intimately as he wished he did.
Later that evening ….
"Meg, are you awake?" Fraser peeked into the bedroom after his knock went unanswered. He saw her rouse from beneath the fleece throw and run her fingers through her silky hair.
"Fraser, how did the arraignment go?" She asked, sitting up and pulling her bare feet beneath her.
"The young man was denied bail, he'd been fled once before." Fraser answered simply. He still wore his red serge.
"Has Mr. Larsen called yet, I was supposed to have talked to him the day after our lunch appointment." Meg sounded bored, jumping at any chance to have something to do.
"Yes, I explained what happened to him, he sends his regards." Fraser filled her in. "How was your day?" He pulled the desk chair out and sat across from her.
"I don't know if I can maintain my sanity staying cooped up like this." She balled her hands into fists and tapped her knees.
"It will be over soon." Fraser reached out and laid a reassuring hand on her fist.
"Time passes so slowly when there's nothing to occupy your mind." She sighed. "At least when I have the flu or something I can read."
"Perhaps I can read to you." Ben offered generously.
A few hours each evening in Fraser's company sounded good to Meg.
"Are you certain it isn't an imposition?" Meg played coy. It was hard not to let her excitement show through.
"I'll bring you a selection when I bring your supper tray." Fraser thought about what few books he had on hand.
"Thank you, Fraser, you certainly have gone above and beyond the call of duty to accommodate me while I'm recovering." Meg lowered her head, her fifteen minutes of being upright were over.
"It's my pleasure, Meg." Ben's smile carried through to his voice. Spending a few hours in Meg's company didn't sound too bad to him either.
TYKTYKTYK
