LITMIR.BIZ

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the island.

      Now these men, who looked considerably more threatening than a couple of campers, were wandering all over the rocks of Whispers Island, obviously with Eric’s full permission. I sure hoped he wasn’t planning on expanding his Fishing Camp operation. He often said the island would be a perfect spot for a resort, like one of those condo/resort combinations which were consuming the Laurentians to the south. But he always said it with a glint in his eye which made me think he only wanted to pull my chain, which he invariably did.

      I didn’t mind his Fishing Camp, out-of-sight at the far end of neighbouring Forgotten Bay. In fact, I often dropped by when seeking more voluble company than my own. With its limited number of rooms, there were never enough people to erode the stillness I’d come to treasure. However, a full-blown lodge with hundreds of rooms within full view and hearing of my cottage would be a disaster. As far as I was concerned, I’d left the teeming masses behind when I fled Toronto. I didn’t want them back.

      Deciding now was the time to start voicing my opposition before plans moved too far along, I phoned him. However, he wasn’t at the Fishing Camp nor at the band council hall. I left a voice message.

      I’d no sooner hung up when the phone rang. Convinced it was Eric, who’d listened in while I was leaving my message, I answered, “Eric Odjik, you’d better keep your grubby paws off Whispers Island.”

      “Eric? Eric who?”

      “Hey, wait a minute. Who’s this?” I was confused. This wasn’t Eric, but the voice was familiar, too familiar.

      “You mean you’ve forgotten me already? Who’s this Eric guy?”

      And then, with slow creeping dread, I realized who it was. How could I fail to recognize the deep timbre of a voice which once had the power to send a tingle of pleasure up my spine and now brought only dread?

      Gareth.

      “Ah . . . hi,” I said. The first words I’d spoken to him since we’d sat with our lawyers more than a lifetime ago.

      “I hope you don’t mind my calling out of the blue like this?”

      I mumbled something, as I desperately tried to control my spiking nerves.

      “I see it didn’t take you long to replace me,” he said.

      “What do you want?”

      “Can’t a man call up his former wife and say hello?”

      “Look Gareth, you never did anything without wanting something in return. Now tell me what you want.”

      “To say how much I’ve missed you.”

      “Those words don’t work on me any more. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

      I slammed the phone down so hard that it almost collapsed the fragile antique table. My hand shook.

      The phone began ringing before I’d reached Aunt Aggie’s rocker. I sat down, drained the remains of the vodka and rocked back and forth.

      Damn Gareth, why did he have to re-enter my life just when I finally had him out of it?

      After four rings, the phone stopped when the message system swung into action. Five minutes later, the phone rang again. I ignored it. It stopped after four rings. I rocked back and forth and tried to focus my thoughts on the men on the island.

      Why now, after three years of silence?

      The phone rang again. Gareth was never one to admit defeat. One of the reasons why I invariably gave in. That and other reasons. The ringing stopped. I rocked and waited for it to resume. It didn’t. The tension eased from my grip on the arms of the rocker.

      Maybe one of these calls was from Eric? I returned to the living room to check the messages.

      “Megs, I’d like to talk to you.”

      Megs. It had been a long time since Gareth had called me that.

      “I’ll call one more time. If you don’t answer, I won’t bother you again. Megs, I’ve missed you.”

      It was the “Megs”. It used to make me feel sort of squishy inside.

      The phone rang again. I hesitated. It rang twice. I wasn’t sure. A third time. Gathering up my courage, I grabbed it before the end of the fourth ring.

      “You’ve got to the count of ten to tell me why you’re calling, otherwise I hang up,” I said, with more bravado than I felt.

      “Christ, give a man a chance.”

      “Two.”

      “Okay. I want to see you.”

      “Four.”

      “My life’s empty without you.”

      “What about Janice?”

      “You know you’re the only woman who’s ever meant anything to me.”

      “Still counting,” I replied. “Seven.”

      “Christ, what do you want me to say?”

      “You tell me.”

      “I’m sorry, Megs. Is that what you want to hear? I was never sorrier than the day the divorce went through.”

      “You haven’t told me what happened to Janice?”

      “I got rid of her.”

      “Fine.” I walked back to the verandah, the portable phone clamped to my ear. “But what’s it got to do with me?”

      “I want you back in my life.”

      “Oh.” I sat down on the rocker and began rocking. I strained to hear his voice above my thumping heart.

      “Is that all you have to say, ‘Oh’? I’m serious. I want to come see you. I know we can’t go back to where we were, but surely we can be friends again.”

      Why had I let myself get into this impossible position?

      I watched the island. The black dots were converging on the beach. One after another, the boats slid into the water. Soon the whine of their motors drifted over the flat water.

      “Megs? You still there? Say something.”

      “I don’t know, Gareth. I think I’ve said all I have to say. Besides, I’m busy.”

      “Busy? In the fucking wilds!” he shot back. Then, as if suddenly remembering the reason for the call, he changed his tack and continued. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I guess I’m nervous.”

      “That’s a first.”

      “I mean it. My life hasn’t been the same since we separated.”

      “Yeah, sure.”

      “You have every right to be angry. Just give me a chance. You did once before. Remember?”

      How could I forget? That was the first time he left me for someone else. But he did come back. And stayed until Janice turned up.

      “Besides, I’ve decided it’s only fair you have the Chaki,” he added.

      “Pardon?” I must’ve misunderstood.

      “I said, I’ll give you the damn painting.”

      That magnificent landscape. I’d coaxed him into helping me purchase it for our tenth wedding anniversary. In a fit of spite during our battle over marriage assets, he’d argued the oil painting was his because he’d paid the greater portion. The judge had agreed.

      “So what’s your answer?”

      I hesitated. I really wanted the picture. Besides, it had been three years since I’d seen Gareth. It’d be kind of nice to look once more on the man who’d held me enthralled for more years than I cared to count. But how close did I want to be? Perhaps if I could get

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