LITMIR.BIZ

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Then, with a wan smile, he walked towards his car.

      It was the dejected slump to his shoulders that did it. I began to feel sorry for him. Maybe I was being too harsh. After all, it was partly my fault things had gone so disastrously wrong at the end. “Okay,” I called out, “come in for a drink.”

      “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want to push you into anything you didn’t want.”

      “Yes, I’m sure,” I replied, reaching for the painting. This wasn’t turning out to be the traumatic confrontation I’d feared for the last three years.

      He followed me into the house, where he confronted his old nemesis, Sergei. But amazingly, after a few threatening growls, the dog quieted down, even condescending to receive a few pats.

      “I thought you were coming tomorrow,” I said as I poured us both some lemon vodka, the drink he’d introduced me to.

      “Last minute change in plans.” He glanced around the large kitchen. “I see you’ve made a few improvements since my last visit.”

      “Aunt Aggie may have been able to cook in a turn-of-the century kitchen, but I couldn’t. I had the new cabinets and appliances installed last year shortly after I moved in. The only remaining fix-up is the repainting of the chairs. What do you think?”

      “Looks good. Not too modern. Blends nicely with the age of the house. Do you mind if I take a look at the other rooms?”

      So with Sergei bringing up the rear, we started in the large dining room, where Gareth ran his hands over the antique patina of the mahogany table and suggested that the wall above the buffet would be the perfect spot for the Chaki painting. Next we wandered into the small room I’d converted into my television room and disregarded another small room still jammed with the empty packing crates from the move. Then we crossed the hall to the largest room on the ground floor, the living room spanning the entire lake side of the house. But Gareth ignored this room and walked across to the turret that occupied the front corner.

      “Best room in the house,” he said, surveying the octagonal walls with their long floor to ceiling windows. His eyes drifted over the antique desk and oriental carpet and fell upon Aunt Aggie’s old wooden box, but he made no comment. Thank goodness I’d returned all the letters and replaced the lid. I wouldn’t want him asking awkward questions.

      Returning to the living room, Gareth looked appreciatively over the massive stone fireplace. “Boy, they sure don’t make them like this any more.”

      “Hey, isn’t that your aunt?” he said, picking up the wedding picture. “Sure was a looker in her day, just like you.” And he ran his eyes over my spreading middle-aged body, stopping to focus on the too-tight sweater I’d mistakenly put on this morning. “You look terrific. The wilds must agree with you.”

      Embarrassed, I muttered some sort of a reply and suggested we go out onto the verandah to finish our drinks, where Gareth immediately installed himself in Aunt Aggie’s old rocker. I started to protest, then decided I shouldn’t be so set in my ways. I sat down in the wicker chair, which was really just as comfortable. Sergei slumped his large, curly haired body down on the wooden floor between us.

      Mumbling about something digging into him, Gareth extracted his cell phone and his key chain from his jeans’ pocket and placed them on the table beside his drink. He took a long sip and said, “I’d forgotten what a fantastic view you have of the lake from here.” He lit up a cigarette.

      “I see you’re still doing your best to become another lung cancer statistic,” I said.

      He laughed. “And you’re still nagging me about it.” He attempted to blow the smoke into my face, but it scattered with the breeze. He continued, “Got a good view of the island too. What’s it called?”

      “Whispers Island, or Minitig Kà-ishpàkweyàg as the Algonquins call it, Island Where the Big Trees stand. Majestic, isn’t it?” I was about to mention the threat of the gold mine but stopped, figuring best not to bore Gareth with my environmental woes.

      “You still the only one on the lake? No cottages or farms?” he asked.

      “Nope, mine’s the sole private holding on this lake, and it occupies the only accessible shore. The other shorelines are too steep. Probably why the government has never sold off the land. Of course, there’s the Migiskan Reserve on the north side of the lake.”

      He dragged deeply on his cigarette and blew the smoke out in one forceful stream. “Yeah, the Indians, forgot about them. You don’t have much to do with them, do you?”

      “Well, we are neighbours,” I said and left it at that. His faintly derogatory tone told me he wouldn’t welcome my close relationship with Marie and especially Eric, whom he’d probably view as a threat. Gareth always did have a nasty streak of jealousy. He used to get quite upset when I spent what he considered too much time talking to another male.

      His face softened. His eyes shone with a forgotten tenderness. “Remember that trip we took to Waterton Lakes? This place has the same quiet, peaceful feel to it.” He paused, then continued, “Boy, we had some wonderful moments together, didn’t we, Megs?”

      With a few more words, he plunged me back into the happy years of our marriage when we were two young people very much in love. As the afternoon sun gradually spread its warmth into the verandah, we laughed and smiled over shared memories of exploratory trips to out-of-the-way places, of lingering afternoons lying in bed, of candlelight dinners and other special moments. Once in a while, the words would fade, as each of us became lost in our own private memories.

      After one long pause, Gareth said, “Don’t you think we could go back to those days?”

      Lulled by the memories, the soothing afternoon sun, I said, “Perhaps.”

      He reached for my hand lying beside my glass. For a second, I enjoyed the soft caress, then like an electric shock, the painful memory of his last touch flooded back. I jerked my hand away.

      “Hey, what gives? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he said.

      I shook my head, too stunned by the force of my reaction to come up with a good excuse.

      But it looked as if Gareth knew the cause. “I wasn’t going to say anything, Megs. I thought you wouldn’t want to drag up old dirt. But look, if it means anything, I’m sorry, really sorry I hurt you. I never meant to. I don’t know what got into me that day.”

      I took a long slow sip of vodka to try to still the trembling that had returned. “You’re right, I’d just as soon not drag up the old dirt. Why don’t you tell me about that new job of yours?”

      He turned a startled look towards me. “How do you know that?”

      “I called your old office number. Who did you go with? Anyone I know?”

      “No, you wouldn’t know them. Great job, though. Came after me and made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

      “Enough to eat into your usual hefty credit card balances?”

      He laughed, “You sure know me, don’t you? Yeah, I like the high life, why not? And with the bonus I’ll get when I deliver on this special project, I should be on easy street.”

      “Oh, what’s that all about?”

      He lit up another cigarette, sipped his drink, then replied, “Nothing much, it would only bore you. Hey, what do you think about my new car?”

      “Great,” I said absentmindedly, while I thought about the special project that he didn’t want to divulge.

      “Company car. Didn’t have to spend a cent of my own.” He glanced quickly at his watch and continued, “What about yourself? Like living in the wilds?”

      “It suits me,” I said.

      “Do you think you’d ever move back to Toronto?”

      “In time perhaps, but not now.”

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