LITMIR.BIZ

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into insensibility. This Nina had suffered in silence, a silence that would ring with things unsaid and had made the young Cade long for shouting matches and thrown plates; they’d have been easier to deal with.

      Two years ago she’d arranged for early retirement and had taken up with the school principal, a widower who never touched alcohol, who had an endearing sense of humor and who loved to travel. Cade, on his first visit a couple of months ago, had been delighted by the change in his mother and had liked the principal enormously. So the first thing he said when Nina picked up the phone was, “I thought you and Wilbur might have left for Outer Mongolia.”

      “He’s in the living room watching the hockey game and having a cup of tea,” said Nina primly. “But we’re thinking of flying to Hawaii before Christmas.”

      “Go for it, Mum. And say hello to him for me.” Cade went on to chat about other things, describing the new deck that had been built on the front of his house in French Bay, and asking her advice on colors for the bathroom. Then he said, rather mendaciously, “I saw someone the other day who reminded me of Ray Cartwright Do you know if he and Lorraine live in Halifax?”

      “I don’t think so. Shortly after they got married they moved to Toronto. As far as I know, that’s where they still are.” Nina sniffed. “He wasn’t someone you’d want to invite for tea. And I’d always hoped you’d forgotten her.”

      I wish I had.

      For a horrible moment Cade thought he’d spoken the words out loud. He said, even more mendaciously, “I have, of course... If I put dark green tiles on the kitchen floor, what shade of paint should I go for?”

      Nina gave this her serious consideration and the subject of Lorraine was dropped. After accepting an invitation to Sunday dinner, Cade put down the receiver and took out the phone book. There were two L. Cartwrights listed, no Ray Cartwright, and the only R. Cartwright lived in an area of town Ray wouldn’t be seen dead in.

      What was he playing about at? Even if he dialed both L. Cartwrights and one of them was Lori, she wouldn’t speak to him. She’d made that all too clear today.

      He remembered the look of appeal she’d given him, the huskiness in her voice when she’d pleaded with him to leave her alone. He’d sneered at her, accused her of manipulation. But what if he’d been wrong? What if her appeal had been genuine? Was Ray the reason she was so frightened? And what were the scars she’d referred to?

      She hadn’t made that up. He’d swear to it.

      Did Ray mistreat her?

      Lori was five-foot-eight, fit and agile. But she’d be no match for Ray, who’d always been a heavy man, only a couple of inches shorter than Cade’s six-feet-two. To think of Ray grabbing at Lori, forcing himself on her, made Cade feel sick. He closed his eyes, a murderous rage almost choking him. I’ll kill the bastard if that’s what’s going on. Kill him and ask questions afterward.

      Right, Cade, he thought savagely. That’d realty simplify Lori’s life. If she’s afraid of Ray, the best thing you can do is keep your distance. Just as she requested. Don’t talk to her. Don’t go near the gym at the times of her classes. Stay away from her kids. And quit mooning over the phone book as if you’re a lovesick teenager. You turned thirty-four last month and it’s time you let go of the past.

      Alone is the way you’ve operated for years. Stick with it.

      He jammed the book back in the drawer and slammed it shut. That’s exactly what he’d do. Let go of her. Stay away from her. Forget about her. Maybe even date other women. That way he might get lucky and get laid.

      Miguel, the mechanic at the garage who specialized in Hondas, had a sister who loved movies. Cade liked movies, too. He’d ask Miguel’s sister to go with him when The English Patient opened next week. That’s what he’d do.

      It would beat sitting around his apartment worrying about Lori Cartwright and proving the old adage that you always wanted what you couldn’t have. He was going to prove that adage wrong. Even if he had to date twenty different women until he found one who was interested in him but not the slightest bit interested in wedding rings.

      He picked up his book, the novel that had won the Booker Prize last year, and determinedly began to read.

      There was nothing wrong with Cade’s self-imposed advice to stay away from Lori. It was an admirable stance and should have solved all his problems. Except that twice in the next week he saw her, each time by accident. And each time stirred him up in ways that made his advice meaningless.

      His apartment was in the north end of Halifax, only four or five blocks from the garage. The north end wasn’t the fashionable part of the city; but Cade liked his apartment, which took up the whole second floor of an older house, had a fireplace and hardwood floors and spacious rooms with interesting nooks and crannies. And he enjoyed the walk to work each morning, finding that by now he was chatting with the old fellow who owned the corner store, and saying hello to people he passed every day on the street. It gave him a feeling of belonging; he hoped he’d find the same thing true of French Bay when he moved out there.

      He liked feeling that he belonged. Nine years of wandering the globe had been long enough.

      Three days after the aerobics class, Cade was striding down the street at eight twenty-five in the morning. He was in a self-congratulatory mood. Last night was the first night he hadn’t dreamed about Lori, one of the highly erotic dreams that had haunted his sleep ever since he’d bumped into her at the gym. The cure was working. The past was assuming its proper place. Today he’d ask Miguel about his sister.

      He glanced down a side street to check on the progress of the chrysanthemums that for the last few days had been a glorious tangle of scarlet, yellow and bronze in the garden beyond a secondhand clothing store run by a well-known charity.

      A woman in a blue jacket was crossing the sidewalk to enter the store. Cade nearly tripped over the curb.

      It was Lori Cartwright. She opened the door and disappeared inside.

      Lori? In a secondhand clothing store? Lori, who used to spend more on one dress than Cade’s father earned in a week?

      She must be volunteering there.

      Of course. That was it.

      That was nice of her, he thought, and found himself turning down the street. He was only going to take a closer look at the chrysanthemums; he’d like to start a garden once he was settled at French Bay.

      He looked through the window of the store. Another woman was seated behind the counter, reading; Lori, still wearing her blue jacket, was going through a rack of girls’ clothing.

      He was watching a film that somehow had gone wrong, Cade thought crazily; its script had got muddled up with that of an entirely different film. A surreal film. Then, as if she felt the strength of his gaze, Lori glanced over her shoulder and saw him. The look of horror on her face should have been funny and was not. She ducked her head, turned her back and couldn’t more clearly have told him to vanish from her sight. From her life. Forever.

      Leave me alone...please.

      Cade pushed open the door and marched over to her. “What’s up, Lori?” he demanded with something less than diplomacy. “Ten years ago you wouldn’t have been found within five blocks of a place like this.”

      She straightened to her full height, her blue eyes blazing. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t need you in my life? That doesn’t seem like a very complicated message and I don’t understand why you’re not getting it.”

      “I just want you to tell me what’s wrong!”

      “The only thing wrong is that you won’t leave me alone.”

      The woman at the counter said in a carrying voice, “Need a hand, Lori?”

      “No thanks, Marta—he’s leaving. Right now.”

      Cade grated, “The only reason I’m leaving

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