All of These Things (8 page)

Her Early Childhood degree somehow empowered her to self-diagnose. There’s no doubt in Sofie’s mind that she’s mildly Dyslexic and has ADD. Her school days would have been an alienating experience for most people, but not for her. She was in your face half the time and putting teachers in their place the other half. Consequently, something positive did materialize from all of that, and Sofie became the teacher she’d never had, but that didn’t last very long. During a craft with a group of preschoolers, Sofie decided she was more artistic than she knew and began designing and creating her own jewellery. Along the way, a new venture transplanted itself in her overcharged mind. These days, Sofie’s making a business plan for a tea-
slash
-book shop, and somehow I’m the one woozy and fazed by her life changes.

“Hey, Alec,” Sofie manages as she spoons a mouthful of chowder. “Does Caroline know about the exhibit?”

I lurch up.

“Your work is on exhibition?” I ask before supping up the milk-buttery soup with garlic bread. His beer would really hit the spot now. I eye it subtly.

“In a shop just out of town,” he explains and slides his golden ale closer to me.

I startle, practically tottering on the knowledge that we’re synchronously coexisting.

“I’ll be in Ogunquit later this week for a showing. It’s open to the public. Come with me?” Alec asks abruptly.

I shudder. “No,” I reply brusquely.

“Sure she will,” Sofie interferes. “Have you ever been to a gallery, Caroline? No,” she states. “Will you ever make time to go to one back home? No,” Sofie badgers. “You’re on holiday, and you’re supposed to be taking time off from your pathetic life remember?” She grabs some fried fish rings.

I’m torn. I can’t decide if I want to kick her or hit her with a lobster.

“We’ll all go.” Jason is trying to help out, but not so much.

I’m not sure why I’m so adamant about this, but my week here is growing inappropriately congruous to Alec’s existence.

“Besides,” Jay continues, “all those summer people need a place to stay or maybe some renos.”

Alec gives a short, quiet laugh. I regret being so rashly discourteous and sit back, quietly embarrassed.

“I didn’t pack anything fancy. What would I wear?” I ask almost inaudibly.

There’s a contraction of nerves in my stomach, but by some means, I take a deep breath and turn to Alec, biting my lip and smirking fearlessly.

Alec’s agape, and it’s so sexy to see him discombobulated this way. I can’t even curb my own elongating grin.

“It’s not an elegant affair and hardly exclusive. Wear absolutely whatever you like,” Alec says, giving me a beatific smile.

Chapter Ten

PASSAGES

Amalia:
Angel Mae’s
watching the one when Lady Mary finds Sybil speaking with Branson. At least she asked for permission before playing my DVD, and I didn’t fuss so long as
I
handled the disc.
Downton Abbey
is my absolute favourite: the fashion, the castles, the proper, fluid, romantic English accent. One of the ladies from Caroline’s office mentioned the show, and she automatically thought of me. I know the girl probably went by protocol and watched the series beforehand, worrying about the more emotional or overwhelming episodes. But there really isn’t much in there that I can’t handle.

I’m tempted to watch it again, but Mae looks the type to interrupt and ask questions. That one’s always talking with a smile plastered on her round, giddy face. To top it all off, she’s sitting on Caroline’s side of the sofa. I mean, she’s aware that I don’t want her even fluffing a pillow from my section, but it doesn’t mean she should make herself comfortable in Caroline’s spot, either. Oh, I know. These things wouldn’t matter to that girl, but still, it irks me. Caroline doesn’t think sometimes. I’m the one having to look at Angel Mae sitting there, and it makes things feel out of place. I can’t stand when things are out of place. Why didn’t that child write that in the notebook for Mae! But I bet she remembered to write about those disgusting fish oils she wants me to take. I’m sorry, but there’s a definite aftertaste with those capsules. I don’t digest them well, and whatever that girl thinks they’re good for is absolute nonsense. All I’m left with is a fishy taste at the back of my throat. Honestly, that organic place is just robbing her blind.

Now Mae’s at the part when Lady Edith tells Lady Mary that Matthew’s missing. Caroline isn’t fond of Mary because she’s all Team Edith. It’s one of the things I don’t mind chatting about with her. Caroline did sound quite cheerful on the phone. Sofie sounded on cloud nine as usual, but Caroline was tranquilly happy. Nathaniel thinks so, too.

Oh, that beautiful man. I love him for not acting like I put him through too much. Now
he
can definitely have Caroline’s seat on the sofa. It doesn’t throw things off around here when he comes by. He’s supposed to return in the morning, and I’m to call him if I don’t want the company, which I do—and I don’t. That’s always the conundrum. I’ve always preferred to be alone. I guess I can talk about that in group this week. He said he’ll drive me to Catherine’s House on Saturday, and it’s a satisfying plan, but you know me… we’ll see then.

Nathaniel:
Sandrine left out three pieces of uncooked, marinated beef filets for us tonight—because she knows one doesn’t usually cut it for me. They were soaked in steak spice, a splash of oil, chopped mint and garlic, and had a trace of whiskey and Worcestershire sauce. We’ve dressed up our steaks that way forever, and a Zinfandel was by the stainless steel tray—corked, sitting by two ridiculously fat, long-stemmed glasses. I tried ignoring the note on the table. It was stretched out like a house of cards before I got to it. I unfastened my cufflinks first and placed them on the island, rolling up the sleeves to a white shirt. I thought about changing altogether and putting on some shorts or jeans, doing away with these grey slacks, but the AC in here is too penetrating. Sandrine likes it really cool when Amalia always preferred a natural draft or ceiling fans. I suppose she got me used to that, too.

I’ve seen her in that dress before today. It’s very 50’s—a tea dress she’d call them when we were married. This one was white with black and blue butterflies rising at the hem. The skirt reached her knees, and the exposed skin below it was disturbingly flawless. Amalia can be quite the minx when she’s free and forward, causing damn trouble in my head. Then again, any of her moods are irresistible to me for different reasons.

I have this wonderfully constant,
normal
woman right here, longing for a real us—hopeful for me to be rid of my ex and become the man she deserves. I need to discuss this with Dr. Toussaint again, perhaps when Amalia’s with her out-patient group this weekend. That card on the table looked so lonely amongst all our things. It ate at my heart as Sandrine waited somewhere in our bedroom. I didn’t rush over to her, nor did I jump to read the message. I procrastinated, which must have tormented her.

If you want me to join you, I will. You know that all you have to do is ask.

I was gutted. Sandrine deserves better than me. She deserves more! We’re worthy of something healthier because we both have so much to give—so much we want to give. But to whom? I feel like we keep criss-crossing and running off in different directions. Actually, I run off, and she’s stuck at the intersection watching for me. Once upon a time, our lovemaking was abundant. I was tired of being deprived and left out in every which way. Instead, Sandrine was imparting, open and accessible. I yearned and loved that she yearned for me. I willed myself to feel a shift in arousal tonight. I pictured my mouth on her neck and my nose in her bright, mahogany-brown hair. I thought about Sandrine’s small, pert breasts, and the outward curve of her back to her plump bottom. I’d be lying if I said I felt nothing, but the thoughts weren’t all that conquering.

If you want me to join you, I will.

Sandrine was lonely and desperate somewhere in our apartment. I didn’t like knowing she felt deserted, but I don’t like how she can try to steer me away from the very people I need. She reached out in a nosedive and to let her plummet and crash was not an option. I couldn’t. So, I went to find her.

Jason’s giving us a walking tour of York, and as we walk along Long Beach Avenue, passing old world restorations that are universally bordered by pink and blue hydrangeas, I play dumb against my own senses. There’s a definite fizz of anticipation stirring as I wonder if we’ll come across Alec at some point. I want to ask Jay or Sofie where his rental house is situated and discreetly scan prints and paintings in small shop windows for his signature. Sofie’s so accustomed and aware of it all that she practically lets him fall behind as she takes the reigns of his tour. Jay’s happy to let her, but I’m suspecting an alternate agenda creeping up.

“This one, babe.” Jay stops before a narrow, rectangular residence. “Shop at the bottom and an apartment on top. Can you picture it?” he presses, looking up at the grey shingled home.

“Except it has to be white, and the shutters need to be turquoise. That’s how I’ve been imagining it, right, Caroline? Remember I showed you something like that on Pinterest?”

“
Er…
you have a lot of boards on Pinterest. What exactly am I supposed to be remembering?”

“My tea shop!” Sofie blows her top with excitement.

I wrap my mind around it for a second. Her tea shop? The tea-
slash
-book shop?
That
tea shop? I remember something about turquoise shutters because Sofie has an entire board dedicated to shutters. I guess she wants Jay concocting something like this place at home. Things are really moving fast for these two. Their courtship has been like a spell under one massive gas leak, cavorting around town, totally intoxicated with each other.

“It’s cute. The place is adorable, but do you really want to live in your shop? And what part of the city are you thinking? I’m not sure what space is left in Montreal. You’ll have to branch out.”

“Exactly!” she erupts jubilantly. “I knew you were able to understand.”

I remind myself that she’s not trying to attack my intelligence, but is truly complimenting me in her own way.

“See, Jay,” Sofie says slipping an arm under mine, and the three of us look up in unison at the structure. “Even my overly sensible accountant knows I have to spread my wings. It’s time to split off from city life and find a gem somewhere else. What better place can there be than the one that’s been calling my name from the day I was born?”

“God, I’m so fucking happy right now,” Jason says, and Sofie disconnects from me to fall into an embrace with him.

I reckon I should proceed cautiously since I feel like I’m speaking a foreign language around these two slobbering idiots. I wait a moment longer so they can wipe dribble off their faces.

“Um… hello?” I begin, preparing to probe for details. “Can someone tell me what’s going on because last I heard, Sofie,
New Orleans
was calling your name, too. I mean, you’ve got a Pinterest board dedicated to that. How far from the city are we talking about? I was just thinking twenty minutes to a half hour out of Montreal.”

Sofie sighs. “You see how you don’t listen to me when I talk?”

“Enlighten me,” I snarl.

“What’s better than homemade, organic tea for a walk by the beach? And,” Sofie injects, “buying a new book? York needs a place like that, so it’s Sofie to the rescue.”

I really do mean to answer, but my thoughts have hit a wall.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I shout more loudly than I planned because a jogger stops in his track to stare me down.

“I want to open a seasonal shop in Maine, and Jay’s on board,” Sofie announces.

I blink.

However ridiculously hard this is to sum up, it is even harder to swallow and keep down. In truth, I’m debating if I want to erupt into laughter or throttle her. I manage her money! I know she’d have a hard time getting a loan back home for a venture that’ll last about fifty-nine seconds, and now she wants to embark out here? To top it all off, she wants to do it with a guy she’s known—let’s see, tallying it up—about thirty days.
Pff…
Of course, a business deal would be the next step. Sofie’s finally gone mad!

Nevertheless, my first thought is to be tactful—truly it is—and approach this diplomatically. But it’s Sofia-Marie I’m dealing with, and I need to serve her a heaping dose of
she’s out of her mind
straightaway.

“Seasonal,” I say frigidly. “How much money will this shop make for you to survive the rest of the year? Bills don’t stop coming in after Labour Day, Sofie. You still have to manage the place and invest in the inventory and
live
for God’s sake! How will you live?”

“We’re still working on the logistics, Caroline. You worry too much,” Sofie says, exasperatingly merry. “Tonight you can help us through all of that humdrum since you know… cramping my style is your forte.”

I wince, aftershocks of disbelief and fury ripple through me.

“We can put our thinking caps on and make a real business plan with your help, Caroline,” Jay steps in.

Suddenly, I loathe his entire likability. The whole
nice
thing he’s got going on is
not
convenient when I’m trying to make a point.

“Caroline, I really,
really
care for Sofie,” he says, “and honestly, I’m just up to whatever with her.”

“But you’re practically moving her out here!” I cry.

“I like her here.” He smiles shyly, and I crack.

“Well you can’t have her!”

“Honestly, Care,” Sofie ensues, “it’s just a five-hour drive from home.”

“Yeah, at the cost of my bladder and a police chase.”

“Okay, six hours if nature calls. But I’m not moving away completely.”

“My God, you’re serious. You’re actually jumping into this. You know, she’ll be bored before the open sign goes up,” I fire off, turning to Jason.

“Hey, I always finish what I start,” Sofie fumes.

“And then it’s over like that,” I say, snapping my fingers. “Without a single look back, either. And that goes for you, too, Jay-the-Contractor.” I overrun his name like a petulant child smearing lipstick across a mirror. “You better start interviewing other Canadian girls, if that’s what you’re into, because this one’s got an expiration date for everything and everyone in her life! Did Sofie ever tell you about Nick?” Instantly, a cleft cracks my heart as I abridge my words and comportment.

“Stop acting like a bitch, Care. And, yes, I did actually tell him about Nick.” Sofie’s face doesn’t change, and it’s a sub-zero, deadpan glare.

Finally, my heart has had enough, and it splits open. It has swallowed the sounds of the town because I don’t hear anything but my unprotected heartbeat. I feel vulnerable, exposed, and absolutely defenceless.

“When were you going to tell me?” I hiss.

“It’s not like I had a definite plan. Jay and I really got to talking last night in bed, and it was something we toyed with the last time I was in town. Being here just brought it up again.”

“Just like that?”

Sofie exhales noisily. “Yeah,” she answers. “Just like that.”

This news has spoiled the most breathtaking hour in York. The sun sets as high tide rolls in, pushing residents and faithful visitors away, up past the sharp, slippery bluffs. My silence gives away the fact that I’m not composed enough to be pleasant yet, so I look across the street and stare out at the glowing junction where the sea meets sky.

“Don’t follow me,” I say, stomping away to get a closer glimpse of Long Beach.

“Caroline!” I hear Sofie scream.

“Caroline!” Jason tries, but I speed up to reach the shore even if my body feels like it’s suddenly packed with lead.