Ashleigh's Dilemma (3 page)

“Why are you in Maryland? Are there not trees enough
in Canada?” Ashleigh asked setting her sandwich aside. “I would have thought your profession would have had ample opportunity in the country of your choice.” She had said this to goad him. It was entirely reflexive. She had not intended to but once she'd started, she couldn't stop herself. She found herself often behaving like that with men. She watched now for his reaction wondering if she had gone too far.

Atypically
to most men, though, Patrick leaned toward her and smiled. “Quite right - I'm here because of chance and fate. A friend of mine – a fellow Rhodesian with whom I shared a lot of history - needed help with his business and I came down to help. That was eleven years ago. I'm still here. He, unfortunately, is not.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

“I'm sorry.”

Patrick lifted his hands from the table and let them fall. “So am I.”

Without prompting Ashleigh offered,
her tone almost in apology, “I moved here about eleven years ago as well. I worked for
Lockheed Martin
in Colorado for a long time... then moved out here to work at the Lab.”

“Why was that?”

“Change... I just wanted change: can't stay in the same spot forever. One needs to move on.” She was hiding something. He couldn’t tell what.

“Well some people like to remain in t
he same spot their entire lives, with the same person too,” he offered.

“They are few and far between.”

“They are indeed,” Patrick agreed and then asked, “Do have any family?”

Ashleigh shook her head, “No, not around here…
Both my mother and father passed away within a few years of one another. I have a brother in Colorado. He has a family – two children, a boy and a girl.”

“Do you see them often?” 

“I visit them when I can.”

“Every Christmas?”

Ashleigh smiled; then, almost wistfully, “Yes.”

“Gifts for their birthdays?”

Her smile widened, “Yes.”

Her
obvious sentiment in her surprised him. It was inconsistent with her demeanor. She was almost like a child in the way she had reacted. “Well, we have a similar background,” he offered, “At least with respect to family. My parents have passed on as well – first my father, then my mother less than a year later. I have a sister on the West Coast – British Columbia – she has two children - older now, though. Each of them is in their twenties. She's divorced but has a live-in friend, lover, whatever. They fight all the time – and yet I get the impression they can't live without one another. He's a good guy.” It was Patrick's turn to smile as he remembered. “In fact, he's quite a guy; works on the oil rigs; he can kick some serious ass that man!”

Ashleigh stiffened and cast her eyes downward. She didn't like profanity.

“You know, it's ironic that you just had a vacation in British Columbia, found a connection with Emily Carr and have a print of one my favorites up on your wall –
Indian Church
.” Ashleigh had not known the name of the work; she just simply liked it and thought it would look good in the hall leading from her front door. 

“
Indian Church
- it's probably why we're sitting here today,” Patrick said and quickly continued,  “As I said, I lived for... gosh it must have been almost twenty years on the coast, mostly on Vancouver Island, just outside of Campbell River. Just standing in those forests was like... for me anyway... standing in a church.”

Ashleigh immediately said, shaking her head and ada
mant; “I don't believe in God. I don't go to church.”

“But you appreciate beauty; that's what I'm talking about.”

That stopped her. Again, without looking at him, she nodded. A red hue had returned to her face as if he had caught her out on something she preferred had remained hidden. He found out later she had been raised a Catholic and the experience had not been a happy one.

They talked on until the allotted
forty-five minutes was up. In the parking lot, Patrick offered, calling to her as she headed to her hybrid without glancing back at him. “That was good. I mean, that went all right.” Ashleigh reluctantly acknowledged him with a brief nod, still without looking at him.

“A
hike, then?” Patrick persisted. “Sunday? The McKeldin area - it's just up on Merrickville Road, only a few miles from here?”

Ashleigh hesitated as she was about to climb into her car, saying neither yes nor no.

Patrick pressed, “Eleven o'clock, then?”

“Maybe.”

She climbed into her car. He held the door, stopping her from closing it.

“Let go.”

“Say yes, then!”

“Yes.”

He let her shut the door and she drove off without so much as a glance back or a smile, but with her hand half-raised in a motionless wave. That was something anyway, he thought.

Sunday came. Eleven o'clock. Eleven fifteen... Eleven thirty and still no Ashleigh. Patrick sighed and struck out on his own across the parking lot. It was too good to be true, he thought; but at the same time, he knew from their lunch three days earlier that she had been less than enthused. It may be for the best he thought just as Ashleigh drove up and then past him. She didn't smile as she passed, but just nodded, keeping both hands on the wheel. She parked and stepped out, lifted a hand to acknowledge the best and most vibrant smile Patrick could muster, and then walked back toward the gate away from him. She was wearing  brand new and very stylish hiking clothes, Patrick noted; she looked good, athletic; but if she'd worn them even once before he'd be amazed. Still, he didn't notice any crease lines so they must have been laundered at least once. She was heading toward the gate to pay the voluntary two-dollar fee. She was fumbling with the yellow envelop as Patrick approached.

“Nice to see you again, Ashleigh; but I was beginning to wonder.” To his
ears, he sounded peevish but he didn't feel that way. Above all, he did not want to give her the idea he was in any way upset by her being a bit late. 

“Sorry, I was running late,” she said and ripped off the tag, punched out the date, and stepped around him, heading back to her car to place it on the dash all the while not giving so much as a glance in his direction.
What he didn’t know was that she had stopped along the side of the road and waited for a few moments until she felt better. It was her nerves, she knew. They were hard to control.

Patrick led the way along the trail. It was a beautiful fall
day; the day was warm, the sky a cloudless blue, and the leaves, still mostly on the trees, a riot of color. The wind rustled through the trees sending spirals of leaves tumbling downward to land at their feet. They walked side by side kicking up the leaves and as Ashleigh slipped into the day, the sunlight, and Patrick’s easy company, she began to open. Soon they were bantering back and forth, she not looking at him but keeping her eyes looking forward along the trail. Patrick discovered that Ashleigh had a PhD in Physics from
Johns Hopkins
, which intimidated him for a bit, but when she didn't seem to make a big deal about it, he put it aside. Ashleigh learned that Patrick had graduated from the
University of British Columbia
with a degree in English Literature and a minor in History.

“Is that why you own a tree maintenance company?” she asked,
smiling to herself, teasing him for the first time. She was thinking of his business card that offered every imaginable service as long as it had something to do with trees.

Patrick saw this as a good sign. “Absolutely, that is exactl
y why!” he laughed; “Why,” he added, “Do you not think we're not well matched?” and he laughed again, as for once so did Ashleigh. Her laughter came from deep within and it transformed her. His smiled widened in response. It was only momentary, however; seemingly aware she was opening she quickly withdrew. That was the real Ashleigh though Patrick imagined as he felt he might finally be making some progress. He smiled warmly and briefly let his hand settle on the small of her back before letting it slip away. She didn’t like that. She let him know by twisting away.

They talked on and on,
she recovering and settling in comfortably next to him but without looking at him, keeping her eyes locked on the way ahead. They followed the path along the bank of a river, swishing their feet through the leaves, Patrick sometimes kicking them up so high they tumbled down on top of them. Ashleigh smiled and laughed quietly with him, sometimes feigning anger as she brushed the leaves from her hair; but then, almost motherly, turning to him and picking off the odd leaf still clinging to Patrick - yet another side of Ashleigh that could not help but surface, he thought. Again, though, she quickly destroyed that illusion; when Patrick reached back to help her up a particularly steep part of the trail, she angrily refused his assistance by slapping his hand away. Unsettled but amused, and knowing what she was in for, he let her clamber up on her own. She slipped twice muddying her boots and the knees of her new hiking pants before she finally reached the top completely flustered by her behavior as well as her inability to negotiate the steep slope without slipping. She brushed herself off and followed him, catching up to him in a few paces, he not waiting for her.

By the end of the hike, the last turn, when he felt he might say so, Patrick confessed he would like to be a writer, and that he had already written a novel – albeit unpublished as of yet. That interested Ashleigh. “I haven't known too many authors,” she admitted.

Even though she often wouldn't look at him directly, she did this time. She was gauging him to see if he might be lying, or exaggerating, he supposed.

She could see he was not, however, and this, too, surprised her. She
said, breaking the contact by looking away, “I don't think I could do that.” 

“Well, with a PhD in physics, I think you could.”

“I don't think that qualifies me, exactly.”

Patrick turned to see if he could tell what she meant by that, but the look on her face gave nothing away. At no time did she ask him what he wrote about, or why, the title of his novel,
or why it had not been published. He didn't explain anything further and she didn't pursue it.

Later, Patrick wrote a short story about their hike and he let Ashleigh read it. He handed her the story sealed in a brown envelop after another lunch at
Subway
. This is part of what she read later that night after she had prepared for bed and slipped between the carefully folded sheets - and after she had propped herself up and slipped on her glasses:

T
hey walked together along the path through the forest, in step, their feet hissing through the fallen leaves flying up to float about them. The air was crisp, fresh, smelling of oak and wet earth. The sun, flashing free, though not warm, dropped through the raining canopy, crystalline and prismatic, temporarily blinding them as, hand in hand, they gathered in the glory. The path followed a river, black and still, reflecting the dark overhanging branches against a seamless sky....

Later, she told him she thought his writing wasn't bad, pretty good in fact. Still, she didn't know what to think. She had never been the focal point of the written word before, and it unsettled her. Besides, the story was really about nothing, nothing whatsoever. At no time did the character, who was obviously Patrick, kiss her or otherwise make a pass at the character who was obviously herself. They just met in a library, talked, and walked. It was a nice day, and it was a nice walk, but that was all. Why would he write about that? She recognized the time and place in the words he chose as well as the tone and the imagery, and saw a glimpse of the day from a different perspective. Although the intent was love, they were not lovers. This puzzled her, too. It directed her to repeat what she knew rather than what she felt: his story described, sometimes beautifully, what was a just a walk in the park on a nice day and nothing more. Ashleigh was therefore forced to conclude that Patrick had an obsessive character. He might not only be obsessed with nature and beautiful things, but also with her. Was he falling in love with her, she wondered? As unlikely as that might be, could it be all that unlikely? Ashleigh had been waiting for love, true love, her entire life. Could this be the beginning of it? Her heart flipped at the thought as her stomach fell away. She quickly decided it wasn't, not with this man. There was too much that was wrong. They were simply too different. He was a gardener and not all that handsome either.

Patrick, and the fact he was obviously interested in her, was a new
experience for Ashleigh. Nothing like it had happened to her before. Most men simply did not seem to be interested. She knew she was physically attractive, but no one had yet approached her. Not in the way Patrick was currently doing. She knew why, of course – she was the why… She smiled inwardly and with some satisfaction. So why did Patrick persist? It puzzled her. She could not comprehend exactly what he wanted – an easy conquest, perhaps; perhaps he thought he had discovered a lonely woman only too willing to throw herself in bed for him. Boy was he in for a surprise! No, she decided, it was not that. That is not what he thought, or felt. He was more complicated than that. She could tell he was different from all the others, but exactly how, and in what way, she could not be sure. It was true he was trying to get close to her, and she wasn't certain if she liked that. She decided that after reading Patrick's story she had to be careful. After all, she didn't know him at all.