Authors: Whitney Boyd
Everyone wants to go to heaven,
but nobody wants to die.
—English Proverb
Chapter Thirteen
I
wish Josh was with me as I draw a deep breath and close my eyes. All right, think calming thoughts. Peace be with me. Happiness, sunshine, flowers and rainbows. Think happiness. My mind refuses to calm itself.
The door in front of me is intimidating and not what I expected. I had taken the RSVP address from the wedding invitation envelope and punched it into Google Maps. It led me here, to a house in the prestigious Uplands in Oak Bay community, a place where I never expected to find Drew.
Let’s face it. I always picture him in my mind dirty and covered in sweat in the middle of a football field, or lounging on a couch in a friend’s basement with his feet up and swigging a beer while watching hockey. This luxury home doesn’t seem like the Drew I remember.
Sure, Drew grew up with money. Seeing his parents last week reconfirmed that. But this home is beyond extravagant, and not even in the way that the home I cleaned for the realtor was. This house backs onto an inlet of the ocean. There is a wooden dock, stained a deep shade of reddish brown. Flowers line the walkways, bright pinks and blues and yellows. But it is the house itself that is most impressive. It is an old Victorian style house, larger than most, with turrets and a wraparound porch. There is even an elegant sign on the lawn that proclaims it as a “beautiful historic landmark”.
I can’t even imagine what it is like to live in a landmark.
And I especially can’t imagine Drew living in a landmark. Back in university he would toss his empty beer cans on the floor of his Mustang convertible, wear four hundred dollar jeans to football practice and once he spit some gum out in the living room of his apartment. He was aiming for the trash can, but when he missed he didn’t bother to pick it up. It sat there, squished into the rug for two days before it drove me crazy and I removed it with a paper towel and cleaner.
The point is, he isn’t the most qualified person to be living in a historic landmark. It should be home to a nice old librarian with a pinkish tinge to her hair, that’s who.
I’m stalling.
Before I can procrastinate any longer, I raise my hand to the huge, brass knocker and let it fall. It doesn’t make much noise, and to the side of the door I spot a doorbell. The modern fixture seems out of place, but I press it quickly before I lose my courage.
Chimes ring out, louder than I had expected and I jump despite myself. Five, ten seconds go by. I fidget to and fro and suddenly I feel a leap of anxiety in my soul. I can’t go through with this. I turn on my heels and bolt. Half jogging in my high heels, I am down the steps and part way across the lawn when I hear a voice behind me.
“Hey, wait!”
I stop in my tracks. I think that’s him. I’m not one hundred percent sure, it has been a while since I’ve heard his voice, but it sounds familiar. This is awkward. Not only am I here, but I’m here and then fleeing. I swallow, but there seems to be a lump in my throat that has appeared out of nowhere. I hear footsteps behind me and then the voice again.
“Were you looking for me? Can I help you with something?”
I turn and stare into a face that has haunted my thoughts since the day I first met him. I lick my lips and croak “Hi.” I sound like a fifty-year-old chain-smoking alcoholic.
Drew eyes me intently for a moment and then breaks into a huge grin as recognition dawns on his face. “Charlotte Ann Southard. What the hell are you doing here?”
The next few minutes are a blur. We both begin to say something and then stop and we’re laughing and he reaches out and gives me a huge, warm hug. His shoulders are broad, just as I remember. His arms go around me and my heart beats so rapidly it’s getting difficult to breathe. The earlier awkwardness dissipates and I can’t get the words out fast enough, my words stumbling over his.
“What are you doing here?”
“How are you?”
“I haven’t seen you in what, five, six years?”
“I’ve thought about you for so long! This is crazy!”
“Your hair looks different, but I like it.”
“I can’t believe it’s really you!”
The questions and comments fly out and I feel like I’m twelve years old and it’s the first day of school after summer holidays. My cheeks hurt I’m smiling so much.
We finally take a breath and Drew chuckles and rubs the stubble on his face with the palm of his hand. “Holy crap, Charley. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“I know. I just, well, I was thinking about you the other day and I ran into your mother and she told me you were out here. I had to come out for a job interview anyway, so I figured I’d swing by and see you.”
I got it out coherently and didn’t even have to lie. Ha! I
did
run into his mother. Sure, it was at her house, but still the truth. And the job interview is, okay, maybe that’s a bold-faced lie, but I
could
have come for one. Theoretically. It was part of the plan this morning when I left the hotel. I didn’t want him to think I was creepy or anything, and flying a thousand kilometers to see an ex might fall into that category. By saying I have an interview makes everything seem sane and plausible.
Drew steps back and eyes me up and down. I gauge his expression, discomfited in the knowledge that he’s checking me out. Then he smiles again. “You look more beautiful than ever. How did I ever let you go?”
I beam at the compliment. “Thank you. You look pretty dapper yourself.” In a shaggy, unshaved way.
Drew reaches out and grabs both my hands in his own. “I want to invite you in, but I have some things going on right now. We need to catch up, though. Do you have time later? I’d love to go out for drinks with you. Where are you staying?”
I want to ask about his fiancée, but I can’t force the words out. Is she in there? Is that why I can’t come in? Is she prettier than me? Do you love her? You’re so excited to see me . . . does that mean you and your betrothed are kaput?
“I’m at the Hotel Grand Pacific right near the harbor,” is all I say. The rest won’t come. But I’m sure it will all be discussed when we sit down together.
“How about I meet you there in a couple hours and we’ll go to the lounge?” Drew is as take-charge and confident as ever. That has always been one of his most attractive qualities and I feel myself melting into a puddle of mush. He
has
to be willing to give up his fiancée. This is destiny.
“Yes, absolutely. Will you, uh, be alone, or do you have, I don’t know, friends or someone you should bring too?” I can’t get the word fiancée out. But the sentiment hangs heavy on the breeze.
Drew glances over his shoulder at the house. I follow his gaze but don’t see anything in the darkened windows even though certainly she must be in there. He clears his throat. “No, it’ll just be the two of us.” He hesitates for the briefest second. “
You’re
not implying something are you? You dating someone? You’re not married, are you?”
I shake my head. “Nope, I’m single as a fox.” What does that even
mean
? I am officially an idiot.
Drew smiles and puts a hand on my waist. “Good. Then we’re both in agreement. Just the two of us. What time works for you?”
I reach up and run my hand through my hair. “Say around five?”
“It’s a date.” Drew winks at me, gives me one last hug and then walks back across the lawn and up the steps. I’m dying to see the inside of the house (is it as luxurious inside as out?) and wish he’d invited me in, but there will be time for that later. The door closes behind him but I can’t seem to break myself away from my trance.
We spoke! He hugged me! He was happy to see me! We have a date! Or something.
I don’t want to see Josh again until after I have a better handle on where things are with Drew so I wander the neighborhoods, slowly making my way back to downtown Victoria.
Everything is so green here. There is a slight mist in the air, as if Mother Nature hasn’t decided if she wants it to rain or not, and it feels refreshing on my face. I breathe it in, my lungs soaking up the humidity. Flowers bloom in every yard and I get lost in a vision of me and Drew gardening together in front of that beautiful Victorian. I can almost smell the dirt and flowers and fertilizer.
I try to analyze our conversation. There was no mention of his girlfriend. Not in passing, not when I brought it up casually. Nothing. But what does that mean? Does Drew think we’re meeting up for drinks strictly as friends? Or is his relationship on the rocks, and he doesn’t feel like he has to talk about it? I mean, he’s supposed to get married but obviously something’s wrong. His mom did almost slip and tell us what it was when we were talking to her. Maybe he’s already called the wedding off and I don’t know about it because I’m not technically on the guest list.
That could be it.
I wander for a while before I even bother to check my cell phone for the time. Its four -thirty and I have three missed calls from Josh and one text from Heather.
Fill me in! Have u seen Drew yet? I am dying to hear how it went. Dying!
I smile as I read the words. I can picture Heather saying it, impatient to a fault, wanting to know everything. Even when we were kids, at Christmas time she would unwrap her presents when her parents were gone and then rewrap them. Not knowing my situation must be killing her.
With just half an hour before I meet Drew for drinks, I walk with purpose the rest of the way to the hotel. I take the elevator to the third floor and hurry into the room. Josh isn’t here, but the bed is wrinkly and the television is on. In case he only stepped out for a second, I change faster than I ever have before into my slate blue, silk mini-dress. I brush my hair until it gleams almost as much as Heather’s, and leave it straight. I miss my long hair, but I do feel more mature and self-assured with this power cut. Finally, I do a quick refresh on my eyeliner and I am back out the door. No sign of Josh.
In the solitude of the elevator, I snap a picture with my phone of my reflection in the glass walls and send it to Heather. Immediately my phone buzzes with her reply
. U look amazing. Go get him. Take a pic with him if u can! Tell him hi from me! And good luck.
I smooth my eyebrows, place my phone in my Rebecca Minkoff clutch and straighten my shoulders. I’m hot, confident and successful. Lawyers are
always
confident and successful. I can do this. Plus this dress is incredible. I really ought to wear it more often. Next time Heather, Josh and I go to the pub on 17th, I’ll definitely wear this little number. And who knows? Maybe Drew will be with us.
My pep talk combined with my dreams of the future work. I can do this. Head held high, I exit the elevator and push my way through the double doors into the Pacific Lounge.
All good things come to those who wait.
—English Proverb
Chapter Fourteen
T
he lounge is stunning. It looks like it would seat no more than fifty people and has a very intimate and relaxed atmosphere. Light jazz filters through the speakers in the ceiling and a few people sit at the dark cherry tables, sipping drinks and chatting.
My nerves relax even further when the bartender hands me my Bamboo Cocktail, the classiest drink I could think of on the fly. It’s the drink Heather always gets when we go out, and she has no problem getting attention from the opposite sex. And sometimes even from the same sex, although she always turns them down nicely. It’s a good omen to drink her usual.
I take a sip and look around the room again to make sure I didn’t miss Drew. Nope, he’s not here yet.
“You meeting someone?” The bartender looks about my age, with very grey eyes and a collared shirt open into a deep V.
“Yeah, at five.” I look up at the clock. He’s ten minutes late. I’d forgotten how unpunctual Drew is. I guess I’d blocked that out of my happy memories, even though it did drive me crazy. But it’s okay. You don’t break up with someone just because they are later than you. Everywhere they go.
“So what are you in town for?” The bartender wipes off the counter with a blue cloth and gazes at me with unabashed curiosity.
“Is it that obvious that I’m not from here?” I wonder aloud. Maybe I am too high strung to fit the hip Victoria crowd.
He smiles, picks up a bowl of peanuts, wipes under it and places it back on the bar. “This lounge has two clientele; the regulars and the out-of-towners. I would recognize you if you came here often.” Oh, right. Of course.
“I’m from Calgary,” I say and grab a couple peanuts from the bowl. One is too salty, the other is as plain as if someone had licked all the flavor off and spit it back in the bowl. My brother used to do that all the time when we were kids and the possibility makes me gag.
The bartender doesn’t notice my distress over the peanut as he rambles on. “Ah, I see. We get a lot of Calgary folk in here. In fact I had one in here earlier today. Nice guy, well-spoken, polite but really depressed. And, believe me, a bar is not the place to go when you are feeling that down. Seems cliché, right, but I tried to keep him from drowning his sorrows too much.” He gives me a knowing look and adds in an over-exaggerated whisper, “Not that it helped. Some people never listen.”
I am one of those people who don’t listen. I nod along with his words but they barely compute. Every time someone walks by me, I jump, ready to leap up and give Drew another huge hug. I glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes late.
“So are you a college student then?” The bartender is chattier than my hairstylist, but I don’t mind.
“No, I’m a lawyer.” It’s flattering to think I still pass for twenty-two.
“How ’bout that! The guy from Calgary? He was a lawyer too. What are the odds?” The bartender shakes his head and gives me a sly smile. “So tell me, what’s the difference between a female lawyer and a pit bull?”
I lean on the counter and shake my head, smiling. “Really? You’re pulling out the lawyer jokes?”
He ignores me and replies with a laugh, “One wears lipstick.”
“Heard it.” I drain my Bamboo Cocktail and say yes when he asks when I want another. “I’ve heard pretty much every lawyer joke ever written.”
“That a challenge?” The bartender cocks a brow at me.
I grin and take the new glass he hands me. “Of course not.”
“All right, how can you tell when a lawyer is lying?”
“Their lips are moving, yup, heard this one too.” I stifle a groan at the disgruntled expression on the bartender’s face.
“You got lucky, honey, because those are the only two I got. Next drink is on me since you won.” He winks and I glance at the clock for a third time. My ankle taps impatiently against the barstool. Where is he? He did say five, right? Maybe he said six and I heard him wrong. Or maybe he went to a different lounge and is waiting for me, wondering where I am. Or maybe he’s blowing me off.
I should have gotten a cell phone number.
“So who are you meeting?” The bartender had disappeared for a minute to help another patron, but is now back and looking at me quizzically.
“An old boyfriend,” I admit.
“You giving the old relationship another shot?”
“Maybe. We just met up again after a few years. I guess we’re kind of determining if anything is still there to see if we
want
to give it another shot.”
“Relationships were plaguing the last lawyer in here,” the bartender notes. “He was stuck in a position where he could never tell the girl he’s in love with that he’s in love with her. I told him something that I hope he listens to, and I’ll tell you the same thing. Say what’s in your heart. Don’t live a life full of regrets. Even if you fall in the process, take the risk, take the leap and then get back up again. That way you’ll never have to wonder about what could have been.”
“Why weren’t you in my life about five years ago? You could have saved me a lot of heartache with that gem of wisdom,” I say. Inwardly I make myself a new commitment. Whether or not Drew and I work out, at least I’m going to say I gave it my all. I’m here, aren’t I? Risks are only risks because of the value of the potential reward compared to the theoretical cost.
“It’s never too late to start living without regrets,” he answers. A customer at the other end of the bar waves his hand and the bartender makes his way over. I remain in my seat, mulling over what this stranger told me and nursing my slightly warm beverage.
“Charley, you made it.” I feel a hand on my back and Drew appears beside me. He’s wearing the same jeans and black t-shirt he was wearing earlier and I feel overdressed and therefore frumpy, despite my mini dress being the latest fashion. Stop. I look gorgeous. Remember the elevator.
Drew orders a bourbon, no ice, no frills, gulps it down, asks for another and then slides into the chair next to me. “You look incredible, wow! You have no clue how thrilled I was to see you today.” His eyes stare into my own and his hand rests on my right knee. Electricity courses through me.
We look into each other’s eyes and I want to say so much . . . to ask why he broke up with me, to find out what his life has been like, to see where we are going from here, but instead all I manage to get out is “Yeah.”
“So you’re living in Victoria now,” I observe after a heartbeat. Way to have flawless, clever conversation. I suck.
“Sure am. Moved out here after graduation. Wanted to live in California or maybe Oregon, somewhere along the coast there but my work visa was denied. Apparently my skills aren’t unique enough, or something. This is the next best thing.”
Drew seems perfectly at ease but I am sweating despite my layers of antiperspirant. I take a gulp of my drink and search my brain for something to say that seems natural. All my planning about this moment and I forgot to have a list of backup topics in case I ran out of things to say. Maybe I can go to the bathroom and do a quick Google search of conversation starters.
Until I find a chance to sneak off, I say the first thing I think of. “What do you do for work nowadays? Did you end up being a therapist the way you wanted to back in school?” There. That should be safe ground. Although, it could be a problem if he asks me about my job in return. Being a lawyer is cool. Being an unemployed lawyer is not.
“I actually am a small business owner and it’s been very successful. I own an extreme sport shop at the mall, Foundations of Fear. We have equipment rentals, guided expeditions for rappelling and caving and stuff like that.”
The name makes me choke on the peanut I had popped into my mouth. “F-foundations of Fear? For real, that’s what you called it?” I stifle my laugh when I see the expression clouding his face. Okay, so maybe the name isn’t supposed to be funny.
Drew’s frown gives him wrinkles on his forehead that he hadn’t had before. It makes him appear older. Different. “What’s wrong with that?” The tone is confrontational and this is so not the way I had imagined our first conversation going down. Time to change the subject.
“I was, uh, just taken aback. It’s a great name, definitely. So, what else is new?”
Drew’s hands are massaging my legs now, one is still on my knee and the other is working its way up. It’s getting really hard to think of much of anything right now, to be honest.
He bends toward me and says huskily, “It’s been too long, Charley. Way too long. I’ve missed you.”
I don’t recognize his cologne, a spicy, musky odor. It’s new, not the Marc Jacobs one that he used to wear back in college. I wonder if his fiancée bought it for him, and my stomach clenches. Okay, fear be gone. I need to focus.
“I’ve missed you too,” I confess shakily. His hand is making circular motions on my thigh and I can’t concentrate despite my intentions. “That’s why I came here.”
“Well,” he leans even closer so his lips brush my ear and whispers, “I am thrilled you did.”
Suddenly his lips are no longer on my ear, but have made their way to my mouth. I smell him, taste him and everything feels very, very real. Slowly he presses his mouth to mine and I get lost in the moment. It begins gradually, carefully and then with more intensity. My pulse races and his hands move up from my legs to the small of my back.
After an eternity, I pull away. I am still in public, I remind myself, and with a guy who may or may not be available. No kissing until we figure out where we stand. I am breathing harder than when I ran in the Harvest Half Marathon three years ago, and my legs feel even shakier than when I’d crossed that finish line.
“Why don’t we grab one of the booths and order some food?” Drew’s eyes linger on my lips and I find them hypnotic. I want him to kiss me again. I need him to. I could not look away if I tried.
“Absolutely.” We get up from the bar stools and walk a few feet to a darker corner where a plush booth lies empty. I slide in first, my bare legs sticking slightly to the vinyl seat. Drew squishes in beside me and his arm immediately goes around my shoulder. Any attempt at being casual and professional disappears.
“So.” I feign a casual air and look around at the people in the bar so as not to make eye contact with Drew. “Have you dated many people since we broke up?”
“Excuse me?” Drew sounds shocked. His face takes on a wounded puppy look and he sticks his lower lip up in an exaggerated pout. “
We
broke up? That makes it sound like it was a mutual decision. You dumped me, sweet cheeks. Left me high and dry.”
Okay, definitely not the way it happened, but I figure it’s not worth arguing over. Right now, at least. Maybe on our fiftieth wedding anniversary, during the toasts or something, I can bring it up and everyone will laugh at the expression of mock outrage on Drew’s face as he struggles for a witty comeback.
I can’t put my finger on it, but I am feeling far less comfortable and at ease than the way I pictured it. It’s probably something simple keeping me from relaxing, like maybe because I don’t know if he’s still engaged. Whatever the reason, I am struggling. How in the world do you go from dating, saying ‘I love you’ and knowing everything about a person, to barely being able to put a coherent sentence together in their presence? It’s like there is a thick coating of ice covering our relationship that I can’t cut through. Maybe this is why so few ex’s remain friends.
A waitress in a tight, low-cut black shirt approaches our table. “Do you need a refill on anything, or can I interest you in some of our delicious house specials?”
Perfect timing. I take the menu she hands me and look at the incredible items. The words are all in lower case letters, with the prices very discreetly hidden near the edge. It’s chic and edgy and makes me feel like a movie star.
“We are certainly interested, Beverly,” Drew reads off her nametag and smiles. Beverly the waitress flutters her eyes a little and I groan inwardly. This was always a problem when we were dating. Drew attracts women like bees to honey. To avoid watching, I peruse the menu.
Drew clears his throat. “Bring us the oysters on the half shell, a thin-crust pizza with salami, chorizo, double-smoked bacon and aged white cheddar.” He smiles at Beverly, who takes our menus and walks away, swinging her hips a little more than necessary, in my opinion.
It’s cute that Drew ordered for me. Really, it is. Except I don’t like oysters. They look like a gob of snot sitting in filthy ocean water. Not to mention the fact that oysters on the half shell are raw and you’re eating their guts and brains and stuff too. Disgusting. No wonder they taste like death. And as for the pizza, couldn’t we just have gotten a boring, old pepperoni?
I refuse to dwell on negativity. Forget it. Maybe I like oysters now. It’s been a while since I last tried them. Maybe my tastes have changed.
Drew is nibbling on my ear again. “Mmm, you taste just the way I remember,” he says and wraps his arms around my shoulders. Forget the waitress, forget my former insecurities. I crave him the way I usually crave chocolate-covered donuts. I put my hands on his face and guide his lips back to my own. But my thoughts will not be silenced. Maybe I can forget the harmless flirting with the waitress, but he’s dodged the relationship question twice now, and I really want to make sure he’s free before I go throwing myself at him.
I pull away and he opens his eyes. “Where you going?” His words slur a little and he clumsily reaches for me again. I do a quick count. He
is
on his fourth bourbon, but I always thought he held his liquor better than this. Apparently this is another repressed memory. “Don’t pull away. I’ve got plans for you.” He leers at me and his eyes run down the neckline of my dress. “After we eat, let’s head upstairs and grab a room together.”
Say it, I command my weakling brain. Now.
“So, your mom says you’re getting married,” I blurt out louder than I intended and a few people at nearby tables turn and look. One lady gives me a dirty look and says clearly to the woman she is with, “
He’s
getting married yet
she’s
kissing him?” To which her friend replies, while nodding vigorously, “Home wreckers are the worst type of human being on the planet. God, how I despise them. There is a special place in hell reserved for the likes of her.”
I want to shout out that I’m no home wrecker, but the look on Drew’s face silences me. It’s a mix of guilt, anger and sadness.
“Babe, I’m sorry you had to hear it from my mother.” He’s not denying it. Nor is he saying that it’s over. I wait, willing him to say the words I am dying to hear.
“Is it true?” I know it’s true. I have the invitation in my suitcase. But I need to hear it from him.