Authors: Gina Elle
Your Song (16 page)
“I remember your last note,” she whispers. And then she mouths the word
thank you
. We walk over and take our seats at the table.
I did it.
A long sigh of relief escapes me. I try to level my breathing as the discussions continue in French. Using my peripheral vision, I watch Caroline engaging in the discussion. The note is still in her hand, unopened. I swivel around in my seat watching the interactions take place but my mind is on that note. I wonder how Caroline will react to it. Will it scare her off? She did say she remembered my last note from the flight back to Toronto. Flight!
Shit . . .
I’m leaving for Vancouver tomorrow. How can I leave now? I need to talk to Raj about my stalker . . . I need to connect with Caroline if she doesn’t accept my offer for tonight. I don’t want to travel.
Old life colliding once again with my new one.
As my thoughts wander, out of the corner of my eye
, I notice Caroline sitting back in her seat resting her hands on her lap. She glances down at her lap, hopefully, reading my note. Amy is talking away and doesn’t look Caroline’s way. I watch closely as a wide grin appears on Caroline’s face that she tries to suppress. She doesn’t look up at all, likely feeling my eyes on her. Caroline reaches over for the crystal-studded pen lying on the table in front of her.
Yes! She is going to write me back.
I’m in seventh heaven! But, then a thought comes to me, a negative one . . . what if she’s turning me down? Telling me to get lost? Her pen glides along the paper smoothly. I start to shake my legs from side to side under the table, fidgeting with my fingers, scratching my head as I always do when my nerves get the better of me. A round of laughs from around the table disrupts my negative thinking. I guess the defense is over. I look over at a relieved and happy looking Amy.
“It’s all over,“ Amy turns to me, “and I want t
o celebrate . . . over dessert with you.” She winks. I shake my head from side to side, praying to the universe that no one heard that comment.
“Congratulations,” I lean over and whisper to her, “but we’ll have to take a rain check on the dessert, I’m afraid.” And with that, I lean back into my chair watching the disappointment etch on Amy’s face. She looks pissed but frankly, I don’t care. I’m fuming, too. We will definitely need to talk.
But later.
Everyone begins to rise from their seats shaking hands with Amy and congratulating her. I stand as well, waiting my turn. Just then, Caroline makes her way around the table and heads towards Amy, who right now is talking to granny glasses on her right. Effortlessly, Caroline slips her note into my hand, her fingers lingering there a few seconds, sending shivers of electricity throughout my body. I’m immobile all over again. I muster the strength to slide the note into my front left pant pocket. I play it cool and walk around the room. The smoothness of the paper note in my pocket both calms me and excites the hell out of me. Amy interrupts my reverie.
“And, last but not least, my favorite guy. Come over here, Eric.” And she pulls me down to meet her hug.
So aggressive.
I’m so not impressed with Amy’s behavior right now; I can barely contain myself from showing it. Almost as aggressively, I pull out of her embrace, congratulate her and step away. I make my way to shake hands with the other members of the panel. For a few minutes, I carry small talk with Drs. Trottier and Laplante scanning the room for Amy’s whereabouts. As she mingles between Caroline and the neutral chair, I discreetly pull Caroline’s note out of my pocket. With my back to rest of the room, I unfold the note and glance at it. Underneath my words, Caroline has written:
I’ll be at 7 West Café on St. Charles Street around 8 tonight. Looking forward to your questions.
Caroline
I glan
ce at my watch. It’s 5:35 P.M.. . . . Enough time to get back to the office, finish up what I have to do it and make it on time to the café.
Baby, what a big surprise. Right before. . . .
I tuck the note inside my pocket again.
“Eric, before you leave, can I talk to you outside?” It’s Amy, at my side, startling me.
“Sure,” I say coldly. I follow her out of the room into the vacant hallway. Amy grabs my arm at the elbow and pulls me closer to her.
“What the hell is going on?” She hisses at me.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” I reply staring at her straight in the eye.
“Is there something going on between you and her?” She asks, pointing her chin towards the doorway, referring to Caroline.
“I really don’t see it as being any of your business.”
“None of my business? I invite you here as a special guest and you can’t stop flirting with my supervisor! What the hell, Eric?”
“Me . . . flirting? What’s with the kiss you planted on my lips and the stroking and the hugging?” I ask her in return. She pauses and stares me down.
“That was to show everyone that you’re
mine
,” she hisses.
“Amy, do I have to remind you that we were over months ago? I am not
yours
,” I try to keep my voice as low as possible.
“Yes, you made that very obvious today. Look, Eric,” her voice lowers and she looks away.
Shit. She’s hurt.
“It’s nothing . . . just go . . .
” her voice is weakening, as if she is about to cry. With her hand, she waves me away.
Damn. I don’t want her to be upset like this. Today of all days.
I take a few steps back.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll call you and we’ll talk about this.
Right now is not the time.” I turn and walk away. I glance inside the meeting room and see that everyone is still in there. I step in.
“It was my pleasure meeting you all. Thank you for an interesting experience,” I reach over and shake each of their hands. When I get to Caroline, she looks at me with concern.
“Thank you, Dr. Durand, for having me here today. Hopefully we will meet again . . . very soon . . .” I say holding her hand inside mine longer than is necessary.
Caroline gives me a wink and a smile.
And I am gone.
My phone is ringing. I answer it using Bluetooth.
“Hello?” I call out into the roof-mounted microphone. I glance at my watch. It’s 7:59 P.M. and I am driving to 7 West Café. I’ve no idea why I’m driving there since it is clearly in walking distance from my condo. But, typical of me, I’m running a bit late, which I hate. I ran in from work at ten after seven with a list a mile long of things to do before my 8:00 P.M. meeting with Caroline. While heating up my mother’s leftover lasagna, I pulled out my suitcase and threw in some things that I’ll need in Vancouver; workout clothes, runners, swimsuit, three sets of clothes, my iPad with the charger, toiletries and my work files. Usually, I make a ritual of packing for a business trip but tonight I haphazardly toss in what I think I’ll need and hope for the best. There’s nothing like packing for a trip you just don’t want to take.
Eating my lasagna standing up while reading my mail at the same time, I looked over at my answering machine and noticed the red blinking light. I listen for my messages.
Beep.
“Hi, Eric. It’s your dad and I
calling . . . just wanted to wish you a good trip. Call us when you get back.” My mother always calls me the night before I leave on a business trip.
As I erased my mother’s message from the machine, I looked o
ver at my desktop and saw Caroline’s airplane note tucked in to the corner of the monitor screen. It reminded me of today’s note that was still in my pocket. I pulled it out and attached it to the opposite side of the monitor. Together, the notes sitting side by side made me smile. There they sat staring at me reminding me of how far I’ve come since the last time I saw Caroline.
Again, Leslie’s words about hope rang through my ear.
Who would have thought I’d have found Caroline like this?
The irony of Amy’s contribution in my quest to find Caroline is not lost on me. All these months Amy’s been talking to me about her Dr. Durand and I, barely listening, never gave it a second thought. The sad part of that is now I know Amy is hurting and I partly feel responsible. I suppose I could’ve been more sensitive to her feelings this afternoon. Somehow, I’ll have to explain everything to her, from the beginning.
“Hi, Uncle Eric. What are you doing?” It’s David calling. I’ve missed this little guy.
“Hey, bud. What’s up?” I ask driving along St. Charles Street at a snail’s pace looking out for any available street parking.
“Are you in your car?” he asks.
“Yup. I’m heading out for the night,” I say as I spot an empty parking spot right in front of the café.
Yes!
Lucky day for me, no doubt.
“Uh . . .
I was just wondering if we could get together on Saturday since I won’t be around for all of July?” He asks.
“Why? Where are you going in July?” I ask, pulling into the parking space hardly believing summer is almost here.
“I’m going to overnight camp for the first two weeks and then my parents are renting a cottage in Muskoka for the rest of July.” Right . . . Claudia mentioned that to me in an email. Mentally, I calculate everything I have to do over the weekend once I get back Friday night from Vancouver. Bottom line is, though, that I simply cannot say no to my nephew. Ever.
“Sure. Saturday sounds good. You up for a long bike ride along the lakeshore?” I ask. I haven’t cycled in over a week and I’m missing it. That
reminds me . . . I should rent a bike in Stanley Park on this trip to Vancouver. At least that will give me something to do at night following my all day meetings.
“Okay, see you on Saturday, Uncle
Eric. Dairy Queen is on you. Oh . . . and I was wondering . . . did you ever find that thing you lost . . . you know, what we were talking about at Dairy Queen that day?”
He remembered.
And that’s when I consider David’s words to me that day all over again.
Oh . . . and Uncle Eric . . . I wouldn’t give up until I find it
, followed by
Leslie’s voice . . . t
here’s always hope.
So it seems that the little nine year old and that kitschy counselor of mine are somehow on the same page with all this.
“Yeah, David. I actually did find that
special . . . thing after all,” I reply.
“Told you so,” he throws in with a cocky tone.
“Enough of that, wise . . . .” I say but David has already hung up.
I love that kid.
I turn off the ignition and make my way to Caroline.
I step out of my car and lock the doors. I glance at myself through th
e car window. My signature look . . . undone cuffs from my buttoned down white oxford shirt poking out a half inch past the sleeves of my navy linen jacket and my Fidelity jeans. Simple and classic, I think. Not looking bad for someone who had ten minutes to get ready. I walk around my car and head for the sidewalk.
Play it cool, Eric.
Don’t be a bumbling fool. Deep breathe. To keep my trembling hands from shaking even more, I juggle with the keys in my pocket.
I’m
three or four steps from the entrance to the café when something, out of the blue, hits me. On my left shoulder. Quickly, I glance down.
No fucking way.
I lift my left hand up to the left hand side of my face and touch what I’m afraid is lurking there.
Confirmed.
Bird shit. A sea gull just shit on me. Green and whitish bird poop is all over my hair and dripping down the shoulder of my dark blue jacket.
Fucking gross.
Was it really me who just said that today was my lucky day? I have to get this cleaned up before Caroline sees me. With no Kleenex on hand, I’m at a loss. I pull open the door to the café with my right hand while my left is still holding the disgusting bird shit dripping from my hair. I walk in and take a quick look around looking for Caroline. She’s here. Sitting alone at a table for two. Lucky for me, she’s looking down at her phone, with her back to the cafe entrance. I make a run for the men’s room.
One look in the mirror and I’m mortified. There lies the biggest dribble of poop on my shoulder with drippings of it running down the left hand side of my jacket. What a fucking mess. With soap on my hands, I make lather and start to quickly wash my hair and upper ear. Then with a dampened paper towel, I clean the poop off my shoulder. Using several more wet towels, I rub off all the remnants running down my jacket. When I’m all done, I look once again in the mirror and don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I look like a huge puddle. Fortunately, I find a hand dryer on the wall and turn it on to help dry my linen jacket. It’s 8:10 P.M. already. I can’t keep her waiting much longer. Off I go.
Her back is to me as I approach the table. The café is intimate and dimly lit. I take my time getting to her so I can soak in her presence. She looks so attractive sitting there poised and refined. Her black linen shift dress is a bit more wrinkled than it was earlier today but fits her body like a glove. Her long willowy hair falls naturally around her face. Finally, I stop beside her and gaze down at her. Her face looks fresh and flawlessly beautiful. Caroline looks up.