Unbound (11 page)

“
I’ll bring it to you when it’s d—,”

She didn’t even let me finish. She answered the phone, cutting me off.

I wanted to stay there until she was done with her phone and rail into her. I wanted to let her know that it was hard to believe that she wasn’t a bitch by nature.  I wanted to tell her to forget about it…forget the partnership
and
the plane.

But I said none of those things. I couldn’t place what it was, but there was something about her demeanor that made me think that she was… I don’t know…
hurting,
maybe. It was hard to put a word to it.

So instead of staying to prolong the argument, I remembered the few glimmers of the nice woman I had seen at dinner the other night. That charming, radiant woman had apparently not come into work today, sending in her evil, grumpy twin instead.

I left the store reluctantly. I didn’t look back, even though I knew she was watching me.  I didn't want her to know that her cold reception fazed me.

I hopped back on my bike and pedaled back up Moose Hill where I thought I might flip on the TV again to see what harebrained stories were being concocted about Devlin Stone and his present whereabouts.

11—Mac

It had been two days since Jack had come by The Pine Way, ruining my day by visiting first thing in the morning. As promised, he had written up a contract. I’ll give him credit for one thing—he knows when he’s not wanted. He didn’t bring the contract by the store in person; he’d opted on e-mail it to me instead.

I read over it and read over it and read over it again. And here I was, two days later, re-reading it. I didn’t understand why I kept looking at it. I knew I was going to sign the damn thing. It made sense. It was a no-brainer. But, if I was being honest with myself, I
was
being a bit spoiled. I kept trying to tell myself that I wanted to do this for my father, but my father would have been very disappointed in the way I was acting.

I held my pen over the signature line but just couldn’t sign my name. Not yet.

I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Red wine was usually my drink of choice but when I wanted to get drunk, I went for beer. And tonight, I wanted to get drunk. I had wanted to get drunk ever since Mr. Tanner had told me that he had sold the plane to someone else.
Maybe,
I thought,
it will be easier to sign Jack’s contract if I’m three sheets to the wind.

The phrase
three sheets to the wind
had never made sense to me. It had been one of my father’s goofy little sayings. He’d used it a lot whenever someone was drunk (often, when
he
was drunk later on in my life).

With a sigh, I shoved thoughts of dad out of my head. That, coupled with Jack’s contract and everything to do with the plane, did not make for a good night. Especially when there was a case of beer in my fridge, promising me that it could easily help me forget about all of that for a while.

I took my beer to the computer and opened up my novel-in-progress. There were times, when sitting behind the keyboard, that my brain just didn’t want to write. Sometimes it seemed to pretend that it couldn’t even remember what the book was about. But tonight was not one of those nights.

I found it easier to connect with my characters and their motivations. I got into what I guess was a zone of sorts. Best of all, I was getting closer to a pivotal scene that might involve some sex. I had already decided, from writing the first sentence, that all sex would be mostly left off of the page and left to the reader’s imagination. But as I wrote the book and got closer to that scene, it was almost like foreplay in a way. I found that I
wanted
to see what my main male character looked like naked. I wanted to find out what sort of a man he was like in the bedroom.

I stopped writing long enough to ponder these questions. I was ashamed to find that I was getting slightly turned on. The fact that I was on my third beer didn’t help at all.

I envisioned my male protagonist as I had described him and then, out of
absolutely nowhere¸
I saw Jack in his place. It made me wince, made me want to step away from the computer. The jerk wasn’t even here and he was somehow managing to ruin some of the best writing I had done in the last few months.

Maybe it was the beer, but I didn’t have any problems admitting to myself why I was thinking of Jack. Sure, there was a very strained and anger-laden relationship between us. But he was also the first man I had gone out to dinner with in nearly four years. And as far as I know, he was the first man that had looked at me like something to be desired in a long time. I’m pretty sure he was trying to by sly when he was checking me out when he had come back from his hiking excursion (before he swooped in and took the plane from me, that is) and I had loved it. It had made me feel
wanted
for the first time in a long while.

So it made a sick sort of sense that I might substitute his face and body for those of my main male protagonist. Arrogant jerk or not, the fact remained that Jack was incredibly good-looking. If he wasn't such an arrogant dick, I would have no problem at all trying to net Jack as the man that would break the wretched dry spell I had been on. I could scarcely remember the man that I’d had the one night stand with two years ago. His face was just ab blur to me and the night had
not
been memorable.

So of course Jack was there, in my thoughts. But I would much rather him be firmly placed into the realms of anger. The fact that I also found myself wanting to kiss him from time to time (even in my anger) was probably some deep Freudian thing that I would never understand.

When my cellphone rang, I silently thanked it. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to sit there, thinking of my lack of a sex life and how the one man I had been attracted to in the last few years was essentially my self-made nemesis.

My display showed the smiling face of my grandfather when I picked it up. I smiled at the picture and suddenly wished he were here with me, drinking beers and telling stories about dad.

I answered the phone like I usually did when I knew it was him on the other line. “Hey Grandfather,” I said.

“
Hey Mac,” he said. “What’s the scoop?”

“
Same old, same old,” I said. “How are things out on the Island?”

“
Cold. Boring. Slow.”

“
Sounds like fun,” I said. I typically teased my grandfather about “living life on island time.” He lived in the Queen Charlotte Islands, or Haida Gwaii as he and the local Haida people had been calling it since the beginning of time.  The chain of islands was situated off the western coast of British Columbia.  My grandfather was a full-blooded member of the Haida nation as were much of the residents of the Queen Charlotte Islands.

“
How’s life?” he asked. “How’s that book coming?”

“
It’s coming,” I said. “Getting close to finishing it up.”

It was cute how he always made a point to ask me about the book. He was really the only person that knew I was working on it. With dad and my brother dead, and mom re-married and living on the other side of the country, Grandfather was really the only family I spoke to on a regular basis. Usually, it was all about work; he owned a small store similar to The Pine Way and was one of the only businesses of the sort where he lived.

“
Good,” he said. “Finish it up, get it published, and then quit that store. It can’t be any better than business is out here, can it?”

“
Not really,” I admitted. “But business on the internet is making up for it. The Pine Way is doing pretty good. You still refusing to go the way of the internet?”

“
Damn right I am. I only have about another ten or fifteen good years left in me. I’ve made it this long without relying on that nonsense.”

I smiled at his stubbornness. “How are
you
doing?” I asked him. “And I mean
you.
Not the business.”

“
Doing good. Won about fifty bucks at poker last night.”

“
And that’s the highlight of your week?”

“
Of course not. There’s getting drunk and watching hockey with Larry Douglas on Wednesday nights.”

“
Ooh, that’s a social life right there!”

“
And what’s
yours
looking like?” he asked.

I walked right into that,
I thought to myself. “Hey, I joked. I’m an aspiring writer. I have no time for a social life. You, on the other hand…,”

“
Take it easy on me,” he grumbled.

“
Sorry, Grandfather,” I said.  “I just worry about you all alone in the cabin.”

“
Some of the best thinkers lived in solitude,” he said.

“
Really?”

“
Hell if I know. Sounded good, though. But look… I’ll admit… there’s a selfish reason for my calling you.”

“
And what’s that?”

“
I need to borrow you for some discounts again.”

“
Sure,” I said. “Not a problem.”

“
Well, the rub of it is this… I need the merchandise within three days.”

“
Oh, that
does
pose a problem.”

I had been helping Grandfather with his store in a round-about way for nearly three years now. It had kept me busy and made me feel as if I was contributing something after the divorce. Located in the middle of nowhere and forever against the internet, Grandfather simply wasn’t able to get the same discounts I could through newer, more modern distributors. So I had ordered things for him using The Pine Way’s account and having him pay me by check upon delivery.

“
You think there’s any way you could pull it off?” he asked. “I should add that freight might be a problem.”

It’s almost impossible,
I thought. And I almost spoke it out loud, too.  But then I thought about Jack. And that damned plane.

“
You really need this stuff?” I asked.

“
Pretty badly,” he said. There was shame in his voice. “This order could set me for the rest of the year if I can get you to wrangle up a proper discount.”

“
What do you need?”

He went through a list of things that two particular clients had asked from him—one of which had been recommended by a friend and, therefore, needed to be impressed as far as Grandfather was concerned. He was in need of one new snowmobile, several different sorts of what he called “newfangled” climbing gear, and other odds and ends. I jotted down the list as he went through it.

I felt myself wanting to ask him why the hell he had waited so long to call me but left it alone. I kept thinking about the plane and before I could stop myself and give it some proper thought, I found myself opening my mouth and saying: “Yes, I think I can help.”

“
Are you sure?” he said. He sounded delighted and doubtful all at the same time.

“
Possibly. I know a guy with a plane. I think I can get him to use it for us.”

I didn’t know why I didn’t go into the details of how I was sort of part of that plane. In that moment, I don’t think I wanted to admit that I was aligning myself with Jack in any way, shape, or form.

“
Mac… you’re
sure?
I know this is a tall order.”

“
Trust me, Grandfather. Just let me handle it, okay. I’ll call you with the details. Give me like an hour or two, okay?”

“
Thank you so much, Mac.”

“
Of course. Now, I have to go. I have to make sure I get these orders in as soon as I can.”

“
Thanks,” he said again. “I love you.”

“
Love you, too.”

We ended the call and I looked at my phone for a while. I slowly scrolled to Jack’s number. When I hit CALL, I actually grimaced.

Jack answered on the third ring. I realized then that it was nearing ten thirty at night and I had no idea when he usually turned in.

“
Hello?” he asked.

“
Jack, it’s Mac. Did I wake you?” I asked it in a way that made in clear that I didn’t care if I
had
woken him up.

“
No,” he said. “Just doing some reading. What’s up?”

“
This partnership thing,” I said. “Would you care to give it a test run?”

“
When? And how?”