Your Song (17 page)

“You’re here, Eric!” she looks up and smiles at me. Then I notice her eyes move down to take in my wet jacket, still smiling politely.

“Sorry, I’m a bit late. I had an unexpected . . . mishap . . . on my way in to the café,” I say smirking, totally embarrassed. If I were someone who blushes, surely this would be the time I’d be turning beet red. I take a seat across from her.

“Are you all right?
Did you fall or trip?”

“No, nothing li
ke that . . . let’s just say a bird . . . blessed me with good luck on my way in here,” my voice trails off.
Just my luck.

“Blessed
you
with luck? I was just thinking how I’m the lucky one tonight,” she says shyly trying to deflect the embarrassment; she could only imagine that I’m feeling.

“Oh really? Why’s that?” I ask her in return. Caroline pauses before answering me. She really is quite bashful.

“I’m the lucky one because . . .
you
asked me out for a coffee,” I must pick my jaw up from the table. Did I just hear that correctly? If I were that blusher, I’d be on fire now. Whoa! The biggest smile appears on my face matching the one on hers.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I say. If she only
knew how badly I’ve wanted this . . . stalker extraordinaire that I am. Then the thought of my own deranged stalker comes to me. I dismiss it as quickly as I can.

“Speaking of coffee, what would you like to order? Have you had dinner?” I ask.

“Actually, I am just coming from dinner . . . with Amy. I took her out for some sushi to congratulate her on her defense,” Caroline says.

“I’m sure she appreciated that. How was she?” I ask not sure I want to hear the answer. Just then, the server arrives with menus. I welcome the interruption.

“Good evening. What can I get you both?” The young woman asks glancing at each of us. She can tell I’m not a regular. But I notice she gives Caroline a familiar wink.

“I’ll have your amaretto tea again
. . . my usual,” Caroline says handing back the menu.

“Any cookies for you tonight?” t
he waitress asks her in a familiar tone.
Cookies?

“I think I’ll take a pass on a cookie tonight, Leigh. Next time
. Thanks.” She glances at me.

“Caroline’s our biggest cookie customer,” Leigh, the server, turns to me and says. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a double espresso, please. Thank you.” I too hand back the menu and look over at Caroline who is looking at my jacket and laughing softly. The waitress leaves.

“What’s so funny?” I ask knowing full well what she’s finding so amusing.

“Sorry, Eric. I don’t mean to laugh but I was just thinking about how what happened to you is something that would happen to me. I seem to be one of those people who constantly find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, you know, always out of luck. If the odds of something you don’t want to happen are high, trust me, it’ll happen to me.” There is so much I could say to that comment right now but I hold back.
Her being on that flight with me that day put her in the perfect place at the best time.
I bite my tongue.

“Glad you find my mishap so amusing, Dr. Durand,” I tease, smiling at her, not taking my eyes off her gorgeous face.

“Well, I see we share something in common then . . . a sense of humor, ” she says.

“Let’s see . . .
from the very little I know about you . . . let me see if I can list what we have in common . . . where should I begin?” I play strumming my fingers along my chin looking upwards towards the ceiling. I hear her giggle.

“For one, ” I begin, pointing to my left index finger,” we were booked
on the same flight to Toronto . . . two . . . we both live off Bloor Street . . .,” I say pointing this time to my left middle finger.

“You remember where I live?” Caroline asks with a surprise to her voice.
If she only knew how much I remember about her . . .
I nod at her.

“Three . . .” I stop myself . . . do I even want to go there . . . Amy’s connection . .
. .

“Three would be the fact that my thesis student i
s your . . . I’m not sure what you would call her . . . you say she’s not your girlfriend,” Caroline’s voice rises as if she is asking a question.

“Amy is an ex-girlfriend and now a friend who’s asked me to attend her thesis defense,” I clarify. 

Leigh arrives with our drinks. Again, her timing couldn’t be better. She places the amaretto tea down before Caroline and then passes me my double espresso. We both look up at the same time and say thank you.

“Four . . .
we both say thank you at the exact same time,” I say quickly. And she laughs again.

“So, what do you do for a living,
Mr.
Martin?” she asks leaning over her warm cup of tea. I can smell the sweet amaretto liquor from here.

“I’m a senior product architect for a software company. I travel to clients all over the U.S. and Canada selling software,” I say taking my first sip of espresso.

“So, that’s why you were returning from Chicago that day,” she says.

“Actually, I was returning from a con
ference that weekend in Chicago . . . just as I believe you were . . . yet another coincidence,
Dr
. Durand . . . does that take us up to five then?” That weekend in Chicago. I try to dismiss the memory as quickly as I can. Ironically, my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Barbra Streisand singing her hit
Memory.
It’s Caroline’s ring tone.
Barbara Streisand
? 
Have I died and gone to heaven? She’s a Barbra Streisand fan?
I notice her jump for the phone in her handbag.

“Excuse me, Eric. I just have to see who this is,” she says as she looks down at the screen. Her face turns ashen when she sees the caller’s name. Swiftly, she turns the phone on silent mode and places the phone back in her bag.

“Is everything all right?” She looks somewhat shaken, nervous. I can’t put my finger on it.

“Oh, yes.
Everything is fine. So, tell me . . . how long have you worked for your company?” Expertly, she diverts the attention away from herself and the caller.
Who the hell was on the phone?

“Almost four years. Travel is a big part of my job. I’m usually on the road two to four times a month at a minimum,” I say watching her. Caroline is turning pale. She’s not looking well.

“Where are your travels taking you to next?” she asks, pushing her half-full cup of tea away from her. I see a bead of sweat appear across her forehead.

“Vancouver, tomorrow morning,” I say disappointedly.
I’d rather be with you tomorrow morning.
I wonder what’s wrong with her. She looks like she is going to be sick.

“Please excuse me, Eric. I need to use the ladies’ room,” she says bolting away from the table.
Shit.
I hope she’s all right. I lean back in my chair taking in the ambience of the café. As usual, my attention turns to the music playing over the speaker. Van Morrison serenading about “Someone Like You”. How timely.

Some days,
especially today
, it seems as though the music of my life seems to follow me wherever I go. If Caroline were in front of me right now, I’d have to fight every urge not to reach out to her and dance with her to this song.

And, here she comes. Walking somewhat unsteadily, she returns to the table looking worn out. I get up and hold the chair out for her.

“You don’t look well. How are you feeling?” I ask taking my seat across from her once again.

“Oh, Eric. This is so embarrassing . . . but I think something from my dinner didn’t agree with me. I was just sick to my stomach,” she says covering her eyes with one hand.
Just my luck, again. I get her alone and she gets sick.

“Can I take you to a . . .
walk-in clinic?” I ask. Caroline clutches her stomach with her other arm. She’s obviously in a lot of pain. She shakes her head.

“No, not to a clinic . . .
but I could use a ride home. I was going to take a cab but I don’t think I have the strength to hail one at this point.” She looks up at me from the hand covering her eyes. I see that she’s uncomfortable. I signal to the server that we’re leaving, dropping enough cash on the table to cover the bill and then some. I get up and walk over to help Caroline stand up. Carefully, I place one of my hands on her back and with my other hand I grab her arm so she can balance herself. Slowly, we make our way out of the café and down the few steps to the sidewalk.

“I was really looking forward to hearing your questions about
Les
Miserables
,” she manages to say as we make our way to my car. I unlock the doors and open the passenger side for her to get in. Gently, I hold Caroline’s arm and back as she slides into the bucket seat. When she is in and settled with her purse on her lap, I shut the door.
Making my way back to the driver’s side, I shake my head in disbelief.
What a day.

“I’ll take a rain check, Dr. Durand?” I ask handing her my business card with my mobile number and email address on it. She accepts the card with as much of a smile she can muster. As I start the car I see from the corner
of my eye Caroline reaching into her bag.

“Whereabouts do you live in Bloor West Village?” I ask travelling along St. Charles onto
Yonge Street.

“I actually live just west of Bloor West Village in the Old Mill area. My condo’s at Old Mill and Bloor,” she clarifies. But I’m confused.

“I thought you lived at Bloor and Runnymede where the cab dropped you off that day?” I ask making my way onto Bloor Street. It is a gorgeous evening in the city. Warm, light outside, pedestrians walking about, patios brimming with customers, music blaring.

“I . . . uh . . .
had an appointment that day in the area . . . I had the cab driver drop me off there,” she says clutching her stomach. I stop at a red light. All of a sudden, she opens her door and pokes her head out. She is about to be sick again.
Holy shit. How can I help her?

Caroline shuts the car door again without being sick.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?” I ask driving as slowly as I can along Bloor Street for fear of making her even more nauseous.

“No, I think it was the sushi . . . bad sushi . . .
I hope Amy is all right. We ate the same thing,” she says with eyes closed. She is looking greener by the second.
Amy. What am I going to do about Amy?
  I turn the volume down on the radio as we drive. In between shifting gears on my shift stick, I reach over with my right hand and rub her back and neck. Touching her sends shivers throughout my body. Sick as a dog, she still looks beautiful to me.

Within minutes we arrive at the entranceway to her condo building. I can’t believe how close she lives to my sister’s place. I’ve driven past this area at least a dozen times over the past few weeks and here she was all along. 

“You can just drop me off in front, Eric. I’ll be fine here,” she says. I stop where she asks me.

“Are you going to be all right by yourself?  I can walk you up,” I ask watching her hunched over in my front seat. She looks so helpless.

“I’m sure, Eric. I’ll be all right from here. I apologize for the . . . um . . . unexpected turn of events this evening,” Caroline says as she reaches over for the door handle.
Shit. She’s leaving me again and I still don’t have her number.
With the car in park, I get out of my seat quickly and make my way over to her side and help her out of the car. With both feet on the ground, Caroline steps onto the curb. She grabs my hand and I walk her to the doorway of the building. The concierge meets us on the other side of the door and holds the door open for her. As she walks through the open door, she looks back at me and hands me her card.

“Call me when you get back from Vancouver, if you like.”

Yes! Running my victory lap now . . . I got her number.
Beaming from ear to ear, I make my way back to my car. I hear my name again and turn around.

“Eric! I told you these kinds of things happen to me all the time,” she calls out before turning around and heading for the elevator. I look down at her business card and hold it like a prized possession. I get in the car and start to drive away.

As I make my way back along Bloor Street heading towards home, inspiration comes to me once again.  I wait a minute and then place the phone call using my Bluetooth. The phone rings three times and then goes to voicemail. I decide to leave a message.

“It’s me, Eric. I was just thinking
. . . I
was the lucky one tonight. That bird was just sending me an omen. I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

12 “Beast Of Burden”

The first thing I do when I step off the plane in Vancouver is call that Cookie Messenger place back home in Ontario that I’ve overheard Cate talk about. A friendly woman named Danielle takes my call and kindly walks me through my customized order.