Your Song (28 page)

“So, what was I,
Eric,
a number? Just another stamp in your passport of foreign women you’ve fucked on your travels? Dan, the illustrious business traveller, has fucked how many others out there?  I know about the one you screwed in Ottawa. How many more are there out there?” Her voice is rising and getting louder.
Holy fucking shit…all these weeks…I’ve been followed.

“Look, let’s talk about this someplace else. This is not the time nor the place,” I say reaching for her arm steering her in the opposite direction from the burial site. Just as I do, Lara comes up from behind me and grabs my arm.

“Eric? Mrs. Charles? You know each other?” Lara asks. I am frozen in my tracks
. Lara knows her?

“How do you know each other?” I ask turning to Lara. Raj has now joined us. His large brown eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets. It’s like he is trying to warn me of something but I’m too enraged right now to read what he’s trying to tell me. This is out of control.

“Mrs. Charles is a client at the spa, in from Chicago
for the
week
.” The tone and rhythm of Lara’s voice has changed dramatically. It’s as if she is trying to tell me something.
A demanding one, bored to tears
,
married to some rich old guy.
Like a ton of bricks, it hits me. This is the client Lara emailed me about weeks ago! The one she wanted to tell me about! The same one who has been sending me black roses, cryptic emails, blocked calls, threatening texts . . .
and a white gym towel . . . from the Equinox gym in Chicago?
My stalker, Mrs. I-Don’t-Know-Her-Name-Charles.

“Eric and I met on one of his business trips to Chicago, Lara,” she says coolly. If I were a snake, I’d slip her some venom right now. Lara eyes me, and then Mrs. Charles suspiciously.

“So what brings you to the funeral then?” Lara asks coldly. I glance over at the burial site where I see the casket has been lowered into the ground. The priest is reciting the last of his prayers. Rob, standing next to David, looks back, catches my eye and gives a slight nod. My head starts spinning. I’m feeling lightheaded.

Have you ever had one of those moments when your life just feels like it’s
. . .
spiralling?
Where everything is going downhill and fast? Right at this moment, with David, my parents and sister, friends and family all gathered together I think about how grateful I am that they’ll all be right here as my world crumbles around me. I might just need them to help lift me up when I hit rock bottom.

“
Eric,” Raj says taking hold of my arm. And just as I spin around quickly to face him, I see what he’s been trying to warn me about. Caroline
.
I lock eyes with her. Caroline.  She’s standing here, still as a mouse, looking at me. Her eyes are expressionless. Beside her, stands Mrs. Charles, my stalker, her eyes dancing with glee and sweet revenge. Next to her is Lara, her eyes betraying the doubts that lie there. I glance at each of the three women and the last thing I remember thinking before passing out was good thing I was in a cemetery because I was a dead man. 

______________

After Liam, Joanna, Lily, Jack, and Paige have fastened their bike helmets and got on their bikes, I signal to David up at the front of the line to start pedalling. I’m at the back of the line, as I always am, until we hit the halfway point in our route. At this point, the six of us are up to five kilometres of trail together. David and Lily, the two eldest children in the group, are strong riders. I hang back with seven-year-old Paige, the youngest whose usually trailing at the end of our line. Finally, there’s Jack, Joanna, and Liam keeping each other company somewhere in the middle of
the cue.

Today we are back at Ward’s Island, one of the Toronto islands we accessed through the Toronto ferry. It’s a warm September Saturday afternoon and the island is busy with tourists, families, couples, and riders all here to enjoy a warm late summer afternoon. Me, I’m a regular here, as familiar with the trails as the locals who live here year round. Despite all the changes that took place in my life following Mr. Callahan’s funeral over a year ago, my love affair with Toronto wasn’t one of them. Many times I thought of talking all that money I earned after the sale of Wells and Fraser and flying far away from here.  But Toronto is my home. Where I need to be, Leslie has reminded me time and again.

“Uncle Eric,” David looks back and calls to me from up ahead. He motions for me to go up and meet him. Gently, I swerve around Paige and past the other three children to go and see what David wants.

You see, these children along with all the other members of our bereaved
groups, are the people who’ve helped me grow and move on after the disaster of what happened that late June day over a year ago at the cemetery. And I have Leslie to thank for orchestrating a lot of it.  As soon as the ink was dry on the closure deal at Wells and Fraser in late August last year, Leslie and I immediately started to put the wheels in motion for what is today
Danny’s Riders
. We recruited my nephew David to help lead our rides for our young riders.

With the help of my money and Leslie’s certification as a grief counsellor, we opened up
Danny’s Riders, A Bereavement Centre for Children, Teens and Young Adults
in Toronto’s Bloor West Village. With its close proximity to High Park and other riding trails, our groups meet for therapy sessions at the centre with Leslie and our other two grief counsellors and then I take the groups out on long bike rides throughout Toronto.  Being together in group outdoors, getting physical exercise, forming bonds with one another and talking about our lost loved ones has brought me personally much needed peace and self-forgiveness over the past year. More importantly, I know the centre has given the chance for these grieving children and teens a safe place to mourn, to brew their own pots of tear soup, away from their grieving families.

Our sessions always start off with me sharing the story of my friendship with Danny and our mutual love of cycling. I describe for them the absolute devastation I felt but could never express following Danny’s death. At the start of each session, we read them the ‘Tear Soup’ story and under Cate’s guidance, we get them started on making their own clay pot. Throughout our sessions together, the children work on filling their pots in any way they see fit. When weather permits, a bike ride follows the sessions. In winter months, I lead the groups to work on creating their own song playlists on their own personal iPods that I give them. Using laptops in our lab at the centre, we spend time on music websites where the children select music from various decades and genres that will help them on their own grief journey.

Holding onto my dream of organizing a weekly Sunday morning
ciclovia
here in Toronto, together with my children at the centre, we’re working towards organizing Toronto’s
first
ciclovia
, in honour of their lost loved ones.   Through the Bereaved Society of Ontario, I’ve taken some grief counselling courses and have completed volunteer work in helping to run grief support groups.  Today’s group, our seven to ten year olds, will be meeting up with their families on Centre Island when our ride is done.

“Uncle Eric, that lady over there,” he points from a distance at a woman sitting on a blanket on the grass reading a book, “isn’t she that lady
. . . from Mr. Callahan’s funeral?”
Which one . . .
I want to ask . . . the inimitable
Mrs. Alexis Charles, trophy wife to one of America’s top airline CEOs whose credits include secretly following me around Chicago collecting all kinds of information including my identification, home and email addresses, mobile number and employment information all with the help of her highly paid private investigator? The ultra spoiled and entitled stalker who was lurking in my midst in those weeks leading up to Mr. Callahan’s funeral? The one who, when the details of the full story were ultimately revealed, disgusted Lara so much that by her even threatening to call
Mr. Charles,
forced Mrs. Charles to flee like a bird rather than face the wrath of her powerful husband? No, I doubt Mrs. Charles would be here lying under the sun on a Toronto island reading a book. I’m sure she is off somewhere targeting her next prey.

Or, could it be the insanely beautiful but as equally flawed as me Dr. Caroline Durand, the first woman who proved to me that love-at-first-sight does exist? The same woman, who for years engaged in a relationship with a married man,
someone else’s man,
for reasons that only I would understand but couldn’t face?  The one who secretly flew home from France to surprise me that day of the funeral only to overhear Mrs. Charles and me at the cemetery? The same woman who I’ve deliberately turned away from this past year despite the dozens of attempts she has made to contact me, meet me and speak to me?
Could
it be her sitting, legs folded, on a blanket, book-in-hand, reading… only a few feet away from me?

I squint my eyes behind my sunglasses and focus on my target.
It is her. David spotted her all right.
I glance back at the children who by now are catching up with David and me as we slow down and make small circles with our bikes. I’m nervously stalling.
What should I do? Approach her and say hello or pretend I don’t see her and move on?
My palms are sweating underneath my riding gloves. I feel those familiar butterflies return igniting that unbelievable desire and attraction I feel towards this woman. Seeing Caroline so close to me after more than a year apart, I’m brought back to that first morning at O’Hare airport all over again. The intense pull I felt towards her then is pulling me now.

“Aren’t you going to go and say ‘hi’ to her?” David asks just before Jack rides in and meets up with us. Soon after, Joanna, Liam and Paige catch up and come to a full stop.

“How does a 5 minute rest sound about now?” I ask the group. The children all nod their heads and pull out their water bottles
. It’s now or never time
.  I get off my bike, hike up the kickstand, remove my helmet and rest it on one of the handlebars. Feeling like that nervous schoolboy all over again, I walk over to the grass area. And there’s Caroline, with head turned downwards reading her book, unaware of me approaching.

“I never did finish reading
Les Miserables
,” I say kneeling down in front of her. Caroline looks up and as soon as our eyes meet, that gorgeous smile I fell in love with appears on her perfect face.
I am gone all over again.

“I got to page 178 of the
abridged
version, no less . . . and stayed there for about . . . nine months,” I add. And she laughs. The sound of her giggling feels as amazing now as it did the first time I heard it.

“Did you at least catch the movie?” She asks playfully.

“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t watch that movie with anyone but you,” I say truthfully. She freezes, still smiling.

“You never returned any of my calls, Eric. Or emails. Or texts. After a while I figured out that you didn’t want anything to do with me
. . . probably wanted to stay away from the ‘home wrecker’ . . . I got it . . . ” her voice trails off sadly.

“Th
at wasn’t it . . . at all,” I say.

“Then why did you never speak to me again after that day at the cemetery?” she asks.

“Because of what
you
heard about me that day,” I say. Just then, David, Paige and the other children come up to where I’m sitting with Caroline. Paige wraps her arms around my neck and hops on my back. David tries to coax her to get off me but, truthfully, I love that she’s so comfortable with her Uncle Eric, as she now calls me. On a happy note, Lara and Rob married this past summer and Lara is now expecting a baby. Paige is over the moon at the thought of having a little brother or sister.

“When are we leaving again, Eric?” Liam asks.  All of the children are hovering around us. Caroline looks up at each of them smiling.

“I’ve read about your centre,
Danny’s Riders.
Really special, Eric. An incredible idea,” she says watching the children. They in turn watch Caroline, not used to seeing me with a woman, no doubt.

“Soon, Liam. Give me a couple of more minutes,” I say.  “By the way, guys, this is my friend Caroline.” They all nod and stare except for David, the charmer, who extends his hand out to Caroline’s to shake. I really do have to get these kids back on the trail or else we’ll be late in meeting their families. I turn to Caroline and am immediately flooded with memories of that first morning I met her at O’Hare. 

I remember the moment I first laid eyes on her . . . Caroline smiling at the coffee shop worker. Her smile. The excitement at finding her at the same the Toronto-bound gate as me . . . searching throughout the terminal for her after our flight was delayed . . . writing her that note in the cabin . . . sharing a cab with her. All these sweet, genuine memories. How I wish I could go back to that day.

“By the way, my song of the day…that day at O’Hare…was
Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” I say. Slowly and reluctantly, I get up to leave, not taking my eyes off her. And for some reason, just as I do, Marius from
Les Miserables
comes to mind. Marius fell in love with Cosette at first glance. Just like I did. Victor Hugo . . . the power of the first glance . . . when two people fall in love, he said. And almost as if she’s reading my mind, Caroline gets up, steps up close to me and wraps her arms around me in the tightest embrace.