Your Song Page 12

  “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 glance 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.

  11 “Someone Like You”

  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 over 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 . . . there’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 d
id 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 the 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.

  “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 like 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?” the 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 is 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 conference 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 s
ound 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.