“It’s stormy. Nice. Dramatic. I’m getting inspired.”
“You’ll get yourself murdered, that’s what,” he told her. He glanced around the table and saw Leith watching him. He stood ungracefully, clambering out of the tight-knit chairs. He walked away from the group, out to the foyer, where heavy doors would block the noise.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked her.
“We’re not getting together tonight,” she said. “That’s why I thought you and I could meet.”
He checked his face in the glass of the doors. He hadn’t drunk much, not even a full pint, but he was tired, and looked it. “Where?”
* * *
She wore a loose black parka, pale jeans, hiking boots. Her long blond hair was loose and windblown. She wasn’t air-brushed perfection, as she had become in his mind. She was real, a solid physical form with a smudge of kohl under one eye, and the reality of her left him speechless.
Her arms were open. He hugged her, but briefly. They took a table in the back of the fast-food restaurant and told each other they looked great. She had a paper cup wafting steam. Tea. He went to buy a decaf, and finally they were seated, facing each other.
He said, “I started that off really bad last night. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for not writing.”
“Not writing ever, you mean,” she said. “It’s okay. You did what you felt you had to do. You were in serious pain. Everything changed. Looch was gone, and I was a reminder of all you’d lost. So you disconnected. I understand why. I was part of the problem. But did it help? Are you back?”
He didn’t like the control in her voice or the steadiness of her gaze, and he especially didn’t like her sympathy. Already his plan began to fall apart. “I’m not perfect. You know what would make me perfect? If I could fix what I broke, between you and me, and have you back in my life. That’s what.”
She didn’t answer right off. He watched her beautiful, oval face for clues. Other than the smudged eyeliner, she wore no makeup, and her skin wasn’t as flawless as he recalled. There was a crinkliness around the eyes and a brown sunspot on her cheek, freckles spattered across her nose. And one eye was slightly narrower than the other, unless it was just a tension squint. She didn’t seem tense, but she’d always been better than him at masking the subtler feelings.
She said, “I’ve got a boyfriend, Cal.”
A reflection in the window caught his eye: the best-looking couple on the planet, but their faces were shadowed. He thought of her in bed. With him. He said, “I know. So dump him.”
She said, “Tell me about the north.”
He stared at her hands, the way they encircled her cup, soaking up its warmth. Those artsy silver rings she wore, fingernails unpainted and not so clean. He tried to recall the pleasant things he should be saying to her now, but all he could think of was that man in her life. He needed details, name, occupation. Description.
“Cal?” Kate said.
He looked at her face and recalled the question. “What d’you mean, tell you about the north? That’s like saying tell me about life. It’s a big place. Anything specific you want to know?”
She was silent.
He said, “No? Tell me about your boyfriend, then. What’s he all about?”
Her answer, when it came after a long pause, was unresponsive. “About me, yes, I’m still at Emily Carr. I’m full time now, in the photography department. I love it. Love my students. Well, most of them. You should see the montage I’m working on, though. It would blow your mind. I’m preparing for a show —”
“I wasn’t asking about you,” he said.
Another pause, this time with analytical stare attached. “I noticed. So you want to know about Patrick. Why? Are you thinking of hunting him down and beating him up?”
Patrick. He crossed his arms. Already the beautiful couple in the reflection were backing into their corners. The light in here was bleak. He could see tonight ending in the coldest way. “What? No.”
“Like you did to Jake.”
Jake was an old incident, long forgotten, at least in his books. Fidelity had never been the strong point of their relationship, and their fights had been epic. “I didn’t hunt him down. And I didn’t beat him up.”
She took a last sip of tea and pushed the cup away. She said, “I’m glad you’re doing well, Cal. It was good to see you again. I hope you find your way back.”
Dion slapped the tabletop as she started to rise, bringing her back down. “I never loved you,” he said. Leaning forward, he saw surprise darken her eyes. “I tried. I watched all the movies, practically read the rule books. But it didn’t work. But that’s just because I wasn’t ready. Get this. I’m ready now. I’m really, really ready now, and you just have to tell me when I’m doing things right or when I’m doing things wrong, and I’ll listen. I’ll figure it out, but I need you with me.”
Her face was pinkening. She said, “I’m happy where I am. You’re just going to have to learn to be happy where you are. Oh, I almost forgot.” She leaned to dig into her backpack, and he realized she was shakier than he thought. She placed an object — black, squarish, and elegant, about an inch thick, tied with a silver ribbon — on the table before him. “It’s a present. Maybe you’ll hate me for it, but I put it together for you.”
He could see without opening it what it was. An album. He untied the ribbon, opened the cover and saw the first photograph, black and white. A group shot, him and Kate, Looch and Brooke, downtown, in front of a Vancouver nightclub, a loose line of friends smiling at the camera. What a genius fucking gift, he thought. Great memories. Kate was abandoning him, Looch was dead, and Brooke had never liked him much, frankly. There were more photos within, bulking out the pages. He glanced through a few, then closed the cover and put the book on the seat beside him. “Nice. Thanks.”
“You probably know most of those shots. One day you may want them.”
He was thinking he wanted to take this elegant black photo album full of moments he could never relive and pitch it at Patrick’s face. “I didn’t get you anything,” he said.
Kate said, “Happiness finds its level, you know. Just give yourself time.”
They discarded their cups and walked out into the illuminated plateau where the buses congregated. They parted ways at her parked car on Esplanade with no plans to meet again.
An hour later he was in bed, sleeping meds working through his bloodstream, and he remembered the gift. He had left it on the seat beside him. Hadn’t meant to forget it. She must have picked it up and kept it, instead of forcing it on him. She must have known he couldn’t stomach it.
He wished he hadn’t done that to her, reject her gift. He rolled over in bed and wrapped his arms around himself. He should have wrapped his arms around her, at McDonald’s, when he’d had the chance. Should have asked her all about herself, every last detail, and even blessed her new relationship. Should have sworn he’d never disappoint her again.
That had been the heart of the plan. So where had it gone wrong?
Eight
From Afar
The first forty-eight was long gone. In fact, this was day six, which meant they were halfway through their third forty-eight. Not good. Leith sat with the core team in the smaller case room, gathered about the conference table and working over the game plan. Doug Paley was present, Cal Dion, Jimmy Torr, Sean Urbanski, and JD Temple.
Paley and Torr looked hungover — much like Leith felt — from last night at Rainey’s. Only Dion had