Stay away from her. Forget about her. Maybe even date other women. That way he might get lucky and get laid.
Miguel, the mechanic at the garage who specialized in Hondas, had a sister who loved movies. Cade liked movies, too. He’d ask Miguel’s sister to go with him when The English Patient opened next week. That’s what he’d do.
It would beat sitting around his apartment worrying about Lori Cartwright and proving the old adage that you always wanted what you couldn’t have. He was going to prove that adage wrong. Even if he had to date twenty different women until he found one who was interested in him but not the slightest bit interested in wedding rings.
He picked up his book, the novel that had won the Booker Prize last year, and determinedly began to read.
There was nothing wrong with Cade’s self-imposed advice to stay away from Lori. It was an admirable stance and should have solved all his problems. Except that twice in the next week he saw her, each time by accident. And each time stirred him up in ways that made his advice meaningless.
His apartment was in the north end of Halifax, only four or five blocks from the garage. The north end wasn’t the fashionable part of the city; but Cade liked his apartment, which took up the whole second floor of an older house, had a fireplace and hardwood floors and spacious rooms with interesting nooks and crannies. And he enjoyed the walk to work each morning, finding that by now he was chatting with the old fellow who owned the corner store, and saying hello to people he passed every day on the street. It gave him a feeling of belonging; he hoped he’d find the same thing true of French Bay when he moved out there.
He liked feeling that he belonged. Nine years of wandering the globe had been long enough.
Three days after the aerobics class, Cade was striding down the street at eight twenty-five in the morning. He was in a self-congratulatory mood. Last night was the first night he hadn’t dreamed about Lori, one of the highly erotic dreams that had haunted his sleep ever since he’d bumped into her at the gym. The cure was working. The past was assuming its proper place. Today he’d ask Miguel about his sister.
He glanced down a side street to check on the progress of the chrysanthemums that for the last few days had been a glorious tangle of scarlet, yellow and bronze in the garden beyond a secondhand clothing store run by a well-known charity.
A woman in a blue jacket was crossing the sidewalk to enter the store. Cade nearly tripped over the curb.
It was Lori Cartwright. She opened the door and disappeared inside.
Lori? In a secondhand clothing store? Lori, who used to spend more on one dress than Cade’s father earned in a week?
She must be volunteering there.
Of course. That was it.
That was nice of her, he thought, and found himself turning down the street. He was only going to take a closer look at the chrysanthemums; he’d like to start a garden once he was settled at French Bay.
He looked through the window of the store. Another woman was seated behind the counter, reading; Lori, still wearing her blue jacket, was going through a rack of girls’ clothing.
He was watching a film that somehow had gone wrong, Cade thought crazily; its script had got muddled up with that of an entirely different film. A surreal film. Then, as if she felt the strength of his gaze, Lori glanced over her shoulder and saw him. The look of horror on her face should have been funny and was not. She ducked her head, turned her back and couldn’t more clearly have told him to vanish from her sight. From her life. Forever.
Leave me alone...please.
Cade pushed open the door and marched over to her. “What’s up, Lori?” he demanded with something less than diplomacy. “Ten years ago you wouldn’t have been found within five blocks of a place like this.”
She straightened to her full height, her blue eyes blazing. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t need you in my life? That doesn’t seem like a very complicated message and I don’t understand why you’re not getting it.”
“I just want you to tell me what’s wrong!”
“The only thing wrong is that you won’t leave me alone.”
The woman at the counter said in a carrying voice, “Need a hand, Lori?”
“No thanks, Marta—he’s leaving. Right now.”
Cade grated, “The only reason I’m leaving is because I’ll be late for work if I don’t.”
As an exit line it lacked a certain punch; but it was the best he could come up with. Cade strode out of the store and down the street, the chrysanthemums forgotten.
Had Ray lost all his money? After all, the recession was still on and bankruptcies were common. Why else would Lori be buying her children used clothing?
The reasons were nothing to do with him. Any more than she was. He crossed the main street, his jaw set.
Even though they’d been busy yelling at each other, he’d seen how tired she looked. Part of him wanted to sweep her up in his arms, carry her to his apartment and look after her, this woman who’d scorned and humiliated him. Look after her and make love to her, he thought with a twist of his mouth. Make love to her day and night, and to hell with her children and her husband. And if that wasn’t an unrealistic and totally mad scheme, he didn’t know what was.
All day Cade worked like a man demented; and he didn’t speak to Miguel about his sister.
On Saturday morning Cade decided to drive across town to check out stereo equipment; he wanted speakers installed throughout the downstairs and part of the upstairs of the house at French Bay. After a series of the mild, sunny days so characteristic of September in Nova Scotia, rain was now pelting the windy streets, glistening on the tossing leaves of the maples and collecting in puddles because the drains couldn’t carry it away fast enough. No day for umbrellas, Cade thought, and with a dizzying thud of his heart saw that the woman running toward the bus shelter was Lori, her head down against the rain.
I’m doing my level best to avoid you. To forget about you. So why the devil do I keep meeting up with you?
Because Halifax is a small city?
Because I’m meant to?
She was wearing her blue jacket and carrying a kit bag. She must be on her way to aerobics.
He glanced in his rearview mirror and pulled over to the curb, being careful not to splash her. Rolling the window down, he shouted, “Get in—I’ll drive you!”
As Lori recognized him, shock fixed her features into a mask; rain was streaming down her cheeks as if she were weeping, and her jacket was plastered to her body. She turned her head to see if the bus was coming in a movement as jerky as a puppet’s on a string. Only then did she grab the door handle and plunk herself down on the seat beside him.
Take it cool, Cade told himself, and said easily, “Just push that black button, it’ll raise the window again. Do you get much of this kind of weather in Halifax?”
Lori fussed rather unnecessarily with her seat belt. “Not often,” she said in a smothered voice.
She
