by Sue Gibson
She crossed her heart. “Relax Edward. Tomorrow it’s just you and me. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
Chapter Four
Nothing to worry about? He’d done nothing but worry since returning to his suite. Golfing with Christy was just another chance to cement her first impression of him as a geeky, tongue-tied idiot, or worse, his second impression—pompous and rude. He slammed his palm to his forehead. Substituting “problem” for “conundrum” in an attempt to sound less like a walking dictionary had backfired big-time.
He glanced at the cordless phone in his hand. Make the call. Edward slid open the balcony door, dropped into a deck chair and stuck his feet up against a potted palm.
Looking out across the tiny lake, he could barely make out the far shore. Clumps of trees, blackened by evening shadow, blended into a purplish sky. Only the silhouette of a single twisted evergreen broke the bleak view. “Scenic”, the brochure read. Try ghoulish. He shook his head. Bobby had paid a premium for the top floor with its heralded view. He snorted. Typical.
He glanced at the phone still gripped in his hand. After returning from the disco lesson, he’d cleared two messages from his anxious mother. “Had he met anyone interesting yet? Was he having fun?”
He’d return her call later, right now he had a golf game to cancel.
He shot his fingers through his hair. Why had he
agreed to play golf? He’d embarrass himself, and probably her too. Not with his game —he was good at that — but he stunk at talking to women, especially pretty women. And Christy was beyond pretty, with her blonde hair always blowing around her face, her full pink lips and sparkling eyes.
Just make the call. He flicked his wrist and checked his watch. 9:15. I’ll probably get her answering machine. His heart rate slowed accordingly. A polite message would get him off the hook and save both of them from another uncomfortable meeting.
Sinking back into the cushioned chair, he pressed “0”, and the compact phone sprang to life, its pale yellow light pooling around his chair. A recorded voice began to list his choices. He pressed the phone to his ear, drumming his fingers against the chair’s wide wooden arms as he waited out the list of extensions from which he could choose.
A mosquito buzzed behind his head. Twisting in his seat, he swatted ineffectively against the cool evening air. His thoughts returned to Christy. He wasn’t sure why he liked her. She talked too fast, changing topics without notice. And he’d bet his Lexus that her golf bag was pink and her drivers were topped with fuzzy knitted things.
A burst of feminine laughter floated up from the pool. He allowed the phone to slide from his ear to his shoulder and rose to peer over the railing.
She was off duty and not likely to be down there. But like this bunch at the pool, Christy laughed unexpectedly and much too easily.
Laced through the spreading tree branches and looped through the hedges, hundreds of tiny white lights lit the patio. A dozen or so people sat at the
small tables. Glasses glinted in raised toasts, random phrases bounced from the unforgiving acoustics. “Mark, sweetie,” a female voice sang out, “come back in and dance with me.” A tall man rose from a table and hurried into a woman’s outstretched arms. “See you later,” he called to the group, as the two disappeared into the Starlight Room.
He turned from the railing and heaved a sigh. This Mark didn’t struggle for words when a pretty woman spoke.
“Please make your choice,” the phone voice insisted from somewhere within the fabric of his shirt. He pulled it free and stared at it for a long second, before clicking it into submission and shucking it into the chair’s cushioned seat.
He was sick of the Marks. Tomorrow, he’d play a round of golf with Christy and if she hadn’t ditched him by the third hole, maybe he’d ask her out for dinner later.
She wasn’t his type, too perky and frivolous, but he was on vacation. Only his mother believed that every woman he dated was a potential wife.
He swatted a mosquito into the stubble of his jaw. Sometimes a date should be just a date. And if he told his mother about Christy, she’d relax and lay off the matchmaking. That, in turn, should buy him three weeks of undisturbed vacation time.
Chapter Five
Christy lifted her hair from her damp neck and bundled it into a ponytail. At 6:30 a.m. the sun had only just crested the peaks of the distant granite cliffs, but it was already close to 800. At least only the few shaded areas of the golf course would still be damp. Playing golf before her first coffee was punishment enough, but at least she wouldn’t be trudging around in wet sneakers for the rest of the day. She rolled her eyes to the sky. Why had she suggested such an early tee time? Edward’s socialization could’ve just as easily commenced midmorning.
Allowing her golf bag to slip from her shoulder, she raised her hand and shaded her eyes, looking for Edward’s tall form. He’d struck her as a stickler for punctuality and probably already had placed his tee into the turf.
“Good morning, Christy.”
She whirled to the deep voice. In front of her stood Edward, in long plaid pants, but sporting a spotless white golf shirt that accentuated his nicely developed arms. She smiled. He’d got it half-right.
His pull cart, loaded with a bulky golf bag, stood sentinel at his side. He held two steaming cups of coffee. Oh, yes please. She never seemed to have time to brew a pot of coffee in the morning.
“Good morning, Edward.”
His smile was half-hearted and didn’t make it to
his eyes. He passed her a stainless steel thermal cup. “It’s black. I hope that suits. I don’t know about you, but it takes at least two cups of coffee to get me going in the morning.”
She bent her head over the steaming cup, inhaling. Good to know he possessed some human characteristics. “Black’s fine, thanks.”
Pointing to a small wrought iron table placed under an unopened canvas shade, “Let’s sit for a bit,” she suggested. She blew into the cup then carefully sampled the fragrant brew. Not quite as good as Timmy’s coffee, but it’d do the job.
His back straight, elbows tucked neatly to his sides, Edward offered nothing in the way of small talk. Beyond the sand bunker a lawn mower started up, filling the expanse of silence that stretched between them.
She took a second sip of coffee. Thank goodness he was golfing with her, a trained Recreational Director, and not on a real golf date. Faced with his emotionless stare, even the most eager of the bunch would be rethinking partnering up with Edward. At least she could utilize a few tricks of her trade to loosen him up a bit. And without any romantic hopes to be dashed, she risked nothing.
She leaned forward in her chair. “So, Edward, why don’t we make this game a bit more interesting?”
He blushed from the crisp edge of his collar to his hairline. “Sure…maybe…I guess…” he choked out through a gulp of coffee. “Depends, what do you have in mind?” The metal chair legs scraped against the stone tiles as he pushed back from the table.
“Obviously not what you’re thinking.” Her fingers tightened around her cup. No wonder he was single. Social cues were lost on him.
She inhaled a long slow breath and released it to an internal count of five. Edward was the son of her mother’s best friend and it’d be wrong to hit him over the head with a golf club.
“If you win this round of golf, I’ll leave you to fend for yourself for the rest of the day, as long as you don’t stay in your suite. And if I win, you’ll join me on my sightseeing trip on the lake this afternoon.” Unless I throw the game on purpose, you pompous stick-in-the-mud.
“Easy decision, Christy. I’ll accept your wager. But I should warn you, I play golf regularly. So you won’t be seeing me on the cruise this afternoon.” She raised an eyebrow at his certainty.
“Well, I guess we’ll see shortly.” Edward might be socially awkward, but was supremely confident in his physical ability to outplay her on the course.
Finishing her coffee, she
nodded toward the first tee off, already thinking of the stack of paperwork waiting in her office. She stood up and pulled a plastic tee from her pocket. Then there was a poolside birthday party to arrange. “Ready?”
By the fourth hole she knew she’d lose the game. He’d birdied twice and had just landed a long drive on the green.
One of the perks of her job was a free membership to the golf course. She played a decent game, often winning over Delaney or Lily. But it was becoming clear Edward wouldn’t be enjoying a boat cruise anytime soon.
“You’re good, Edward. Do you belong to a club in Ottawa?” Men loved to talk about their athletic prowess.
He glanced her way, a spark igniting in his eyes. “Yes. I started playing golf when I was six. It’s a
fascinating game, a brilliant mix of mathematical strategy, physics and logistics.”
He pulled a five iron from his bag. “Look at this.” The forged steel shaft glinted in the morning sun. He ran his hand against its smoothness. “This is a piece of art. Perfectly balanced and weighted. I picked this set up in Scotland last summer when I was on a business trip” he said, patting his golf bag with affection
Bingo. A second key to Edward’s locked emotions.
And Scotland. She chewed her bottom lip. She could do something with that information too. A lovely couple from Glasgow had indicated they loved to fish. She’d arrange an accidental meeting later. Really, it was all about networking.
“They’re a beautiful set of clubs. I can’t play golf every morning of course, but I’d be happy to set you up with a partner of similar abilities. Many of our patrons are avid golfers.”
Rather than an abrupt refusal, he surprised her with a tentative nod. “By the way, thanks for coming out with me this morning.”
“You’re welcome. She tapped her name badge with her fingernail, “It’s all in a day’s work.”
He averted his eyes and grabbed his pull cart. Striding ahead, he called back, “How about if I win all the remaining holes, you leave me be all week?”
Just when she thought she was making headway, he’d reverted to character, pulling back like a turtle into his shell. She puffed a strand of hair from her face.
Frustration tightened her shoulders and she flubbed a short stroke to the hole.
“No deal, Edward.” His socialization was fast becoming a personal challenge. She stuffed her putter into her bag. “Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me for three long weeks.”
Chapter Six
Edward slammed the door and strode across the suite. Shoving his hands into his pants' pockets he stared out the window at the water.
It was a stupid lake —water, a bunch of trees and a few cottages? Even perky Christy would have a hard time spinning the boat cruise into anything exciting.
He’d won their round of golf and the bet. There was no need for him to go. Lunch on his private balcony suited him far better anyway. He turned from the window, clicked his monitor on and grabbed the room service menu from the stack of papers crowding his desk top. A blinking light signaled email. He double clicked the icon.
Edward,
I called and you weren’t in, so I guess you’re still on the golf course. Your Dad and I are thrilled that you and dear little Christy have reunited after all these years. It’s killing me to keep this from Kathleen, but, as you said, it’s Christy’s prerogative when to spill the beans, not mine. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from us for a while; we’re off to explore Vancouver Island. Love you. Mom.
****
Edward strode the graveled path toward lake. The docks, modern clean lines of poured white cement
jutted into the water. A sand beach dotted with colorful umbrellas stretched along the shore to the right, and to the left, a row of canoes attached to a floating line undulated on the waves. A flat-bottomed boat was tied to the dock.
His steps slowed and he shook out his hands. To keep his mother off his back, he needed at least one real date with Christy. This excursion could provide the opportunity to ask her to dinner.
But he needed to remain objective and not mistake Christy’s friendliness for attraction, again. He swallowed hard and feigned interest in a little rocky island a few hundred yards out from shore and hoped Christy wouldn’t make a big deal out of his change of heart.
“Edward, you’re here!” Everyone turned toward Christy as they heard her animated greeting. Perfectly dressed for a boat trip in crisp navy shorts and a striped T-shirt, she looked adorable as she hurried the length of the dock. As she passed she patted his arm and smiled. Heat suffused his face and he dropped his gaze to his Birkenstocks.
“Welcome everyone. I hope you brought along your sunscreen: if not, please help yourself.” She waved a bright tube above her head, before checking the notes on her clipboard. “I’ve made up name tags for everyone—to break the ice a bit—and I’ll just make up one right now for Edward.” She unfurled a roll of stick-on tags and added his name with a squeaky blue marker.
Moving to the front of the line, she attached the tags to each passenger as they stepped from the dock to the pontoon boat.
“Edward,” she whispered, as she pressed the tag to his chest with her palm, “I’m so proud of you. Why
don’t you sit next to Kendall and Maureen? They’re visiting us all the way from Scotland.”
Feeling a bit like a kindergarten student on a bus trip, he dutifully settled in next to the smiling couple. The boat slipped into the bay, its passengers settling into the padded seating that circled its
perimeter.
“Directly ahead,” Christy called out, “is Osprey Island. Once considered a potential helipad by the Nirvana management, its natural beauty was preserved instead. An interesting aside, this little island is where Mr. Ethan Weatherall, founder of the Nirvana Hotel chain, proposed to Lily Greensly, formerly of Greensly Bay.”
Christy pointed to the long narrow bay that transitioned into a mass of swaying cattails. “You can just catch a glimpse of the Greensly’s Hideaway, a quaint little lodge nestled into that grove of spruce trees on the left side of the bay.”
He peered into the treed shoreline and managed to pick out a row of small log cabins and a larger log structure. The Hideaway was a complete contrast to the Nirvana’s glass and steel structure. Interesting, he noted, the two families were now joined in marriage.
The boat began a slow turn that would lead them down the far shore of the lake. Christy walked to his side of the boat and sat on a swivel stool affixed to the carpeted floor. She leaned down and spoke into his ear, her flowery perfume tickling his nose.
“I usually let the guests enjoy this beautiful section of shoreline without any banter.”
From his vantage point the shore, at first glance, was a mass of green foliage and rocks. But as the boat drew closer, he noticed a pair of squirrels racing from
branch to swaying branch and a small nest cradled in the crotch of a silvery-skinned tree. A bird perched nearby with a long, brown worm dangling from her beak. An “ahh” rippled through the guests, as the bird hopped to the nest’s edge and five tiny black heads popped into view.
He relaxed against the cushioning, “I’m glad I came along.” The words were out before he had time to censor them.
Christy raised an eyebrow. Her smile was fleeting and completely unfathomable.
A shadow fell over the boat. They slipped past a wall of rock that towered above the water —the same one he’d noticed last night. Up close it was even more forbidding.
Christy stood, “As we pass, look closely and you’ll notice the native pictographs etched into the rock face. Folklore tells us that the colorful figure may be of “Nanabush”, an Ojibwa trickster. This particular pictograph is probably two hundred years old.”
Edward leaned in to the wall for a closer look. Ojibwa pictographs were a fascinating snapshot of Canada’s history. His gaze flicked from drawing to drawing. Could he rent a small boat and return?
He glanced a
t Christy: she’d know. The breeze lifted her hair from her face, little wisps swirling free from her loosely bound ponytail. He turned back to the cliff. No, he’d save the question. It’d make a good conversation starter someday, when he was stuck for words.
“Now everyone look to the right, please and you’ll notice several buoys floating in the lake. They’re attached to anchors and mark a shoal. Not only do they warn boaters of the dangerous rocks just a few feet beneath the surface, they also inform researchers of a
breeding ground for an endangered fish species.”
Christy’s voice changed, softened. “Loon Lake is befriended by a diligent watchdog group of environmentalists headed up by Lily Weatherall, a well-respected marine biologist.”
It was obvious Christy loved the lake too and he wondered briefly if she and the Weatherall’s were friends. Probably not, he decided. Christy didn’t look like the type. She probably hung out with a sporty, party crowd, rather than a professional couple—like Lily and Ethan Weatherall.
“The lovely two-storied, turreted home on the point of land straight ahead is the Weatherall’s permanent home. This building is constructed mainly from local materials, including the fieldstone in all three chimneys.”
She leaned in again, the tip of her pony tail grazing the back of his neck, placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered, “I had dinner there just last week and Lily mentioned that a representative from a home décor magazine was flying out to do a spread on their home. She was excited, but a bit nervous too.”
He nodded mutely. Wrong again.
She walked to the back of the swaying boat, one small hand trailing along the railing. It was now or never.