by Sue Gibson
He waited for her to return to her stool and cleared his throat. Catching her eyes in his glance, he spoke rapidly, his heart pounding in his ears. “Are you available?” No, that’s wrong. He blundered on, terrified by own impulsive behavior. “I mean for dinner…or something?”
Christy’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed again just as quickly.
“Oh look,” Maureen called out, pointing toward
the shore and a gangly heron perched on a piece of sun-bleached driftwood.
She turned her attention from his face. His chest relaxed and he released a long breath as he watched the big bird flip a minnow from the shallows into its beak.
“That’s Sam, Loon Lake’s resident blue heron,” Christy’s voice rang out. “You’ll probably see this beautiful bird many times during your stay. Sam has been known to land on the bows of small boats and feed directly from the bait buckets. Over the years Sam has been socialized into Loon Lake’s community and has almost completely lost his fear of humans.”
If the dumb bird could do it, with practice, so could he. He turned to face her again, his hands tightening into fists. “Christy,” he began again, “I’d be pleased if you’d join me for dinner tonight, on the Trillium Terrace.”
“That sounds fine, Edward.”
Fine? He looked at her face. No delighted smile, but not unhappy either.
“I get off work at six,” she continued, “I could meet you there at seven?” Her tone sounded politely matter-of-fact, but still, technically it was a “Yes”.
“Great.” He leaned forward and then sank back again against the padding. “I’ll make a reservation as soon as we return to shore.” There was no backing out of it now.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Bring a corsage, wear shorts or pants, aftershave or cologne? He’d reread the ridiculous self-help book his mother had given him for Christmas, Dating for Dummies. In Chapter Two, the author suggested readers repeat a simple mantra to instill confidence before a date.
He turned and scanned the shore for the hotel,
then zeroed in on the Trillium Terrace. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He closed his eyes to better focus. I’ll be a charming and confident dinner companion. I’ll be a charming and confident dinner companion.
Laughter burst from the passengers. Heat flooded his face, yanking him back to a humiliating reality. A precursory glance revealed all eyes were on the big heron.
Sam, in a supremely graceless rise, had left his perch and was flapping his way over the boat. His delighted audience ducked en mass as his gangly legs barely cleared their heads, and a second round of laughter rippled through the passengers.
Clamping his arms across his chest, he eyed his companions, not ready to forgive the silly bunch, blameless or not. Even the sensible Scottish couple, Maureen and Kendall, giggled like school girls.
The big boat slowed to navigate a tight turn, the engine pulling hard against the current. The wind gusted, blowing off hats, effectively settling the boisterous crowd.
Christy had said “fine” to his invitation. He’d take her acceptance at face value for now. Reading between the lines—not a tool in his wheelhouse.
The boat churned through the low rolling waves. He lifted his chin and faced the wind. Tonight at dinner he’d initiate conversation, laugh periodically and look directly into her big blue eyes, break ground for geeks everywhere.
Chapter Seven
Just after six p.m. Christy swung into the graveled drive and nosed up to the double doors of her parents’ garage, leaving room for her dad’s minivan behind. Retired from policing, he loved the slower pace of his morning mail route. With her mother working until five, he often spent the afternoons at the Bluebird Café indulging in homemade pie, decaffeinated coffee and the local gossip. Tonight his team bowled in nearby Tay Valley and he wouldn’t be home until eight.
“Christy!” Her mom called out, waving a checkered oven mitt to attract her daughter’s attention. “Gotta a minute?” When at loose ends, her mother baked.
“Sure, Mom, I’m going out again at seven, but I can spare a few minutes.” Her mother had shown great restraint, not requesting a report on the Edward file until now.
She hurried up the stone path that led to the kitchen door, the smell of fresh-from-the-oven brownies filling her mouth with saliva.
After exchanging pleasantries, Kathleen got straight to the point. “So? Spill please. Edward has been at the Nirvana for several days now. Any luck yet?”
Where to start? She popped a bite of brownie into her mouth, chewed slowly and swallowed.
“Well, there are at least four single women with their lines cast for Edward already.”
Her mother clapped her hands and squealed.
“So he doesn’t need my help to find a woman,” she continued. That was true. Women were attracted to Edward, but he definitely needed her help. When it came to the art of conversation and expressing emotion, he was a train wreck.
“That’s great news, dear. Pauline will be so pleased to hear Edward is meeting new women friends.” She paused and frowned slightly. “I wonder then, what’s been the problem? Why isn’t he on the track to marriage and grandbabies, er…wife and babies yet?”
She carefully considered her words. She’d promised Edward she’d not run interference for the mothers again. But as much as she hated playing puppet master herself, she couldn’t leave him completely on his own either. He’d go back to Ottawa the same way he’d arrived at the Nirvana, socially handicapped.
“I think Edward needs some brushing up on his communication skills. There are books for that. I’m meeting him for dinner tonight and I plan to suggest a few titles.” That ought to appease the mothers.
Kathleen’s perfectly penciled eyebrows shot up. “Oh my! You’re eating dinner with Edward tonight?”
“Yes, but… ”
“I never even imagined, not in my wildest dreams!” She pressed her hands to her reddening cheeks. “You and Edward. Christy! That’s wonderful!”
She jumped up, her stool tottering behind her. “No, not me.” Her breath was coming way too fast. “You’re way off-base. You see, Edward has been a bit, er…condescending to me, and I’m guessing that his
invitation is his way of apologizing.” She hadn’t seriously considered that as a motive until now, but it fit.
Her mother’s hands dropped and she reached for a pot holder. “Oh. I suppose that was a silly idea. You two are as different as night and day.”
Fire and ice. She nodded her agreement.
“But it’s sweet of you to take the time to help him out, especially if he has been rude.”
“Don’t forget, I’m paid to help our guests have fun and relax.”
“You’re off-duty tonight,” her mother pointed out. “True, but Edward is an especially tough case. You
were right. He lives to work. If he doesn’t change his ways, he’ll prove his mother right. He’ll end up alone, and that would be a shame.”
Her mother tilted her head to the side and studied her daughter’s face. “Yes, that would be a shame.”
“And I remember Pauline complaining that George, Edward’s father, was a bit stand-offish when she first met him. He was that close,” her mother indicated George’s narrow escape with her pressed fingers permitting only a millimeter of light to shine through, “to losing any chance with Pauline.”
She selected a second brownie and glanced at the kitchen clock. She slid from the stool. “So there is hope for Edward, if he makes an effort to change?”
Kathleen turned to her oven to check on a second pan of brownies. “Of course.” she replied as she peered through the oven’s glass window. “After all, Pauline and George just celebrated their thirtieth anniversary.”
****
An hour later the temperature had dropped from its midday high, but not so much that Christy needed
the light sweater cradled in the crook of her arm, as she hurried up the Trillium Terrace
’s wide stone steps. She paused to catch her breath and indulged in the familiar view. Tonight a red and orange streaked sky canopied the placid lake. Life was sweet on the shores of Loon Lake. She shared smiles and greetings with departing dinner guests as they descended the stairs and stopped to admire the view.
Her sling back sandals clicked against the oversize stone tiles as she hurried toward a small table and its single male occupant. Here and there she spotted more familiar faces, but didn’t slow her steps. Thankfully, Edward appeared to be absorbed in reading the menu. She was running a tad late.
She stopped directly across from him, smoothed her skirt and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Edward, I hope you haven’t been waiting long. I’d have made it on time except for the traffic.”
Edward dropped his menu and stared at her, confusion clouding his eyes. Had he forgotten that he’d invited her to dinner? She puffed a strand of hair from her eyes.
“No problem,” he said finally, pushing his chair back and unfolding his six-foot frame. He rounded the table and pulled out her chair. “I’m generally early for appointments, but I’d anticipated your late arrival, although I didn’t factor in traffic.”
She paused. Was he accepting her apology or insinuating that she was an unorganized liar?
She glanced down to the parking lot and her car. No. She could do this. She sighed and slid into her seat, propping her shiny red clutch against the centerpiece. Helping Edward acquire social grace wasn’t going to be easy, but she it was too early in the game to walk away.
“On my way here,” she began, “Jim McKay’s milking herd completely blocked off the road. I’m guessing you haven’t tried to maneuver through twenty-eight milling Holsteins before, but it’s not easy.”
Edward raised an eyebrow. “You’re not serious?” “I certainly am. The McKay cows cross from the
pasture to the barns every night at 6:30. I arrived at the crossing at 6:50, assuming the cows would be stabled. But tonight the herd had stalled, mooing and circling, refusing to cross to the barn.” She paused and drew a breath. “Turns out that the lead cow, Bessie, was still in the pasture eating windfall apples and the rest of the girls refused to go any farther without her.”
“Do you mean to tell me that this McKay fellow allows his cows to block a public road every night?
“Morning too. 6:15. Cows need to be milked about every twelve hours.”
“I can’t believe the locals haven’t down something to stop this farmer,” Edward said, his face stern with indignation.
She laughed. “We don’t mind. The McKays’ have farmed that land for five generations. Buttermilk Falls’ permanent residents feel that the cows have as much right to the road as we do.”
“Surely the manager of the Nirvana has approached McKay about this nonsense. After all, his paying guests are being inconvenienced too.”
Edward was a city boy so she resisted calling him on his self-righteous tone. “Trey Sullivan considers Mr. McKay’s cow crossing a lovely part of the Nirvana’s unique appeal. The show times are even listed in the brochure.” She looked straight into his eyes, “Seriously Edward, you should read that thing.”
The lines on his forehead softened as he considered the explanation of the hotel’s spin on the situation. “I see.”
Christy reached for the menu. She’d tackle his social handicaps later: right now, she needed to order and get this evening moving. She scanned the entrées, torn between the steak and the trout.
“What looks good to you, Edward?” she said, dropping her menu a few inches and peering over its edge.
He wasn’t even looking at his; it lay unopened on his plate. Blushing, he dropped his gaze from her face.
She twisted in her seat. Behind her rose a vine covered stone wall. He had definitely been looking at her. She reached for a strand of hair and twirled it around her finger, a nervous habit she’d left behind in grade six. “No rush.”
Edward flapped open his napkin. “Jason recommended the special, Roast Chicken with Wild Rice, just before you arrived. I’m going with that.”
“Oh, that sounds good. Let’s make it two,” she said, setting her menu aside. No point in dragging out an awkward evening.
Seconds later Jason appeared and Edward gave their order. Settling back, she pondered her next move. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but on the other hand, the man really needed her help.
“I should tell you that you look beautiful in that outfit tonight,” Edward blurted out, his words overly loud and obviously rehearsed.
Her gaze dropped from the stunning sunset to his face. Nervous expectancy overrode his attempt at a smile.
“Thank you.” Said by any other man, she’d have
written off the words as a cheesy pick-up line. But this was Edward. He was far too literal to be capable of guile. He meant what he’d said, no matter where he’d sourced the words.
Earlier, on the internet, she’d tracked down the best-selling Dating for Dummies. Its promoters claimed the self-help book to be the solution for the socially-challenged. She’d planned on recommending the book to Edward, but clearly he owned it already. So much for Plan A.
She tipped her head to one side and studied the man across from her. Actually his interest in the book was good news. With Edward open to advice, her job would be easier.
“It’s nice to have the chance to dress up a bit,” she said, glancing down to her black satin skirt. “It’s shorts and T-shirts for me most days. Although, don’t get me wrong. I love my job.”
“You’re really good at it,” he replied in a more natural tone. “And you’re perfectly suited to your job, too. I’d be fired the first day as a Recreational Director. I’m more comfortable in a suit and tie environment.”
“Well, I’d last about five minutes analyzing data and projecting market trends. I’m a people person,” she stated. “I think the Christys and the Edwards of the world generally end up where they belong.”
He blinked. For a bright man, he could be maddeningly slow. She continued, “There are studies. I read about it in a magazine at my doctor’s office.” She leaned forward, pleased she had a new talking point.
“I’m intrigued.” He looked interested. She pushed on with Plan B.
“The study discusses how babies grow into their
names. For example if you name a child, Robert, Charles or Edward, they’re predisposed to becoming high achievers in business or commerce. Children with names like Melissa, Phoebe and Christy excel socially and are prone to succeeding in the arts and hospitality sectors.”
Edward crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, his head tilted to one side. “Basically, I agree with the hypothesis,” he ventured. “But I can think of one glaring exception.” His voice took on a steely edge.
She shrugged her shoulders, electing to leave that stone unturned. “Okay.”
“I can’t say I’ve read that particular study, but it bears scrutiny. Interestingly enough, many of my fellow MBAs fall into your naming styles. For example, my former boss was Charles McDonald. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Of course. Canada’s Donald Trump.”
He nodded approvingly.
“So Edward, you might be interested to know that I’ve borrowed from the study and come up with a little something of my own.” This was becoming a bit of fun after all.
“You’ve extrapolated, then.”
“Yes.” She smiled, “I’ve extrapolated. Let’s try calling you Ted. It’s derived from your own name, but with a slightly different connotation.”
“Ted?” He loosened his arms and dragged his chair closer to the table. “Purpose and goals of this social experiment?”
She pulled back, his intensity level bordering on alarming. Scrambling for a tactful reply she said, “My
purpose…is to see if you alter your behaviors while living as a Ted.”
“Intriguing. Go on.”
The Nirvana hotel
is a perfect place to experiment. Hardly anybody knows you as Edward.” He nodded.
Encouraged, she plowed on. “For the next couple of weeks, I’ll call you Ted. Whenever you meet someone new, introduce yourself as Ted.”
“So,” he said with considerable hesitancy. “If the theory is valid, preconceived ideas of who a “Ted” is should come into play.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“So, who is “Ted”, according to your study?”
Super, she’d let an anonymous study do the talking, leaving herself and their mothers completely out of it.
“Ted is an attractive,” Edward blushed to his hairline, “ambitious man. He’s a dedicated employee, but likes his down time too. Ted loves golfing and fishing, but he also plays baseball, sings karaoke and bowls every second Friday.”
“He bowls?”
“In a league,” she replied, not backing down even a bit.
Edward’s fingers drummed the table top. “And the goal?”
Now she had to be careful. “I believe that laughing, dancing, conversing, even bowling, make for a happier life. Why not walk in Ted’s shoes for a few weeks and see what happens? Who knows, you might even meet the love of your life.”
His gaze darted everywhere, everywhere except her face. Finally, his eyes fixed on the fire exit sign hanging to the left of her head, he said. “I’m in.”
“You’re in?” It felt too easy.”
On his forehead, beads of perspiration glistened in the moonlight. “Yes. I’m willing to go along, even if the whole thing smacks of my mother’s influence.”
“Don’t worry,” she began.
He held up a hand to block her explanation. “Relax. I know my mother isn’t involved this time. She hates it when anyone calls me Ted.”