Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5)

by Heather Wardell

  We both ordered beef barley soup and small salads. This was not because we were trying to lose weight. Far from it. We were both planning to get two desserts, and we didn't want to fill up on the main course. Ordering finished, Larissa, like a fat kid on a free chocolate bar, returned to her favorite topic.

  "Are you really going to go check out Kegan's restaurant after it opens?"

  "I don't know. I'd have to see what Ian thinks, I guess."

  Larissa shook her head. She put on the fake high-pitched voice that she always used when she was pretending she was me. "Oh, Ian, let's go to Kegan's restaurant. You remember Kegan, the one who left me a total basket case who couldn't even accept a compliment without getting all freaked out? Yeah, that's the one. Let's go spend a few hours with him."

  "I didn't come here to be insulted," I said, knowing I was setting her up for one of her favorite responses and not minding.

  We chorused together, "Where do you usually go?" and then broke down laughing.

  Larissa recovered first. "Seriously, though, I don't think seeing him any more than you have to is a good plan. What will it prove?"

  "I'm not really trying to prove anything. But couldn't we be friends?"

  Larissa widened her eyes. "Friends. With him? Uh, no. No, you couldn't be. 'Cause he's a jerk. He's self-centered and arrogant."

  "Maybe he's changed," I said, thinking of George and Kegan's drive to honor him, and wishing I could tell Larissa. I couldn't, though; it wasn't my story to tell, and she'd never believe he'd meant it and I didn't want to hear her mock him.

  She snorted. "No way. You know it, I know it, that ridiculous cat of yours knows it. People don't change unless they want to. He won't have changed, because he thought he was perfect. So why would he change?"

  Why indeed. Maybe I could ask him when I saw him next.

  "Let's not talk about him any more. Let's talk about me."

  I laughed. "What about you?"

  "I need a favor."

  "Okay."

  "What are you doing tomorrow around five?"

  "Not much. Leaving work, I guess. Why?"

  Larissa needed me to come to the makeup studio to help her do her annual reorganization. Naturally, she had tons of makeup, and she often ended up buying multiples of various things. She liked to go through it all yearly and get it cleaned up, then take an inventory so she knew what she had.

  "Sure, if you think I can handle it this time."

  "Oh, yeah. It was probably my fault anyhow. I should have told you that alphabetizing it would make it harder to find."

  "So this time I'll just group them by type of thing, eyeliner, lipstick, whatever?"

  Larissa smiled at me. "Actually, this time I think you'll just do the counting after I group them for you."

  "Good enough."

  *****

  At ten minutes to nine, I was sitting beside the phone, my new yarn lying untouched in my lap, my nerves on edge. Dinner with my mother often had that effect on me. She didn't like Ian, and she didn't mind showing it. She didn't think he was good enough for me.

  She'd never come right out and said it, not in those words. She must have realized that I would have to fight back then, even if only to defend myself against the suggestion that I'd made a bad choice. No, she just danced around it whenever he wasn't in earshot.

  "It's a shame poor Ian never got to go to university."

  "It must be nice for Ian that you make so much money." As if. Ian made much more than I did, but he and I had agreed early in our marriage never to discuss finances with our parents.

  I hated it, but I'd never figured out how to stop her. To his face, she was scrupulously polite but cool, as if addressing an inferior. He knew how she felt about him, but before his parents' deaths it hadn't mattered to either of us. After, it didn't matter either, but in a different way. I wondered sometimes if he wished my parents had died instead of his, but it was yet another thing I couldn't discuss with him.

  She'd spent the better part of dinner worrying about him, theoretically, although really just pointing out all the things he might not have planned for. "I hope he's got warm enough clothes. Doesn't it get cold at night? And lots of sunscreen. Do they get that terrible Montezuma's revenge there? What about malaria?" Didn't exactly make for a relaxing meal.

  My tension had reached a breaking point by ten minutes after nine, and when the phone finally rang I actually gave a little scream before pulling myself together. The crackly connection made it hard to hear him, and we had to repeat ourselves a lot, but it was good to hear his voice anyhow, even though he sounded strained and awkward. Must have been the phone line.

  "Things okay there?"

  "Pretty good," I said. "Ninja's taking care of me."

  "Good boy."

  A brief silence, then we both said, "Hello?" at once.

  "Sorry," he said, "thought I'd lost you."

  "I'm right where you left me," I said. "Well, sort of. You left me at the airport and of course I'm--"

  "What? I can't hear you."

  "Never mind," I said, nearly yelling into the phone. "Tell me what's happening there. Tell me everything."

  "We've almost finished the first house, and we start the walls for the school today."

  And he went silent.

  "What about the people? Are they nice?"

  "Yeah," he said. "I was stupid and got a really bad sunburn two days ago, and they're all doing everything they can to give me the jobs out of the sun until I get better."

  "You didn't tell me about that," I said. "How bad is it?"

  "The blisters are pretty gross, but--"

  "Blisters?" I didn't know sunburns could blister. "Did a doctor check it out?"

  "Yeah. I'll be fine."

  I didn't know what I'd expected from our phone call, but this banal exchange wasn't it. We could have done this over email, and I wished we had. Ian and I had loved talking to each other in the past, had never run out of topics, but recently we'd been more distant and careful to avoid anything that might have led to painful discussion. Even that would have been preferable to this phone call. We sounded like strangers, casual acquaintances at best.

  Suddenly I couldn't bear it any more. "I should probably let you go," I said. "What time is it there?"

  "Just after eight in the morning. And I kind of do have to get going. We've got a lot of stuff to do."

  "Okay," I said. "I love you."

  "Me too."

  "Say it." The words burst from me. I needed to hear it, needed to know we at least still had that much, that we could say it to each other.

  "Candice, I have to go. There are other people here who need the phone."

  And you have time to say all that but not time to tell me you love me? "Bye, then."

  "Bye."

  I hung up the phone and scooped Ninja into my arms. He muttered at my disturbing his sleep, but snuggled into my shoulder and was soon snoring again. I stroked his fur and took deep breaths.

  I shouldn't have offered to let him end the call. He'd think I didn't want to talk to him, and I did. Didn't I? We should have been chattering about everything that had happened since he'd been gone, but a lot of what had happened, on my side, involved Kegan and I didn't think Ian would want to hear about that.

  Settling Ninja back onto the couch, I ignored his renewed grumbling and picked up my yarn, beginning to create the shawl. I kept my eyes and my mind on the yarn, not wanting to make any mistakes. When Ian got home, I wanted to show him the beauty I'd created from his present.

  The formality of our phone call sapped some of the joy from the crocheting, though, and I soon set it down again. I missed us, the way we'd been, and I wanted to get back to it. Ian had never said he saw anything wrong with our relationship, but I did.

  What I really wanted was to turn back time and somehow stop Ian's parents from driving that day. If I could only do that, my marriage would be just as good as it had been before.

  I didn't see any other way to fix it.r />
  Monday, August 8th

  When the alarm went off, I was ready to get up and go to the gym. I'd slept fitfully, having one of those nights where it seems like you didn't sleep at all though you know you must have, and even exercising was preferable to tossing and turning any longer.

  The gym was quite busy, but the treadmill gods must have been smiling on me as I found a free one easily. After a brisk twenty minute walk, I moved on to an elliptical machine. I plugged away at it for about ten minutes, and then wrapped up with fifteen minutes of weight lifting and a lovely soak in the whirlpool.

  I'd always thought the whole 'runner's high' thing was a big crock, a conspiracy designed to make everyone want to exercise, but I felt it for the first time on the elliptical. I felt strong and loose and powerful and like I could go for hours. It almost made me want to see just how long I could last.

  Almost.

  *****

  As I walked to Kegan's restaurant, it hit me: sometime this week I would find out whether I had cancer. I'd generally been doing well at keeping it out of my mind, but every so often it stole in there and disrupted my thoughts.

  What would I do? I'd have to tell Ian, of course, and he'd probably have to come home, although I didn't know when we'd start treatments. The thought of the treatments and all that sent shivers down my spine. I didn't exactly know how cervical cancer was treated, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't enjoy it. Pap tests were uncomfortable and embarrassing enough, but this? How much would it hurt? What if it didn't work? What if--

  My knees nearly gave way at the thought, and I dragged my mind away from the possibility I wouldn't make it through. I couldn't think about that. I'd think about work instead. Much safer.

  Thinking of Kegan and how different working with him was from what I'd expected took me the rest of the way to his restaurant. He'd recognized right away something was bothering me; not even my mother had picked up on that. He'd let me see his emotion at finally making it happen, finally going after his goal, and I knew he'd be successful. Steel would be exactly what he wanted.

  My father had always told me I could get whatever I wanted out of life if I tried hard enough. What he hadn't told me was how to decide what I wanted.

  *****

  I spent the day at Steel helping Kegan choose china and cutlery patterns and selecting from a huge catalogue of crystal. We were professional throughout, but more relaxed with each other than we'd been the week before, laughing and joking even as we worked. Running into him on the weekend had been good for us.

  I'd told him about doing the inventory for Larissa that evening, and when five o'clock arrived he insisted on driving me to her studio. I told him I could get there on my own, but he had an appointment just down the road from her place and would not take my 'no' for an answer.

  We walked together to his car, as sleek and polished as his restaurant was shaping up to be, and he opened the door for me. I settled myself, breathing in the mingled scents of new car, leather, and Kegan's cologne, and he closed my door before going around to his side. Ian had never done that for me. I liked it.

  "So," Kegan said, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. The smoothness of the ride and the lack of road noise made me feel like we weren't moving at all even though I could see we were.

  "So," I agreed.

  "How're you doing without your husband? What's his name again?"

  "Ian," I said, wishing I didn't have to. I didn't want both of them in the car with me. "And I'm doing fine."

  "Not lonely?" His voice was neutral, and I responded in kind.

  "No, I'm okay, it's only for a month."

  "Good stuff."

  We rode in silence for a few minutes. He turned on the radio, and slow sexy jazz filled the car.

  "Do you have a girlfriend?"

  He flicked a glance at me then returned his attention to the road. "Why do you ask?"

  I had no idea. The question had come out before I'd realized it was on its way. "Um... Angela wondered," I said, throwing out a name at random.

  He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't she say she was married?"

  "She is. I... she wondered for a friend of hers."

  Why couldn't I just shut up?

  "Tell Angela I'm single and looking."

  At the word 'looking', I had a flash of something I didn't want to examine too closely. Since he seemed open to questioning, I went on. "Were you ever married?"

  "Nobody would have me," he said, eyes fixed on the road.

  I would have. "Did you ever ask anyone?"

  He pulled the car to a stop outside Larissa's studio. "Yes. She said no."

  I was swept by a sudden furious jealousy that stunned me with its power. Kegan turned to me. "Guess I asked the wrong girl."

  He leaned toward me. "You would have said yes, wouldn't you." It wasn't a question. He knew the answer as well as I did.

  *****

  I walked into Larissa's studio to find the place in chaos. Apparently a cover photo shoot for a hugely important magazine, so important that nobody would even say its name out loud, just calling it "the magazine" as if there were only one possibility, had been scheduled for next Monday, but the fashion director had arrived half an hour before I had, insisting that the shoot was that day.

  The fact that the model wasn't present, since she knew the shoot was next Monday, didn't faze him. He glanced at me as I walked in then turned to Larissa's boss again. "Look, get this thing going within the hour or I'll get myself a new studio."

  Larissa greeted me with, "You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you okay?", ushering me into her tiny storage room without waiting for my answer. "All the stuff's here," she said, gesturing at the mounds of makeup, "so you just go ahead. Get a drink if you want one. I'll be back when I can. I hate dealing with all this stupid stuff."

  "Won't you have to when you get your own studio?"

  "Yes, and this part will suck, but at least people will know who I am."

  And she was gone. I put down my purse and got myself a bottle of water from the fridge just outside the door. Why was Larissa trying so hard to start her own business and get to a position she was going to hate? Would having everyone know her name be worth the stress?

  The girl he'd asked, the one who'd said no. What had she been like? Why had he wanted to marry her and not--

  That way lies madness, Candice. Get to work before Larissa comes back and you've done nothing.

  Excellent advice. Forcing Kegan out of my mind yet again, I set to work dividing the makeup into categories, frequently getting lost in semantics. Should liquid eye liners be counted together with the pencil ones? Did colored mascaras go with the black ones? Was Pink Sparkle nail polish the same as Sparkle Pink?

  Despite these pressing concerns, things went well for about half an hour. I had the makeup divided in a way that made sense to me and had started counting each category and making notes on the paper Larissa'd left for me. Then I started paying a little more attention to the products in each category.

  A glittery eye liner in a rich purple that matched my skirt was the first to catch my eye. I studied it for a moment then ran it lightly across my left eyelid, leaving a sparkly line behind. My right eye looked sad and dull by comparison, so I quickly dressed it up as well.

  Naturally, my cheeks now looked too pale, so I kept my eyes open for the perfect blusher. When it appeared, I stroked it gently over both cheeks. This of course left my mouth seeming far too naked, so I chose a stunning sparkling pink lipstick and slicked it on.

  This makeup thing wasn't as scary as I'd thought. I'd only ever worn lip gloss, lipstick on very rare occasion, and mascara, but this was actually a lot of fun. I was just contemplating giving myself a beauty mark with one of the many brown eye liner pencils when Larissa rushed in.

  "We need you!"

  I stared up at her. She was clearly taken aback by my impromptu makeover, but carried on regardless. "The model's on her way, but now he's demanding that we take a test shot to
see how the set looks. Your hair and eyes are basically the same color as the model's, so he says you have to come in."

  "Me? That makes no sense--"

  "At this point I don't care. We're about a minute from losing this client, and he pays us a fortune. Let's go."

  "Can't I wash--"

  Larissa grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the room.

  *****

  At home, I washed my face thoroughly, made myself a cup of tea, and tried not to picture the incredulous look on the client's face when I arrived, glittering like a disco ball, for the test shot.

  At least he'd liked the set, and had grudgingly agreed to stick with Larissa's agency. I'd scuttled back to Larissa's studio and finished the makeup inventory with her assistance. I'd wanted to take the makeup off right away, but she'd said I looked cute, "like a four-year-old playing with her mommy's lipsticks", and had refused to let me.

  After scraping the worst of the makeup off my face and applying some that actually made me look like an adult, Larissa took me out to dinner to celebrate the completion of the inventory and the keeping of the client. I had high hopes that she'd be so distracted by her busy day that she wouldn't remember my shocked appearance when I'd arrived, and for a while it seemed to be working.

  She told me all about the client's insanity, and I encouraged her as much as I could. When she'd exhausted that topic, I told her about Tasha's piercing and the polar bear I'd seen there, and we joked about the possibility of my getting tattooed.

  "Does Ian like tattoos?"

  I shrugged. "He's never said."

  "Probably. Makes you look dangerous."

  "A furry polar bear makes you look dangerous?"

  "Make it have bloody fangs and stuff."

  "Yuck."

  Eventually, though, she ran out of steam for teasing me. "So, how was your day? You looked upset when you arrived."

  "Um, fine. Just worried about the test," I said. "This waiting thing stinks."

  She grimaced. "Still haven't heard, huh?"

  "Nope. Should be by the end of this week."

  "Make sure you call me as soon as you hear, okay?"