A Change Of Pace

by Freya Barker

  "Phyllis." I apprehensively nod in greeting when I reach her.

  "Newt, hi." She flitters nervously when I say nothing else. "I...uh...well, I was just about to kill some time shopping before my nail appointment, when I happened to pull into the parking spot beside your car and recognized the Ottawa Senators license plate." I lean back to look at the plate cover Millie got me for Father's Day last year. Right. "So I thought maybe I'd wait and see if you have time for a quick coffee?" she babbles nervously. "It's not like I really need anything here, but it's close to the salon."

  I thought she would have received the message last week, when she knocked on my door, and I shut her down. I guess not, but I hate having to be a dick, let alone twice in one day.

  "Sure, why not, but we'll have to make it a quick one, I have to pick my daughter up in twenty minutes," I concede reluctantly, checking my watch for emphasis. Perhaps I can let her down gently over coffee.

  I'm already questioning the wisdom of that decision the moment I see her reaction. It's an instant transformation from fidgety and insecure, to provocative and assured. As we walk to Tim Hortons, I try to shake off the hand she tries to clasp around my arm, but her red-tipped fingers hang on like talons. I'm relieved when we finally sit down with our order, hoping the table will provide some much-needed protection of personal space. That doesn't last long, however, and before I've even had a sip of my coffee, I get felt up under the table.

  This woman is relentless. She actually scares me a little. Don't get me wrong, like all hot-blooded men, I don't mind a little female attention, but I have a feeling I'm going to rue that first smile I turned on her. Resolutely, I shift sideways in my chair, my legs now safely out of her reach.

  "So how are you enjoying it here?" she asks, leaning too far over the table.

  This is already feeling too much like a date.

  "So far, so good. Planning to spend a bit of time exploring this summer. With my daughter," I add quickly when I see her eyes light up. God forbid she gets it in her head that was an invitation.

  Seems to have become a habit, using Millie as an easy excuse out of potential emotional entanglements. A way to avoid talking about what's really on my mind. Hard to ignore the resulting pang of guilt in my gut, it's time I man up.

  "Listen, Phyllis, you're a very nice lady and all, but—"

  "Really?" she interrupts with tears already pooling in her eyes. Fucking hell. "What is it with me? I try so hard."

  Realizing I'm probably a nanosecond away from witnessing a complete emotional meltdown, I'm quick to respond. Perhaps a little too quick.

  "It's not you. It has nothing to do with you..." This is where desperation takes over, and I grab the only valid excuse I can think of. "I'm already seeing someone."

  Yeah. I said that, and the moment the words are out of my mouth, I know I'm in deep shit—and I don't have to wait long.

  "Already? But you just moved here. Who are you seeing? I know everyone."

  See what I mean? Once you step over that edge, there is nothing you can do to stop the impact.

  I don't know many people in town. The only people I know by name are Millie's teacher, who is older than dirt, the school counsellor, and the cashier at No Frills, but I don't know if they're single or not. So I pick the only suitable person I can come up with.

  "Frederique Marchand," I lie, wincing even as I mention her name.

  "Freddy? You mean our Freddy? I can't believe it. She's not—"

  There is no getting out of this unscathed. I know it, so I get to my feet, grab my coffee, and interrupt the woman's tirade.

  "I'm really sorry, but I have to run."

  Before she has a chance to respond, I'm out the door and speed walk to my Jeep.

  Coward.

  -

  I crack my eyes, my ears hurting with the torturous sounds of AC/DC, and fruitlessly slap at my alarm clock to shut it off until it falls with a crash to the floor.

  Sonofabitch.

  Rubbing the grit from my eyes, I launch a collection of colourful swear words, shooting straight up in bed when my bedroom door slams open.

  "Dad? Are you okay?" Millie asks breathlessly, her short blonde hair pointing in every direction and her face puffy with sleep.

  No. I'm not okay; I tossed all fucking night. Again. Second night in a row. Last time I checked the clock it was almost four. Barely three hours of sleep.

  I swing my legs over the side and run my hands through my hair.

  "I'm good, honey," I finally answer, my voice rough. "Why don't you hop in the shower, and I'll get some French toast going. We've got time."

  Millie is not usually up this early. In fact, I have a hard time getting her up at all most mornings. She often has to eat on the fly, because we're rushing out to get to school on time. It's going to be a challenge next school year when she has to take the bus.

  First thing I do when I go downstairs is get the coffee going. I'm going to need lots to get that deck completed today. I finally finished the framing yesterday, and all I have left is the deck boards that are already cut to size. I don't think I should operate any power tools today. While the coffee brews, I get the ingredients prepped, so I can send my girl off with a decent breakfast for once.

  The mornings here are beautiful, peaceful. I lean against the sink, sip my brew, and watch the mist rise up from the lake. It's not quite as peaceful inside my head, as the same thoughts that have kept me up, resume their churning.

  I don't know why I didn't talk to Freddy right away on Monday. Both to apologize for my earlier behaviour at lunch, and for what I said to Phyllis. At first, time got away from me. No, that's a fucking lie—I purposely did all I could to avoid dealing with it—and as a result piled on the guilt I was already feeling. Plenty of that to go around.

  I actually drove by her office yesterday morning when I was picking up a few odds and ends in town. Her car wasn't parked out front, so I drove home, got busy on the deck and shoved everything else to the back of my mind. Then Millie came home and mentioned she'd seen Freddy at school and that she'd asked her if she wanted to come by again on Saturday. I don't want to drop my daughter off there this weekend without clearing the air first.

  A mess—one of my own creation—and I'll be damned if I can figure the way out.

  Freddy

  "I can't believe you!"

  It takes me a minute to recognize Phyllis' voice. I just walked in the door after another long day—one that included a doctor's visit I'd been putting off— and was about to go out to the barn when the phone rang.

  "Phyllis?"

  "Do you even know how hopeless this town is? There isn't an eligible man to be found. I've actually considered moving to Barrie, thinking maybe I'd have better luck there. And don't get me started on those dating websites." I have no idea what she's rambling about, but whatever it is, she clearly needs to vent, and I'm good at listening. "Finally an interesting, and very single guy moves into the neighbourhood, and before I even have a chance to give him a proper welcome, he's already been snatched up."

  I'm starting to clue in; Newt, she's talking about Newt. But snatched up? Wait...did someone see us on Monday? I've done my best to pretend that incident never happened, but it'll be hard to ignore if anyone in town got wind of it. The grapevine is alive and well here. I blame it on the long winters.

  "I don't know what you heard," I start, but don't get a chance to finish my thought.

  "Well, I heard it from the horse's mouth. I didn't even know you were looking." The last came out in an almost accusatory tone.

  "Looking for what?"

  "A man!"

  "I wasn't. I mean; I'm not." I shake my head, I sound defensive and I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to have done.

  "Newt Tobias."

  "Yes? What about him?"

  "You're seeing him," she hisses. There's no doubt that was an accusation.

  "I've talked to him." I try to be evasive. It's not anyone's business I'm treating his d
aughter, and even though I'm sure half the town already knows, it's still not something they'll hear from me.

  "You're seeing him, he told me himself."

  I snort. She has no idea how far away from the truth she is. "I'm pretty sure you misunderstood."

  "Oh no, no misunderstanding. I was having coffee with him Monday afternoon, and he was perfectly clear that was the reason he couldn't pursue anything with me." Now it sounds like she's pouting.

  I get it. I know Phyllis; I've seen her in action. I know she probably launched herself at him somewhere, relentless in her pursuit of finding Mr. Right. She makes it almost impossible to say no gently. I've told her this on many occasions when she'd end up crying on my shoulder because some guy had done her wrong. Desperation often makes for bad decisions.

  I guess the same can be said for Newt, when he used me to get her to back off. I get it—it doesn't mean I like it. In fact, I'm pretty pissed, given that he blew me off shortly before.

  "I'm sorry," is all I manage to say to Phyllis, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to throw Newt under the bus. I'd rather take my pound of flesh off him myself.

  I just didn't think the opportunity would offer itself barely an hour later, when his familiar Jeep pulls up.

  It hadn't been easy, getting Phyllis off the phone, but luckily Moe provided the break I needed when she started throwing up on the couch. Of course that had to be cleaned up, but I threw the couch pillow in the mudroom until I had a chance to feed the animals first. George and Timber looked starved not just for food, but for attention, so after they filled their bellies, I let them out of their stall to roam around the yard with me. It gave me a chance to check on the progress of my vegetable garden. Anything to distract myself from the useless worries my earlier doctor's visit left me with. I did some weeding, put cages around the tomato plants, and it wasn't until my stomach started growling I realized I hadn't eaten anything myself.

  That's what I was just planning to do, heat up some soup from the other day, and take it out on the porch. I didn't have the heart to put George and Timber to bed yet, so they're up on the porch with me, the baby gate blocking the steps to keep them contained. My bare feet up on the ledge, I've just had a bite or two, when Newt shows up. I keep eating, my eyes focused in the distance, but listening to every sound: the car door closing, his footsteps approaching the porch, and the soft chuckle.

  "Is that to keep them in or me out?"

  I drop my feet and sit up straight so I can see him over the railing. He's pointing at the gate.

  "It's a toss-up," I confess. "I'm tempted to vote for keeping you out, but I for one, can't lie."

  "Ouch," he says, wincing. "I'm guessing you talked to Phyllis."

  "You would be correct. In fact, just an hour ago."

  "Do you mind if I..." He gestures at the gate. "I'd like to come up?"

  I shrug, grab my half-empty bowl, and ignoring him, head inside where I dump it in the sink. I'm not hungry anymore.

  "What's wrong with your cat?"

  I turn around to find Newt standing in my living room, staring down on the couch, where Moe has made a nest in the empty spot with the pillow missing. My beautiful afghan apparently has been repurposed as birthing bed, because by the looks of her, she's in the throes of.

  "Oh no. Not on my couch, Moe." And to Newt I bark, "There's a wood crate in the barn, next to the wheelbarrow, I'm gonna need that in here—please."

  Without a word, he turns on his heels and heads back outside, while I go in search of some newspapers and a garbage bag. By the time Newt comes in with the crate, I have laid out plastic and paper on the floor, and carefully moved Moe—and my precious afghan—on top. Without asking, he takes the crate into the kitchen and wipes it down with the dishrag from the sink, before bringing it to me.

  "Where do you want it?"

  "Right here, beside the couch. She'll be covered on three sides and I can keep an eye on her."

  He moves the small end table out of the way and shoves the crate in its place. Moe hisses fiercely when I lift her up in my afghan, while Newt quickly grabs newspapers and plastic bag, and lines the crate. With the labouring cat in a safe place, I get up to sort out the other animals; it looks like it might be a long night.

  "I already put the pig and the goat back in the barn."

  "George and Timber," I snap.

  "Right," he says, grinning at me when I turn around. Crap—that dimple.

  "Thanks."

  Doing my best to ignore the large man, sitting cross-legged on my floor, keeping an eye on my cat, I grab my phone off the counter and dial.

  "Talk to me."

  "Moe's in labour," I jump right in when Hank answers.

  "A little early."

  "That's what I thought. Anything I can do to prepare?"

  "Nothing much. I'm just on my way home and am happy to drop by to check on her."

  "Would you?"

  "On my way."

  Relieved, I hang up. My eyes meet Newt's, his are curious.

  "Hank," I say by way of explanation, as I make my way to sit in the corner of the couch where I can look into the crate. "My vet. He's stopping in. Moe's a little earlier than expected."

  "I see." He unfolds his long legs, gets to his feet, and turns to look out the window. "I know this is probably not the time, but I should have come here right away on Monday night, and didn't. I need to clear this up." He comes to sit down in front of me on the edge of the coffee table, leaning his forearms on his knees. "That wasn't a misunderstanding, on Monday. It was absolutely my intention to kiss you, and I'm sorry I left you thinking you were the one misreading the situation. You weren't." He drops his head for a moment before taking a deep breath in, and lifting his eyes to mine. "I like you, Freddy—a whole fuckovalot—but my daughter needs you, and her well-being has to have priority."

  I reach out and put my hand on his knee, feeling a little shiver when he covers it with his.

  "Of course," I agree easily. It's clear we struggle around the same issue. "And I completely agree."

  "Now for that incident with Phyllis..." Immediately I remove my hand. "I don't know what to say. It just came out. I'd just almost had my mouth on you, I certainly wanted to, and I used it to get out of an uncomfortable situation. I'm sorry."

  His expression is serious and his eyes look earnest as he waits for me to say something. When I don't, he reaches out, and grabs my hand. "I don't want us off on the wrong foot. There's too much at stake. Forgive me? I'll do anything." I tilt my head to the side and regard him until he gets visibly uncomfortable. It's not beyond me to exert a little torture in my retribution.

  "Sure," I finally give in. The sound of a car door closing outside has me quickly lean in. "And let me introduce you to Hank."

  I get up to open the door, and give Boulder a minute to say hello, before leading the way inside.

  "Newt, this is Hank Masse, our local vet. And, Hank, meet Newt Tobias, he's new in town and I hear he's in the market for a puppy."

  I stifle my grin, as I watch the men shake hands and exchange pleasantries, Newt a little shell-shocked. Hank quickly turns his focus on Moe's crate, and Newt takes a step in my direction, the shock on his face replaced with an angry glare.

  I bridge the gap, rise up on tiptoes, and whisper in his ear, "You did say you'd do anything."

  ELEVEN

  Newt

  "Holy cow, Dad. Is something going on?"

  I promised Millie we would pick up something at Tim Hortons on our way to Freddy's place. The roads are busy this morning and the parking lot at Tim's is full. Even the drive-thru line is almost out to the road. Yesterday was the last day of school, and I guess folks were packed and ready to head out early this morning.

  "I guess this is what summer vacation looks like, honey." Forfeiting the long line, I slip into a parking spot that opens up. "We'll just go in. I bet you it's faster."

  It still takes us almost fifteen minutes to grab a few coffees—a fruit smoothie for M
illie—and a box of donuts.

  "Sorry we're late," Millie calls out, already impatient as she scrambles out of the car. She's eager to get to the kittens I told her about.

  Freddy walks up smiling and takes the tray of drinks from her. "Go on," she prompts Millie, accurately guessing her main interest. "In the crate beside the couch."

  We both watch as my daughter takes off like a light, darts around Boulder who's waiting for her on the porch, and disappears into the house. The screen door slams shut, and slowly Freddy turns to me.

  I haven't seen or spoken with her since I had to leave Wednesday night, to get home to Millie. She did drop me a text message the next morning, though, announcing Moe had four tiny but healthy kittens. Of course when I told my daughter, she was ready to go see them right away.

  Freddy looks good, even in the well-worn cut-offs, man-sized T-shirt, and her windblown hair tied in a haphazard braid down her back. Fresh. Carefree. She looks comfortable in her skin, and at ease with her life.

  Without thinking, I reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, running my thumb slightly over the shell of her ear, before dropping my hand. Her eyes go from warm to liquid at my touch. I'm going to have to exercise better impulse control in her presence, if I want to keep my distance.

  "So four, huh?" I blurt out, in an attempt to leave that somewhat intimate gesture behind.

  "Right. Yes, a boy and three girls," she responds, after taking a moment to gather herself. "Wanna come see?" She sees my hesitation and immediately adds, "Come on. If that box you're holding is meant to go with these coffees, you know you want to come in."

  Without waiting for my answer, she starts walking to the house. Called out, there's nothing for me to do but follow.

  Millie is cuddled up on the couch, her head hanging down in the crate with kittens. I'm happy to see she had the presence of mind to kick off her sneakers by the door before climbing all over the furniture. Glad some of my parenting stuck.