by Sue Gibson
Trey touched her elbow and steered her to the cluttered chrome-edged bar and a pair of stools. "Let's sit up front," he cajoled, "where all the action takes place"
"Sure why not?" Delaney plunked onto a plasticcovered turquoise stool and swiveled until her face was inches from his. "As long as you realize that sharing a meal at the Bluebird-in the Gadabouts' world-means we're just mere steps from the altar." This was exactly why she needed to escape from this town.
Trey studied her face. She knew it was pink, she could feel the flush. "So. Who cares? They're just a bunch of sweet old ladies." He flashed his movie star smile in their direction. He was rewarded with a round of coos and titters.
"Easy for you to say. You don't live here. You're mother doesn't chat on the phone with the ladies once a week" She knew her voice was rising. "You're leaving in a couple of weeks and won't have to deal with the fallout"
"The fallout?" He laughed out loud. "Oh, come on"
"I'm serious. They will say I probably drove you off because I'm too picky or something."
"You're picky, are you? I like that in a woman."
She grabbed for a menu and snapped it open. "You're missing the point."
He placed a hand on the top of her menu and gently pushed it lower until she was looking directly into his eyes. "No, I think you are"
His face was mere millimeters from hers, and he was no longer smiling. "What?" she said, through clenched teeth.
"You're leaving too, remember?" he said, matter- of-factly. "You don't have to worry about this stuff anymore."
His casual words were a splash of cold water. She sank into the cushioned seat. He was right. She was just a few weeks and a plane ticket away from complete anonymity. This relationship they'd forged, only a blip, a lighthearted frolic until their proverbial ship had sailed.
It didn't matter what anyone here in Buttermilk Falls thought after all. She turned to face the table of older women, feeling oddly sad and a wee bit guilty. Hadn't they fed her cookies and bandaged her knees when she was little? Weren't they entitled to a few proprietary feelings toward her?
She willed her lips into a slim smile and waved before turning back to the menu. She drew in a breath. "Okay. Point taken. Now, can we eat? I'm starving."
After they'd munched through generous portions of fish and chips at the Bluebird, they'd chatted about the weather, the hotel business, and the cost of gas. But Trey made no mention of another date. Had her appeal waned already? She settled her fork to her plate, her usual desire for the Bluebird's apple pie, absent.
Minutes later, after cleaning his plate, Trey signaled for the check. "We've both got lots to do"
Following his lead, Delaney pushed her stool away from the counter. "Can't wait to get at it, actually" Images of her morning's purchases filled her head, and she was anxious to return to the Nirvana. Hopefully the work would push Trey's indifference from her mind.
The short trip back to the Nirvana took only minutes. Trey wheeled the SUV around the hotel's circular drive, rather that park it in the rear garage.
"Here you go, Delaney," he said, "I know you've got a lot to do, so I'll just leave you to it. I've got a dinner meeting this evening in Toronto, so I'm off to the airport."
Feeling a bit like a piece of unnecessary baggage, Delaney quickly hopped out of the truck. "Absolutely," she said, raising her arm and waving the clipboard full of notes. "I can't wait to get up to the suites and mentally place these beauties." Did her enthusiastic tone hide her disappointment? She hoped so.
"Talk to you tomorrow, then," he said through the open window as he accelerated the vehicle down the hotel's drive.
She stood motionless on the curb, the canopied entrance sheltering her from the early afternoon heat. An all-night dinner? Twenty-four hours or more until she'd see him again. She turned slowly from the bright sunlight into the cooler tunnel of shadows and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. In the space of a few minutes, the expectation of her day slipped from exciting to ordinary.
Lily's comments about Trey's Toronto social life rushed back to her. Was the slow pace of Loon Lake living wearing thin already, and was his dinner associate a woman?
Of course, lots of his meetings would be with women, she rationalized-and who cares anyway-as she marched toward the gleaming glass and stainless steel doors.
She focused tightly on the bank of elevator doors and forged through the lobby. The doors whooshed closed behind her as she fought for composure. This was just silly, she scolded herself and realized that she was more annoyed with herself than with Trey. Rationally, she understood he wasn't doing anything wrong. Of course a dinner meeting in Toronto meant staying over. Their kiss last night didn't mean anything serious was going on between them. He didn't need her permission to take off on an overnight trip or anything.
It was the realization that it mattered to her at all that disturbed her so much. She'd never been the type to sit by a phone waiting for a man to call or waste a perfectly good day pining for his presence. And after all, hadn't she been the one who'd demanded that he not press for anything more then a lighthearted summer dalliance?
The doors slid open and she stepped out into the small enclave. She'd stuck her hand into the depths of her purse and had begun rummaging for her key card when one of her mother's favorite sayings popped, maddeningly apropos, into her head: Be careful what you ask for, you might just get it.
Back in her suite, Delaney kicked off her sandals and quickly changed into a pair of cotton shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes. She tossed the saucy little sundress she'd donned earlier to the bottom of the laundry hamper, peeved that Trey hadn't said a word about her outfit today.
Each time they'd been together he'd commented on her appearance, often complimenting her choice of color or design. That was the great thing about Trey. When you were with him you felt like you were the only one in the room. But today, although completely focused on the job at hand, when it came to her, he seemed a bit distant.
She flopped down on the bed, realizing now that his mind had probably been on his upcoming dinner meeting. She flipped onto her stomach and with a desultory twist, turned her head to face the window. A wide shaft of midafternoon sun spilled into the room. She reached out a lazy hand toward the light and idly played with the rays. The warmth of the sun soothed her ruffled feathers. Things really weren't that bad. Didn't she have a great job and a ticket to Paris in her purse?
Bolstered, she sat up. I'm a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a guy like Trey Sullivan. In fact, he's the last thing I need in my life right now.
She rose, kicked off her shoes, and walked into the block of light leading toward the double French doors.
Here she was living the high life in a ritzy hotel, and what was she doing? Wasting a perfectly great day thinking about a man who in a month she'd probably never see again. How crazy was that?
Making her way to the glass doors, she swung them wide. She stepped out onto the oversize balcony and let her gaze travel the length of the far shoreline, eagerly absorbing color and form. The steel-clad peak of the A-frame poked through its stand of spruce, pinpointing the location of the art co-op. She recalled the artists, behind their easels, absorbed in capturing the scene with their paints and brushes.
A lump filled her throat, and for the second time that day, tears threatened.
Even as a child growing up on Lilac Street-two streets back from the lake's meandering shoreline-her attention had often been pulled from the tedious pages of calculus to the palette of color the lake reflected back to her hungry eyes. Each evening from her upstairs bedroom window, if she'd watched long enough, she'd witness Loon Lake's craggy gray cliffs darken to an impenetrable black wall.
Delaney shook her head and stepped closer to the railing. Her eyes roved the opposite shore searching for familiar landmarks. The lake was only a few hundred feet across and in the clear light she easily made out significant detail.
An oversized chunk of bleache
d driftwood, ensnared in a mat of twisted weeds, was snagged at the base of the soaring rock face. A stark beauty, a sculpture. One to rival those housed in a gallery's glass box, at least as far as she was concerned. Would Trey agree?
Her gaze moved eastward to the browning branches of a wind-damaged tamarack tree. Roots weakened by the nutrient-poor gravelly soil, it hung over the lake's edge, its tip caught in the stronger branches of a stalwart pine. In her mind's eye the stark geometric lines leapt to a canvas, a startling statement of survival against staggering odds.
Delaney threw back her shoulders, empowered by the scene in front of her. She was so lucky to be there, experiencing all of this. In a roundabout way, the fire the twins had set to her house actually had changed her life for the better. She flung her arms wide and tipped her head back. Her feet turned slowly against the balcony's smooth tiles. Anger and disappointment dissipated like fog on a sunny morning. She smiled into the wild blue and sucked in a breath of air pungent with pine.
Whether he'd intended to or not, Trey's cooling off had brought her to this moment and she was grateful.
Tomorrow was soon enough to tour the empty suites with her notes. She'd already put in the best part of the day.
Right now, she had something better to do.
His dinner meeting dragged on endlessly. John Westlake and Ian Blackley, two of the Weatherall Hotels' top marketing executives, had brought a lot to the table. They'd discussed the impending buyout of a smaller chain of hotels and the latest talks with the union.
But Trey couldn't help but think the conversation could have taken place via a conference call and through a couple of e-mails.
He looked around at the trendy restaurant. It was the type of venue he'd frequented whenever he worked in Toronto with its cutting-edge decor and gourmet food. He glanced across the table to John and Ian and wondered if this meeting was more about being spotted at the new hot spot in town than bringing him up to speed on business.
"What's up, Trey?" John said when Trey turned down a second round of drinks. "Used to turnin' in at sundown out there at the Nirvana? All that fishin' and whittlin' got y' all tuckered out?"
Trey knew John was trying to be funny, but tonight his bad country-folk imitation came off a bit more mean-spirited than humorous.
Ian turned to face Trey. "Tell us, old buddy, how much longer can you hold out? You really took one for the team when you agreed to run the Nirvana till Ethan chooses a permanent manager." He winked at his friend. "That's why we cooked up this `business dinner."'
Cooked up? Trey felt his jaw tighten. He flew all the way here for sushi and martinis?
Ian continued talking, but his words bounced across the table like a Ping-Pong ball, not sticking long enough in his brain to register. "I was worried R.W. was going to send me out there to the boonies. Darlene would have killed me. I promised her I'd be around for the kids' soccer games this summer."
Trey shot his fingers through his hair and signaled for the waiter. He'd been tricked. Albeit, they thought they were doing him a favor. And truthfully, a couple of weeks ago he probably would have appreciated the ruse.
"Hold on, guys. It's not that bad out there. There is life beyond the Nirvana's walls." The teeming artist community, headed up by Delaney's good friend Alison, jumped to mind.
"Oh, come on, Trey," Ian said. "Nobody actually lives like that, at least not permanently." John and Ian exchanged amused glances. "Nobody you'd want to know anyway" The pair burst into laughter at the lame joke and began to gather up their papers. "Okay, since you're obviously done in, we'll call it a night."
Trey pushed back his chair. "Fine. I'll hit the downtown Weatherall and grab some sleep before flying out tomorrow. My new artistic director, Delaney Forbes, has a full day lined up for me."
Ian clicked shut his briefcase and grinned. "Delaney? Now that sounds interesting."
Blood rushed to his face. He never should have even mentioned her name. "Yeah, I've hired an assistant to help finish up the penthouse"
"Well, that explains a lot, my friend," said John. "Now we understand. She's probably good-looking. Leave it to you to find the only beauty in town and then have the good sense to hire her."
"Naw, guys," Trey said. "It's not like that" Well, it sort of was, but they didn't need to know the details.
John leaned in toward Trey. "So, anything you want to share with your buddies?" he said suggestively.
"Not that it's any of your business, but she is leaving for Paris in a couple of weeks, and I'll probably never see her again after that."
"So she's just another name in the infamous black book?"
Trey recalled the pact he and Delaney had struck on the terrace. They'd agreed to keep it light. Respect each other's career path. They hadn't actually said nonexclusive, but it was implied.
"Yeah, I guess so" A few days ago the no-stringsattached deal had sounded perfect. Tonight he was having trouble drumming up the same enthusiasm.
"You're a lucky man, Sullivan," Ian said. He looked at his friend and laughed. "Just don't screw it up by falling for her."
"Are you kidding? When was the last time I let a woman lead me around by the ear. I'm not like you two schmucks," he said, faux punching John in the shoulder.
"Hey, you're not invincible. We're just waiting for the day when you'll meet a woman who will change your tune."
They'd reached the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Trey opened the door of a waiting cab and turned to John and Ian. "Don't hold your breath, guys. R.W.'s got me lined up for the Moroccan job. White beaches, long cool drinks, beautiful women-here I come."
He watched the two men make their way toward the underground parking lot as his taxi pulled away from the curb. He conjured up an image of the Moroccan hotel. A massive, gleaming white stucco castle, marbletiled floors, rich tapestries, mouthwatering cuisine, easily the most luxurious hotel in the Weatherall chain.
And he was the lucky son of a gun who got to work there for a couple of months. He threw his head back against the backseat's headrest. Why did Delaney Forbes have to come along and change everything?
The hasty trip across town to her house had been too short for any second-guessing of the plan. She rummaged through her hallway closet, her hands landing instinctively on the stash of blank canvases she'd placed there over four years before. She piled them beside her on the hall floor. Reaching deeper into the closet, she felt for the metal box that held her oils and brushes. The jumble of shoes and boots released their hold and the box fairly flew from the floor to her hands. She settled the container next to the canvases and headed toward the back door and the fresher air of the backyard. The faint acrid smell of smoke still lingered in the rooms, reminding her again how lucky she was to be installed at the Nirvana.
Quickly dialing the combination of the garden shed's lock, she swung open the squeaky door. A glance across the hedge confirmed that Flo wasn't at home. Delaney drew a sigh of relief and entered the shed. She was in a hurry and knew Flo's appearance on the scene would require an explanation. Why was she dragging out her old painting drop sheets? Was she going to paint something? Questions Delaney wasn't ready to answer just yet.
An hour later, an exhausted but excited Delaney stood on her suite's balcony, its terra-cotta-tiled floor draped with the drop sheet, clenching a number two paintbrush between her shaking fingers. Slowly, she drew a deep breath until her lungs could hold no more, before releasing an equally long exhale. She opened her eyes and turned to face down her past and a small, blank canvas.
She looked past the rail to the shore. The sun's light was paler now, the vivid colors from earlier were now subdued. She studied her loaded palette for a moment before dipping the bristles into a smear of color. Instinctively she knew exactly what she wanted to say with the paint. Her strokes were hurried but sure. Her heart pressed against her chest, filled to capacity with joy. Her hands flew. She was painting again and all fear of failure slipped away. This one was for her eyes only.
It was dusk when she finished. She stretched and twisted her aching arms until the stiffness eased. She was exhausted but happy. A rudimentary cleanup of the patio and stained hands, and then she hit the bed, fully clothed, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Delaney woke at sunrise. At first, when the sun's weak rays began to seep into the darkness, lightening it to a hazy murkiness, she snuggled deeper into her comforter. The minutes ticked past and the sunlight strengthened, sharpening the images of her desk and chair against the backdrop of the room's beige walls.
Eventually she stretched her stiff limbs, reaching to corners of the huge bed. The morning air was still cool and she quickly cocooned back into the mattress, hugging her knees to her chest. The stubby cotton of yesterday's T-shirt felt rough and soiled against her skin, reminding her of why she'd dropped into bed fully dressed.
Her heartbeat quickened, and she jumped from the bed. She ran to the bathroom, pushed the door open, and flipped on the light switch. Would it be as she remembered it? Her eyes went directly to yesterday's work.
The small painting dominated the white tiled room, the colors singing Loon Lake's praises. Did she really create this? What she'd felt in her heart yesterday on the balcony was no longer abstract, but right in front of her on the canvas. She slumped against the doorjamb and let the painting's power wash over her. The painting was strong and sure. She smiled at the small canvas and pressed her hands to her chest as if to hold the joy of the scene in her heart. If only Lily were back to share in this moment.
Trey popped into her mind and her body immediately stiffened against the door frame. No, she decided almost immediately. Their previously clearly defined relationship was already muddied with unexpected emotions. She wasn't ready to share this most intimate and lifechanging experience with Trey, a man whose opinion, she realized, mattered a great deal more to her than she was comfortable with.