Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight

by Ann Mauren

Chapter 28

 

  The plan was to couch the actual survey work in between fun things. Gray’s father, Dan Gregory, would be joining us in a day or two, so we would be on our own to do some tourism until then.

  It felt so grown up to be travelling internationally without a parental authority fussing over me. Of course I had Gray holding my hand (literally) the entire way and a squad of protectors at my back, so the sense of freedom and maturity was mostly imaginary. I wondered what it would be like for all of us if I were to disappear.

  We flew into Calgary, collected our rent-a-Jeep, and drove west to Banff, a trip of about two hours, one hundred and ten minutes of which I slept through, because invariably, extended time in the car puts me out like a narcotic.

  Our first destination was The Fairmont Banff Springs, the very finest hotel in the city. It looked like an old world castle nestled at the edge of a stately pine forest with a lofty snow capped mountain as a backdrop. I was intimidated and immediately felt self-conscious about my choice of clothes. I probably wouldn’t have gone quite so casual if I’d known what to expect here. Seeing the people come and go in the lobby was like watching a parade of beautiful and rich tourists, where each one was more lovely and wealthy than the next. Gray melded seamlessly with this scene, of course, but I felt like I stood out in erroneous contrast.

  He must have anticipated something like that from me because after arranging for the Bell service to transport our luggage to our rooms, he guided me back out to the car and down the street to the shopping district and into a specialty clothing store. I recognized the ‘Roots’ logo from the winter Olympics a few years back.

  Oh good. Champion clothes—very appropriate.

  “We have an expense account to use, and part of that is for proper apparel while we conduct the survey. This is something we need to take care of, so let’s get it out of the way now, and then we’ll be able to focus on having fun.”

  He’d caught my mood and was smoothly trying to corral my insecurities, which were always on the verge of a stampede in his presence.

  The store’s manager, Sherri, reacted to him in exactly the manner you would expect any female might to an unbelievably handsome customer with a bottomless wallet, enthusiastically providing her services as my personal shopper. I did not hear what the bottom line was on the apparel allowance. I figured it was probably imaginary anyway.

  There was no telling what he said I needed (maybe one of everything) but she brought out more clothes than I had in my closet at home for me to try on. Because the store’s focus was on the rugged and rustic side of fashion, I felt confident that I’d be the most expensively dressed hiker ever to hit the trail. Now I had a new reason to be embarrassed. I just couldn’t seem to win the battle of the self-abused self-esteem. But the upside was that I would look good trying.

  Though I had been very skeptical when she handed it in to me, one of the outfits I tried on was, I had to admit, adorable, once it was on. I said as much to myself, and to my chagrin, Gray had been standing closer than I thought and must have overheard me. I figured that out when the sales lady very firmly insisted that I come out and let her see how it fit. They were both smiling encouragingly at me as I stepped out to be reviewed. I just couldn’t imagine being less comfortable. Even a chat with a psychologist about my feelings seemed preferable to this.

  “Well, that looks very nice. Why don’t you just wear that out of the store? Can we get some scissors for the tags?” Gray inquired.

  Through foot-dragging and passive aggressive attempts at uncooperativeness, I was able to limit the actual number of runway walks to about four or five outfits, but we came away with six heavy bags full of clothes. He probably told her to just pick out what she thought would look good on me, in fact I was certain that’s what he had done, because the clothes I actually tried on could have fit in one bag.

  What my mom couldn’t get me to do after months of failed attempts, Gray had accomplished in about thirty-five minutes, on his first try. And as embarrassed and self-conscious as I was, at least I felt more like I looked like I fit in at our hotel. And the whole episode seemed to please Gray very much, so I guess it could have been worse.

  More discomfort was on the agenda, it seemed, as we drove right past the hotel. Gray saw my look and quickly explained.

  “There’s a place I want you to see while it’s still sunny. It’s particularly beautiful in the late afternoon. The weather is unpredictable around here, so it might be now or never. We don’t have to stay long…I know you’re tired. Will you humor me, though?”

  How could I say no that that? I just shrugged and smiled, unconvincingly, I was sure.

  We pulled into a mostly deserted, tree-lined parking area that opened to a fairly wide turn in a riverbed. ‘Mostly deserted’ meant only two or three cars in the lot and a handful of people—a couple with two small children, and a lady jogging with her dog. There was a thick layer of medium to large rocks, some ranging up to boulder size, lining the shore. As we made our way across the lot and around the paved path, I could hear the sound of a waterfall, the unmistakable aquatic thundering noise you can hear with your ears and feel with your feet and in your chest. Gray scooped up my hand and I just went with it, too tired to resist or scheme my way out of it, and too interested in discovering the source of the sound to do any mental wrangling.

  “This is Bow Falls. Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked.

  It was exactly that. The water tumbled down and over large boulders in a straight edge across the entire river, bowing slightly as it raced toward lower ground. It reminded me of Niagara Falls, especially the jumbled chaotic look of the big rocks at the bottom, with misting white froth—just not as tall, and no annoying site-seeing boats in the way. I could understand now what he meant about the afternoon sun. As I looked past the falls, upstream through a valley into the heart of the wilderness, the long rays of sun and the deep afternoon shadows added an ethereal quality to the slopes and peaks that stretched out for an eternity beyond. It evoked Fanghorn Forest, from Lord of the Rings, and I began to hear melancholy sounding Middle Earth theme music in my mind.

  We sat on the ledge where the concrete of the path met up with the big rocks of the shoreline. I considered the idea of hiking in the middle of that trackless wilderness, and living for a time inside its borders. It was deeply appealing but at the same time intimidating, frightening even. It was something I could never do alone and it was one of the reasons I was here with Gray now.

  I was lost in my thoughts when he pulled me back to reality while at the same time he pulled me up from the ledge, my hand still captive inside his own. I knew I should resist it, but maybe because I was tired and worn down my mind played tricks on me and I imagined how I would feel about this moment with this man if there were no other. Was there another? If I needed proof from friends or relatives I couldn’t get it. Was he a figment of my imagination, tiding me over until this dream had come true? There was a digital love letter on a jump drive and an amazing locket he’d given me, but I didn’t have them at the moment. Had I dreamed them up as well?

  I looked around for Ash, trying to set myself straight. It was completely empty now—no people and no cars…anywhere.

  “You should take a nap when we get back,” Gray observed, and he laughed softly at me.

  I guessed that I must look as tired as I felt.

  “I can carry you back to the car, if you’d like.”

  He said this so seriously that I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. That might be a good way to smoke Ash out of hiding though. Yes, he was real all right. And he was here now, watching from somewhere close by; my senses were confirming it.

  I made it back to Gray’s car under my own power and we returned to the hotel. He handed me my key card after he opened the door for me, stepping inside to drop off the entire size four short inventory of the Roots apparel store.

  “We’ve got dinner reservations at eight, so that gives you
about an hour and a half. Can you be ready by about five till?” he asked.

  I will never be ready for this.

  But I nodded and turned to enter my room.

  Then as if remembering a lost thought he said, “Oh, this is a five star restaurant, so it’s formal. I wasn’t sure if you’d be prepared for that, so I had something appropriate sent up for you to wear…if you want it…just in case.”

  And he smiled that mischievous half smile I loved but feared before disappearing from view.

  Formal? Oh great! Something ‘appropriate’? Even better.

  There was nothing in the outdoor store that could remotely be mistaken for formal, so now I was really curious where he’d had my mystery formal outfit sent up from. I opened the closet, but it contained only my two bags, neatly stowed by a helpful Bellman. I moved forward into my large and very well appointed room, where the curtains had been opened to reveal a breathtaking sunset colored view of that mountain backdrop dominating the horizon.

  In a nook area to the right of the huge picture window was a small garment stand, like a miniature version of a coat rack. And hanging there all alone was a silky black tea length gown resting on its own matching silky black hanger. It had a cropped three quarter length sleeve jacket made of black but very sheer crimped material that was piped at the hem and sleeves with the same black silk as the gown. The tag on the inside said ‘Gucci’.

  I didn’t know much about designers, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t Canadian. On the floor next to the rack were black high-heeled shoes, in my size, which upon closer inspection I found were covered in black silk that matched the dress, also labeled Gucci.

  On the dresser was a thin, medium sized, rectangular box. I lifted the edge and moved back the cream-colored tissue paper to view the contents. Inside, on one side of the box, folded neatly, was a pair of department store pantyhose—not the kind from an egg—and on the other side, displayed to their best advantage, were a black bra with matching lace panties. I was so embarrassed I turned around, as if I had accidentally flipped to an R-rated movie scene I shouldn’t be watching.

  I’d had enough and didn’t look back as I escaped to take refuge in the bathroom, locking the door behind me for good measure. Then I turned the hot water in the tub on full tilt and let it fill to far beyond the level my mother would ever allow.

  On the spacious marble counter was a huge gift basket full of bath bombs, sugar scrubs and herbal shampoos and treatments from a place called Lush. This gift would have been like a dream come true if I hadn’t felt horribly embarrassed by it, too.

  Embarrassment aside, I tore into the basket searching for the bath aid that could remedy my emotional upheaval. There was quite a selection but I decided to go with the one called ‘Happy Pill.’

  Whereas the other bath bombs were more or less spherical, this item was shaped like a cartoonishly large pharmaceutical, brightly colored in two tones, one half orange and the other deep yellow.

  As I soaked in the tub, the scents of Bergamot, Frankincense and Gardenia first relaxed me, then “brightened my mood to match the soft sunrise color of the water,” just as the packaging had promised. While I steeped in that wonderful smelling brew I thought about the appropriateness of the ensemble lurking in the room outside. As I mulled it through, I concluded that there was no way in the world Gray could have put that together himself. After puzzling out the possibilities, I decided that he must have enlisted the help of the lady at the outdoor store. She would have seen my clothes and shoe size in the dressing room and would know to buy things like matching undergarments and fancy pantyhose.

  Sherri had done a lot of good work in a fairly short time frame, I realized—the time it took to view and contemplate Bow Falls. Probably as incentive for a job well done, he told her she could keep the credit card when she was finished.

  I felt better when I decided on that version of things. The thought of Gray selecting panties for me had made me flee the scene in the first place. But now I had the courage to return and check out the rest of her handiwork.

  Working through my bath, I used every product category in the basket, trying hard to keep the fragrances in the same family so that there would be some continuity to the smell of me when I was finished. After drying my hair I stepped back out into the room to fetch the new underwear and see if there was anything else of interest in the care package on the dresser.

  Of course there was more, including an adorable little matching purse, a full complement of cosmetics in their own cool looking case, some exotic hair pins, and another box, this one from a jewelry store. I gulped at the thought, but I couldn’t resist the suspense.

  The necklace and matching earrings inside the black velvet case were understated, but flawlessly sparkling and beautiful. A thin chain of braided platinum looped through a pendant that featured a cascade of six successively larger gemstones, transitioning in color from black to purple to magenta, linked together by more of the platinum braiding. The earrings were a smaller version of the necklace, but with three stones each.

  It reminded me of costume jewelry, except that I knew the stones were real, and I knew that this was not something Sherri had picked out for me.

  When I’d fixed everything in place, including the make-up and the jewelry, I had to admit that I looked pretty good. Well, probably the best ever…for me, that is. Which I reminded myself was not that big of an accomplishment. I took deep breaths and tried to think happy thoughts. Gray had gone to a lot of trouble to bring this ‘accomplishment’ about, or at least he’d paid Sherri to, and I owed it to him to wear a pleasant expression to go along with the rest of what I was wearing.

  At exactly five till eight he knocked on my hallway door. I was relieved that he hadn’t attempted to enter through the adjoining room door. I had been troubled by its presence ever since I realized what it was. In fact, my room had two adjoining doors, one on each inside wall, and though there were locks in place, I still found it unsettling, somehow.

  I was standing just inside the main door, but I counted to fifteen before I answered and stepped out. To my surprise, and I’ll admit it, my gratification, Gray’s eyes actually popped open wide at the sight of me, before he adjusted his expression to reflect more genuine delight than astonishment.

  “Wow,” was all he said, in tandem with a huge smile. Then, with a soft chuckle, he added, “That worked out well,” seeming a little too proud of himself as he spoke.

  “Thank you for thinking of this,” I said softly as I pulled at the sides of the dress, unable to meet his gaze, which was burning a hole in me. Reaching up to finger the necklace, I spoke with perfect sincerity, even more softly, still addressing the floor, “It was very kind of you.”

  He helped me correct my perspective with a soft hand guiding my chin upward to meet his gaze.

  “It was kind of you to go along with it…and I’m pleased at how…beautifully…it all came together.”

  He smiled like he was enjoying an inside joke and he made a show of looking me over.

  “You’ll need to drive me back over to the store so I can thank Sherri personally.”

  I was serious, though he still laughed at me.

  “If you’d like,” he said, as he held out his elbow for me.

  I hesitated for a moment, but then wound my free hand up and through, while my other hand carried my matching clutch with various quickly corralled portable beauty aids stowed inside.

  “And you can get your credit card back from her while we’re there,” I added.

  His only response to that was to smile even wider, and shake his head slightly, while looking straight ahead as we rounded the corner heading for the elevators.

  When we walked out into the lobby, that scopophobic sensation ballooned larger than I’d ever felt it before, except that it wasn’t from unseen eyes. It was from eyes coming toward me, and eyes walking behind, and eyes from the other side of the room. It felt like I had a huge spotlight beamed directly
on top of me, tracing my every step. I could feel myself stiffen in response and worked furiously to stay loose, otherwise I might trip and give everyone a real reason to stare.

  Gray was not oblivious to the situation, the looks or my reaction to them. He put his arm around my shoulder, in a reassuring hug, then held me a little tighter while we were waiting for our turn with the maître d’.

  I laughed at myself when I thought about how uncomfortable I thought I’d been modeling clothes that afternoon in comparison to how I felt at the moment. It was like the difference in comfort levels between a dental cleaning and a root canal.

  The pain got worse before it got better. As we were led to our table, if one person turned to look, I swear they all did. It was ridiculous. I wanted to bolt, but I held it together and pretended to ignore everyone. As Gray held my chair for me, I noticed that the table was set with wine glasses and I had an epiphany. I’d just discovered a way to hold at bay everything unpleasant this evening was threatening…vino.

  Unwittingly playing straight into my strategy, Gray studied the wine list before reviewing the menu. I spoke up and asked, “Did you know that here in Alberta the legal age for alcohol consumption is eighteen?”

  He looked up at me with a strange mixture of amusement and caution in his eyes.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive. Would you allow me to have some wine with my meal tonight?”

  I assumed he was buying, since I hadn’t even been allowed to purchase my own Cinnabon at the airport earlier in the day.

  “Of course. I guess it would be rude to partake myself and deny you the opportunity, wouldn’t it?”

  He was smiling at me now, but his expression was hard to translate. He turned back to the wine list and my scopophobic sensitivities directed my eyes to the corner of the room, over Gray’s shoulder, to the source of the sensation: Ash’s eyes.

  He smiled at me, though I knew there wasn’t a drop of pleasure in it. I could only imagine what he must be going through. I wondered where he’d been all day. I hadn’t seen him since the airplane lavatory. The thought of that encounter made me smile, self-consciously. This whole situation was like a mean joke, or a really awful play with a terrible leading lady. I felt so bad for him. I looked away before I got caught.

  Gray ordered the salmon steak and a glass of Merlot for himself and the lobster stuffed ravioli with a glass of Zinfandel for me. How did he always manage to get my order right? I thought he might quiz the waiter with a drinking age trivia question as well, but to his credit, he let it go.

  Moments passed and we chatted pleasantly about the places he planned for us to visit. Some places I had seen in pictures, others I could only imagine as he described them. It was an absorbing and pleasant distraction. Then I became aware of an unfamiliar sensation on my lap. What I felt was my purse vibrating and I realized that someone was trying to call me. This was definitely not the kind of place to take a call at the table, so I excused myself and headed toward the Ladies’ Room to see who it was and what they wanted.

  That annoying spotlight switched on as soon as I stood up and followed me all the way into the bathroom, not switching off until I was inside a stall.

  I had the option of looking at the missed calls or checking the voicemail that was left. I opted for the voicemail, since I was in no hurry to leave. Pulling out the little instruction sheet from my wallet, I followed the steps for message retrieval. I had never done it on this phone before, which reminded me…I had better keep this thing out of Gray’s sight or he might steal it back, since it was his, technically.

  The system informed me that I had four new messages.

  Four messages? Did somebody die?

  “First message…Saturday, August 30, 3:15 p.m. …“Ellie, this is Gray. You forgot to give me my phone back. If you happen to check messages, could you call my company voicemail and let me know if you want to keep it or send it back? I’m at extension 2009.”

  Whoops. Guess I should have checked these messages a long time ago.

  “Next message…Friday, September 5, 1:22 p.m. … “Ellie, I’m guessing you didn’t figure out how to check messages yet…well that’s okay I guess. There are a couple of numbers in the contacts I’d like to get, though. If you get this message can you please call me? 919-555-2000, extension 2009. Thanks.”

  Oh well. He really should have called me on my home phone if he wanted his phone back. Would that have been so very hard?

  “Next message…Saturday, February 12, 2:09 a.m. … “Hi Ellie. I was just thinking about that night in Reykjavik, you know, the one with the uh…fireworks? Did that mean as much to you as it did to me? Yeah, huh…anyway I was thinking about you. I really, really miss you.”

  What the what?!?

  I quickly scanned the instruction sheet for the button to replay.

  Five.

  I pushed the five and listened again. I listened to his message four more times.

  What just happened the February before last!?! And what did he mean about the fireworks? Did I blow my chance with him because he thought I blew him off? No!

  NO, NO, NO!!! Months of pain and loss swirled through my mind and settled in the pit of my stomach. Had it all been accidentally self-induced? Being sad because I thought it was over was understandable. It being over because he thought I wasn’t interested was the zenith of wire crossing. Or was Lidia right about it being more about timing, now that I was old enough to drink wine in Canada?

  Speaking of wine, I should have brought the glass in the Ladies’ Room with me. I wasn’t sure if I could face Gray again un-medicated. But what had changed, from his perspective? Nothing. He didn’t even know I was on the phone. I could go back out, and only I would know for sure that I was the biggest idiot in the northern hemisphere, maybe even the southern as well.

  The fourth message, the one I was there to hear, was from my mom.

  Darn it!

  I was supposed to call her when I got in and I’d forgotten. I gave her a quick call, explaining my exact location as an excuse to keep it brief. Yes, the flight was fine. Yes, the hotel was beautiful. Yes, I missed her already too. Our conversation was fairly short, but not rudely so. After I disconnected, I exited the stall, washed my hands, and then accompanied my spotlight back to our table.

  They must have been watching for me because our food arrived just seconds later. I had no appetite, but I ate a few bites anyway to avoid appearing incomprehensibly rude. My glass of wine was gone far too soon, but happily, the moment I put the emptied crystal back on the table the wine steward materialized out of thin air, querying whether I’d like a refill.

  “Yes. Please.”

  I don’t know what kind of escape I thought wine would provide. I guess inebriation is different for everyone. For me it did not furnish the kind of blissful solace from unpleasantness that I had hoped for. I think only unconsciousness or death could deliver what I was looking for. Instead there was something faintly familiar in the way everything looked when I turned my head, like space and time were struggling to keep pace with my vision and movements. The only thing missing was the smell of unwanted perfume. In my mind, the lag between my vision and my movements reminded me of the way something that’s pulled will bump into what’s leading it, once the thing pulling has stopped moving. There were all kinds of starting and stopping and bumping going on in my head now. Though strangely I did seem to feel happier after that second glass of Zinfandel, and I wondered if true joy could be found at the bottom of a third. But when the steward came back, Gray dismissed him before I could engage his services once more.

  “Why don’t you save room for dessert?” he suggested.

  As if on cue, they placed a cake in front us, or maybe it was just a slice…from a Paul Bunyan sized cake pan. I didn’t remember anybody ordering dessert, and that was a little disconcerting. What else had already happened that I already didn’t remember?

  Though this dessert certainly l
ooked like something I’d order: chocolate with equal proportions of icing and cake.

  “We’re supposed to share this?” I asked, trying to sound incredulous (doubtful), but coming off more incongruous (absurd), instead.

  Either way, it must have been funny to Gray, because he laughed out loud.

  I said yes to the offer for coffee, though I knew it would do absolutely nothing for me, except give me worse breath than the job that lobster ravioli, wine and chocolate cake were already doing. Of everything I’d shoved into my tiny matching purse, gum or Tic-Tacs had not made the cut, I lamented.

  I was dreading our departure. I had been stringing out the eating of the cake, hoping to buy time, but finally Gray was standing over me, so I was forced to rise. I just wasn’t convinced I’d be able to do more than stand up straight. Good thing the spotlight was on, so I’d be able to see where my face was going to land. Gray was very good to me, though, as usual, and supported me around my waist as we exited the dining room, making it appear to be a romantic gesture as opposed to a logistical maneuver—though I was certain that for him it was both.

  It seemed that he was trying to help me save face by suggesting that we take a stroll through the gardens, even though we both knew there was no way that was really going to happen. The more I walked, even with him holding me, the more off balance I felt. This was aggravating because Gray was enjoying my dependence on him to remain upright far more than he should have. There’s no telling what else I said, but I remember that Gray seemed to be having a wonderful time with me.

  No, the wine hadn’t worked out like I’d planned. I just hoped there wasn’t more disappointment waiting for me in the morning in the form of a hangover.

  The next thing I knew, it was morning and Gray was sitting on the edge of my bed. There was bright light streaming in from the window. The clock said eleven thirty-five. I was disoriented at first…but then it all started coming back to me. My last real memory was the phone conversation with my mom. After that everything was very sketchy, though I seemed to recall a cartoonishly large piece of chocolate cake. Then I panicked when I realized I was wearing nothing but my black bra and undies and Gray was in my room with me on my bed. I quickly scooted under the cover of the covers. The wide-eyed terror playing across my face must have read like a stock ticker. He knew exactly what I was thinking and decided he’d better calm my fears, but not before he got a good tease in first, of course.

  “So, was that the wine talking when you asked me to marry you last night?”

  Even if I’d drunk the whole bottle of Zinfandel, I’m sure I would have remembered that. I rolled my eyes at him but glanced at my left hand, just in case. He saw my fleeting visual confirmation and laughed at me, with feeling. I felt forced to retreat so I pulled the covers over my head. From my concealed position I asked, “What are you doing in my room, Gray?”

  My unhappy tone, however, was not concealed.

  “You left the adjoining door open last night. I decided to make sure you were still alive. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He was totally unrepentant.

  “That I’m still alive or that you came in?” I answered back in a snappish tone.

  He ignored my question and asked his own, sliding closer down the edge of the bed toward me. He pulled the covers back so he could see my face.

  “Speaking of that, how’s your head?”

  “Did I hit it?” I asked in all seriousness. It was totally plausible, considering how hard it had been for me to walk.

  He laughed out loud again. Why couldn’t I be this funny when I was trying?

  “No. I meant…well…do you have a headache?”

  He was trying to avoid the word ‘hangover’, saving me from further embarrassment; like that was even possible now.

  “No. The only thing that hurts right now is my pride. Could I have some privacy so I can get dressed?”

  He stood up immediately. Then I added, “By the way, what are we doing today so I know what to put on?”

  “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but I set some clothes out for you. They’re on the dresser.”

  The idea of him rummaging through those bags assembling my outfit was funny and disturbing at the same time.

  “We’re going to hike in a place near Kicking Horse River. But we’re a little behind schedule, so if you’re feeling up to it after all, I’ll leave you to get dressed and we’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”

  Then he reached out and squeezed my foot through the covers.

  “Thanks again for last night. It was…interesting, but…wonderful,” he said playfully smiling hugely.

  I flipped over onto my stomach, pulling the pillow over my head as well, but really wishing for an avalanche from the mountain outside to hide me and my extreme embarrassment, a monkey-like resident, with the deed to the property on my back these days.

  As we returned to Banff from our abbreviated day of hiking and sight-seeing at Kicking Horse River and Upper Waterfowl Lake—both peaceful and picturesque in the extreme—I suggested stopping for some fast food and made it clear that I was looking forward to going to sleep very shortly after we returned to the hotel. It was certainly a defensive strategy on my part, but I needed the rest very badly. I had been dragging the entire day and fought to stay awake whenever we were moving in the car. That being the case, Gray did not argue, but complied without complaint or question.

  Even though I ate there all the time back home, seeing the familiar golden arches in this foreign, faraway place felt comforting and inviting. The foreignness was affirmed by the fact that this McDonalds had no drive thru; a configuration, Gray assured me, that was quite common most everywhere besides the United States.

  Though I normally would have ordered a Happy Meal, not for the prize, but simply out of habit, and because the portion size was, after all, exactly right for me, pride was going to force me to take the long way around, and I was preparing to order the very same meal ala cart.

  But then, as always, Gray did the ordering without prior consultation.

  “I’d like the number one with a Coke, and a Cheeseburger Happy Meal, for a girl, with a Coke, please.”

  Then he looked over at me with raised eyebrows, daring me to protest. But why would I do that? Because he was teasing me again? Well, tease or no tease, it was actually what I wanted, and besides, the prize was a good one: a tiny Barbie. I was secretly happy about that. But I guess that’s why that menu option is named the way it is.

  Instead of feeling peeved or embarrassed, I just smiled at my own foolish pride. Why did I keep trying to hide what I really was when no one was ever fooled, not even me?

  We returned to The Fairmont where I followed Gray and the McDonald’s bag into his room and ate fast food with him on his couch while he flipped channels.

  It seemed an extremely unlikely choice on his part, but he landed and stayed on a channel showing the movie “The Princess Bride.” It was the scene where the kidnapped Princess Buttercup is being hoisted up the ‘Cliffs of Insanity’ by her abductors, one of which was Andre the Giant.

  I was struck by the irony. I’d recently had my own climb up the cliffs of insanity—pulled to safety by Ash the Agent. And now I was sitting here at the top of the cliff eating my Happy Meal with the reason for the climb in the first place: the Dread Pirate Grayson. Inconceivable!

  When I settled into my room for the night, I was surprised, but very pleased to find that Ash had been there. It was unmistakable, because resting on the table by my bed there was a single, petite-sized yellow rose, with a thin red ribbon wrapped around its short thorn-free stem. After receiving a similar gift from him not long ago, I had been curious about the significance of flowers and their colors, especially of the ones he’d chosen for me. I understood now the secret message this single flower conveyed.

  I picked up my phone and texted the translation to him; my sentiments were identical, after all:

 

  I love you, my frien
d.

  Remember me, too.

 

  I kissed the flower, and then placed it carefully in the arms of the tiny Barbie now sitting at the base of the lamp next to my bed, who had promised to watch over me while I slept.