"Don't you just ever sit and think and let your mind wander?"
"It's too little to be out alone," I joked.
Larissa said, "No, I'm serious. I get some of my best ideas just sitting someplace quiet and letting my mind drift around to whatever it wants to think about."
I shook my head. "I've never done it."
"Try it some time."
*****
When I went home, once again having eaten way too much. I curled up on the couch, automatically reaching for a book.
No, we would try this Larissa's way.
I put the book down and looked around my house. Let my mind wander where it wants to go.
I wondered what was on TV. I reached for the remote control, and then pulled away. I managed to stick it out for ten painful minutes, and then I had to give up. During that time, I'd been nearly as itchy as I'd been at the spa.
Maybe Annika was on to something. Maybe it was because I couldn't relax that I got so itchy.
But did it really matter? All this mind wandering stuff, it just seemed dangerous to me. Who knew what I'd think about if I could think about anything?
I picked up my crocheting and lost myself in the stitches and the caress of the yarn over my fingers. The shawl was beautiful, but it wasn't progressing as quickly as I'd hoped, and I did want it finished by the time Ian came home.
He'd said he'd been doing a lot of thinking. What about? Could I ask him when he called? If our last phone call were any indication, he wouldn't tell me a thing if I did ask him.
In contrast to Kegan, who'd been almost immediately open with me about his loss and his pain. Why couldn't my husband open up like that? My psychology degree had taught me that there's no one right way to grieve, but I couldn't help preferring Kegan's method to Ian's.
I'd talked through my in-laws' deaths repeatedly with Larissa and Tasha in the first few weeks, and then I'd felt more able to move on. Still sad, of course, still sorry they were gone, but closer to being ready to continue my own life. Kegan seemed to be handling George's death the same way, by talking to me about it, and we were becoming friends as a result.
Although I'd never reacted to a friend the way I'd reacted to Kegan's flashed stomach.
I carried on crocheting and thinking, making good progress on the former and chasing my own tail on the latter, until the phone rang. The connection was a little better this time, and Ian seemed easier and more at peace.
"I'm sorry about last time," he said as soon as we'd exchanged pleasantries. "There were tons of people in here and--"
"It's okay," I said, his apology making me uncomfortable for some reason. "I probably wouldn't say 'I love you' at work either."
"You don't love me at work?"
I tried to imitate his joking tone, but I couldn't quite manage it. Why was I so tense now that he was relaxed? "I do love you. Just probably wouldn't say it at work."
"Gotcha. How's the yarn doing?"
"I love it. It's being really good and it's looking gorgeous."
"What are you making?"
"You'll have to wait and see."
"I can't wait. Tell me now."
Ian's flirty tone was more than just relaxed; it was as if his parents' death and the aftermath had never happened. He'd gone back to how he'd sounded before.
"Not a chance," I said. "You didn't tell me it was there, so I won't tell you what I'm making."
He laughed. "That makes no sense, babe."
Babe? Again, I hadn't heard that in months. "Too bad," I said, then took a deep breath and added, "You sound different," before I could change my mind.
After a lengthy pause, he said, "I feel different. I told you I've been thinking, and I think I'm doing pretty well getting stuff worked out. I guess that's why that suggestion you made got me so mad."
The suggestion that we get counseling. "But I don't have any idea what you're doing out there," I said.
"What do you mean?"
The flicker of annoyance in his tone surprised me. "I just meant I didn't know you were thinking. Why, what did you--"
"Sorry," he said. "I thought you were saying I wasn't telling you enough about things out here."
Well, that too but I didn't want to bring it up now. "No, you are, although I'd love to know more. I guess you can tell me when you get home."
"I will, but there's not much to tell. What about you? What are you doing besides crocheting?"
"Not much," I said. Not much I could tell him, anyhow. I was keeping the gym a secret, I didn't want to tell him what I was making with his yarn, and I definitely couldn't tell him I was going out for dinner with Kegan.
Or could I? It wasn't really that big a deal, and it might not even be just us, and it wasn't a date even if it was just us. I could tell him with no worries if it were Larissa, so why not Kegan?
I knew why. I didn't tell him. "I'm working a lot, and I did Larissa's makeup inventory again this week."
"Did you do it right this time?"
I'd so missed his teasing, and now that I had it back it felt uncomfortable. Was there no pleasing me? "I think so," I said, and told him about the client's use of me as a model stand-in.
"Do we get a copy of the pictures?"
"I don't think they took any."
"I don't have any good pictures of you, and I need one," he said. "I'll take a bunch when I get home and we can pick the best one."
Maybe I should go and get pictures taken while he was away to surprise him. I didn't photograph well, though, never had, and I hated the whole process besides.
"I know you hate having your picture taken," he said, "but I've really wished I had one out here. People were asking about you and I didn't have one. Hey, can you email me one of our wedding pictures?"
I loved those pictures. Some had been bad, but overall they were the best ever taken of me. "Sure, I'll do that after we get off the phone."
He sighed. "Which kind of has to be now. There are people waiting."
"I don't want you to go," I said without realizing the words were coming.
"I don't want to go either, but I have to. I love you."
I heard, faintly, applause coming through the phone. "Are they clapping for you?"
"Yes, because they're morons," Ian said, laughing. "Ignore them. I love you, and I can't wait to come home."
"I love you too," I said. "Two weeks to go."
"I'll be home before you know it. Bye, Candice."
"Bye," I said, and he hung up. I put the phone down and leaned my head back against the couch. I wanted him home, of course I did. But I'd still be working with Kegan by that point, and how was that ever going to work out?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Picture attached
I made it a little smaller so it wouldn't tie up your Internet connection for too long. If it's too small, let me know.
Talking to you today was great. I bet next weekend'll be even better.
Love,
C.
Monday, August 15th
My day was a whirlwind. Deciding what to wear for dinner with Kegan took me so long I was at the gym fifteen minutes later than I'd meant to be, and even though my workout left me pleasantly tired rather than exhausted, my whole day felt fifteen minutes behind from then on.
We were running late on at least three projects, and Lou kept dropping new things on my desk and telling me that they were my top priority, so I was constantly switching from one task to another and getting next to nothing done. When I had ten top priorities, I went after him and tried to get him to take a stand on which one I needed to do first.
"All of them," was the decidedly unhelpful response.
In desperate need of a break, I decided to go for lunch. A short one, of course, since we were so busy. I was gone for fifteen minutes, and came back to another three top priority jobs. Lucky thirteen. I shuffled them all up, put on my headphones, started up my Meat Loaf CD, and just kept pounding away at my ke
yboard.
When I finally lifted my head from my work just before five o'clock, I had a stiff neck, aching fingers from typing, and ten finished top priorities. I presented them to Lou.
"Nice work, Candice. What about the other six?"
"Three."
"Check your inbox."
Lovely.
"Can you finish them tonight? I'm planning to come in early tomorrow."
I wasn't meeting Kegan until seven, but I didn't want to just keel over and give Lou all my panicking time. I made a contemplative face.
"After five, you get paid double, of course."
I smiled. "For you, Lou, I'll do it."
Lou raised an eyebrow, not convinced in the least, then he laughed. "Candice, I don't care why you do it so long as it's done."
Once the office was empty after five, I was able to get the work done very quickly, freed of the distractions of conversations and ringing phones.
Plus, there was no way for Lou to add things to my inbox when he wasn't in. Although I did make sure to not check my email, just in case he thought of one more thing.
At about six-fifteen, I finished the last task. Filled with pride and satisfaction, I pirouetted with the project files across the floor, singing "It's Rainin' Men" for no apparent reason. The projects didn't seem to mind. I deposited them on Lou's desk, gave them a friendly pat, and then terror swept over me.
Kegan.
I'd almost forgotten that we were meeting, buried as I'd been in work. But now it was all I could think about, and the nervousness that should have been spread over the entire day hit me in a sudden surge.
I pulled out my makeup bag and hairbrush, held them for a second, and then dropped them back into my purse. Why was I worried about how I looked for Kegan? It didn't matter.
I went around turning off lights and making sure the office was ready to be locked up, but my makeup and brush seemed to be calling to me. "Candice? We know you can hear us. Don't you want Kegan to think you look gorgeous?"
"No," I answered them firmly in my head. Not out loud, of course. That would be crazy.
"We think you do," they crooned. "He used to look at you like you were a supermodel, remember? Wouldn't it be nice to make him look at you that way again?"
"No," I thought again with much less firmness.
"Are you sure?"
"No," I admitted to myself. I wasn't sure. I did want him to think I looked good, to regret having traded me for some beautiful bimbo. I picked up the makeup bag and hairbrush again and took them into the bathroom to inspect the damage a day's work had caused to my appearance.
Granted, getting dressed in the morning had taken a ridiculous amount of time, but the dark purple skirt and lighter purple top I'd finally chosen looked good on me, especially with my all-time favorite necklace, a glass pendant in swirling shades of purple, blue, and green with a polar bear's outline etched into it. The necklace, my wedding gift from Ian, never failed to earn me at least one compliment every time I wore it, and its weight at my neck was comforting.
From the neck down, everything was fine. From the neck up, I was slightly pale and a little ruffled. After I'd redone my ponytail and fluffed some blush onto my cheeks, I stood back and eyed myself critically, then added a little more blush. Oops, too much. I toned my cheeks down with powder, smoothed on some lip gloss, and repeated the 'eyeing myself critically'.
I would do.
I straightened up my desk, taking a last look around to make sure I had everything I'd need for the evening, and left the office. Lou had locked the door from the outside before he left, but I tried it to make sure.
Then I walked the three blocks to the restaurant, feeling rather like a condemned prisoner making her final trip down Death Row.
"Dead scared woman walking."
I'd wanted to be late so I wouldn't have to wait for Kegan. Unfortunately, I arrived a few minutes early. I didn't want to look too eager, so I slipped into the bookstore next door. The washrooms were right by the door, so I went in and checked out my tattoo. It was healing incredibly well; it didn't seem to be scabbing at all and it hadn't even itched as badly as Spike had said it might.
I straightened my clothes and pulled myself together mentally as well. The bear and I could do this. I was meeting Kegan for dinner, not running away with him or, God forbid, going to bed with him. No big deal. My mind tried to wander off to thoughts of going to bed with Kegan, but I hauled it away from that minefield. We were not going there.
I checked my lip gloss again, touched my neck and wrists with my little vial of Christian Dior's "Hypnotic Poison", which smelled like dangerous vanilla, and headed out.
I was halfway to the door when a new Marian Keyes novel caught my eye. I picked it up to take a look and decided it needed to come home with me. Turning around to go to the cash register, I suddenly found myself face to face with Kegan.
"Hey," I said in what I hoped was a suitably casual voice.
"Hey there," he responded, sounding even more casual than I'd tried to be. "Figured you might be in here. Found a book?"
"Yeah, but I can get it later. We can go."
"No worries, take your time."
Kegan followed me to the cash register. I paid for my new friend and tucked it away in my purse.
"Your purses are still huge, I see."
I felt my cheeks grow warm. "Well, I need the room--"
"For novels. I remember."
His eyes met mine as he smiled, and a flash of desire swept over me. It was those damned eyes. Why couldn't he be cross eyed or something, instead of having those eyes that I kept losing myself in? I managed, somehow, to look away. "I'm ready to go. You?"
In answer, he turned and headed for the front door. I followed, half annoyed that he hadn't taken my arm to guide me along and half relieved. If just meeting his eyes had such an impact on me, what would a touch do?
I resolved not to find out.
That resolution lasted all of about thirty seconds. When we left the store, he turned to me, and somehow I was in the midst of a hug before I realized it was happening. His arms were across my tattoo and I flinched, but the pressure didn't hurt.
We held each other for a brief moment then he gently released me. To my shock and horror, I didn't return the favor and kept my arms wrapped around him. I felt his start of surprise, and then he squeezed me once again and let go. This time I did too. He smiled as though he hadn't noticed what I'd done, but I knew he had. What was I doing?
Shark Bait was all smoky mirrors and black enamel, dark and mysterious. Kegan had made a reservation for us, and our table was in a quiet corner, isolated from the rest by an enormous fish tank. It felt like dining in the Caribbean.
Once we were settled, he reached across the small table and touched my necklace. "That's gorgeous. Dichroic glass, right?"
I stared at him. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"
He looked uncomfortable. "My ex-girlfriend was a glass artist. Actually, that's the kind of piece she might have made. Where'd you get it?"
"Ian gave it to me when we got married, so I don't know."
"Ah," he said. We sat in silence for a moment, then he added, "He's got good taste." Something in his tone suggested he was talking about more than just Ian's taste in jewelry, and my cheeks warmed.
"Candy, I really appreciate your listening to me go on about George. It helped."
"You didn't go on," I said, "but I'm glad I could help."
"I guess you and Ian talked a lot about his parents' death," he said. "Must be good to have someone to talk to about anything and everything." He paused. "Well, other than your cancer test, I guess."
I nodded, unable to make myself say a word. Anything I could say would be a barefaced lie. Kegan raised his eyebrows, but mercifully left it alone.
When the waiter arrived, Kegan ordered for both of us, including a bottle of white wine. I'd never had someone order for me before, and I wasn't sure I liked it. True, he'd asked me what I wanted first, but...
/> We chatted idly, mostly about the progress of his restaurant, until the wine arrived. He poured us each a glass and raised his to me. "Cheers, Candy."
"Cheers," I echoed, and drank half the glass in one go.
He filled my glass again. "Thirsty, are we?"
"Hard day at work."
"Oh, really?"
I nodded, and told him about Lou and the top priorities. He laughed, and told me about the arrival that day of five times the required number of granite tiles for the front foyer. We traded stories, and drank wine, and laughed more than I had in a long time.
We didn't laugh so much, though, when we touched on the subject of our own relationship. A touchy subject indeed.
"I was devastated when you left me, you know," he said.
"You were not." I set my glass down hard to emphasize my words, sloshing a little onto the table.
He topped up my glass again; I'd already lost count of how many times he'd done it. "I was."
"You were out with that Danica girl the next weekend, so nice try."
He had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. "I know I was, but it was supposed to make you jealous."
"Really? That was why you went out with her?"
"Why else? She was dumber than dirt and duller than...ummm..."
"Dirt?" I supplied dryly, loving this.
"No, that's insulting to dirt." We both laughed, but then our eyes met and the laughter faded away.
"You really hurt me," I said quietly, still staring into his eyes.
"I know," he said, "and I'm sorry." He reached out and took my hand in his. "I was wrong. You were beautiful then and you're beautiful now."
I dropped my eyes in embarrassment.
"You are, you know. I really did hope you'd forgotten. It was such a stupid thing to say, and so cruel. Candy, I... is there any chance you could forgive me, and we could be friends?"
Friends. A little voice in my head, sounding strangely like Larissa, scoffed, but I looked back at him, and realized he meant it. "I think I can," I managed.
Life, Love, and a Polar Bear Tattoo Page 16
