“Sit,” she ordered, and Balto immediately sat down. Jake gave her an approving smile and kissed the side of her forehead. He’d told her a number of times she was way too soft with Balto.
“I thought we could stop in Vancouver for a walk and then have lunch there,” Jake said, above the noise of the ferry’s powerful engines. “I’d like to check out Granville Island. Is that okay with you?”
DeeDee’s face lit up. “I’d love to,” DeeDee said. “I’ve never been there before. Have you?”
Jake shook his head. “No. We can explore it together.”
DeeDee leaned her head on Jake’s shoulder as the boat left Bainbridge Island in the distance and Seattle drew closer.
*****
“Shall we play some music?” DeeDee asked, as they settled back in their seats for the drive to Vancouver. She opened the glove box and pulled out a stack of CDs.
“What have you got?” Jake asked, checking the rear-view mirror before pulling into the fast lane of the Interstate, so he could pass a slow-moving truck.
“Um, some of these might be embarrassing,” DeeDee said, turning over the cases.
Jake grinned. “I’m not easily embarrassed.”
DeeDee gave him an eyeroll. “Okay, let’s see. We’ve got…Garth Brooks, Coldplay, James Taylor and er…” she held a case up and peered closer. “Justin Bieber? That must be one of Tink’s. It’s sure not mine.” She put Justin on the bottom of the stack and continued. “Okay. How about the soundtrack to the Les Miserables movie, or…”?
“Stop right there! Les Mis, please,” Jake said, glancing across at DeeDee. She opened the cover and removed the disk. “Good choice,” DeeDee said, leaning forward to insert the CD.
“Hey, I forgot to tell you, my singing group is putting on a show,” Jake said. “Auditions are next week. I need some practice.”
“Hmm,” DeeDee said, trying to keep a straight face. Jake’s love of singing was not matched by his vocal ability, but she would never want to hurt his feelings. “Well, I guess this is the perfect opportunity. Go for it.”
The CD started to play ‘Do you Hear the People Sing’ and Jake’s head immediately started moving in time to the music. He burst into song a few bars in, and DeeDee covered her smile with her hand while Balto whined from his spot in the back seat. Jake sang, and DeeDee hummed as the car sped northwards. They’d left the rain clouds behind them, and the day was brightening. DeeDee felt happy and relaxed. “This reminds me of…”
DeeDee had started to speak, then abruptly clamped her mouth shut. She turned her head away from Jake’s startled glance, and looked out the window.
“What?” Jake asked, but DeeDee shook her head.
“Nothing,” she said, turning back toward him. “Silly of me. I shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”
Jake frowned, then gave her a reassuring smile. After an awkward pause, he started singing again, and DeeDee reflected on her gaffe. This CD always reminded her of the time years before when she and Lyle had taken a trip to London without their children. They’d seen Les Miserables at the Shaftesbury Theatre, and afterwards they’d eaten at Joe Allen’s restaurant in Covent Garden. Robert De Niro was also dining there that night, just a couple of tables away.
She’d wanted to tell Jake that the waitress had said De Niro was charming and had left a very generous tip. Now, thinking it over, DeeDee mentally kicked herself for not sharing the memory with Jake. They’d both spent their lives with other people before the two of them had gotten together, and neither of them was jealous of the other’s former spouse. They’d made a decision early on that their past lives were just that – past lives. Watching Jake performing his unique rendition of Les Mis in carpool karaoke, she didn’t think he would have been the least bit fazed if she’d told him about the De Niro memory.
They arrived in Vancouver a little after 1:00 p.m., the drive from Seattle on Interstate 5 having taken around three hours. Jake was a fast driver, and even though he’d opted to take the truck crossing at the Canadian border, there had been a delay at Customs. This had given DeeDee and Balto the opportunity to get out and stretch their legs, while Jake and the car snaked along beside them.
By the time they got to Vancouver and Jake found a parking spot, DeeDee was ravenous. At home, by this time of day, she would have already eaten several snacks as well as lunch. Today, apart from some fruit she’d nibbled on during the ride, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“I think Balto’s hungry,” DeeDee said, looking around, “and he’s not the only one.”
“In that case, let’s head straight to Granville Island. Follow me,” Jake said, leading the way.
They could have driven to Granville Island, but Jake had said there was a bookstore he wanted to visit, so they were parked in the downtown area. From there they made the walk to the shoreline where they hopped onto the rainbow-colored Aquabus for the ride that took them across the False Creek inlet to the public market and shopping area that was otherwise connected to downtown Vancouver by the Granville Street Bridge.
“It’s your lucky day, Balto,” DeeDee said to the dog, who showed his pleasure at another boat trip by jumping up and down until DeeDee ordered him to sit.
When they arrived at their destination, there was so much to see on Granville Island that DeeDee wished they could stay longer. She’d heard about how several acres of reclaimed land had been transformed into one of Vancouver’s main tourist attractions, and now that she was there, it was easy to see why it was so popular. As well as the Public Market for which Granville Island was renowned, there was a Kid’s Market, children’s activities and play areas, entertainment including shows and exhibitions, and streets full of shops and restaurants showcasing artisan crafts and food. No mass-manufactured goods were allowed to be sold there. Everything was hand-crafted and original, and many of the artists were available to speak to customers and talk about their work.
“Where would you like to eat?” Jake asked. Every palate and budget was catered to at the Public Market, from casual waterfront cafes to fine restaurant dining to authentic ethnic snacks.
The colors and smells of the food at the Public Market called out to DeeDee as well as pulling at her stomach. She nodded towards the direction she thought they should go.
Jake grinned. “Great, I was hoping you’d want to go that way.”
They wandered around the colorful stalls, chatting with the vendors and sampling different things before they agreed to try the fare at a small Italian restaurant. DeeDee settled on squid ink pasta with soft prawns, tomatoes and chilies, while Jake opted for a porchetta sandwich with sliced figs.
“How’s your pork sandwich?” DeeDee asked. It looks delicious.”
“It is. Would you like a bite?”
“No thanks, but I’m going to have to remember some of these recipe ideas,” DeeDee said. “The tomato and chili sauce from this pasta is just bursting on my tongue with flavor.” She offered Jake a forkful to taste, and he nodded in approval. She continued, “I have to provide a sample menu next week for a corporate event I’ve been hired to cater, and they just want me to serve bowl food. There are some great possibilities on this menu that I could use.”
Jake raised an eyebrow and finished chewing. “I’ve heard that’s the new ‘in’ thing. Personally, I can’t see where it’s all that much different than serving food on a plate, but what do I know? Anyway, no more work talk on this trip, remember? We both promised. How about if I take Balto for a walk when we’re finished here? He can go to the bookstore with me and then we’ll meet you back at the car. How does that sound? That way you can putter around for a while without us guys tagging along.”
“Thanks, Jake,” DeeDee said, squeezing his hand. “I would like to pick up a gift for Roz, so if you’re sure you don’t want to look around in some of the artisan craft stores, I….” The look on Jake’s face told her all she needed to know about Jake and craft stores.
“Very well,” DeeDee giggled. “If you ins
ist. I suppose you two better run along. See you in a little while.”
CHAPTER 4
Wayne Roberts stubbed his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray sitting on the windowsill of his walkup apartment in Seattle. His beefy fingers were stained yellow with nicotine. Wiping his nose with the grubby sleeve of the sweatshirt he’d been wearing for days, he sighed, and headed towards the refrigerator in the cramped small studio apartment. He could walk from one side of the room to the other in three long steps, four if he was feeling lazy, which was most days.
The flickering light inside the ancient refrigerator barely illuminated its meager contents. There was ketchup and milk which were long past their expiration dates in the moldy compartment on the inside of the door, and the glass shelves held some suspect cheese, brown lettuce, and various fast food takeout boxes containing the remnants of Chinese food and pizza.
“Darn it,” he hissed, not finding what he was looking for. He ignored the gnawing void in his stomach, because food wasn’t what he needed right now. His parched throat and pounding head signaled a greater urgency. There was only one thing that would help him feel better, and that was alcohol.
Wayne’s preference was for cheap wine with a twist-off cap. Although as yet he wasn’t drinking it from a paper bag in a street doorway, there was a real possibility he might join the ranks of the begging homeless in the very near future. He shook his head in disbelief at how far down his life had sunk, but Wayne wasn’t a quitter, no way. He may have fallen on hard times, but it was nothing more than a run of bad luck, or so he told himself. He came from better stock than those losers at his local bar, Fat Al’s. Wayne had no time to feel sorry for himself. What he needed was cold, hard cash, and fast.
He grabbed a beat-up leather jacket from the back of the sofa and stuffed his fat arms into the sleeves. As he ran a hand through his greasy hair, the smell of it caused him to pause. He walked over to the kitchen sink, turned the cold water tap on, and splashed his fingers with water. Soap wasn’t on his shopping list, and he hadn’t enjoyed hot water for weeks. Unpaid utility bills had that effect on a person.
Wayne glanced at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. He barely recognized the red-faced man who stared back at him, and he looked away, choosing instead to remember himself as he had been in better days. Everyone had told him how handsome he was, and although he’d never been short of arm candy in the form of beautiful women, his heart had only belonged to one woman. He was sure his current situation was only temporary. As soon as he got his hands on the money he was entitled to, then he would get Gina back. He was absolutely certain of it.
He stuffed a few loose coins in his jeans pocket, grabbed his cigarettes, and pulled the door closed behind him. At least Fat Al’s place would be warm, and he got companionship from the other men who hung out in the bar with him most nights, even if they didn’t speak to him much. Once he’d topped off the alcohol in his bloodstream from the small amount that was left from the night before, he knew he’d feel better.
Fat Al’s was two blocks away from Wayne’s apartment which was located in a rough part of Seattle. The entrance to Fat Al’s was an unmarked doorway down an alleyway, but a sequence of six knocks in a precise rhythm gained entry to the dark, smoky den that was open 24/7. Fat Al’s was an exclusive club for members of the kind that wouldn’t be admitted elsewhere.
Tony, the doorman, greeted Wayne with his usual grunt. Wayne nodded at Tony, and made his way across the dimly lit room to the bar. He smiled at a few regulars, who mostly ignored him. It didn’t concern Wayne that the men in Far Al’s weren’t very friendly towards him, since he knew they weren’t his usual type of people. When his money came through, he’d be able to claim his rightful place at any country club he wanted to join, although he wouldn’t be going anywhere near the Island View Golf Club, where his older brother Johnny hung out with his cronies. After what had gone down between he and Johnny the previous day, if he never saw Johnny again, it would be too soon.
“What’ll it be, Wayne?” asked Fat Al, who was standing behind the bar, drying beer glasses. Fat Al had long frizzy black hair and a matted beard that reached his chest. He was king of the local Harley biker gang that rode out of town in a cloud of smoke on Sunday mornings for their weekly ride.
“Champagne, is it? I’m surprised you came back here after you went to get your money. Thought you’d be off some place swanky, with that woman you’re always talking about. Bet she blew you off, didn’t she?”
Wayne saw through Fat Al’s tough guy persona. It was all a big act for the bar regulars. Rumor had it that on Sundays the bikers stopped for lunch in respectable inns when they left Seattle, and had an annual summer picnic complete with French champagne, plaid blankets, and wicker baskets.
“I’ll take the usual, please,” Wayne said. “In answer to your question, the money didn’t come through yet, but it’ll be here any day now, and the woman’s name is Gina Cartwright.” He dropped some coins onto the bar. Let Fat Al count them, he thought.
Fat Al sneered, slammed a glass onto the bar, and filled it with thick red liquid. Wayne reached for the glass and downed it in one long gulp. The initial acrid taste in the back of his throat was replaced by a comforting warm sensation as the wine hit his gullet, and Wayne closed his eyes for a few seconds, letting the enjoyable feeling sweep over him. His entire body relaxed, and he smiled at Fat Al, who was waiting with the bottle in his hand.
Wayne looked at him and said, “Hit me again.” After Fat Al had refilled his glass, Wayne lifted the drink in appreciation. He knew he’d have to make this one last.
“So, I’m guessing the meeting with your brother went well?” Fat Al asked, setting the bottle down and wiping the bar with a dirty rag.
Wayne nodded. “Yes, just great.” He couldn’t look directly at Fat Al and stared down at the bar. “Johnny’s going to speak to his lawyer. The letter’s being drawn up to release the funds to me.” A thought occurred to him, causing him to brighten up. “Hey, how about if I buy everyone a drink to celebrate? Just put it on my tab.” A few of the other men in the bar overheard, and raised a cheer.
Fat Al laughed. “I don’t think so, Wayne. You just limited out on your line of credit.” He looked at the pile of nickels and dimes Wayne had placed on the bar, and pushed them back towards Wayne. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Why don’t you go home after this one, Wayne? You know you’re always welcome here, when you can pay your way.”
Wayne was silent while he sipped his drink. He thought back to the conversation with his brother the previous day at Johnny’s Mercedes Benz showroom. They were supposed to meet for lunch downtown, but Johnny said he was too busy to leave work due to a golf trip he was hosting in Whistler, British Columbia, beginning Saturday. That meant Wayne had to ride a bus across town to get to Johnny’s dealership.
The meeting had not started well. “You’re late, Wayne,” Johnny had said, looking at his shiny Rolex watch. “I told you I’ve got a lot to do before heading to Whistler this weekend. What’s so important it can’t wait until next week?” The older brother laughed mockingly and said, “As if I can’t guess.”
Wayne had held his tongue, refusing to let Johnny bait him. He saw Johnny’s employees watching the meeting through the glass walls of Johnny’s office in the corner of the showroom. That attractive woman who wore the low-cut top seemed to take a special interest in the brothers’ conversation. Wayne suspected she had a thing for Johnny. He’d wondered if something was going on between Johnny and her, and if Johnny’s wife, Cassie, knew about it.
“I’m here to ask you for access to some of the money in my trust fund,” Wayne said evenly, choosing his words with care. “As trustee, I need your approval to advance me some of the funds for an investment opportunity. A three-year advance should cover it, since I expect a fast return on my investment.”
Wayne had watched his brother’s reaction and held his breath, waiting for a response from Johnny. It wasn’t th
e first time he’d been in the position of asking Johnny to release part of his trust fund early. When their parents had died, their estate had been left to the two brothers in equal shares, but Johnny had gotten all of his money up front, while Wayne’s was held in a restricted trust fund with Johnny acting as the trustee. Wayne was entitled to a regular allowance for living expenses, but a withdrawal from the fund had to be formally approved by Johnny.
In Wayne’s opinion, it was just another example of the favoritism Johnny had enjoyed from their parents at Wayne’s expense. Even as children, Johnny had always received better presents. Johnny received a brand-new car from his parents on his sixteenth birthday. When Wayne’s sixteenth birthday arrived four years later, he’d been expecting the same. Instead, he got Johnny’s old car while Johnny was given a new convertible roadster, practically paid for with the money he’d saved from his part-time job helping a local realtor show properties every hour he wasn’t in school.
That was how Johnny had honed his schmoozy sales techniques before he’d skipped college and gone into the high-end car business. While Wayne waited for Johnny’s response, Johnny checked his nails and rubbed them on his shirt.
“An investment? That sounds interesting. What did you have in mind, Wayne?” Johnny had asked. “Another one of your get-rich-quick schemes, I suppose. Is it like the alligator burger food truck, or the exercise machines that didn’t work?” Johnny had roared with laughter, which drew more attention from the employees and customers in the dealership showroom. Wayne’s normally red face had grown even redder.
“Oh no, wait,” Johnny had said, slapping his hand on his leg. “I forgot about renting toys to kids. That was the best one yet. Renting to kids with no money who stole the toys or broke them. Well, I gotta love someone who never gives up, Wayne, I’ll grant you that. So, what is it this time?”
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