Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5)

by Heather Wardell

  I nodded slowly, not wanting to consider this opposing point of view.

  "Give it some more thought. You may end up regretting keeping it a secret."

  I took a deep breath and sighed it back out. "I will," I said reluctantly.

  Lou smiled. "Okay. Now get out there and get some work done, would you?"

  I smiled back and returned to my desk deep in thought. Agonizing annoying thought.

  If I could guarantee that Ian would never find out, would it be better not to tell him? But how could I guarantee that? Since there was no way to be sure someone wouldn't tell him someday, maybe I should do it first. But...

  I rubbed my scalp vigorously with both hands, trying to scrub the thoughts out of my brain. Feeling a little calmer, I gathered up some particularly dull projects and research assignments and slammed through them all as quickly as I could. It helped, a little.

  *****

  I made a promise to myself on the way to my parents' place after work. I would not let her bad-mouth Ian. None of the little snide comments, or the praising something someone else had done that Ian hadn't done, or the raving over Kegan.

  Especially not the raving over Kegan. I'd done enough raving myself in relation to that man and I wouldn't let any more of it go on. I owed Ian at least that much.

  Over dinner, my mother was sweetness itself. She loved my new hair and makeup. I told her about the changes I'd made to the house and she asked lots of questions and said everything sounded wonderful.

  "And how did you get that headboard off the balcony?"

  "Threw it over the edge?" suggested my father. "That's what I would have done."

  I giggled. "Of course not. I broke it into pieces, actually."

  "You did? By yourself?"

  I didn't really appreciate her implication, but I did have to admit I wasn't the kind of person to disassemble furniture without a team of helpers to do my bidding and a large supply of chocolate waiting to soothe my nerves afterwards.

  At least, I never used to be that kind of person.

  "Yep, by myself. I used a crowbar. It was partly rotted anyhow, so it came apart with not too much work."

  "That's wonderful, dear. Good for you."

  She sounded sincere, and I had high hopes that we would have a good evening.

  Which, much to my surprise, we did. Until we were out on the porch drinking our coffee. She smiled at me, a sweet and loving smile, and I was instantly on guard. That particular smile always meant there was something coming that I wouldn't like.

  As a child, I got that smile just before I had to go to the dentist. And when she decided I couldn't have a puppy after all. And the time my grade seven teacher told her and my father that I was a social butterfly, and if I spent half the time working that I spent talking to my friends I'd get straight As, and so she decided that I couldn't go to Wonderland for my birthday with my friends like I'd planned.

  And, now, apparently, when she was about to start her favorite pastime of Ian bashing. "When exactly will Ian be back, Candice?"

  "This Saturday."

  "Oh, that should be lovely for you. I'm sure it's been strange not having him around."

  More than you know, Mom. "Yes, it has been."

  Why, oh why, did I always fall for it when she was nice? Somehow I believed, every single time, that she was going to be kind and caring, even though I should have known it wasn't not going to happen.

  A zebra doesn't change its spots, as Larissa was fond of saying.

  "I have something for him. Could I give it to you to take home?"

  "Of course," I said, not wanting to remind her that she'd mentioned the mysterious something on the phone. "What is it?"

  She smiled at me again and went back into the house.

  My father turned to me and said in an urgent whisper, "She means well, Candice, she really does."

  Oh no. What was coming?

  What was coming, as it turned out, was a college catalogue.

  A college catalogue for high school dropouts.

  I stared at the book, covered with photos of smiling people, and wanted to kill her. First off, Ian was not a high school dropout. And second, even if he had been, it was definitely none of her business what he did with his career. And third, how dare she?

  I took a deep breath and dropped the catalogue on the floor.

  "Don't forget it, dear," she said, settling back into her chair.

  "I'm not going to forget it," I said, standing up. "I will never forget it."

  "What do you mean, Candice?" Her voice was innocent. Too innocent.

  "This is not okay, Mom. It's not."

  "What do you mean? I'm just trying to help."

  I sat back down on the edge of my chair. I would not let her do this. Not this time. "You're not trying to help. You're trying to convince me that I should be with somebody better, that Ian's not good enough for me. And it's not happening any more."

  Over her shocked protests, I continued. "I love Ian. I know you don't like him, and I've let you get away with saying rotten things about him for way too long. But he's a good guy, and he doesn't deserve it."

  "I haven't said anything mean about him, honey. What on earth are you talking about?"

  "Mom, please. How can you say that?"

  She was looking angry now, and I cringed inside. I hated causing trouble, and even though she drove me crazy, I loved my mother and I knew I was going to hurt her. But I had to start standing up for Ian. He deserved it.

  "Name one mean thing I've said." Her tone was challenging.

  My father turned toward me, no doubt to stop me, but I kept my eyes on my mother. "You may not have said anything flat-out mean, but everything you say about Ian is mean underneath. You're always making cracks about him."

  "I am not, Candice, I have no idea what you're talking about. I just want to make sure that you're really happy with Ian, that you see him for who he really is."

  "I do, Mom. I see a man who loves me, who takes care of me when I'm sick and takes me out for fun when I'm bored and buys me ice cream when I feel sad. He's the best man I've ever met and I love him and... and..."

  I was crying now. I'd wanted so badly to stay calm and controlled, but it was just so hard to stand up to her. My father dragged his chair over next to mine and put his hand on my shoulder. He squeezed gently, and I felt a little bit stronger.

  I took a deep breath. "Mom, I need you to respect Ian. It's really important to me. You can't make comments about how he's not well enough educated, or how he's just helping out in his work, or anything like that. If you do..."

  She was staring at me in shock as it was, but I had to go to the end of it.

  "If you do, I won't be able to see you any more."

  "Candice!"

  "I mean it, Mom. The next time you make comments about Ian, I will have to leave."

  My mother burst into tears. I sat silently, not sure what to do. I felt horrible about making her so upset.

  "I can't believe you'd talk to me like that. I'm your mother, Candice. I deserve better than this."

  Suddenly, I didn't feel quite so horrible.

  "This is not about you," I said, surprising myself with how calmly and clearly the words came out. "It is about Ian. My husband. The man I love. The man I will stay with forever. He deserves your respect. And I am going to make sure he gets it from now on."

  Still sobbing, my mother got up and fled into the house.

  I looked over at my father, almost afraid to meet his eyes. If he was angry at me, I didn't know what I'd do.

  He looked saddened, but he was smiling at me. "Good for you, kiddo."

  Stunned, I couldn't think of anything to say. The tears welled up again, and I rubbed my eyes roughly.

  "It had to be done," he said comfortingly. "I've actually been hoping you'd do that for a while."

  "Really?" I said, snuffling a little.

  "Yup. I've been wondering too whether Ian was right for you--"

  I cut him off. "N
ot you too! Ian's a good person, and--"

  In his turn, he cut me off. "I don't mean that at all. Because you weren't defending him I was starting to wonder whether you really wanted to be with him. I'm so glad to see you standing up for the guy."

  "Dad," I said, afraid of the answer. "Do you like Ian?"

  He smiled at me. "Candice, I like him a lot. But it really doesn't matter anyhow. What matters is that you love him, that you're happy with him, that you think he's good enough."

  The tears welled up again.

  "I do."

  *****

  On the way home, I thought long and hard. I'd meant every word of what I'd said to my mother. Ian was a good man, and he did deserve to be treated with respect. But was I practicing what I was preaching? Lou's words swept through my mind again, and I wondered. Was I doing the right thing by not telling Ian?

  If he didn't know about Kegan, I wouldn't have to face the consequences of what I'd done. But was that right? Or, like Larissa had said, would I just be dumping my problem off on Ian if I told him?

  I loved Ian and I didn't want to hurt him by telling him. At the same time, I loved him enough to not want to hide things from him.

  Back and forth, back and forth.

  When I got home, I fed Ninja and settled down at the computer to email Ian. I took a deep breath and just started typing.

  To: ianw@buildaid.com

  From: ninjacatrocks@hotmail.com

  Subject: I have something to tell you.

  Dear Ian,

  I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just say it.

  When I had that physical a few weeks before you left, I told you everything was fine. Well, it wasn't. When the doctor called, she said my Pap test came back weird, and she did another test to find out if it was cancer. I didn't tell you because you were busy getting ready to go and I didn't want to upset you.

  She called while I was at Kegan's restaurant to say it's not cancer and I'm fine, and I got pretty emotional. Kegan helped me stop crying, and since then we've been spending a lot of time together, outside of work.

  It was all just friendly at first but it started to change. On Friday night, I ran into him while I was out with the girls from work at Light. We ended up kissing. Then he told me he wants me back.

  I hate to say it, but I thought about it. But I decided I want to be with you. And I do. Forever. I won't be seeing him at all any more. Not for work, not for anything. Ever. I already told Lou I couldn't see Kegan any more and he's going to take care of whatever meetings are left.

  I'm so sorry. I just thought you should know before you came home, if you still want to come home to me. I feel so terrible.

  I love you so much. I never meant for this to happen.

  Candice

  I stared at the email for a long time, trying to decide what to do. Finally, I decided that I would want to know if Ian had been involved with someone else, so I had to tell him. I loved Ian and he deserved to know everything about me, and this had to be told. Much as I didn't want to, it had to be told.

  A little voice in my head said, "What if Ian leaves you over it?" I felt sick, but I answered it. Then he does. But I still have to tell him.

  I sent the email.

  Then I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.

  Thursday, August 25th

  I couldn't believe I'd told him. How was he going to react? Would he be furious? Hurt? Would he leave me? I worked without stopping, scared to even take a break in case the emotions overwhelmed me. I felt like I was standing behind myself, watching me go through my day, an observer instead of an actor. I'd sent the email from home, so I had no way to know whether Ian had responded.

  I had nothing to do but work.

  And wait.

  And second-guess myself.

  Why had I told him? Why hadn't I gone with Larissa's suggestion, seeming more intelligent all the time, and just let it all pass by? Ian wouldn't have found out, and there wouldn't have been any issues at all. Now, there had to be an issue, and I'd caused it. Me and my stupid email.

  And that was another thing. What had possessed me to tell him over email? He'd open that email, expecting a nice friendly little note from his wife, and find out that I'd considered leaving him for Kegan. How lovely.

  But would a phone call have been better? At least with an email, he would have a chance to think it through before he responded. If I'd called him, or told him in person, he would have had to answer me right then and there, and I'd have gotten his immediate feelings, and I couldn't imagine having to hear his reaction.

  But still, an email?

  I ran around and around this dead-end track for the whole day. It was amazing watching myself get work done while obsessing constantly about Ian and his reaction. I worked straight through lunch, taking only a few minutes to grab a sandwich. Working kept me as close to sane as I was likely to get.

  Finally, five o'clock and the end of the work day rolled around, and I rushed home, straight to my computer, nearly stomping on Ninja when he meandered into my path howling for his dinner. I checked my email with a trembling mouse. Looking down, I realized that the mouse was fine; it was my hand that was shaking.

  To: ninjacatrocks@hotmail.com

  From: ianw@buildaid.com

  Subject: Re: I have something to tell you.

  That makes two of us. We'll talk when I get home.

  Ian

  I sat, staring at those curt lines, for nearly five minutes. What did he mean? I'd ended my email by saying, "I never meant for this to happen." Was he talking about that? It had to be that. There wasn't any other explanation. Unless... had he... had something happened?

  No, no way, I told myself. Ian wouldn't do something like that.

  Would he?

  I felt sick and furious and scared all at once, and I knew one thing for sure: there was no way I could wait until he came home to find out.

  It was an eleven hour time difference to Bangladesh. With a little thought, I figured out that when it was eight o'clock at night for me, it would be nine in the morning for Ian.

  I sat on the couch, Ninja beside me, and watched the clock. When it hit seven o'clock, I grabbed the phone. It took three tries to get a connection to the camp, and then the guy who answered the phone took forever to get Ian. I did my best to stay calm. I was sure Ian wouldn't mind being woken up at eight for this.

  Which might well have been true. But he certainly did mind being woken up at six. Mental math is so not my strong point.

  In a groggy voice, he asked me what was wrong. I started to explain that I hadn't understood his email and I wanted to know what was going on, but he cut me off. "Look, this'll cost us a fortune. I'll instant message you, and we can write back and forth to get this resolved."

  "I thought you couldn't stay on long."

  "At this time of day, nobody else wants the computer. Okay?"

  After I agreed, he hung up without telling me he loved me, which scared me even more. I started my messaging program and waited for him to connect, too nervous to check my email or do anything else but wait. And wait. After about five minutes...

  TheHammer: Hi.

  NinjaCatRocks: Hi back.

  TheHammer: I have to know about this cancer thing first. You sure you're okay?

  NinjaCatRocks: Yeah. Need to go back in six months but she's positive I'm fine.

  As I was typing, he sent another one.

  TheHammer: I can't believe you didn't tell me.

  NinjaCatRocks: I told you why I didn't. Look, I really need to know what you meant by that 'makes two of us' comment. We can talk about the other stuff later. Tell me. Please.

  I waited for several minutes for his response to this, and was starting to think he'd been disconnected when...

  TheHammer: Candice, I kissed a woman here. Kind of similar to your situation, actually. We were talking, and...

  My stomach felt like a load of concrete had dropped into it from a great height. I left the computer and found my fa
vorite fuzzy blanket, then wrapped myself up against the feelings and returned. Ian had written again.

  TheHammer: It just happened somehow, and I've been feeling absolutely terrible about it. I couldn't decide whether or not to tell you. So, yeah, I kind of know how you feel.

  I shuffled the blanket around until I could get my fingers to the keyboard. I didn't know what I was going to say, so I just started typing.

  NinjaCatRocks: Who is she? What does she look like? When was this? Are you still seeing her?

  I sent off the message, not knowing how to ask what I really wanted to know: Are you going to leave me? Do you still love me? What's happening to us?

  TheHammer: She's the doctor here. Her name's Jessica. I do still see her at work, but we talked about it the next day and agreed that it was a mistake and it won't happen again. And it hasn't. And won't.

  NinjaCatRocks: You didn't answer all my questions.

  TheHammer: I'm not telling you what she looks like.

  NinjaCatRocks: Why not? You know what Kegan looks like. You've seen pictures.

  TheHammer: Yeah, and I've done nothing but imagine you with him since you told me. Trust me, you're better off not knowing anything about her.

  I closed my eyes against the pain. What had I done? What had we done?

  NinjaCatRocks: Don't think about him any more. It was so stupid. I'm so sorry.

  TheHammer: Me too.

  There was a long pause. I cried, and waited for Ian to send another message. When he hadn't sent one after a few long moments, I did.

  NinjaCatRocks: You didn't tell me. When was it?

  TheHammer: Does it matter?

  NinjaCatRocks: It does to me.

  Had he done it because of what I'd done with Kegan, or--

  TheHammer: The first week here. The Thursday night.