Boxes and pop cans in hand, they found a bench in the shade, just the perfect place to sit and eat lunch and admire the view. Jade picked up a golden chip and bit off the end. Paul’s gaze followed her movements; he licked his lips and did likewise.
“You know, the fresh air and being here, far away from my usual surroundings, are having a weird effect. I don’t remember fast food ever tasting this good.”
She nodded her understanding. “I know. Gets to me every time.”
It wasn’t long before every last chip and morsel of fish had disappeared. Paul hooked an elbow over the back of the bench and took off his sunglasses.
“I’d love to know your name.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Believe me, you wouldn’t.”
And wasn’t that the truth? As far as Jade was concerned, anyhow.
Picking up the can of pop, she pursed her lips around the straw and sucked.
“Aw, come on,” he coaxed. “We’ll trade. Yours can’t be worse than mine.”
This was tempting. How many times had she wondered what his middle two initials stood for?
“Okay. How about this?” She took a last sip of her beverage and set the can aside. “Serendipity.” She emphasized the sibilant sound and let the plosives pout her mouth. What she didn’t add was that her family called her Dipity. That was far too close to dippy. She waited for his reaction, knowing from experience how her first name stopped people in their tracks.
He looked amused. “Yeah, I agree. It’s serendipitous that we met again.”
“No, you don’t understand. That’s it. My name.”
His ginger cat’s eyes opened. His mouth quirked. There was that killer dimple.
“Serendipity?”
He chuckled. She was lost.
Lifting her hands, Jade made come-on gestures with her fingers. “Give.”
He drew in an audible breath. Out came the information.
“Paul Ringo George Johnson.”
Jade gave a crow of delight. She clapped her hands. “I get it … hippie parents. Just like mine.”
“Were they ever.” He shook his head slowly.
“They’ve both passed on?”
“Not exactly, although you could say that about my dad.”
Paul explained the situation with his father and told her his mother lived out West. She got the impression of a lonely little boy. And picked up the possibility of abandonment issues.
“How about you?” he asked.
“Oh, I have both parents,” she said airily, not wanting him to pick up on any undercurrents. “That’s been the only stable thing in my life — that they’ve stuck together all these years. Otherwise, you might say they were the original anti-establishment dropouts.”
No way was she going to end up drifting vaguely through life, a lost flower child like her mother or always changing jobs like her father. Much better to be bourgeois, own a house, settle down, have regular employment, all those things she believed in.
And she was this close to achieving it all.
She gathered up the paper napkins, shoved them into the cardboard box, and rose.
Aware of Paul’s gaze on her, she dusted her hands on her shorts and set off again. It seemed he needed a few seconds to realize she’d left … . Or was he merely checking out her back end?
He soon caught up with her.
“This worried you?”
“You bet.” She tossed the garbage into a convenient trashcan. “As a child I was never in one place long enough to make any friends.”
“So you moved around a lot.” He sounded thoughtful. Sympathetic.
“Yeah. Over these last few years, things have changed, though. At least my parents have a reasonably steady income and a reliable roof over their heads.”
Which was to some extent, thanks to Jade. She helped with the mortgage and was now putting money toward a university education for her thirteen-year-old brother. Adrian was extremely bright. She was determined he shouldn’t carry the same burden of years of worsening student-loan debt as she had.
Enough about her. Paul was surprisingly easy to confide in. She hadn’t meant to tell him anything at all about her home life and background.
Time to turn the tables.
“You’ll be staying on Manitoulin?”
“No, I’m headed farther north. I’ve taken a week off to do some fishing.”
She paused to look at him. “Really? Somehow you don’t strike me as the type to take up fishing as a hobby.”
“No? What would I strike you as?”
Words popped into her head, almost as if she’d been unconsciously preparing the answer for weeks. The type who’d make a woman very happy. But that phrase couldn’t be voiced. She simply couldn’t take the chance he’d be a whistle blower.
Jade had been employed on the strict understanding she’d present a professional face to the world at all times. This was because the agency’s number one client was extremely conservative. These investment brokers, she’d been told, were so blue chip they were almost black. The agency could not survive without this account. It had been made clear to her that if she showed the slightest whiff of frivolity, she’d be let go. Up until now, this hadn’t been a problem. Very soon after she’d gone into business studies, she’d realized being Serendipity presented a handicap. So she’d gone with her second name, adopted a more staid persona, and that had worked well for her. Professionally, anyhow. Socially? Not so much. She knew that trying so hard meant sometimes she appeared overly abrupt.
“Let me think.” Taking her time about answering his question as to what he’d strike her as, she let her gaze wander over every inch of him.
Oh boy, was she in trouble. She’d long suspected there were more-than-respectable muscles hiding under Paul’s crisp shirts. Now she knew she’d been right. Truth to tell, she rather thought it a sin to cover up that hunky bod. He should be playing at lifeguard, or fitness instructor. She’d definitely hire him as a personal trainer. A few one-on-one sessions would do just fine … .
Her photographic memory of his personnel file she’d perused more often than was strictly necessary, supplied the answer to his question. She couldn’t resist the temptation to impress.
“Hmmm. The type who’d take up running … definitely. Maybe also, basketball?”
His chin lifted briefly in surprise. “Been gazing into a crystal ball lately?”
She shrugged. “I leave that to my mom. Except she gazes at the mist on the lake.”
“And you?” he asked, half-turning toward her. “Do you like — er — fishing?”
No need for him to know she was a hotshot fisherwoman.
“Me? I like to ride,” she said, referring to the Harley.
He cleared his throat, and she caught a flare of awareness in his eyes. “So, you make this trip often?”
“Once a year.”
This was pretty much the truth. Once a summer over the August holiday, she did the ferry thing. Other, shorter, summer weekends she flew up with Fred, who lived just across the lake and had his own float plane. Getting away from it all was the thing that kept her sane and able to stay on top of things in the fast-paced, killer world of corporate competition.
Sometimes, she needed to be Serendipity.
They continued on around the harbor. The tourist stores offered the usual mix — gift shops selling fancy paper napkins and scented candles, holiday clothing with local motifs decorating the fronts of tee shirts and sweaters. Paul seemed to enjoy examining the goods at an upscale place that sold interesting, handcrafted jewelry and glassware. He halted in front of the windows of an art gallery and gazed at the window display.
“You know, looking at these paintings and sculptures makes me think I could do just as well if not better.”
“You paint and sculpt?”
“I did, in the days when I was at art school.”
Jade almost added, “And now you concentrate on ad images,” but caught herself in time.
“In fact, just recently, a fabulously wealthy woman I met in those days called and offered me a commission.”
“You said yes?”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
Paul shrugged. “It would have meant changing my entire life. Plus, I’ve gotten used to having a monthly pay check.”
That she could relate to.
Time to steer away from the subject of careers.
She checked her watch, almost wishing she could slow its relentless onward tick. She’d already noticed Paul wore only his clunky gold-link bracelet. A naughty image floated into her mind of Paul chained to a bed and she bending over him, having her way with him. Whoa Jade! But Serendipity was having waaayy too much fun to listen to Jade’s spoilsport, sober voice.
Soon the hours had whisked by. She and Paul stood at the end of the wharf against the fence and watched the tall, white, ferry forge its way toward them across the deep cobalt waters of Lake Huron. It grew closer.
An announcement came over the public address system. “Ferry passengers are asked to return to their vehicles immediately.”
Paul turned away. “Guess that means us.”
Jade nodded.
“See you on board,” he added.
She didn’t reply but walked at his side until she reached the Harley. He climbed into the convertible.
A smile played around her lips as she donned her leathers, but by the time the ferry-loading process began, and she mounted the bike, the elated feeling that had her blood fizzing through her veins began to fade. In its place came a shiver of panic. She’d been enjoying herself way too much. If she and Paul spent another hour together, sooner or later she’d be bound to slip up, say something that would clue him in. And then the game would be over. With consequences too horrific to contemplate.
With a sigh of regret, she made a decision. She knew every inch of this boat, which meant she could probably dodge him during the crossing. Even if she was forced to spend all the time in the toilet, she was going to avoid the all-too-exciting company of Paul Ringo George Johnson.
• • •
Forty minutes later, safely docked, the ferry opened its shark-like jaws. Paul waited in his car, a mix of emotions rumbling inside him, foremost of which were disappointment and confusion. Why had Serendipity done a duck? He’d enjoyed their time together in Tobermory and had been anticipating more of the same. Then she’d disappeared.
He couldn’t understand it.
Ahead of him he could see the motorcycles lined up, ready to disembark first. And there among them was Ms. Elusive. He hit the horn twice. Beep beep. Serendipity looked over her shoulder and waved at him. Then with an answering beep beep, she lifted her feet up onto the footrests, revved the engine, and took off.
Once again, she’d left him in the dust.
• • •
That night, Jade dreamed of princesses and knights, specifically one Paul R.G. Johnson, dragon-slayer. Gurgling sounds called her from a faraway, sleepy place. No, that wasn’t the hiss of a dragon, but the coffee machine on the boil.
She rolled out of bed, pulled on her swimsuit, and made her way along the passage of her parents’ converted mobile home. Her mother stood in the narrow kitchen, pouring ginger tea into a glass mug. After many summers of tanning, Marigold’s skin was just about the same color and texture as Weetabix.
“Morning, Marigold,” Jade began. Her mother had never wanted to be called Mom.
Marigold took one look at Jade’s frown and reached into the cupboard for another mug. The front of the shelf was empty, as most of the mugs were in the dishwasher waiting to be washed. From the far reaches she pulled out an old one — her commemorative souvenir of the Beatles’ visit to Toronto.
She poured coffee into the mug while Jade considered the Fab Four. As if she needed reminding.
“Down by the lake?” her mother asked.
Jade knew she didn’t expect an answer. That was where they breakfasted whenever the weather was fine, taking the time to ease gently into the day with a swim and some casual chat.
Marigold placed both beverages on a tray with the sugar bowl and added a plate containing two whole wheat, cranberry muffins. These were her specialty. Every week she baked dozens to sell.
On the way out Jade snagged a towel from the bathroom, then followed her mother down the steep concrete steps to the small paved area at the edge of the water. Birch and pine trees glistened in the morning sunlight, forming a leafy canopy over the picnic table. The lake itself lay quiet and still, the surface mirror-like. There was just the slightest swampy smell in the air.
The women settled into waiting lawn chairs. For a while they kept silent, sipping their hot drinks and watching a cormorant fly low over the lake.
Jade swallowed a mouthful of coffee and read the message on her mug with a baleful eye. Not true. Love was not enough. A person also needed a means of livelihood and shelter in order to survive. Pity her mother hadn’t given her a glass cup like the one she was drinking from. Except, looking at the color of Marigold’s ginger tea reminded Jade of Paul’s bedroom eyes. She bit her lip. This morning she didn’t need or want reminding of him.
Marigold set down her empty mug and reached into the pocket of her loose, crinkly cotton dress.
“So tell me, what’s troubling you, Dipity? Didn’t you sleep well last night? Was it too hot? Were you worrying about work? Or was it the full moon?”
Jade gave a small shake of her head. That was modern life for you, overburdened with choices.
“Could have been the moon. I don’t know. It was more … I had this vivid dream and can’t shake it off.”
“Really?” Her mom took a paper, sprinkled on tobacco and rolled herself a cigarette. She moistened the edge as if licking a stamp and pressed it down to form a wobbly, uneven cylinder.
Jade explained about meeting Paul.
“I recognized him as soon as I slowed. There’s no mistaking him. He’s about six feet tall, with dark hair, a longish face, strong chin and a dimple.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got an eye for the guy.”
Jade ignored the remark. “I felt bad about leaving him stranded, but what could I do? I never imagined we’d both be stuck in Tobermory, waiting for the ferry, and meet up there. Then, in my dreams, I was all involved with him.”
Marigold turned her head, regarding Jade through locks of her brown hair. She wore it long, with bright ribbons braided into random strands. Jade sometimes thought, with a kind of amused affection, that if it weren’t for the fact that all things Boho were in style again, she’d look like a throwback to the era of her youth.
“So he’s very significant to you?”
She widened her eyes at her mom. “He works with me. Of course he is.”
“Tell me, have you ever thought perhaps you’ve known him before?”
Jade pretended to misunderstand. “No. We met when he joined the agency almost a year ago.”
She’d never thought of Paul as being at all spooky, but he’d sure haunted her dreams last night. This morning she was really very disgruntled and annoyed with the man.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Marigold could be tenacious.
“Doesn’t mean a thing. Or if it does, it’s telling me I made a poor choice of pizza toppings last night.”
Her mother brushed that off. “Trust me, it does. You and this Paul must have a strong karmic connection.”
Jade drank her last mouthful of coffee and tucked the empty mug under her chair, where she wouldn’t have to look at it. “You know I don’t believe in reincarnation.”
Marigold lifted her chin. She said, “So working with him, passing him on the road, bumping into him because he’s catching the same ferry as you — this is just random, totally arbitrary?” She turned her head away and spat out a loose bit of tobacco. “No. You have to be connected to him on a deeper, unconscious level. Perhaps you lived, loved, and fought in a previous life, and now you’ve got something more to achieve or work through together.” She struck a match and held it to the end of the cigarette. After taking a draw, she blew a long stream of smoke skywards. “To me this is the only explanation that makes sense.”
Jade didn’t want to hear it. “Marigold, it was a chance meeting.”
“Okay. But if there is something significant about your relationship, you can expect to meet up with him again soon.”
“I’m telling you, Paul and I, we have no relationship.” Jade jumped to her feet, ready to go for a swim. Cool water would wash away the residue of her dreams. “And it had better stay that way.”
In the distance, carried over and magnified by the water, came the rippling laugh of a loon.
Her mom gave a small smile. “We’ll see, Dipity. We’ll see.”