Dickens and Me

CHAPTER FIVE
(copyright 2009 Anita Birt)
Greg reached home by late afternoon. Tired and foot weary, with a blister burning on his right heel, he eased off his boots and carefully removed his socks. Kim lapped up water from her bowl and stretched out on the kitchen mat beside the cats.
Hungry, and wanting something uncomplicated to eat, he made a toasted cheese sandwich and brewed a pot of coffee. A steaming mug in one hand and the sandwich in the other he wandered out to the verandah and sat on a wicker chair.
How was she?
He bit into the sandwich. Nectar of the gods, he thought, savoring the taste of melting cheese on rye bread.
Was anyone looking after her?
He drank some coffee.
Did she have family in town?
He ate half the sandwich and put the other half on a nearby table.
He'd phone and see if she needed anything. A pizza? Chinese take-out? No harm in that.
He'd never been so indecisive about approaching a woman. Around Caroline his attempts at friendly conversation dropped like stones in a pool never to be seen or heard of again.
So why bother?
Because he enjoyed solving puzzles and she presented an interesting puzzle. Like finishing a jigsaw, once he fitted in the last piece he'd lose interest. The picture complete.
Her phone number wasn't listed in the directory. He'd get it from the clinic and give her a call.
Before eating the rest of his sandwich he had a look at his blistered heel. A bloody mess. He'd bandage it after he showered.
Kim eyed him as he returned to the kitchen. The cats rubbed around his legs. "Okay guys, I get the message. You're hungry."
He opened tins of cat food and dog food. The cats were very particular. They each had a bowl and knew which bowl belonged to which cat.
Kim ambled over to Greg as he filled her dish. "You've earned a treat. I'll barbeque a steak tonight and share it with you." She pricked up her ears. Treat was a favorite word. Walk was a close second.
Still thirsty after the long hike he opened a cold beer, flipped through the phone book for the clinic number and dialed.
"Markbridge Medical Clinic."
"I'm Greg Fraser. I'd like to get in touch with Dr. Balfour. May I have her phone number?"
"Sorry, that information is private."
"She's been in an accident. I'd like to speak with her."
"We've already been in touch with Dr. Balfour. She's fine."
He pressed on. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
"I'd like an appointment."
"With Dr. Balfour?"
Greg rolled his eyes. Touching base with Caroline Balfour was like hitting a wall topped by razor wire. "Yes, Dr. Balfour."
"She's not available until Tuesday."
Greg frowned. He had something important to do on Tuesday.
He pressed the cold bottle of beer against his forehead to help him think.
Tuesday? He'd circled the day on the calendar. In black.
He swallowed some beer.
Laura and the baby.
He'd promised to look after his nephew for a couple of days. In less than forty-eight hours he'd be Uncle Greg to an innocent babe.
He couldn't get his mind around it.
"Thanks. Forget I called."
Padding outside in bare feet he sat on the old swing. The sun shone. The earth turned. The ducks quacked on the pond. A chickadee called from the maple tree.
Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
Caroline wasn't available until Tuesday.
Black Tuesday. Baby day.
Greg rocked in the swing. Bees hummed in the flowers.
Might as well drive over and see her.
No harm in that.

As he approached the old Somerville house a police cruiser pulled away from the curb. What were the cops doing there? He parked across the street and gazed at her apartment windows. Late afternoon sunlight sparkled on the glass.
He got out of the car, decided to risk getting the cold shoulder and ran up the steps to the house. Grouped on the veranda were three white wicker chairs the seats padded with green and white cushions.
The Somervilles never sat on the porch like ordinary people. They had an enclosed patio and a pool at the back out of sight of prying eyes. Many a party he'd had with Jack and as many willing girls as they could accommodate. The old house held pleasant memories. He'd spent hours with Jack lounging on the steps talking about football and girls and football and girls. And football.
And girls. And who did what with whom. And who was an easy lay. He'd lost his virginity at fifteen to Tansy Thomas when she'd led him behind the barn at her house and undressed.
Greg remembered every single detail. He'd hopped on her like a damned jackrabbit.
He and Jack were swaggering testosterone loaded teens back then. They'd had a wild party one night with a couple of willing girls. He and Jack had taken turns with them. By morning he'd scored three times and Jack had faded at two.
The memory shamed him. If he ever had a daughter he'd keep her locked up until he'd assessed every predatory male asking for a date.
He pressed the doorbell marked CKB. The intercom clicked on.
"Who is it?"
"Greg Fraser. I came by to see how you're doing. You've had a rough day. May I come up and have a look at you? See if you needed anything." He felt foolish speaking through the intercom.
"Okay." She buzzed to release the lock.
Greg was sure he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms. It wasn't her style. He wasn't sure what her style was but meant to find out, if not now, then sometime in the near future. The puzzle of Caroline Balfour tantalized him just enough to keep his juices flowing.
For this first meeting on her territory he'd be cool. No invitation to dinner. Too soon for that. He'd hit on her at the lake without preparing the ground work. Not smart.
She wasn't the type to rush into things. Probably shy of committing herself. Reserved. Slow to make friends. Wary.
He smiled as he walked up the stairs. He had seen her twice, no three times, counting the accident, had already established a personality profile like the detective in his mystery novel and was probably way off base.
Caroline waited at the entrance to her apartment and knew precisely why he'd come. He'd remembered her. Fired up with anger about the threatened legal battle she was ready to chew nails and spit rust if he dared apologize.
She'd postponed leveling with him. If he told her to lighten up and forget the past she'd be tempted to hurl the teapot at him. Prepared to take action she led the way into the living room, wrapped the throw around her shoulders, sat on the sofa with her spine straight and her fists clenched.
"How are you feeling? I saw the police leave and wondered if you were all right." A slight smile tipped his lips. "I thought you looked very fragile after the accident. I contacted the clinic to get your phone number but the receptionist wouldn't give it to me. She said you were okay. Hope you don't mind me showing up."
Caroline's thoughts did a three hundred and sixty degree spin. She'd let him into her space spoiling for the chance to clear the air between them. His honest concern pulled the rug from under her feet. Her professional poise faltered. Her anger seeped away.
Threading her fingers together she tried to think straight. His ruggedly handsome presence stressed her out. A close encounter might trigger a flashback.
How could he not remember her? Did he wipe out what he didn't want to remember?
Why wasn't he married? Maybe he'd divorced. Maybe had children.
His eyes held hers in a steady unwavering gaze. "So how are you?" he asked.
"Recovering. A few bruises. A sore knee. Mostly delayed shock. The police were here to go over my statement then dropped a bomb."
"What kind of bomb?"
"The girl in the car insists I neglected her. Pushed her out of the way. Her parents are threatening to sue me." Caroline leaned forward. "Did the police ask you for a statement? I think the parents are setting me up. Damn them. I've better things to do than waste energy and money on a lawsuit."
She didn't have a fat bank account. Every spare penny went to pay off the last of her student loans.
"If only." She tightened her hands around the throw.
"If only what?" Greg asked.
"If only I could find the big man who hammered the doors off the car that would help. The police said he disappeared."
"The police didn't ask me for a statement. It was all over by the time I got there. Have you got a lawyer?" he asked.
"Not yet."
"Do you want me to see what I can do? I've got family connections."
The last thing Caroline wanted was ongoing contact with him and his family. She wanted him to leave. He had dropped by to see how she was doing. Time for him to go.
"Thanks. My colleagues at the clinic will know who to call." Hand over her mouth she faked a yawn. "Please excuse me. I'm rather tired."
He stood. "Have you lived here long, Doctor?"
"Three months." If he stuck around the light might dawn inside his head. A memory flood back. To the girl whose father could never keep a decent job, whose mother cleaned houses to keep food on the table and clothes on Caroline's back, hand-me-down outfits from the Thrift shop. At school she had kept her head down and concentrated on her studies not to attract attention.
Why had she returned to Markbridge where memories lay in wait? Memories of eighteen year old Greg Fraser who'd taken her virginity. Probably notched it up as a rite of passage.
Caroline walked him to the door. His return had changed everything. She couldn't stay in Markbridge. She'd work out her contract with the clinic and move to another province or go to the States. Canadian doctors were welcomed there, lured by high salaries and excellent hospital facilities.
She held the door open. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Fraser."
"Greg, to my friends." He held out his hand.
Not in my lifetime, she thought, and automatically shook his hand. "Goodnight."
He quirked a dark eyebrow. "I noticed you kept the roses I sent to the clinic."
"I didn't want to leave them since I was going to be away from work for a few days." She stepped away from the door and started to close it.
"Goodnight," she said.
"Give me a call if you need help finding a lawyer."
She closed the door and hurried through the living room to the window overlooking the street.
Her hands resting on the ledge she watched him get into his car. If he were any other man she'd be attracted to him.
Caroline turned away from the window. He wasn't any other man, he was Greg Fraser. She had to level with him sooner rather than later. He'd never be a friend. Never.

Greg drove into the garage, cut the engine and leaned back in the seat. Dropping in on Caroline hadn't furthered their relationship. Although pleasant she had remained oddly aloof as if she used her good manners to maintain a distance between them.
Kim barked from behind the door into the garage. "Okay, I'm coming."
Hunger gnawed at Greg's empty stomach. He changed his mind about the steak. A dinner of barbecued chicken and couple of glasses of wine would lighten his mood.
He unlocked the door. Kim rushed up to him with her tail swishing back and forth in a wild welcome. She rubbed against his knees
"As a potential Romeo, I'm a dead loss." He stroked behind her ears.
Kim cocked her head and gazed up at him. She looked so woebegone he knelt beside her. She licked his cheek. "It's okay. I'm not giving up yet. I'm making plans to woo her."
Greg grinned and hugged his dog. Wooing Caroline Balfour sounded like the title of a romance novel. He liked the airy feel of wooing on his tongue and the sound inside his head. It had a kind of soothing affect. He had to be careful not to spook her. A gentle approach would work best.
As he stood a looming crisis rooted him to the spot. Laura and the baby were arriving on Tuesday, thirty-six hours from now, give or take a couple.
How could he weasel out of looking after the kid? He strolled into the kitchen, found a bottle of red wine in the pantry, opened it and poured a glass.
A plan fell into place as he brushed barbecue sauce on a chicken breast. He'd meet them at the airport and plead ill health. The cause?
A deadly disease he'd picked up in Africa had morphed into an internal parasite wending its way through his blood ready to take him down when it reached his heart.
That would scare Laura into taking the kid with her or force Colin to catch a flight to Toronto.
Pleased with his master plan Greg fired up the barbecue. He
sliced potatoes, carrots and onions on to a sheet of heavy foil, dabbed butter over them, sprinkled tarragon and pepper on top, secured the foil and placed it at the back of the grill to cook.
He downed his glass of wine and poured a second. He felt better and slid the chicken on the grill. The day had been long and wearying. And worrisome.
Wearying. Not a word he used often, if ever. An old-fashioned word. Probably would fit in his novel. His detective hero had a hobby studying drugs used in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
Wearying. Wooing. Worrisome. Must be his day to play with W words. He turned the chicken. The sizzling smell of grilled meat stirred his taste buds. He wouldn't be weary after he'd eaten. He'd take a flask of coffee upstairs and work on his book. Disappearing into the fictional world he'd created would take his mind off Caroline and the accident that could have taken her life.
He should have paid more attention to the buzz of conversation at the accident scene and the witnesses eager to give their account of what had happened to everyone within earshot.
The threatened lawsuit was a clear miscarriage of justice.
From out of the blue a fragment of information jogged his memory. Something about Big Jack. A woman's voice.
Think! He paced up and down the patio, paused by the steps to the pool and concentrated on ripples disturbing the water.
He had observed Caroline getting into the cruiser, spoken to her, turned away and edged through the crowd.
"I'm damned sure that's Big Jack Weaver." A shabbily dressed woman had jostled past him. "Got to get home. Don't want nothin' to do with the cops." She had said.
Was Big Jack the man who'd smashed the doors off the car? Shouldn't be hard for the police to find him.
Greg returned to the barbeque. No point getting in touch with Caroline this evening. She'd hinted at wanting to rest. Tomorrow would be soon enough to pass on his information. There'd be no lawsuit if the police traced the man and hopefully he'd give his version of what had happened.
It might be the breakthrough he needed to move up a notch in her estimation. Starting at the bottom of the relationship ladder was tough going. He wasn't even closely acquainted with her. He didn't have a solid foundation to work on.
Not like he was a real friend or lover.
Nice thought. Friend and lover had a nice ring to it.
Using a fork he lifted the chicken on to a plate, added the vegetables and sat at the patio table to eat.
Ringing changes into his so-called relationship with Caroline required concentration and time, both of which would soon be in short supply.
Soon he'd be responsible for a six month old infant.
As the moment of truth crept inexorably closer he vowed to keep it in perspective. He was organized down to the last box of baby cereal, jars of food for a little person, soap, oil, shampoo, packages of diapers and ointment for the dreaded diaper rash.
He'd factored out fear. A grown man could cope with a baby. He flicked a piece of meat to Kim sitting patiently beside the table. It disappeared in one gulp.
"No point getting my gut in a knot tonight, is there? The kid's coming whether we like it or not." Kim seemed to approve.
He'd decided not to fake a deadly illness to avoid caring for the baby. What could possibly go wrong in forty-eight hours? The kid probably slept eight, nine or ten hours a night. Babies, as far as he knew, napped during the day.
Greg puzzled over the math. "Nine hours at night added to four hours napping during the day came to thirteen. That meant he had to actually mind David for eleven hours out of twenty-four. Dead easy. Why hadn't he thought of that before?"
By saying the words out loud the whole enterprise had a better feel and less like a he was heading into an uncharted minefield.
He stood and stretched. The last lingering rays of the sun cast long shadows across the pool. Gathering up his plate, wine glass and utensils he meandered into the house and stowed them in the dishwasher.
He'd hit the sack early after he examined the duck pond and planned how to approach the clean up. Hard physical labor would keep his mind off babies and a certain female physician.
Why couldn't he let her walk out of his life? What was it? An attraction. Something drawing them together?
Did she feel it? Or was he dreaming in primary colors?
His life was so out of whack right now it was like being adrift without a close friend to confide in. What he should do is track down some high school acquaintances. It was time to build a life in Canada and where better to start than Markbridge.
At the back of his mind his novel cried out for attention. Not exactly enthused about spending lonely days as a writer he postponed making plans for its immediate future.
Now was not the time to add other burdens to his already overburdened life. He'd put his novel on hold until he was free of baby minding chores.
Friends required attention and his attention was already fully engaged.

He wakened on Monday morning to the sound of a robin singing its heart out in the maple tree. Sunshine slanted through his bedroom window. Kim trotted over, put her front paws on the bed and woofed at him.
Her doggy breath jolted Greg out of any desire to linger. He swung his legs over the side and headed for the bathroom. As he shaved and showered he decided to make the most of his last day of freedom.
First he'd get in touch with Caroline and tell her about Big Jack Weaver. Then he'd start on the duck pond. A dirty job he'd liked as a kid, liked the feel of mud squishing through his toes. He'd replaced the bandage on his blistered heel, pulled on a pair of white socks and stuck his feet in ratty old sneakers.
Whistling he dressed and headed for the kitchen and breakfast. While the coffee brewed, he drank a large glass of orange juice and toasted a bagel. He fed Kim, Mew and Stew, checked the African violets, watered them and sat down to breakfast.
Everything in order.
Eager to start work on the duck pond, he ate quickly. Now to get in touch with Caroline. He phoned the clinic and met with the same unyielding answer from the receptionist.
"Sorry, Mr. Fraser. I appreciate your concern for Dr. Balfour but I can't bend the rules and give you her phone number."
"I have important information for her."
"I will tell her you called and are anxious to contact her. Does she have your phone number?"
"Yes. Thanks for your help."
He'd given Caroline his card at the clinic. Had she taken it home or torn it up? She'd kept the roses. Maybe she'd kept the card.
"Come on, Kim. Let's go."
The ducks quacked and scolded as he sloshed into the pond with a shovel over his shoulder. "Out of the way, guys or I'll throw mud on you." The birds retreated down the hill. Kim circled around them until they hunkered down and stopped fussing.
"Good dog," Greg shouted. "Keep them quiet."
The sun beat down as he shoveled wet mucky goop out of the pond. Sweat beaded his face and dripped down the back of his neck. Mud splattered his hair, T-shirt and shorts.
There was more muck in the bottom than he expected. It was a two or three day job. He'd have to postpone it until Laura returned to collect David.
Kim suddenly charged up the hill barking. Greg raised his head and swiped the back of his hand over his eyes to clear the sweat.
A car had stopped by the side of the garage. Greg mouthed a few silent oaths at the interruption. Unless he dived into the dirty water he had nowhere to hide.
"Mr. Fraser."
Her voice was unmistakable.
Dr. Balfour waved at him. "They phoned from the clinic. Said you had some important information for me."
"Come on over." Greg called out. "Kim won't bother you. She likes company."