A/N Thank you to everyone reading and voting! I hope you enjoy this latest installment.
There was a long pause on the end of the line, but Craig could hear her breathing. He stopped walking. His heart rate had calmed significantly since storming out of his father's house five minutes ago. He stood on the bridge overlooking the train tracks that led to the docks. The moon shone bright enough to reveal the cracks in the sidewalk.
He tried again, this time softening his voice. "This would be the same Melissa Legacy who orders her steak medium rare, likes Pink Kitty, and snores in her sleep."
There was another pause, then she cleared her throat. "I...um, I don't snore."
Even though the argument with his father still clung to his nerves, Craig smiled, feeling the knot at the base of his neck ease somewhat. "Yes, you do," he said. "A little bit."
He thought he detected a stifled laugh, then her words tumbled out. "I'm glad you called, actually." She cleared her throat again. "I wanted to tell you why I didn't give you my real name."
"You mean why you lied?"
"Not a horrible lie though, nothing that would change the course of history."
Craig picked up a small rock and threw it over the bridge. He lost it in the dark. A few seconds later the distinctive clatter of it hitting the tracks below echoed back up to him. "Okay. Why then?"
She let out a sigh. "In that moment I wasn't sure of myself and the whole thing kind of felt like a dream so..."
"So?" he prompted. He hoped for more of an explanation. The day had already been full of misgivings. He started walking again. The steady pace of his shoes on the sidewalk helped him focus. There was still one part of the mystery unsolved.
"So the fake name came out," she said. "It was no grand scheme on my part to deceive you, only a knee jerk reaction to being in a situation I hadn't been exactly prepared for. And when I met you in person I was too embarrassed to explain that I'd lied."
Craig thought he heard a hint of remorse in her voice. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he wanted to recapture some of the easy comfort from the afternoon. Not just the bedroom moments, the lunch with her had been the first time, in a long time, when he'd felt so naturally at ease and...God, dare he even think it, happy.
But her tone put him on alert. "Do you regret meeting me?" he asked. The question came out quickly.
Thinking back to the argument with his father and brother, the evening was made for confessions, apparently.
"What?" She seemed surprised. "No, I don't," she said. "Do you?"
"No."
They were both silent for a moment. Craig continued up Young Avenue. The larger homes of
Halifax's most influential loomed on either side of the tree lined street. He fought the urge to sprint out of this pretentious neighborhood. Even though he grew up only a block away he never felt like he belonged here.
He made it to the four-way stop, pausing at Inglis Street. A group of students disembarked a bus and made their way around him like water around a river rock. A few of them wore Saint Mary's University sweatshirts.
"How did you get my number?" she asked.
"You left your contact information with my father's receptionist." He crossed the street, jogging the last few steps.
She let out a groan. "I had no idea you were related, Craig. I only realized when I saw your high school graduation picture on his bookshelf. And I had no idea I was going to be meeting him. It was a lastminute appointment." She stopped and took a breath. "I wanted to leave you a note, but..." Then she let the sentence go, the words evaporating on the other end of the line.
"Which turned out to be irrelevant since I showed up anyway." He picked up his pace. The longer he spoke to her, the lighter he felt. She'd given him answers, not a long monologue on responsibility littered with patronizing stings. "Coincidence disguised as fate,
Ms. Legacy?" He smiled at the end of this line, and he began to wonder where she was.
"No," she answered smartly. "Obviously you're obsessed with me. I'm afraid I've turned you into a stalker. And if you didn't know I'd be there, why did you have my inhaler?"
"Kind of a boring explanation, actually." He stopped talking when a city works truck rumbled by, its reverberating engine blocking out all the sounds.
"Sorry, what?"
He raised his voice. "I was going to leave it at the front desk, but there was a large group of tourists checking in so I kept it with me."
"Lucky for me. You saved me from an embarrassing trip in the ambulance." There was a lightness in her voice that made him smile. "Thank you," she said.
"It's not often that I get to rescue a beautiful woman. I kind of liked being the hero for a change."
She laughed at this. "You're not a hero in real life, then?"
"No." An image of his father slapping down the file on the dining room table and pushing it toward him brought the frustration to the surface. No, he thought, not to anyone.
Earlier, he'd sat at the long mahogany table, covered with the catering the maid had ordered in especially. The dark wood and heavy tapestries on the walls made the room seem like it was caving in around them. Under tureens, lay a supper for at least eight, but only Craig, his father, and Lance sat at the table.
Lance arrived by himself stating Sue Yin was not well and worried she was coming down with the flu. She decided it was best to stay in bed rather than to risk being sick for the wedding.
"Her family is hosting the rehearsal supper tomorrow," Lance said to his father, as he sat down at the table. He took a sip of the wine. His cheeks were flushed. "She's really happy you're home, Craig," he said.
"Tell her I hope she feels better. I still haven't gotten you a wedding present yet," Craig said, focusing on the moment and trying to ignore the twist his stomach was making at sitting in this room again after all these years.
His father was at the head of the table with Craig sitting on his right and Lance on his left. The fake undertones of this dinner were infuriating.
"You coming home is enough," Lance had offered, helping himself to a steamy bowl of what looked like squash soup. Craig hadn't eaten anything since the half bowl of fish chowder at lunch, but nothing on the table agreed with his nerves tonight.
"I'll cover the cost of your tuxedo rental as well," his father piped in. He refilled his wine glass. "Pass the soup, please, Lance. Oh, and the basket of rolls. These are so delicious you don't even need butter."
"Excuse me?" Craig looked at his father. His father finished chewing and used his napkin.
"I'll cover the tuxedo rental and any other costs you'll incur during this trip. I'm covering the hotel as well." Then he slurped a few mouthfuls of soup. "Not that it's necessary when your own room is perfectly acceptable."
Lance's spoon stopped half way to his mouth. His pale complexion bloomed as the color rose in his cheeks. He gave Craig a pleading glance.
Craig took in a calm breath. "Thanks all the same, Dad. But I can afford to pay my way."
His father made a disgruntled sound and pushed himself away from the table. "Let's not keep the charade going, Craig." He took a long sip of wine. "The restaurant is in trouble."
The needle of annoyance began to feel like a fist pushing into his chest. "It's a hard business," he replied.
"The economy is suffering, but I've got a solid clientele. I'm better off than most."
"Really?" His father's business voice rang out clear. "Because according to the bank records you're losing more now than you were five years ago."
"How do you have my bank—"
"I'm a shareholder," he said; the regretful tone was an added insult. "I have been from the very beginning, only you didn't know it because it's under a different name. I'm not saying this to belittle you. I want you to realize you have to give up the restaurant. Even with all the hours you put in, it's still dying."
Craig stared at the silver-plated cutlery, trying to form the words that screamed inside his head.
Lance carefully cleared his throat. "You're putting so much of your energy into the restaurant," he said.
"You don't seem to have a life outside of work. When was the last time you took a vacation? You're never around, even on holidays. I'm going to have kids someday and I want them to have an Uncle Craig."
"You're not living, son." His father dropped his voice. "You're going to get sick."
Craig wiped a hand over his face. "I'm perfectly healthy and if I'd known this was going to be an intervention I would have started drinking earlier." He reached for his wine.
"Don't make light of this," Lance said. "Your compulsion reminds me of Mom."
Craig held the glass of wine, imagining throwing it at the wall. It would be so satisfying to see the stains drip down the priceless tapestry. "You don't know what you're talking about Lance."
"She would get consumed about things," Lance continued. "Don't you remember?"
"I'm older than you." He stared him down. "I knew her better."
"Obviously not."
"Stop it." Their father held up his hands. "This is ridiculous, Craig. You're holding on to that dream, but it's an anchor. It's killing you." Then he reached under his chair and brought out the file that he'd taken from the office. He pushed it across the table. "But I have a solution." He nodded at the folder and smiled. Craig glanced over and saw that Lance had the same selfsatisfied expression. Whatever was in that folder Lance had known about it too. The betrayal cut deeper than he thought possible.
"Craig?" Her voice came through, wiping away the image of that damn folder.
"Still here." He looked up ahead and realized he was almost back at the hotel. A melancholy hit him suddenly. He didn't want to stop talking to her.
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"Talking with me. I just needed to make sure things were okay between us."
"Me too. And I just needed to check that you didn't hate me."
"No." He smiled, pushing the phone a little closer to his ear. He liked having her voice so close.
"No, I don't hate you, or no, I do hate you and please hang up?"
He laughed.
A car ran a red light at the intersection. Several brakes screamed and horns blew.
She muffled a scream. "Sorry," she said. "Some idiot driver almost killed everyone."
He stopped walking and watched as the traffic straightened itself out. He looked around at the pedestrians up ahead at the crosswalk. "Where are you?" he asked.
"Well." She chuckled. "Funny that you ask. I'm almost at your hotel. I was going to leave a note explaining that I wasn't a stalker or someone with a personality disorder. But I guess I don't have to do that now. Why? Where are you?"
He stared at the woman a few feet in front of him. She had her back to him and was wearing what looked like pajamas. But she was on her phone and the height and weight seemed about right. "Do you by any chance have gold lettering written across your backside?"
The woman slowly turned around to face him. And Craig guessed Melissa was giving him what he suspected was her, 'holy crap I can't believe I'm running into this guy again' face.
"You really are stalking me," she said, still talking into her cell phone.
"I could say the same thing." He smiled and it felt like his whole face lit up. "Coincidence or fate?"
"Luck." She smiled back at him.
"I have an idea," he said. "Are you up for an adventure?"