Chapter 17
Game Over
Six weeks later, Catrina opened the door to the SereniTea Shoppe and strolled in, Titan at her heels. The four elderly women enjoying afternoon tea ignored Titan as his nails clicked on the hardwood floor past them and through open French doors to the back deck. He immediately dropped and sprawled on his side on bare wood warm from the afternoon March sunshine.
A soggy wedge of snow tobogganed down the shop's metal roof and plopped onto Titan's tail. He scrambled to his feet and wagged it frantically to shake it off. Catrina chuckled. Laughing felt good. It had been a while.
The previous evening, a late snowfall had dumped four inches of sparkling snow. Although eager to share her news with Brigit, Cat remained at the railing, soaking up the sun and lake view. Ice receded from the shores of Lake Muskoka. The city dwellers would descend in the coming weekends to open up their cottages, float their docks, and repair winter damage from wind and wildlife.
Every spring stores, resorts, campgrounds, marinas, golf courses and service providers finalized choices to fill summer jobs. Even the Ontario Provincial Police added seasonal staff to deal with the influx of thousands of visitors, many of whom who got themselves into trouble on the water. Catrina had gathered her courage and submitted an application. It was a big step, but she felt ready. The nightmares woke her only once or twice a week these days. She'd been invited to fill in on two other OPP team dives, and hadn't freaked out, which bolstered her fragile confidence.
I really can do this.
When she told Brigit about the OPP job application, her friend had briskly observed, "It's about time." Catrina had never shared her struggles with nightmares or the battle to heal from her past experiences, but she suspected that Brigit knew all along that Cat suffered from PTSD.
In the weeks following Chett's departure, Catrina's internal trauma continued to loosen its grip. Instead of being mired most days in her own emotional struggles and exhaustion from lack of sleep, her attention had turned outward. She focused more on other people. Cat belatedly discerned that Brigit was empathic as well as intelligent. The talented baker and pastry chef understood people on a deep level, much like those amateur detectives in the cozy mystery novels she devoured.
Frankly, in Cat's decade as a cop she'd never wasted valuable time on the twisted motivations that drove individuals to break the law. Maybe that was why she'd never made detective. Brigit, on the other hand, loved to psychoanalyze.
Hey, I bet Brigit broke up with good old boy-next-door Brad because he, not the sex, bored her. Made sense that Brigit had wanted to get her floury hands on Chett, an interesting stranger.
Catrina reluctantly stepped out of the warm sun to join her friend. Inside, Brigit stood behind the marble-topped counter. She loaded a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and a white wicker basket filled with fresh scones. She wore a frilly white apron over a blue cotton dress that matched her eyes. Very 1950s. Tourists and the retired four-season cottagers lapped up the nostalgia.
Catrina carried the tray over to a coffee table at the rear of the tearoom, out of the gossip grannies' earshot. She poured two cups of peppermint tea, placed a warm cranberry scone on her saucer, and sank with a sigh into a chintz-covered armchair. Brigit settled into the chair opposite and picked up her teacup.
Hungry, Catrina opened her mouth to bite into the flaky scone just as the cell phone in her fleece pocket rang. She pulled it out, checked the caller ID, then swiped Cancel.
Brigit tutt-tutted. "It's Chett again?" As if she needed an answer.
Catrina frowned. "You'd think he'd have given up by now."
"He's been calling and texting you for weeks," Brigit murmured. "Maybe he has important news?"
"I don't want to hear about his f—" She bit off the swear word. "Screenplay. He's left Muskoka for good. Our... relationship is over. I've moved on."
Brigit tipped her head of blond curls to one side, plucked brows raised, mascaraed eyelashes batting significantly. Brigit was a girly-girl. "To whom, exactly?" When Catrina merely glared, she sighed. "Have you considered that he might miss you, that he has feelings for you?"
"He got what he wanted from me," Catrina growled. This was well trod ground. Brigit just wouldn't leave it alone. She abruptly changed the subject. With inflated enthusiasm, she announced her news. "This morning I signed a five month contract with the Ontario Provincial Police! I start patrolling the District of Muskoka's inland water in May."
Brigit leaned forward and patted her knee. "That's wonderful! Congratulations!"
"It's a start. If all goes well, my contract will be renewed for the winter season to patrol the snowmobile trail network."
Brigit spread butter on her scone with a silver butter knife. "What about your clients?"
"I plan to hire a student in a community college security program." Catrina set her empty teacup down and braced elbows on her knees. "As for what I'll do if the Bracebridge detachment eventually offers me a full time position, well, I'll worry about what to do with Turner and Pooch Security Services then."
"What about Titan? You aren't going to leave him at home all day?"
"I suggested to the sergeant that Titan and I do some campground and park talks. For example, I proposed to hand out sterile gauze pads and freezer bags, and teach parents how to prepare scent preservation kits in case their kids get lost."
"Sniff kits?" Brigit buttered a second scone. Apparently she'd abandoned her latest diet.
"Yeah. The parent swipes the kid's armpit and stores the pad in a sealed baggie in a suitcase, or if at home, in a sealed jar at room temperature. Then if the child gets lost while hiking or playing, a trained dog such as Titan can track it easily."
"Great idea," Brigit mumbled around a mouthful of the delicious scone.
"The sergeant thought so. My suggestion may have sealed the deal, so to speak."
"Catrina—" Brigit hesitated.
"What is it?" Internally Cat groaned. Brigit had a one track mind. Catrina didn't have to be a detective to deduce she hadn't been successful in derailing Brigit's train of thought.
"Chett's been so persistent. Why won't you at least read his texts or listen to the voicemails before deleting them?"
Catrina recoiled from admitting the truth. Her fury in regards to Chett's exploitation of her traumatic dive in his screenplay had subsided with time and logic—it'd be years before the film appeared in theaters, if ever. No local movie watcher, even Chett's fans, could possibly connect the scene, or Chett, with the Canadian sailboat incident that had triggered her PTSD.
That left her shattered, battered heart. She'd fallen fast and hard for that rattle snake, and was so done with heartache. She had no intention of corresponding with Chett and poking awake that horrible pain. Shutting him out was her only option. "He'll give up eventually," was all she said.
"Catrina." Disappointment pulled down the corners of Brigit's rosebud mouth. "You're hiding from Chett. It's not right." Frustrated, she threw her pink-tipped hands up in the air. "It's not brave. What happened to the courageous woman who rescued tiny Lilly?"
Catrina rolled her eyes. "Titan retrieved the child. All I—"
Brigit crossed her arms. "How often does Chett call? Tell me, who is making an effort? Not you!" The expression on Catrina's face must have spoken volumes, because she continued softly, compassionately, "What are you afraid of?"
"You don't understand," Catrina managed to say despite the lump in her throat.
"Agreed. I do not understand why you are blowing off a hot guy who is really into you. Tell me, and I'll let it go."
"May I remind you that he lives in Hollywood? He's American. There's no future for us."
Triumphant, Brigit lifted a forefinger. "Aha! So you have thought about it. Do I really need to remind you that Canadians and Americans marry so they can live in each other's country permanently?"
"Marriage?" Catrina scoffed. "We, ah, dated for not even two weeks. Ships passing in the night, and all that. I'm only a notch on his belt. He doesn't belong here."
"So you're saying he's a fish out of water? It's the end of the road? Water under the bridge? Onward and upward?" Amusement crinkled the corners of Brigit's blue eyes, belying her deadpan expression.
"I don't have time for this." Catrina stood. "Come, Titan," she commanded loud enough to carry to the back deck.
"Hold on. I'm sure I can come up with more clichés," Brigit teased. "All washed up? A good man is hard to find? Or rather, a hard man is good to find?" She waggled her eyebrows.
"Game over." Catrina reluctantly pushed herself out of the comfortable chair.
"You're no fun," Brigit pouted.
"Titan and I have rounds to finish. We'd better get a move on. Please add the tea and scones to my tab."
"A faint heart never a true love knows," Brigit called out to Cat's back as she beat a retreat, dog in tow.
Catrina stiffened, then marched on. That jibe hit an unhappy nerve. She refused to give Brigit the satisfaction of knowing she'd scored.
***
That evening in her kitchen Catrina cut a cooked chicken breast into thin slices to top the romaine lettuce in her salad. Titan sat expectantly on his haunches. Slimy drool dripped onto the floor mat.
"You're retired, Titan, so I guess it's okay to spoil you." She held out a slice. "Shake a paw."
Titan obediently lifted a paw.
She shook it, said, "Good boy," and tossed the piece of chicken. "That's your third treat. The rest is for me. Lie down."
Massive head drooping, Titan ambled the few steps to his blanket on the floor and settled in, snout on front paws, to watch for food that might accidentally fall on the floor.
Catrina's cell phone rang, unusual for that time of night. "Hello?"
"Turn on your television," demanded Brigit with excitement. "Guess who's on Entertainment Tonight?"
Catrina grabbed the remote off a side table and switched to the cable channel Brigit supplied. The flat screen brightened. A familiar ET hostess held a microphone to a stunning woman standing beside Chett outside the gates of a major Hollywood film studio.
Chett looked tanned and fit in an open-necked white shirt with sleeves rolled up, worn jeans and his beat-up cowboy boots. Catrina heart pitter-patted. Even after all these weeks he turns me on... She sank onto her sofa to watch. Of its own volition, her finger pressed Record so she could torment herself by watching the segment over and over.
"Jenna," the hostess continued the interview, "Tell us more about the development deal with producer Richard Cairncross. Are you attached to the action film?"
Jenna possessively wrapped her arm around Chett's waist and tucked her expertly-styled head into the crook of his neck. "Chett de Groot is writing a wonderful lead role for me."
The hostess' eyes widened. "Are you two back together?" Candid beach shots flashed onscreen of a younger Jenna, boobs falling out of a bikini, lip-locked to Chett in surfing shorts.
The segment cut to Chett and Jenna at the studio gate for another sound bite. Chett leaned into the microphone. "This film will raise awareness of human trafficking for prostitution. It's a serious issue that deserves international attention."
Jenna nodded. "The United Nations has asked me to be a spokesperson."
"Who does Jenna think she is," Catrina muttered crossly. "Angelina Jolie?"
"I never guessed Jenna Jordan and Chett were an item," Brigit said in her ear.
Catrina jumped. She'd forgotten she held the cell phone. "An item?"
"As in lovers. Makes sense to me now why Jenna loaned him the use of her lake house, carte blanche."
The brightly smiling hostess turned her back on the entwined, smiling couple and wrapped up the interview. "You heard it first here, folks. Jenna Jordan will star in 'Sunk'. Watch for it at the Sundance and Cannes festivals in a couple of years. It's sure to be another Cairncross blockbuster."
Catrina clicked off the television.
"Did Chett mention his relationship with Jenna?" Brigit persisted.
"He wouldn't, would he?" Catrina admitted reluctantly. "He wanted a fling, no strings. We both did."
"Then why does he keep calling you?"
"To apologize?" That must be it. "He's a two-timing jerk."
"You don't sound convinced. Talk to him. Find out."
"Gotta go," Catrina deflected. "See you tomorrow for our afternoon break, as usual." She hung up before Brigit detected emotion in her voice.
Damn it. Seeing Chett and Jenna on television jump-started buried emotions best left undisturbed. She scraped the sliced chicken into Titan's bowl and dumped the rest of her salad into the recycling bin. She'd lost her appetite.
***
Note to readers: The published version of the book will have a playlist. Would you like to help me pick a song? Which YouTube song do you think best reflects how Catrina feels right now?
Stone Cold https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDAd0S92Uko
Cowboy Casanova https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oM7NQQ0Lfu4
Write your choice, Stone Cold or Cowboy, in the comments. Thanks!-Madelle