Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

MOON dance

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

MOON dance Ka r e n M . B l a c k

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Ricochet Publishing Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black All Rights Reserved. Published and printed in Canada by Ricochet Publishing, a division of Ricochet Consulting Ltd. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied or used in any form or manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in reviews and critical articles. For reader comments, orders, press and media inquiries, see www.karenmblack.com. FI RST EDITION Cover design by Angel Guerra, Archetype Cover image by Vinita Phord, Beryl Communications Text design and layout by Tannice Goddard, Soul Oasis Networking Author photo by Leigh Tynan www.tynanstudio.com Makeup by Suzanne Cyr www.prettiface.com Publication consultation by Arnold Gosewich Lyrics to Sowelu, The Line and Tribe by Willy Porter (Falling Forward), used with permission. Permission for quote by Bill Hicks requested. National Library Archives Cataloguing in Publication Black, Karen M. (Karen Mary), 1964– Moondance / Karen M. Black. isbn 978-0-9784838-1-4 1. Title. ps8603.l255m65 2008

c813’.6

c2007-906414-0

Disclaimer: Moondance is a work of fiction. All characters, events and some settings described are imaginary, and any similarity to real persons, places or events is purely coincidental. Real brand names, company names or names of public personalities may be employed for credibility as they are part of our culture. Regardless of context, their use is meant neither as endorsement nor criticism. All other names, products or brands are inventions of the author’s imagination. Ricochet Publishing and its directors, employees, distributors, retailers, wholesalers and assigns disclaim any liability or responsibility for the author’s statements, words, ideas, criticisms or observations. Ricochet Publishing assumes no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies or omissions.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

In loving memory of Yvonne Karkas. When it was dark, you were a light.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

What readers are saying Magical I love the depth, spirit and magic of Karen Black’s first book, Moondance. It will resonate with your heart, challenge your sense of mystery and inspire your soul. — Linda Brady, President, Creative Choices, Inc. and author of Discovering Your Soul Mission

Thought-provoking Moondance is the kind of book that not only entertains and keeps your heart involved, but also informs and keeps your head engaged. Karen skillfully weaves her themes together to create a moving, thoughtprovoking novel that will leave the reader thinking about the book long after it’s finished. I thoroughly enjoyed this read! — Cynthia Barlow, President, Constellation Learning and author of Chicken Shift for the Soul

Fast-paced A message left on Karen’s voice mail (verbatim) “Karen, it’s Dee, I had to call and tell you I’ve just read the first 119 pages of your book and oh my God it’s absolutely incredible. I am sitting in a mall doing a promotion and I can’t stop reading the book. Anyway, absolutely fabulous I love it, it’s got my attention. I don’t want to put it down ... it’s your fault. Congratulations, I can’t wait for the next page.” — Dee Miller, Executive Director, Renewed Strength, age 41

Raw and gutsy Raw human emotion where desire collides with fear, fantasy interrupts, challenges abound and hope is restored. For the avid imagination and gutsy risk-taker. A ride for explorers of life’s mysteries untold. — Linda Plater, Writer and Media Consultant, age 42

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

Visionary Moondance is visionary. This book follows its own path, as if paving the way to a new paradigm. It captures the vulnerability of the strong, contemporary, single woman in a way that is deep, honest and truly inspired with new thoughts about the human spirit. I relate to Althea on many levels. Moondance engrossed me completely. When I finished the last page, I had to tear myself away. The characters felt like new friends. — Sandra Bekhor MBA, B.Sc., President, Bekhor Management, age 39

Multi-layered Moondance is a sensuous and thrilling exploration of the human heart. Deeply character driven and compassionate, it explores what it is to be on this earth and live life in an ever changing, complex and dynamic spiritual and natural world. Honest and realistic in its exploration of modern women and our layered relationships with our mothers, our friends, our careers, our spirituality and the many men who are involved along the way. In all, an amazing feat and an incredible read! — Ashleigh Hendry, Actor

Sensuous Moondance is beautiful and sensuous and explores many of the same questions I’ve been asking myself lately. Even though some of the conclusions Althea came to were different than I might have made, Moondance even left room for differences. I thoroughly enjoyed Moondance. — Alene Clark M.Ed., retired Child and Family Therapist, age 62

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Emotionally rich In reading Moondance, I felt like I knew the heroine like a friend. I could feel her pain in the first scene, and then she falls in a rabbit hole. What a ride! With twists and turns I never expected. Doing the delicate dance with emotions is never easy, but Moondance makes it rich and entertaining. What a great read, I was on the edge of my seat. Althea and Michael have this air of restrained optimism which make them all the more human. Karen Black is a true storyteller. — Roxanne Embleton, Patient Advisor, The College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario, age 41

Real Karen is an amazing writer - the characters became very real to me, and Moondance describes an amazing tale that incorporates many different ideas into one uniform concept. I’m in total awe of how she did it ... I really, really enjoyed Moondance! — Angela Jennings, Executive Producer, Fusion Television, age 34

Absorbing I thoroughly enjoyed reading Moondance. I found the characters absorbing and I especially enjoyed all the information about tarot cards, and what they mean. This book was “spellbinding” and the romance and inter-relationships kept my interest. — Sue Spivak, Traffic Co-ordinator, Global Television, age 55

A delight Moondance is engrossing, and an absolute delight to read. From the first few pages, I was swept into the emotional and spiritual journey of Althea Brecht. — Brenda Girdwood, Owner and Operator, Brenda Y. Girdwood’s Personal Concierge Services, age 54

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

acknowledgements

As Moondance is published, I celebrate the twelfth anniversary of its conception. In 1996, I birthed the first one hundred and twenty pages in a curious, painful, unstructured wave. These pages turned out to be the book’s climax. So first, I’d like to thank friend and fellow writer, Cynthia Barlow of Constellation Learning for creating the Trust Program and for inspiring me to finish what I started. Thanks also to karmic astrologer Linda Brady of Creative Choices for helping me get to the bottom of it all. My deepest appreciation to Dr. Wayne Watson for our long, delightful patio conversations, and for your gentle encouragement, even when I wasn’t ready. Thanks to my parents Rick and Yvonne Black for their unwavering support of everything I’ve done. You’ve always provided a safe haven in which to fall. Also, I’m grateful to my sister Nora for her natural exuberance and generosity — and for helping me discover the crop-circle image we adapted for the cover. I never would have found it without you and I love it! Thanks to my brother-in-law John for graciously Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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being the Black family’s on-call computer support person and for helping me create my temporary web site. Thanks to my oldest friends who have lived through the ups and downs of life with me. In particular, thanks to Sandra Bekhor for her enthusiasm and marketing assistance, Roxanne Embleton for believing in me and holding my hand, Linda Plater for always speaking your truth and being part of my revised ending, and to Rani Bhatia for staying so close at such a distance. Also thanks to early reviewers and dear friends Ashleigh Hendry and Brenda Girdwood and to others who read and provided testimonials for Moondance, including Dee Miller, Angela Jennings, Alene Clark and Sue Spivak. Finally, thanks to friend Suzanne Cyr for her strength and for convincing this shy subject to get her photo re-done for the cover (and who made me up to look great). Viki King of Malibu, California was my first read, and provided me with inspiration and ideas on how to deepen the mystery. Deep appreciation to cover designer Angel Guerra for his talent and patience with an indecisive client, to layout artist Tannice Goddard for the kind words and fine eye and to Robert Buckland, my editor, who helped deepen my understanding of the editing process. Any mistakes you find are mine alone. I have dedicated Moondance to the memory of astrologer and tarot card reader Yvonne Karkas. Yvonne, thank you for your compassion, wisdom and humor over the years, and for graciously being the inspiration for the character Michelle. I miss you. Last but not least, thanks to my readers — I hope you are numerous. I enjoy hearing what you think at www.karenmblack.com. By the way, there will definitely be a sequel. Thanks to my publication consultant Arnold Gosewich for his steadfast guidance throughout the publication process — and for suggesting I make this clear. Life is a ride. Happiness is a choice. Savor every minute. KB January, 2008

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

chapter 1

The full, vanilla-white moon was luminous and bright, and from the highest window of her house, seven-year-old Althea Brecht stared into it fully, following its threads of light. The moon winked. Are you ready? Althea lowered her chin and balled her hands into fists, her heart swelling with anticipation. She squeezed her eyes shut and moved her lips, silently articulating the wish that started with Albert and grew, until her whole body was quivering. When she lost her balance, her hands opened spontaneously like flowers blossoming, as if her budding wish had become too big for her to hold. A familiar warmth gathered behind her, smelling like cotton candy in the sun. She leaned into it. Her heart raced. Althea found the moon again, and it smiled at her. That’ll be our little secret, Althea. Ours to know.

K

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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when althea brecht turned seven, Sophie said Albert was sleeping. When Albert didn’t wake up, Sophie said Albert was dead. As Althea approached her eighth birthday, she knew that Albert wasn’t coming home. And that the moon sometimes lied.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

chapter 2

Althea and Tori Althea raced ahead, using both hands to turn the heavy brass of the door handle. At the top of the stairs, the door creaked — a low, aching sound — and the two girls surveyed the immaculate room. An expanse of bay windows mirrored their slight forms, as if they were embedded in black ice. Althea and Tori climbed onto the high, antique bed and sat facing one another. The fatty richness of roast beef hung in the air: the birthday girl’s favorite meal. “I want to show you who we’ve met,” Althea said. She reached behind her head to tighten her ponytail, which flowed to the center of her back — thick, wavy and strawberry blond. “There’s Stewart from the Crusades, and the two girls who move in loops and love Elvis, they’re so funny, and Thomas who was a sailor, though he might not come if Sophie’s not here. He spells riddles and gets pissed off if you joke too much.” Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Tori shifted, a frown on her face. She was a tiny girl, olive skinned, and three years older than Althea: eleven going on thirty-five. “We should be careful,” Tori said, “My mom says —” “Sophie says it’s safe to play, as long as you stay in control.” Althea placed a thin wooden board across their knees, and pulled a pen and red notebook out of her hoodie pocket. Half the pages were loose, and half were tight. She moved Tori’s hand to the surface of a flat, heart-shaped pointer, and placed her own hand opposite, their fingertips lightly touching. “We want to know who’s out there. Is anyone out there today?” The pointer sat motionless. After a few seconds, it moved, tentatively at first, then picking up speed. “Feels like you’re pushing it,” Tori said. “You feel like I’m pushing it, and I feel like you’re pushing it, but it’s not us. It’s them. Shhhh.” The pointer moved in a circle and came to rest, as if at attention. Althea’s voice rose. “Who are we speaking with?” The pointer moved immediately this time, doing three loops across the board, like three handwritten e’s, touching each letter briefly before moving to the next. The movement was graceful and precise. “A,” Tori said. “L B —” “That’s not possible,” Althea said, looking up from her notebook. The pointer circled YES, then curved to the center of the board. Althea flushed, her heart a ticklish ache. A year ago, her step-father Albert went to sleep, and Althea made a wish upon the moon. While others at the funeral looked distraught, Althea could hardly contain her excitement. She was the only one who knew the truth: soon, Albert would come home again. Over the past year, the physical reality of Albert’s absence had punctured her heart. The pointer moved, and Tori said each letter aloud. “B R E C —” Althea watched the board. She and Sophie played this game for hours. Mostly, the game was for fun, Sophie said, but you had to be careful, because the game sometimes lied. Like the moon sometimes lied. Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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“All right.” Tori sat back. “If you’re really Albert, then tell me something I don’t know.” Three months ago, Althea met Tori, who lived down the street. Tori became Althea’s best friend, the older sister she never had. “What street did you live on, growing up?” Tori asked. “But that’s not —” “Look.” The pointer moved. Tori spoke the letters, and Althea wrote them down. The pointer stopped. The girls stared at the notebook. Althea shook her head. “D E C A T U R — right?” The pointer circled YES and moved to the center of the board. “We don’t know where that is.” Tori said. “Okay,” Althea interrupted. “If you’re Albert, did you know my father?” The pointer moved in a figure eight, circling between YES and NO, faster, coming to a stop when Althea next spoke. “So you’re not Albert?” The pointer moved, spelling A L B E RT, returning to YES. “You’re confusing us,” Althea said. “Do you have messages for us today?” The messages were the best part of the game. Sometimes with Sophie, the board would spell out riddles, the words coming so fast that they could barely keep up. Sometimes the words were gobbledygook, but Sophie didn’t let that happen for long. The pointer circled YES twice and slid smoothly across the board. Eight letters in total. After the eighth, the pointer spiraled off the board, coming to rest on Althea’s open notebook. Althea remained silent. Tori’s eyes narrowed. “Dinner, girls!” Sophie’s voice. Tori got up. “This is getting too weird — let’s go.” “In a minute.” Tori padded down the stairs. A thin, sweet string plucked at Althea’s chest, fanning upwards like baked brown sugar with cinnamon if baked brown sugar with cinnamon was a feeling. It couldn’t be. Could it? Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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She stared at her notebook. Her own writing was large and uneven, like a very young child’s. ALB BREC H Below that: I L O V E Y O U

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

earthbound I’ve been half in love before I can’t live here anymore The Line by Willy Porter — Falling Forward

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

chapter 3

“Excuse me?” Althea was on the phone. There was no one on the other end of the line. No one live, anyway. She saved the message, and listened to it again, scrawling some notes. “You demanding, disorganized assholes.” The voice mail message was from her client, who wanted advertising concepts and a media strategy for a meeting with their executive team. Ten color copies of a presentation, in Ottawa, the next morning by ten. The message had been sent a half-hour earlier. It was now two in the afternoon. She forwarded the message to Simone, the director on the account. Althea was an account executive at Continuum, the advertising firm she’d joined right after graduating from the University of Toronto with an English degree. She started as an intern, making next to nothing, was promoted to account coordinator six months later, and a year after that, to account executive. She acted as a client liaison,

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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and coordinated marketing, promotion and ad campaigns, working with copywriters, designers and producers. On television, a career in advertising was portrayed as being exciting, glamorous even, and since being in the business, Althea couldn’t work out why. The competition was intense, the hours long, the clients demanding and the staff turnover high. Depending on the client, an account executive could be on call at all hours. It was true that advertising could be lucrative. High-profile clients willingly paid hundreds of dollars per hour to the firms they retained. The people who made advertising their career thrived in a work-hard, play-hard culture. Playing hard included lots of partying, dating, even affairs. She listened to her next message — Kevin’s voice — and her heart sank. He sounded weary. “Listen, for our date tonight, I’d like to make dinner for you, okay? Just the two of us. I want to talk with you about something, so if you can let me know your timing, I’d appreciate it.” There was no way she could make it to dinner. She felt a pang of guilt. This was the third time he’d attempted to plan an evening like this over the last two weeks. Their summer schedules had been nuts, and they were both feeling the strain. This was also the only night that was good for him this week, because tomorrow, he was moving out. Kevin was going back to school to earn his teaching degree at Queen’s University in Kingston, a three-hour drive east of Toronto. So they’d be spending even more time apart. Kevin was Althea’s first love, and had been her best friend since they met five years before. When her relationship with Sophie was tenuous, Kevin provided her with the love and stability she had been missing. The oldest of seven children from a strict Roman Catholic family, Kevin had grown up to be freakishly responsible, as Althea liked to point out. He wore glasses over his amber-brown eyes because he thought they made him look older. He was an athletic six foot three inches tall, and shy about his height. He was gorgeous and didn’t even know it. For this, Althea loved him even more. Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Kevin and Althea met during orientation week at the University of Toronto in their first year. The first time they met, they ate noodles in Chinatown at four in the morning with some friends. The second time, they drank coffee after running into each other at the campus bookstore. The third time, they had dinner at the Madison pub that turned into breakfast. Two months later, Althea moved out of Sophie’s home permanently, and rented an apartment with Kevin. Althea called Kevin back and left him a message, apologizing, saying she’d be late, she didn’t know exactly what time she’d be home, but that when she got home, she’d make up for it. She hung up. Simone flashed by, and Althea raced out of her office to catch her.

K at ten after two in the morning, Althea opened the door to their ground-floor apartment, and leaned on it heavily as if the extra weight would keep it from squeaking. The door squeaked anyway. Wired and awake, she stepped inside, dropping her briefcase, hopping as she took off her black pumps. Her long legs, which in childhood had created the awkwardness of being the tallest girl in the class, had long ago turned into her greatest asset. Barefoot, she padded across the hardwood floor. As she walked across the living room, she almost tripped over the cardboard boxes Kevin had packed. Stepping around them, she peeled off her teal jacket, white blouse and black skirt, leaving them where they fell. She could hear Kevin’s breathing, deep and steady, and felt a pang of regret. She had not expected to be this late. She had singularly screwed up the evening he had planned — again. Patience. Tiptoeing over to the bed, she lay down next to his sleeping form, molding her naked body to his. She had been planning what she’d do to him all the way home in the cab. Eyes open, her hands roamed over his back, his chest, and he stirred. Her lips moved very slowly, from the nape of his neck, to his Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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shoulders and down his spine to his buttocks. Still half asleep, he was hunched on his side, so she rolled him toward her, pushing aside the covers and taking him into her mouth fully, gently, easing him awake. This was just the beginning. A little something to remember me by. Moaning, his hand moved into her hair, then both hands were under her chin and he moved her head away. He went flaccid. “No, Al ... okay? No.” For the first time, she not only felt guilt, but a small finger of fear. Too little too late? He took her hand, squeezed it weakly, and turned away from her. The rejection sank in. Spooning him, she listened to Kevin as he slept, and held him close, her eyes open, going over in her mind what had just happened. She knew Kevin. He had always loved it when she was spontaneous. She wondered if she should say something. It wasn’t the time. She shook off the feeling of doubt. Get over yourself. All relationships had their ups and downs.

L 7:30 a.m. Althea sent the email which contained the files for her client’s morning meeting to her printer. Keeping an eye on her InBox for the printer’s confirmation, she made a phone call. “The freakin’ file’s gone, it’s out of my hands! Even if the printer screws up, I won’t hear about it for an hour or so. So when are you guys leaving?” Tori Carnahan was still the big sister that Althea never had. With curly brown hair, and flawless olive skin over a small, resilient frame, Tori was one of the smartest, and most disciplined people Althea had ever met. She came from a big-business family and was finishing up her law degree at the University of Montreal. Later this morning, she would be giving Kevin a ride to Kingston on her way back to school. “At nine, if Kevin’s on time.” “Give him a break if he isn’t. I woke him up late last night, poor guy.” “Have you heard anything?” Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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“I’ve heard from Rotman, I’m in if I want it. Queen’s is taking their sweet time, though with my acceptance at Rotman, I think my chances are good. Rotman wants confirmation soon. I wonder if it would be too presumptuous to decline before I hear from Queen’s? I just hate having my life on hold like this, you know?” “Don’t rule out Rotman. It’s a good school and it’s always good to have options.” “Yeah, I know. But I’d rather not do the long-distance relationship thing, especially right now. Kevin and I have had a tough enough time connecting when we’ve been in the same city.” Tori was silent. Althea had an urge to share what happened last night, what she was really feeling. That for the first time in five years, she was worried about her relationship. She held back. Instead, she said: “I also have to give notice at work, not to mention the apartment and moving. I’m just exhausted thinking about it. You know what it’s like.” “True enough.” Tori seemed distracted. Althea could feel her restlessness. “You feeling okay? You sound tired or something.” “A bit tired. Ate something that disagreed with me maybe.” “Sorry we didn’t get together before you left, it’s my fault.” One more person she had let down. The guilt churned. “It’s okay. So what are you writing these days?” Tori asked, her voice soft. Even as a little girl, Althea had loved writing. Tori had always been her biggest fan. At least, before she met Kevin. Althea wrote first in her journal. Then, she wrote long letters to friends. More recently, she wrote the odd short story. After finishing her English degree, she had contemplated writing a novel. Then she got a job at Continuum. “Nothing for a while. Work’s been nuts.” “You’re good you know. Don’t forget about it.” “Thanks for the nag. Kevin hasn’t even bugged me about that lately.” Tell me a story, Kevin would say, grinning at her. At first, Althea had looked at him, tongue-tied. Until she realized that when she talked, Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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she told stories. When she wrote letters, she told stories. It was part of who she was. “Well, I’m sure it’s not that he’s forgotten about it — you both have a lot going on.” “I know. Listen, I just got an email from my printer, I gotta go. I’ll call soon, okay?” “Okay.” Althea hung up and thought about their conversation. Tori sounded tired and unfocused, and that wasn’t like her. But it was more than that. She sounded sad. She shrugged off the feeling. Tori was the strongest person she knew. Over the years, Tori had always been there for her. It was Tori who had helped Althea finesse her Masters of Business Administration applications last year, reviewing each draft with a perfectionist’s eye, challenging each statement one by one. Tori helped her get in to the mba program. Not only that, if it hadn’t been for Tori, she might not have even had the courage to apply. Althea wanted to call Tori back, ask what’s wrong, but she held off. Tori was intensely private, so she didn’t want to push. She knew that Tori would share when she was ready. In the meantime, Althea had enough in her own life to worry about.

L on saturday morning, Althea sipped a Starbucks venti low-fat latte on her way to the apartment. It was sunny, and the rows of mature trees and gardens were bursting with late-summer color. Their neighborhood was St. Clair and Avenue Road, in central Toronto. People here lived in luxury condos, rent-control high rises, and houses split into a number of units. Althea and Kevin shared one of these, on the main floor of an aging Victorian. At their kitchen table, she turned her attention to the mail that had accumulated since Kevin’s departure. Not only was she a stick-in-themud, as Kevin often teased, she was also a pack rat. Her eye caught Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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the answering machine’s red light blinking at her. Crap. Missed him again. “Hi, it’s me again. Was thinking we could get together next weekend in Toronto if that works. I won’t be too busy yet. Call my people, will you, and let me know. Bye.” On the message, Kevin’s voice was tight. They had been playing telephone tag for days. Her cell was unreliable, on its last legs. At work, she was never at her desk. My fault, again. Althea picked up the phone, tried his cell and got voice mail. She sighed heavily, hung up without leaving a message, and turned back toward the monolithic coffee that matched the pile of mail. Have to let the post office know that I’m moving — that is, if I’m moving. That was one more thing she had to decide. Her head hurt. Just as she went to put her head down on the table, she spotted a letter from Queen’s University. Her heart leapt.

K barely able to contain her excitement, Althea turned off Highway 401 East, at the Kingston exit, three hours after leaving Toronto. As she approached downtown Kingston, the churning green of Lake Ontario became visible, muted under a grey sky. Despite the clouds, a number of sailboats dotted the bay. Kingston billed itself as the North American freshwater sailing capital, and was a university town. The first time she and Kevin visited Queen’s University, they had been entranced by Kingston’s old stone houses, open waters, and green spaces. She knew she would love living here. Moving day could not possibly come too soon. She now viewed moving to Kingston like their final destination at the end of an excruciating marathon. Like a long-distance runner, Althea could see herself falling just as she crossed the finish line. As she parallel parked, her muffler roared, and the small silver Omni shuddered and stalled. She left the key in the ignition and began stroking the steering wheel. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll take you to the well-used car doctor, if you behave for the next twenty-four hours. Okay? Is that a deal? Just Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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twenty-four hours.” She turned the key and the engine roared to life. “Good girl.” She kissed the steering wheel and shifted into park. She had made it: Kevin would be proud. “I can’t believe you talk to your car,” Kevin had laughed at her, shaking his head. “She and I, we have a special understanding.” “You’re nuts.” “And how many times has she let me down?” “That’s what’s nuts — I can’t believe it.” “That’s right, none. And how many times has your car left you stranded?” “At least when I’m driving, I know where I’m going,” Kevin countered. She smiled, remembering. Kevin was right about that. She was always getting lost. She began looking for Kevin’s new place. It was one of a series of furnished cottages on the lake, compact and basic, with hardwood floors, and a cement block veranda. All were rented to students. On windy days, the waves lapped up over the veranda and pooled around the foot of a charcoal barbeque. Inside, she remembered a huge front window overlooking the water, and a wood stove. “You’ll need the stove. It gets cold out here in the winter,” the man who rented the cottages had told them. Despite the warning, Kevin rented the unit immediately. Althea tried the door to Kevin’s unit. It was locked. That’s what you get when you don’t call first. So much for spontaneity — again. Sighing, she peered inside. She could see part of the picture window, and a doorway which led to a narrow galley kitchen. Kevin’s windbreaker was draped over a chair. After the couple of months they’d had, she really wanted her arrival to be a surprise. She reached for her cell phone, and when she couldn’t find it, had a flash of it recharging on her kitchen counter. Useless. She decided to explore. Kevin would be back eventually. If he wasn’t home in a couple of hours, she’d find a land line and track him Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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down. In the meantime, she’d plan dinner. Maybe write him a story. Maybe even a sexy story. The way she saw it, since classes hadn’t started yet, they had no reason not to spend most of the evening, and tomorrow in bed. Finishing last night’s story. Instead of taking her car, she decided to walk. Althea loved to walk, especially along the water, and after driving for the last three hours, she felt in need of exercise. She strode by the row of cottages, and turned toward the center of town, trying to recall where she had seen a grocery store. The breeze was a thick breath and the clouds overhead, oppressive. As the clouds opened up and poured their contents down on her, Althea ducked into the entrance of a small gift shop, and was almost knocked down by a frantic, pear-shaped woman brandishing a broom. “Get out, get out, you filthy beast, out!” The woman shook, her short, round body moving with alarming momentum into the teaming water outside. A slight young man wearing a wrinkled white shirt stood behind her with a badminton racquet, his head tilted up, looking down occasionally to make sure he stayed out of the woman’s way. He glanced at Althea. “We have bats,” he explained, as Althea spotted a black streak coming at her from the back of the store, dipping close, and then swooping up again. Althea jumped as the man hit the bat with the racquet, knocking it to the floor. He looked at her, as if to apologize. “Stuns them so we can sweep them out.” The woman was back with the broom. They’re a tag team, Althea thought, as the woman swept the stunned bat out of her store. Althea followed her, balancing the idea of getting drenched by rain, with getting swarmed by bats. The woman, her hair falling into her eyes, attacked the newest bat like a champion curler and with a flourish, swept the stunned creature out into the street, returning inside with a wild whoop. Outside, the rain was slowing. Althea moved toward the small animal, which was squirming on the glistening pavement, its jaws moving soundlessly. As she approached it, the bat locked eyes with her. It Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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continued to struggle, flapping its wings as if positioning for takeoff, bouncing a bit, then stopping as if it had run out of fuel. Althea didn’t like bats diving over her head, but she wasn’t alarmed by them when they were still. Was it injured? She wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if it was. She turned back to the store just as the woman swept another bat into the street, and crouched as it flew past her. She looked for the bat on the ground, and didn’t see it at first. Maybe it was okay, she thought, then inhaled sharply as it reappeared, jumping toward her. The bat was a foot away from her now, its little mouth moving as if it was trying to tell her something. As it gazed at her, she felt tension, a free-floating anxiety. The bat flew up and she jumped back, instinctively covering her head.

L an hour and a half later, Althea walked back to the cottage with a bottle of their favorite Spanish red, Campo Viejo, a six-pack of local beer, two steaks, the ingredients for a Caesar salad, eggplant, peppers and zucchinis to grill, and Haagen Dazs Caramel Cone Explosion for dessert. In her back pocket was an envelope with writing on it. For K: To be read aloud, after dark. As she approached the cottage, she smelled wet green and rotting fish, and heard Kevin’s stereo softly playing a track from Nirvana Unplugged. Then Kevin’s voice. She walked quickly, feeling giddy and light-headed, perfect timing, she thought, and then froze. Two voices, soft, bantering. Something not right. She stood outside the door, clutching the damp grocery bag, her fingers numb. This made no sense, she thought, it was crazy. Like the bat’s jaws, moving in silent exclamation. She felt cold moving down her arms, as though she was shrinking, the ice in her stomach, escalating. There was something she was missing, something on the edge of her understanding. Probably nothing, her mind countered, and then it Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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was as if her feelings and her mind entwined in an intense flash of unconscious dialogue. No, not nothing. Say it. I know the voice. Still that means nothing. Nothing or everything. The longer she waited, she knew, the worse it would get. About this, her mind and body agreed. So she opened the door, stepped inside, and felt as if she had been knifed in the stomach. At the end of the galley kitchen, Althea could see someone sitting on Kevin’s kitchen counter, barely visible in the doorframe. A woman’s tanned limbs, a gold watch, arms around Kevin’s neck, and legs around his waist. Kevin was leaning into her. Tori. Althea stood stunned at the door. They hadn’t heard her come in. A lump lodged in her throat, growing until she could barely breathe. She wanted to scream, couldn’t. Her body felt as if it had been dropped into a pot of boiling oil. Then something like shock set in and she watched with detached fascination, as if she had left her body and was watching someone else. Couldn’t be real. The back of Kevin’s head was visible and his mouth was on what Althea knew was Tori’s throat. His arms were moving, and though Althea could not see his hands, she knew they were under Tori’s shirt. She saw his right arm move down to an area between Tori’s knees and as the muscles in his arms flexed, Tori’s legs tensed and Althea could hear her groan. Kevin was pressing into Tori in such a familiar way, Althea could imagine what it felt like, his hands gentle and firm, his cock hard, how his mouth felt. Shit, they had even done it at their kitchen counter before. As she watched them, she felt what Tori was feeling, Kevin’s mouth, his clean laundry scent, and she was mesmerized, couldn’t take her eyes off them. Pain bubbled up inside her, her throat tightening as if she had swallowed molten rock, and because she didn’t know what else to do, she Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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dropped the grocery bags. The wine bottle made a piercing shriek as it shattered, fused with the screams of her heart.

L a half-hour later, she was on the 401 Highway heading west toward Toronto, shaking, numb. Her throat was raw and swollen, she could barely speak. Kevin had wanted to come with her. She had to get out of there. During their brief exchange, Tori had been doubled over on the couch, sobbing. Althea couldn’t even look at her. Althea’s eyes were glazed and her hands felt cemented to the steering wheel. She opened her window. It was cooler now that the rain was over, and she needed to feel the air moving. Cry later, just get home. Traffic slowed. A policeman waved her into the right lane. Ahead of her, a wisp of black smoke rose from within a crumpled mini-van. She pulled off the highway, following a detour. She felt hot, her face suffused and blotchy. In her head, a dull pain grew. Her mouth filled with saliva. She stopped and threw up on the shoulder of the road. Traffic was thinning. Driving again, she tried to focus on the two of them in the kitchen, her two best friends what she could see of the road what she couldn’t see behind the counter the road Kevin’s fingers inside Tori, whispering not now when were they going to tell her That was what last weekend was all about, that was Tori’s tiredness, her sadness. And I’ve been worried about her, well fuck them their bodies intertwined and as much as she wanted it to stop, she couldn’t let go of the image of Tori’s brown legs wrapped around Kevin, coaxing him. Not only that, but the tenderness — their hushed voices and the shriek of a horn as a green Chevy sped past her. A gaunt-looking blond leaned out the window, giving her the finger.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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She bolted alert, and jerked her steering wheel. She was in the oncoming lane. When she hit the brakes, her tires screeched and her world slowed, spinning sideways, backwards and coming to a stop with a lurch, three feet from a bridge overlooking a dried riverbed. Fuck, that was close. She sat silently, the blood thumping painfully in her ears. The green Chevy was gone. After ten minutes, which felt like thirty, she tried the ignition. Nothing. Her heart burned and anger flashed not ready can’t and she hit the steering wheel, accidentally blowing the horn. She liked the sound and leaned into it again. The angry horn rang in her ears. She looked around, shaking. Learn to read a map, why don’t you? You’re a bright girl. What, and take all the fun out of it? Kevin and she bantering. Kevin’s mouth between Tori’s legs. Tears welled up, and anger. She struggled to regain control. She was on a detour, though she didn’t recognize the road. It was a two-lane highway, lined with deciduous forest. A back road. No detour signs in sight. And no traffic. She was lost. Ten minutes went by. No one passed. She decided to walk in the direction she’d been driving. The sun was lower in the sky and the air was cooler now. After twenty minutes, a car approached from the opposite direction. It stopped. A blue Lexus. The man driving opened his window and leaned out. “Do you need a lift?” He wasn’t much older than she. He had fine brown hair, wire-rim glasses and a small nose. As he stopped talking, his mouth turned up as if she amused him. She shook her head, her heart pounding. She wanted him to go away. “Is there a gas station this way?” Her words sounded hollow to her, her tongue thick. “About a mile, over the hill,” he said. “I can give you a lift if you want.” His voice was soft. He looked at her for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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She averted her eyes, shook her head and walked on. She heard crunching gravel as he pulled away.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

chapter 4

Michael Foster pulled away from the woman walking by the side of the road slowly. He looked in the rear view mirror before he accelerated, just in case she changed her mind. The woman was arrestingly tall, with fair skin, and thick red-gold hair, a color Michael had never seen before. Her round blue eyes gazed at a place just beyond him. He had the feeling that she might walk right by the gas station down the road because of what was behind those eyes: something that had nothing to do with her car breaking down. He was curious about her and could tell she probably needed someone to talk to. Today, if she had allowed him, he may have given her a ride all the way home. Even if it took the rest of the day. Michael was on his way to his in-laws’ estate in rural Caledon, an hour and a half from Toronto. He and his wife Lara had agreed to meet there. After a sumptuous dinner, a few glasses of wine, and cocktail party chat, they would calmly and rationally tell her parents that they had decided to separate. Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Why had he agreed to meet Lara today? Why put himself through this? He had asked himself that a hundred times, and the reasons were simple: because the Bradshaws had been the only family he had for the last fifteen years, because Lara had asked him, because they had always made major decisions together — that was part of the plan. Most of all, because he still loved her, and he didn’t know what else to do. He drove along the small highway lined with green fields, trees on gently rolling hills, and miles of well-kept white fences. With his window open, he could smell the sweet scents of hay and manure. Horse country. The sun was coming out again. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful. When the leaves were turning color, Caledon was nothing short of spectacular. His in-laws had built their family estate here over thirty years ago. His father in-law, like many of his neighbors, owned horses. Among other things. Lara came from money, but she didn’t rely on it. He had always admired her for that. They both knew that her parents would have jumped at the chance to help them out. They also knew that any help they received from them would incur a different kind of cost. Lara and Michael had met in high school. At fourteen, Michael was sensitive and creative, and an only child. The day before Michael’s fifteenth birthday, his world unraveled, and he and Lara grew closer. At eighteen, he knew he wanted to be an accountant. Numbers could be controlled. They were predictable. Lara had a regal quality about her. She was smart, self-sufficient and confident, and Michael relied on her quiet strength. He also enjoyed breaking down her unruffled exterior, and early on, had made it his mission to find ways to make her laugh. They dated throughout university and married two years after graduation. He never understood why she chose him. She became everything Michael had imagined she would be. She was a star: beautiful, ambitious, smart, respected — a Ph.D. in economics, a prestigious position in the banking community, and a sought-after opinion in the business media. Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Her life was going according to plan. And for the two of them, things had been good for a very long time. Longer than Michael had ever expected. For a year and a half, Michael had struggled with depression. When his insomnia got worse and his symptoms escalated, Lara had encouraged him to see a psychiatrist. He’d been seeing Dr. Leigh Reynolds for three months and he wasn’t sure if she was helping. The last time he saw her, she too must have been unsure, because for the first time, he had left her office with a prescription. The bag with his first month’s supply of antidepressants lay on the passenger seat beside him, unopened. It had been sitting there for a week. He recalled Dr. Reynolds’s words in one of their early sessions. “Do you dream Michael?” “No.” “Why do you think that is?” “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” That wasn’t true. It was true that he didn’t dream. At least, not at night. For the last twelve months, he had felt as if something was trying to communicate with him. The first time it happened, he was riding his bicycle on Ward’s Island, just off Toronto’s Harborfront. Whenever he rode, he was usually attuned to movements that might threaten his safety. Emotionally, he felt open to everything, the water, the sand, the green, the coal-black pavement and the clusters of multi-colored flowers. Then it happened. Not voices in his head — not like that — but crystalclear images, visions, impressions, insights, articulations. Impulses. All felt, rather than stated, like a download, as if he were a glass filling with liquid. While on his bike that day, that first time, his senses were overwhelmed. He couldn’t see what was in front of him. He fell, toppling over the handlebars, spraining his wrist, scraping up his right side. He was lucky. That was a year ago this summer, and he had dismissed it as an isolated incident. It didn’t happen to him again for a number of weeks. Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Then the episodes became more frequent. It always happened at times like these, when he was alone and occupied, driving, sitting at the computer, holding on the telephone. When it happened, he’d struggle to concentrate on something concrete, something he could understand, touch, calculate. After a few minutes, the images receded and were replaced by a free-floating sadness. The visions frightened him. Whatever was inside of him was beginning to have a life of its own. Something clearly wanted out. He could see the red, white and blue prescription bag on the seat beside him in his peripheral vision. “The antidepressants will stimulate your dreams,” Dr. Reynolds said. “After you start, if you do remember a dream, even a fragment, write it down and we can discuss it next time.” Write it down. Sure thing. After that session, he wasn’t sure that there was going to be a next time. He pulled past a bright orange tractor with its hazard lights on and adjusted his sun visor to block the late afternoon sun. The only thing keeping him sane was that in few weeks, he would start his mba at the Rotman School of Management. The course would be intense, he’d be meeting new people, and the work would ground him. When he moved out, he’d need that. He turned, one intersection closer to the inevitable, the startledlooking russet haired woman fading from his memory. The white bag beside him beckoned. The first one’s free. His mind flickered. As he drove, a grey heaviness settled behind his eyes and he wished he could pull over and sleep. Instead, he thought about life without Lara, and for a second imagined what it would be like to unleash what was mounting in his head and in his heart. He drove, turning the feeling around, viewing it from all angles, like a collectible that he wasn’t sure he wanted to buy.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

chapter 5

Althea turned into her driveway, exhausted, almost rear-ending a car that was blocking her entrance. A friend of the other tenants. She swore, and drove around the block until she found a place to park on the street. Getting home had been a nightmare. The garage the Lexus guy had described as a mile down the road apparently did such good business, it was closed for three weeks for holidays. Numb, her feet blistered and her head aching, she stumbled to the next station a few miles further on. It was open. The mechanic had gone home, but she was able to call roadside assistance. Ninety minutes later, she was heading home. She sat in her parked car, her eyes blank. The adrenaline that for the past hours had kept her from running her car off the road was subsiding. As she opened the car door, a biker cycled past, startling her. The letter to Kevin that had been in her back pocket fell out on the pavement. She ripped it into pieces. Each step she took toward their apartment brought her grief closer to the surface, unrefined and raw. An aching heaviness settled in her throat and chest. Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Her voice mail message light was flashing. A call from Kingston. She picked up the message, her hand shaking, holding the handset away from her ear as she pushed the keys to delete it. She unplugged the phone. She was awake and exhausted, and moving mindlessly, not unlike how she felt when she had to meet a late-night deadline. She wanted to sleep, to forget, but couldn’t. She wanted to do anything but feel what threatened to break through. As long as she kept moving, she could hang on. She took a shower, cooling the water gradually until the cold forced her awake. She put bandages on her blistered feet and covered them with thick, clean socks and her most comfortable running shoes. She looked in her fridge, staring. The phone rang, then stopped. Her cell phone on the counter rang. She had to get out of the apartment. Now. “Milk, coffee, aspirin,” she said, as she locked the door behind her. Her chest ached, a solid mass of pain. Her feet felt like clubs. She fought the tears. Not yet. She barely noticed the sky as she crossed the quiet street. It was the dusk of late summer. The streetlights had just come on and the houses around her were receding into grey. It started to rain, gentle at first, then harder. She made no attempt to cover herself. She was across from a 24-hour grocery store. The light turned red and she stopped. Her cotton t-shirt was now soaked to the skin and her hair dripped. A group of teenagers waited impatiently on the other side of the street, huddling under a storefront, darting out into the rain, then stepping back. A tall figure with a long coat stepped past them into the street. She squinted into the rain. The figure moved gracefully, like a dancer, and when she felt him coming close, she moved to get out of his way. He stopped a few feet away. She could feel him staring. Her eyes darted toward him, looking for an indication of what he wanted from her — directions? Change? She caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were impossibly green and almond shaped. A flash of fair skin. Shoulder length dark wavy hair. Something not quite right.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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Their eyes locked. She couldn’t move and he smiled at her, silent. A hot flush moved up her face despite the cool air. She didn’t know him. Was he with those kids? She looked up. The light was still red and the kids were hopping as they hid from the rain, hands deep in the pockets of their baggy jeans. He extended his hand to her. She turned away, walking fast, stepping off the curb as the light turned green, her heart beating quickly. She crossed the street and turned toward the grocery store, glancing behind her. He was still there, standing still under the dim streetlight with his arm raised toward her in a still wave. Anxiety tickled her belly as her city instincts kicked in. She entered the store. What was it about him? “Your change, ma’am. Have a nice day.” Her heart felt tight. She stuffed her change into her damp jeans pocket. Kevin’s arm’s moving under Tori’s shirt, his lips on her breasts. Pain crept toward the surface. She felt the anger, pushed away everything else. Maybe if the man was still there, he’d come home with her tonight, help her forget. Her heart turned cold. She felt sexually aroused, reckless, on the edge. “Don’t forget your bags.” She looked back at the cashier blankly and picked up her groceries. She emerged from the store, her chest tight with anticipation. She scanned the sidewalks, slick and wet, dotted with circular flashes of falling drops. He had disappeared. Her desire dissipated into irrational disappointment. She wished he had waited for her. She wanted him to help her forget. I’m here to help you remember. The thought came from nowhere. Something not quite right. He had been standing in the teaming rain, and his hair was completely dry — just past his shoulders, dark, wavy, and completely dry. She was sure of it. She walked back to her apartment without getting lost, except in

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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the caverns of her mind. First, she was held captive by a thread of memory green that clutched at her heart, her anxiety, her arousal and dry hair in a rainstorm. By the time she turned onto her street, the grief and exhaustion flowing into her body, she had analyzed it, questioned it, rejected it, and finally, transformed the encounter into pure imagination. She entered her apartment. Kevin was waiting for her in the darkness.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

chapter 6

After he left the red-headed woman by the side of the road, Michael’s afternoon didn’t turn out the way he imagined. It turned out worse. Five minutes from his in-laws, his cell phone rang, and he knew it was Lara. He ignored it. She had been at her parents place since last night, and had already called him four times without leaving messages. He looked at his watch. He was running about forty-five minutes late. Talking to her wouldn’t get him there faster. Time awareness was one of those details in life that slipped by him now. Decisions, no matter how small, had become complex. It was becoming more difficult to sleep, but when he did sleep, he slept deeply, time passing in an instant, waking early, his memory wiped clean. He pulled into his in-laws’ winding lane, which was lined with a thick nest of pines and spruce. He and Lara had chosen their Christmas trees here. The small pond on his left shimmered as the wind passed over it. Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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He had already recorded each detail of his in-laws’ property like an archivist, knowing that after today, it was unlikely he would see this place again. He was too tired to care. He parked the car in a place reserved for guests and sat quietly, the dread welling up through the fatigue, tugging at his limbs. He stared at the white bag beside him. Impulsively, he ripped open the bag, opened the container and swallowed a tablet dry. No better place than here. No better time than now. He walked to the front of the house, and rang the bell. Though he had known the Bradshaws for over ten years, he’d never walked into their home unannounced. He heard two quick footsteps on the other side of the door, and was surprised when Lara opened it, even more surprised when she put her hand on his chest, and pushed him back outside. “Come with me, okay? I want to talk.” She took his hand and led him past the drive and toward a gazebo overlooking the pond. At first, he thought she was angry with him. I’m not that late. Even if I am, then what are you going to do, leave me? Her usually calm face was strained. She sat down on a bench inside the gazebo. One shriveled yellow balloon bobbed in the wind, remnants of their last birthday gathering. A white wooden rowboat was docked just a few feet away. The Bradshaws weren’t boaters. Michael had brought the boat from his childhood cottage. Lara was talking. Michael couldn’t take his eyes off the shriveled balloon. She stopped talking. Michael looked at her and her pale blue eyes searched for his acknowledgement. “I said I don’t want to talk to my parents today,” she said. “There’s a reason. I’ve told them I’m not feeling well, so we can leave now and talk on the way home.” He didn’t understand, but he did what he always did: he went along with her, in part because he was too tired to fight. Mostly, because his wife looked more distraught, more fragile than he had ever seen her and that frightened him.

L Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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after some awkward goodbyes, Michael and Lara were on the road heading home. The sun was sinking into red. “Thanks,” Lara said. Her voice was small and childlike. Michael, usually so talkative, said nothing. He had never seen her this way before. She was the strong one, cool, calm and refined in any situation. This Lara was foreign to him. Part of him wanted the old Lara back, the strong Lara, even the Lara who was leaving him. Instead, her breaths were labored sighs, and she ritually clutched and un-clutched a tissue in her shaking hands. “Talk to me.” His voice was soft. She had always been strong, yet he was the one that initiated the emotional discussions. He usually had a sixth sense about how she was feeling. “This is going to be hard, Michael. Really hard.” A chill passed over him. “Okay,” he lied. “I’m pregnant. Two months. The child may not be yours.” He did his best to stay calm, though he felt like he had been pushed spinning into viscous, black water. So this is how it ends? Their entire relationship, more than ten years, all leading up to this moment. “But I don’t want to raise the child with Jack. I want to raise her with you.” Jack. The name came at him from the depths, floating there, then rising just out of reach. Her words seemed far away, and came out in a disjointed stream. Jack. “First, I didn’t want to tell anyone and I decided to terminate. Then, when I made the appointment, I just couldn’t, and then I thought I’d have her on my own, without anyone, Jack already has grown kids, he wouldn’t want to have another anyway, and then I didn’t want him to ... not that way ... and you, we always talked about it someday, but I didn’t know whether I could even ask you, had the right to ... it’s so fucked up.” That much out, she cried, a soft moaning sound. Jack. Michael assumed she meant Jack Kincaid, president of the investment bank where Lara worked: tall, slightly balding, white blond, Nordic, a Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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brilliant academic, with what Michael and Lara used to call the salesman’s twinkle. The twinkle that could charm you one minute, and stab you in the back the next. Kincaid inside Lara. Michael was swimming backward in rushing water, drowning. He stifled the urge to pull over, grab the bottle of antidepressants and down them all. What happens when you od on Prozac? You die. But you’re really okay with that. Lara was still talking and she sounded far away. Her words blended together, took on a pleading tone. He knew his silence must be unnerving to her, so uncharacteristic of him. The longer he was silent, the more rapidly she spoke. Her voice tuned in and out. “... then I was thinking that maybe if we chose to have this child, raise her together, you could put the mba on hold until we adjusted, just for a year.” Put the mba on hold. The one thing that he thought might help him get back on track. “Please talk to me. Say something, Michael, anything,” “I don’t —” he said. Know what I want, what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling, whether I’ll be able to keep driving. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I just don’t know.” “Okay,” she said. His gut writhed like a knot of living tentacles. Pain in his chest spread down his body. His mind flicked through his alternative futures like an impatient boy watching too many channels. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, and Lara’s voice came again, words offered to him like tarnished jewels strung on to a necklace of unknown value, her voice staccato, scattered. “... a lot to absorb, I understand if you hate me, if you want me to leave and I know you can’t make this decision tonight, but I had to tell you, I was putting it off, and when I thought about it, I thought it might work, you’d be an amazing father, I always knew that, we talked about it a few years from now, this wasn’t the plan, I know, but then I thought that maybe it could be okay, maybe we could try — you Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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know? So take the time you need, take the time, I understand — take the time.” The silence between them was a concoction of ominous relief. Michael pulled onto the highway that would lead them downtown to their Harborfront condo. The sinking sun was a laser in his eyes, the scene behind him dressed in black.

Copyright © 2008 by Karen M. Black. All rights reserved.

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