Unknown Diners

Chapter Twenty-Four

"So, will that work with your schedule?" Michael asked.

"We're going to Authentic Wine's portfolio tasting tomorrow afternoon in Vancouver." Lorne took out his iPhone and looked at the tidal currents. "Slack is shortly after nine in Porlier, turning to flood." He switched to his wind app. "We should weigh by seven. Winds are rather light until mid-morning. Great blow across the Straits starting late morning. We'll be early into False Creek. We can walk to the tasting."

Catherine stroked his cheek. "My mister programmed life. I'll have to do something about that. We don't have to be anywhere or do anything except enjoy, Lorne. You move well with the tides, the currents, the winds. It should be easy for you to move with the ebb and flow of life, of people."

Michael looked at Lorne and winked. "I'm usually up early. No problem for me to drive you to the pier any time you want. What about your tender — is it safe moored there?"

"It would be the thief's last choice with no outboard hanging off its transom. Even if it were chosen, without the proper thumb scans, the drive is disabled. It would have to be paddled. I've left it in some really sleazy places." He shrugged. "But I've now sworn off going to the States again until they get their act together."

"It's settled then," Rachel said. "You're spending the night. Kate, you take Lorne over to the asparagus plots. Get about three dozen. Eight or ten big oyster mushrooms off the logs while you're there. We'll do scallops. We've always plenty of Fanny Bay iqf in the freezer. What else?"

Lorne and Catherine looked at each other and grinned. "Guess we're staying for dinner. You can see that Mummy's never been the indecisive type — it runs in the family. I'll grab a basket and knife."

Halfway across the slope, Catherine pointed to the bench. "Let's pause here a while and talk. There's been a lot of stuff, heavy stuff, quite quickly. Not a lot of quiet time to absorb it."

He sat, and she lay along the bench beside him with her head in his lap. "I used to lie here and stare up into the trees looking at all the branches. I'd follow them with my eyes counting all the forks, all the decisions. Carry on along this one or take that branch? Where does it lead? Life's like that, isn't it? Each moment presents a decision."

"I used to think of that in the mountains. Still do everywhere." He looked down at her face and moved a lock of wayward hair across her forehead. "I like to take the time to appreciate my surroundings, to observe and absorb everything, to be fully present and sense the evolution, the broadening picture, the tangential possibilities." He smiled and stroked her cheek. "Not dwelling on any of them, simply allowing the information to flow through. This way, when it's time for a decision, I know it, and I'm ready."

"You gob-smacked me with that proposal. Dad was his normal calm self — accepting. I was near shock."

"I thought the timing made sense. We both knew we wanted to, and there was a lull in the conversation." With his little finger, he caught a tear that had started rolling down her cheek. "I hope this is for joy."

"One of many to follow. I want us to never cry tears of sadness again — we've had far too many. Tears are for joy from now on. Both of us. Promise?"

"I promise."

"So that was okay? You and Dad at the compost?"

"I can't believe how easy it was. Like no big deal. He's such a wonderful man. And your mother, a loving sweetheart with such an easy frankness. It's no wonder you've turned out so magnificently."

"I think they've a good idea of some of the horrors you've been through, and I see no need to go into it any further with them. But I'd like to help you through the rest of the story — your running away, the mountains, and whatever followed, right up to when I started writing you those steamy love letters."

"There's a lot of sick stuff in there I'd love you to help me get rid of." He stroked her cheek and laid his finger on her lips for a kiss. "We should go get mushrooms and asparagus."

She sat up, turned, and they merged in a long probing kiss, their hands exploring. When they finally paused, she still had her hand down the front of his trousers. She laughed as she stroked him again. "How are we going to sneak this into the house?"

"I can walk behind you or carry the basket high." He chuckled and looked down. "This is why I always wear one of my double-breasted blazers when I know you'll be at an event. Sometimes you surprised me and showed up unexpectedly." He chuckled. "And this showed up at seeing you. God, you turn me on."

"No! You're joshing me." She gazed up to his eyes, paused and tilted her head. "You're not kidding, are you?"

"It wasn't all the time. Only when my fantasies clicked in."

"How often was that?"

"Most of the time."

"Christ, my major rub fantasy, there next to me all those years with an invisible attraction he had erected especially for me."

"I always had to walk it home alone, then shake hands with it. Confused and lonely."

She brushed her lips across his and gave him another squeeze. "I'd write this as a proposal for a novel plot, but my editors would reject it as unbelievable."

"I rarely read fantasy, but I've lived it a lot." He looked at her with a twisted smile on his lips.

"We're both finished with the fantasy of this now. We need to adjust to the reality of it. Let's go get the asparagus and mushrooms." She eased her grip on him and brushed her lips again across his.

He caught her tongue with his, and they were back into another jaw lock. A few minutes later, when they unclenched, he said, "Asparagus."

"Yeah, a giant white Alto Adige asparagus." Her hand was still gripping him firmly. "Have you ever seen the asparagus from the Südtirol? So huge — so phallic."

"Climbed there several times, but in the summer. Wrong season for asparagus. The Dolomite peaks of the Rosengarten group there, Catinaccio, the Vajolet Towers are rather phallic. They're damned good climbing."

He pulled out his iPhone, selected Photos, Mountains, and scrolled, then he turned the screen to her. "Love to do these again, but I can no longer take the risk."