Blank Slate Kate

Chapter 26

"Well, this is it," Ryan says, his voice as nervous as I feel.

After he kicked Claire out, we spent the evening at home because the locksmith didn't arrive until nearly nine. I didn't mind not going out, though, because instead we sat chatting over our meals from his freezer then inspected the house in more detail and flipped through photos to see what I could recognize. Nothing, as it turned out, but I liked being with him.

I still do, and I wish we were staying home today instead of about to go into the flagship office of the company I apparently founded. I haven't recognized anything he's shown me so far and I don't think it's going to change here, and I feel sadder every time I fail to remember. The euphoria I felt after Ryan's kiss last week didn't stay with me: he probably wasn't even halfway back to Ottawa before I was again lost in the dark mists of my sadness. I want to remember and I want not to be sad and I don't seem to be able to make either of those desires a reality.

Ryan hands me a key ring, holding a particular key out to me, which I use to unlock the front door of the big old brick house that I turned into an office building. "I did the same thing in Toronto," I comment as the door creaks open.

He holds it for me and nods. "Donna's always liked the ambiance of the older places."

The apartment I wanted in Toronto was very old, I remember. The one Ryan picked for me was not. Our house is at most three years old. Interesting.

We go inside, locking the door behind us, and Ryan shows me around. The reception area, the small conference rooms, a collection of tiny offices for my media consultants when they're not off advising someone... everything's done in the same sort of sleek elegant neutrals I used at our house.

"Don't I have my own office?" I ask when he seems to be done with the tour.

"Of course. It's upstairs so I was saving it for last. Let's go."

He leads me up the dark wood stairs, which squeak a little, and opens the frosted glass door at the top.

The office could be picked up and dropped into our house and it would fit the décor perfectly, all pale wood and frosted glass and various light shades of beige. Since it's in the house's attic the ceiling is sloped on both sides. A desk sits in one side's slope, with low wooden filing cabinets behind it, and a black leather sofa. Huge skylights flood the room with light, and though I know the city's noise is only two floors down the office feels removed from all that.

I love it. I'd add a little color, maybe some vibrant glass pieces atop the filing cabinets, but it's so peaceful and beautiful just the way it is.

I say, "It's gorgeous," and Ryan murmurs, "Sometimes I think she was happier here than at home."

I turn to him, surprised, and he flushes. "She said once that she felt in charge here, under control, and that everywhere else she didn't feel that way, at least not to the same level. So it makes sense she'd like it, that you'd like it."

Sure, but that's not how he said it. He sounds like I wasn't happy in our house.

I let it go for now, though, because I want to look around more. I go behind my desk and settle into my black leather chair, then try the desk drawers.

All locked.

"The keys are on the ring," he says, and I unlock the drawers. They're full of usual office stuff, pencils and pens and other boring things, and a clearly well-used daily planner.

I pull that out. "Don't I use my phone for this? I found a bunch of Donna's appointments in the calendar."

He nods. "She copied everything into that phone. But Nadine is a technophobe so it's easier to have her write appointments into the paper book than listen to her complain about having to use a computer."