A Change Of Pace Page 6

  I smile—my brother regularly forgets my birthday, but he never forgets my annual work-over at the hospital. Not once. The only indication that dark phase in my life thirteen years ago left a lasting impression on him as well. We never talk about it.

  "You're a week early. It's not until the twenty-eighth, next Wednesday."

  "Good. Then you can tell me all about it when I get there."

  By the time I've fed the animals and sit down in front of the TV with my own meal—a guilty pleasure, dinner and Netflix—it's almost eight o'clock. Although normally I lose track of time watching my daily episode of The Good Wife, especially when Jeffrey Dean Morgan appears on the screen, this time my mind starts wandering. He reminds me a little of the man I had in my office at lunch just today. Newt Tobias. Also a reluctant talker, a man who'd sooner act than share his thoughts, but did for the sake of his daughter. His evident love for her only adds to his appeal, even if I did initially think he was a knuckle-dragging primate. Granted, a very good-looking primate, more so after having had a chance to witness his dimpled smile a few times.

  I wake up, an hour later, to the satellite logo bouncing over my screen and Moe making a nest on my face. I'm flushed from a delicious dream that dissipates much too quickly to the persistent whining of Boulder at the door.

  "Need to go out, buddy?" I ask, scrambling off the couch.

  I notice the plate I left on the coffee table is licked squeaky clean, courtesy of my assorted menagerie, I'm sure. I pick it up and drop it in the sink, before grabbing my flashlight off the counter, slipping on my flip-flops, and head outside. Boulder trots ahead of me, sniffing for a good place to pee, when he suddenly stops and stands to attention.

  In the sparse light of the single streetlight at the end of my driveway, the large head of a moose cow lifts up and looks our way. I quickly put a restrictive hand on Boulder's collar. He wouldn't do anything to harm her, but I don't want him to scare her either. It doesn't matter, because the moment she spots us, she turns her back and starts walking in the opposite direction. That's when I first notice the small calf trotting beside her.

  Despite the bugs rapidly depleting my body's blood supply, I love this time of year. It never gets old. Winters can be long here, but that's a small price to pay for a generally glorious spring, summer, and fall. Living this close to nature, you experience the seasons more than living in a large city. You're more aware of the changes around you. Appreciative of the moment. At least I am—or try to be. I don't want to take anything for granted anymore, knowing things can change in a heartbeat. To an outsider, it may seem I lead a boring and simple existence, but the truth is; my life is rich in quality. The key is to slow down and give beautiful moments your full attention. Like this one.

  I watch the calf amble to keep up with her gently loping mother, until the night swallows them up.

  After checking the barn and letting Boulder mark his spots, I head back inside, lock up, and go up to bed, still smiling.

  SEVEN

  Freddy

  Just like on the two previous occasions I saw Millie, she barely registers me when I invite her into the break room next to Susan's office. A space I use when I see kids at the school. Instead she focuses on Boulder, who is already wagging his tail like a maniac at the promise of a good ear scratch.

  "He sure is happy to see you," I observe as she opts to sit on the floor beside him, instead of the ratty couch where most kids plop down. She throws a little smile in my general direction, without really making eye contact.

  I give her a minute to get settled before I dive in. "I get that being here is not necessarily your choice, but your father's." Ignoring the small snort in response, I plow on. "He's worried about you." This time I'm rewarded with an eye-roll, but I'm not letting that one go. "You don't think he has reason to be worried?" Her small hand, that was stroking Boulder’s head, stills. Finally, she shrugs. I read that to mean she's not sure of the right answer, which is an improvement on an outright dismissal. "You know I met with him the day before yesterday?" This should be an easy one for her to answer, so I patiently wait her out. Pushing kids this age often has the opposite effect of what you hope to accomplish. I learned that lesson long ago.

  "He told me," she finally answers, still not looking at me. She's even more closed off now than she was in our prior encounters. I'm sure it has to do with the fact she knows she's here to talk about things she'd rather not discuss. That doesn't deter me though.

  "Did he tell you why?"

  Another long pause, and then at last she lifts her eyes, looking at me from under her ridiculously long eyelashes. "It doesn't mean anything," she says in a small voice. I take a chance, and wait her out some more, holding her gaze with what I hope is a friendly face. I'd prefer her to bring up the cutting herself, which would go a long way to establishing it as a problem.

  Boulder groans and drops his head on her lap, closing his eyes. It seems to prompt Millie to talk.

  "It feels good when I'm sad."

  "What feels good?"

  "Cutting."

  "I see. Are you sad or upset a lot?"

  Another shrug. "I guess. I don't know."

  "Fair enough. Maybe it's easier to tell me when you first got so sad that you cut yourself?"

  "I think last year."

  Her father had only first noticed about four months ago, so it had been going on for quite a while before that.

  "Was it anything in particular that made you feel sad or upset?"

  "I'm not sure," she says, but from the way she sneaks a peek at me from under her lashes, I can tell that's not true. She knows, she's just not ready to tell me.

  "But it made you upset enough you wanted to do something to make it feel better."

  "I guess."

  Another pregnant silence that I decide to break by taking a different direction. "Your father tells me you didn't always live with him."

  "Just every other weekend. I lived with my mom."

  "Your mom passed away," I state matter-of-factly.

  "When I was ten. She had cancer."

  "I see. I hate cancer." Her eyes shoot up at me, wide in surprise. "I do," I confirm, nodding at her. "I hate that it doesn't matter if you're old or young, or live a healthy life or not." It's not exactly a professional approach to use extreme words like hate in a session, or express strong personal views, but it offers me an opportunity to form a bond over a common enemy. Finding any kind of common ground when dealing with a teenager is a challenge, so I'll take what I can get.

  "I hate it too," she commiserates. "I didn't understand how Mom got sick and was gone so fast, and no one could do anything about it."

  "It's hard to understand, even when you're an adult, but I'm sorry that happened to you. That must have been really difficult. Lots of changes in your life."

  She shrugs again. "I suppose. I missed her, but I liked living with Dad. I know that made me feel bad sometimes. Like maybe I should hate living with him."

  "I think you can grieve about one thing, and be happy about something else. I don't think those two have to be connected at all. Sometimes I have a really good day, even when I'm sad about something. I think it's normal when you lose someone, that at first you have more sad than happy moments, but as time passes there will be more happy moments than sad ones. It just takes time."

  "So why is it that I'm more sad now than I was before?"

  "That's a very good question, and one I would love to help you find the answer to," I offer with a quick glance at the clock. I'm sure her father is already waiting for her outside. "Would you like to set up a time for us to talk some more?"

  I'm thrilled to see her nod yes, and surprised when she immediately asks when. I flip open the calendar on my tablet and scan for open space.

  "How is next Tuesday? I can come to school again?" I watch as her face falls. "Too soon?"

  "Not too soon, but I don't like the kids looking at me like I'm crazy or something."

  "Why would they do that?"<
br />
  "If they see me coming in here every time, they'll start thinking there's something really wrong with me."

  "I see. So why don't we see if your dad is outside and figure out how else we can do this."

  As I suspected, her father is already in the parking lot, leaning against the fender of a navy blue Jeep. Boulder whines by my side. "Go say hi," I tell him, and he trots in Newt's direction, who bends over and gives him a good rub. I watch with interest as Newt greets his daughter by hooking her around the neck and planting a kiss on top of her head. Not over the top, but just enough to make her feel cared for.

  "Hey," he says in greeting.

  "We're trying to figure out logistics here," I explain. "Millie and I would like to talk again, but she'd prefer if it wasn't at school." Newt nods in understanding. "So she could come to the clinic, but I don't have a slot open there after school hours until next Thursday at the earliest."

  I'm not sure what motivates me, other than perhaps the slightly disappointed look on both their faces, but before I can check myself, I offer Millie an alternative. "Or you could drop by my place sometime this weekend. I could use a hand looking after my animals."

  "You have more animals?" Millie asks with more enthusiasm than I've seen from her so far. Perhaps this is not such a bad idea after all. Although Dad seems a little more reserved.

  "Absolutely I do. I have a barn and everything." I smile at Millie, before looking up at Newt, shrugging apologetically.

  "Fine," he finally concedes. "Saturday morning okay?"

  "Perfect. I don't know how early you get up on the weekend, but if you can manage to get there before ten, I'll wait to feed my guys until you get there."

  "Not a problem for me," Newt says. "But I'm not so sure about my—"

  "I'll be up, Dad. I promise," Millie interrupts him quickly.

  Newt

  That's not something you'd see in the city; a home visit with a therapist—at her home.

  I have to fight down the cop in me who wants to lecture her about common sense and safety, like I normally would. But life out here runs at a different pace, more laid back. Besides, this particular therapist is unlike any I've ever encountered before, and not just because her methods seem unconventional. She sure as fuck is a lot prettier than any I know, and I have to admit I'm curious to see where and how she lives. Under the circumstances, it's probably not appropriate to wonder how soft her hair would feel if I ran my fingers through it.

  "Dad, where are we going?"

  Millie's question serves as a cold shower, slapping reality back in place.

  "Fuck. Sorry, Sweet Pea, I missed the exit. Let me find a place to turn." I swing the car around in the first driveway I see and head back, making sure I don't miss our turn off this time. "Want to test our new outdoor grill tonight?"

  "You finished it?"

  I never saw myself as a particularly handy person. Never had time to tackle projects myself, but now that I do, I find I really enjoy it and do a decent job. Building an outdoor kitchen, a brick construction with a natural gas grill and decent prep area, was something I'd wanted to do since I first saw the property. I put the finishing touches on it this afternoon.

  "I did. Bought us some steaks to try it out."

  "Sweet," Millie says in a soft voice, and when I peek at her, she has a little smile playing around her mouth.

  "You know," I try, focusing my eyes back on the road. "You're more than welcome to invite a friend over sometime. We could throw some burgers on the grill and you could take the paddleboat out for a run." When all I get in response is silence, I risk another glance to find her staring out the window, chewing on her bottom lip. "Have you made any new friends?"

  "Not really," she mumbles. "Most kids in my class just avoid me." My heart sinks at the sound of defeat in her voice.

  "Have you tried connecting with them?" The question earns me a shrug.

  "I don't really want to."

  There's nothing I trust myself to say to that, so I stay silent. It's not until I pull into our driveway that she speaks up again.

  "They're mean."

  I turn off the engine and turn toward her in my seat. "What do you mean, they're mean?" She looks at me sideways.

  "There's this boy in my class, Jordan, he's only thirteen and not very big. At lunch the other day, a group of kids were teasing him, stealing his food, and pushing him around. He was almost crying. When I told them to stop, one of the girls shoved me and told me to mind my own business. So that's what I do, I go to school and mind my own business."

  "I see," I manage through gritted teeth. I'd love to have a chat with these kids, or maybe even their parents, but I'm pretty sure Millie would feel the blowback if I did that. "This Jordan, is he a nice kid?"

  "I guess he's okay."

  "So see if he wants to come over," I suggest.

  "But he's a boy," she protests, and I bite my cheek not to laugh.

  "What does that have to do with anything? Your mom and I were friends. On top of that, he sounds like he could use a friend as well."

  "I guess."

  I guess, seems to be my daughter's go-to phrase these days. If I didn't I know it was just feigned indifference she puts on, it would drive me around the bend. Still, in this case I'll gladly take it.

  "Tomorrow, give him my number so his parents can call me. We'll see if we can set something up for this weekend."

  "Okay. Can we get out now?" Millie's already halfway out of the car before I have a chance to answer.

  "Sure, but don't go far, you're on salad duty," I call after her, as I grab the grocery bags from the back seat.

  "Whatever," she yells back over her shoulder.

  Another one of my favourites.

  We're still putting away groceries when the doorbell rings, and it takes me a second to identify the sound—it's the first time I hear it. Millie shrugs her shoulders when I throw her a questioning look, obviously as clueless as I am.

  The smiling woman at the door looks vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place her.

  "Can I help you?"

  "This is for you," she says, shoving a cake box in my hands, while at the same time trying to sneak a peek over my shoulder. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

  "I'm not sure—" I start, before she cuts me off, putting a hand on my arm.

  "We met, I'm Phyllis?" she says, and my face must've shown continued confusion, because she clarifies, "Don Cherry's. On Monday?"

  A light goes on. The handsy redhead, with desperation plastered all over her face at the bar, when I went to pay my bill. I distinctly recall gently but firmly declining her invitation for a drink, thinking that would be the last of it.

  "Right. The bar. I don't recall making any plans?"

  Her giggle grates like nails on a chalkboard. "We never got around to that, but I wanted to give you a proper welcome to town. So I brought you a pie."

  I try to stay civil, but this whole scene is not sitting well with me. Welcome me to town, my ass; this is the township of Carling, not Parry Sound. I barely said hello to the woman, we never even exchanged numbers or last names, and certainly not an address.

  "I'm a little confused. How did you find me?"

  "Well, that's easy," she says, waving her hand. "We're used to lots of cottagers, but it's not often someone new actually moves here. That kind of information does the rounds."

  "I see." I don't, not really, but my daughter is inside, dinner is waiting, and I'm ready to be done with this conversation. "Well, I appreciate the pie and the welcome, but I have to feed my daughter."

  "Oh, I see. Of course. I'll let you go then."

  I'm relieved when she turns and steps off the porch, and I'm about to shut the door when she swings back around.

  "Actually, I was wondering...would you like to go out for a drink sometime? Being new to town and all, I could show you around."

  The hopeful look on her face has me carefully choose my words.

  "I appreciate the thought, but I thi
nk I should stay home and spend time with my daughter."

  -

  "You know I can look after myself," Millie pipes up halfway through dessert, a pretty spectacular pie. "I can't remember you going out since I came to live with you. You should've said yes."

  I put down my fork on my plate and lean forward over the table.

  "I know," I tell her firmly. "And if I had been interested, I would have. It had nothing to do with you, and everything with her, but I didn't want to be rude."

  "Oh."

  Of course I don't tell her I apparently have developed a preference for brunettes.

  -

  "Wanna come outside to watch those stars?"

  I stick my head around Millie's door.

  She bailed right after dinner and disappeared to her bedroom, leaving me with the dirty dishes.

  I was actually coming upstairs to tell her to get ready for bed, but seeing her curled up on her beanbag, I decide bed can wait another twenty minutes. Her head swings around at my voice, and I can't miss the tear tracks down her cheeks. Before I have a chance to say anything, she shakes her head no.

  "It's a beautiful night, just grab a sweater and we'll go out on the dock for a bit. You can see them better from there," I try again.

  "Not tonight, Dad, I'm tired." She gets up, climbs into bed, and rolls on her side, her back to the door. My daughter's way of dismissing me. It's been a mostly good day today, and I'm not about to push things.

  "Okay, Sweet Pea. We'll save it for the weekend." I walk over to the bed and tuck her in, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of her head. "See you in the morning."

  "Night, Daddy."

  EIGHT

  Newt

  Not sure exactly what I was expecting, but the welcome at the rustic gate by a potbelly pig, a small goat, and the great lumbering form of Boulder sure is a surprise. To Millie as well.

  "Oh wow, Dad, look! They are so cute!"

  I can't help smiling at my daughter's squeals. This sounds more like the old Millie I remember, but before the car rolls to a stop in front of a waiting Freddy, she has her enthusiasm in check, and the mask of disinterest back on her face. Figures.