Chapter four: The meeting of minds; the meeting of hearts. He is in trouble.
Chapter five
No email, no text, no voice-mail, no note by the phone. Aster would have contacted me if she’d made supper plans. Nothing in her life happens without a plan. So I thought she’d be home by 5.
I seldom cook, but she appreciates it when I do. The potatoes boil. I mash them, add butter and milk. The creamy white potatoes conjure a memory... Aster in a white gown, arm-in-arm with her father, passing row after row of family and friends, heading up the aisle to me. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, overcome by her steady approach.
"I do,” we said and kissed—sealing the promise. We vowed that our love would last, but will it? Can it?
A layer of hamburger meat, a layer of corn, topped with mashed potatoes, I put the casserole dish in the oven.
The timer rings. The Shepherd’s pie is ready. Aster is late—loudly proclaiming yet again that I’m the last thing on her mind. I busy myself setting the table, lighting the candles. If I can make her see... If we go away together, leaving all other concerns behind... Maybe we can once again find what is left of us. My desperate attempt...
There’s a noise at the back door. Aster?
I rush into the kitchen and heat our plated meals in the microwave.
“Oh, Kenneth James, how lovely. Please accept my apologies for my tardiness.”
I guess she noticed the table.
“Don’t worry, just enjoy.” A plate in each hand, I bring them to the table.
“Oh, I so love Sunday R--."
"It's Sheppard's Pie."
"Well, you shouldn't have gone to all that trouble." But she manages to gag it down. At least the meal is from her culture, not mine. It's not like I was asking her to eat "hardfish" or skyr.
I pour the wine, reach for her hand and lean in close. “Come away with me.”
Her eyes light up. She’s listening.
I show her pictures of the island—sunrises, sunsets, flowers, trees, deer. “Aster, it’s so beautiful there. You’ll see. Let me show it to you.”
She waves the photo of the deer around like it’s evidence of a crime. “Where were you when you captured this image? Kenneth James, you have to use more caution. Your life is fragile.”
“I’m not some dotty old geezer. I know what I’m doing.”
We eat our meal in awkward silence. We haven't been face-to-face for weeks. And when we finally are, this is what happens. No, she isn't dead, but our marriage is.
When old love dies...
Chapter six
Sunday, August 10
4:40 (ish) pm PST
The Phone Call
I was in the kitchen of my ridiculously huge apartment when the phone rang. I'd just
finished washing the dishes--one cup, one plate, one knife, one fork. What was I going to do with the rest of the evening? was the question on my mind when the phone rang.
"Hello, my name is Byron Dyck. Friends gave me your number. I hope this is an okay time to talk." That's what I remember you saying.
I do know that we talked hometowns and I told you about Eriksdale, and you said, "I'm from a small town too. P.A.--Prince Albert, Saskatchewan."
I could have talked with you forever. You had such a nice voice. Before we hung up, we made plans to go on a date. I was so excited that I started planning my outfit the minute I set down the receiver. I was excited, but I didn't know what that date would mean. I didn't know that we would still be together 35 years later. One phone call changed my life forever.
