Chapter 4

My internal clock woke me up promptly at 6:30. I jerked awake in the bed. Melanie was gone.

Instantly I blinked back the sleep and in an irrational panic, my eyes darted around the room. Where had she gone?

At first, I thought to call her name, but I stopped when I saw her suitcase right where she had left it the night before. Her glasses were gone from the nightstand and the door to the outer room was closed.

I settled back into the pillows on the bed for just long enough to bring my heart rate down. I was still naked. The remnants of the previous night's lovemaking was matted against my groin. I'm sure my hair was a mess. My back was sore from where Mel's fingernails had dug into my skin. My shoulders and hips ached from their exertions.

And I wouldn't have traded that feeling for anything in the world. Except for maybe having Melanie Nakamura wake up in my arms.

It had been close to a year since I had sex. Taking a deep breath, I wondered what we were going to do now. I've never been a one-night stand kind of guy. The few relationships I've had were generally long-term. Never friends-with-benefits or just fucking.

Melanie was the girl of my dreams. Not just because she was the prettiest girl in my school, but because of everything else: her brains, her willpower, her humour. Her looks were the icing on the cake, but as far as I was concerned, she was the whole package.

Just then, it dawned on me that maybe she was using me. I'm sure she could have had her pick of guys. So why not take pity on an old friend? It had been eighteen years—half a lifetime ago—since we had last seen one another. Who's to say that it wouldn't be that long again before our next meeting?

I rolled out of the bed and went to the closet. I pulled out a plush terrycloth robe and noticed that its mate was gone.

Very quietly, I opened the door and saw Melanie sitting in a chair by the window. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and was staring out into the darkness.

She jumped slightly when I stepped out into the main room. She smiled timidly. She looked so beautiful. Her hair was pulled back. She didn't have any make-up on, not that she needed any. At least in my humble opinion.

Once again, her eyes looked tired and worried. It was like she had to fight to smile.

"Good morning," I said softly. Wondering if our friendship was over.

She didn't reply, but when I sat down on the couch next to her, she slipped her hand into mine almost automatically.

The curtains were drawn just enough to see outside. From our room at the top of the hotel tower, we watched the city slowly coming to life. The sun's first rays were coming over the horizon. Already the airport support services were coming to life. Plows and blowers had cleared the tarmac. No new snow had fallen, although it still appeared to be bitterly cold outside.

We sat there for a little while. It seemed that she enjoyed the relative peace and quiet, and I wasn't about to disturb her.

"Do you ever second guess the decisions you made in your life?" she asked out of the blue.

I shrugged. "Not really."

"Why not? Don't you regret any of the bad choices you made?"

"Sometimes I wish I didn't have to learn things the hard way," I chose my words very carefully, wondering where she was going with this conversation. "But I'd like to think that each of the experiences in my life—good, bad or indifferent—has made me the person I am today. Yes, there are some things I wish I could take back, especially when I'd hurt someone's feelings, but each of those 'learning experiences'—'character-building' or whatever you want to call it—has contributed to me being me. And I like who I am."

The look she gave me was one of both curiosity and almost-grudging admiration. "That's very Zen of you."

"What about you?" I dared to inquire.

It was a moment before she replied. "Knowing what I know now, there are some things I wouldn't do again. But other things ... it's more complicated."

She paused to take a deep breath. "Like my husband ... I wouldn't have married him again. But then again, he gave me the two most beautiful children in the world. I guess it's a package deal, huh?"

I squeezed her hand, mostly because I didn't know what else to do. It seemed that she was building up to something else. She forced herself to smile for me again.

"Kevin, I'm sorry for dumping this on you," Melanie said. "You know how people will meet someone on a plane or a cruise ship and jabber on and on and on? I feel like that's what I'm doing to you. And for that I'm sorry. We haven't seen each other for almost twenty years and here I am spilling my guts, making it all about me."

"If you want to talk, I'm always here for you," I said, almost naturally slipping back into the "friend zone".

"I appreciate that," this time her smile was genuine. She looked out the window once again, her mind drifting like the snow on the ground. She still hadn't let go of my hand. "Kev ... I have a confession to make."

Once again, she drew in a deep breath. This time she held it before letting it out slowly.

"I'm not in banking," she said softly. There were tears in her eyes. "Not any more. When the industry imploded, I got let go. Not in the first round, but soon afterwards. That was almost five months ago. I was just divorced and living in a house I couldn't afford. My ex, well, he doesn't pay alimony because I always made more than him. In fact, if I hadn't been laid off, I'd be paying him palimony."

What do you say to that? I did the only smart thing and kept my mouth shut.

"They gave me a generous severance," Melanie continued, her voice quivering. She wouldn't look at me. "But that's gone now. I had to sell the house at a loss and move home with my folks. I was out in California for an interview ... but there are way too many MBAs out there job hunting. I can't compete with kids who are ten years younger and don't have two children to feed."

I squeezed her hand again.

"Kev, I don't know what I'm going to do," she said softly. My heart broke as she began to cry.

Melanie didn't resist as I lifted her out of the chair. We sat back on the couch. I pulled her to me. She buried her face in my shoulder and began to sob uncontrollably.

I may be a guy, but the one thing I've learned about women is that sometimes they don't want you to talk. Guys are doers. We fix things. Even when all you girls want is to vent your feelings, we still feel like we should be doing something. There were a million things I wanted to say or suggest, but none of them were helpful to Melanie at that moment.

So I simply held her close. The tears rolled down her cheeks and into my bathrobe.