Chapter 1

THE TRIUMPH MOTORCYCLE RUMBLED underneath me as I cruised down Parchment Street, a well established old-oak lined residential street with well spaced mid century designed homes on either side. I listened to the motor's sound with a critical ear waiting for it to misfire or change timbre, a sign of problems unseen inside the engine. This Triumph was a restoration, my loving work of art still in progress; a 1967 Triumph 650. So far so good. It was purring like a well-fed lion.

The speedometer never exceeded twenty miles per hour along the sinuous street. I spotted my destination immediately. It was hard to miss. Cars and minivans spilled out of the drive and lined each side of the street announcing an event taking place in the neighborhood. Easing the Triumph to the curb I cut the engine and flicked the kickstand out. My helmet was off before I dismounted. In the residential silence I heard music and voices; the sounds of a party in progress. Damn. I really didn't want to be here.

The "here" was my older sister's house. Christina, physically five years older than me and mentally twenty years older, was holding her annual barbecue party. The fact that it was her first barbecue party didn't stop her from announcing it was to become a fine annual tradition, a get-together of the McDaniel family (that's me) and the Lamonts (her husband's tribe). I wasn't looking forward to it.

Perhaps I should explain my reluctance. Christina, despite being a smart corporate lawyer, was somewhat anally retentive ... which was probably a great trait to have if one wanted to succeed as a lawyer. It meant that every element of the barbecue had probably been thought out, preplanned. However you can't engineer sociability, or polite conversation, or enjoyment. Yet no doubt Christina would try. Every detail thought of was her motto, spontaneity the bane of her existence.

With the helmet under my arm, I made my way around the parked cars and up the drive, admiring the modern lines of her home; sort of a Frank Lloyd Wright style modern home with a long sloping roof, wide horizontal windows, wood and brick artfully mixed. Tony, another lawyer and her husband, was also successful. He was a partner in a law firm. Together they could afford this home comfortably.

I followed the sounds of a party around to the backyard, took a bracing deep breath and tried plastering a smile on my face. It felt artificial so I let it fade and opened the slat-wood gate.

The backyard was beautiful. Each bush was immaculately trimmed, each flower in perfect bloom, the lawn perfectly edged and, if I'd studied them on my hands and knees, I'd probably have found each blade of grass perfectly vertical. The kidney-shaped pool was crystal clear and cleaner than my bathtub. A tall white picket fence surrounded the large property. It looked like it had recently been painted. I knew all this immaculateness had nothing to do with Christina's labor, just her chequebook. Still. It was nice.

To my right a group of people mingled on the flagstone patio, all seemingly with cocktails in one hand and all seemingly deep in fascinating conversation with each other, kids darting in and out. From amongst the group one woman detached herself, smiled broadly with delight, and made her way towards me.

"Hi, Mom," I greeted her with a hug.

"Sebastian, you're looking thinner. Are you eating?" Mom said, hugging me then leaning back to inspect me.

Since I'd been living on my own, starting when I went to University, Mom had greeted me with the same words. I think it was her way of showing loving concern. I was, after all, single, living alone, and in my twenties; all problems for a caring mother. Mom had been married and given birth to Christina when she was younger than I was.

"Yeah, I'm eating," I responded with a smile.

"It's yes, not yeah, Sebastian," Mom gently chastised with a smile. "Come. Christina's so happy you could make it."

I severely doubted that.

Letting Mom lead the way I studied the group. From our family I recognized an uncle and aunt from Dad's side and their kids, now grown. That made four. Add me, Mom, and my sister and we had seven from the McDaniel side, Dad having passed away years ago. There were at least thirty people milling about ranging in age from grandparent-aged to preteen kids. With a grin I decided the Lamont side must be Catholic.

I received a quick welcoming but distracted hug from my sister before she raced off to the kitchen to have a word with the caterers. I grinned again. Only Christina would cater hamburgers and hotdogs. Tony was somewhere, who knew where, but I knew his jeans would be ironed with sharp creases - he was that sort of guy. Mom passed me a Rolling Rock beer and became distracted by a lady roughly her own generation, an early sixty-something woman who, if memory served, was Christina's mother-in-law.

I hated these events. Over time I'd observed there are two types of people at these shindigs; Minglers and Minglees. The Minglers are those that circulate like birds and touch down to chat with everyone; the social ones that love get-togethers and gossip. Then there are the Minglees like me. We tend to stand in one place and observe. Minglers pass by and chat and move on. We Minglees were the less sociable ones.

There were benefits, though. I could openly observe everyone. And it was as I was openly studying the clan called Lamont that I saw her. She stepped out through the open double doors leading from the living room to the patio and into my consciousness.

Our eyes met briefly before her eyes slipped away but it was enough. An almost physical connection had been made. Awareness of each other was now established. There was no reason behind it, no logic, no rational thought. It was just one of those things. True, it had never happened to me before, but I recognized it for what it was ... an immediate fascination with her.