Chapter 1: A Face in the Crowd

January is my least favourite month. Part of it is because of the passing of my friend Lew, but in truth, mostly it is because of the weather and the limited daylight. This particular Saturday was the last one of the month and the weather was quite miserable. A south-easterly gale was blowing up Georgia Strait and the intermittent rain was soaking people in seconds. And, it was cold; raw, damp, cold. It wasn't a difficult decision to finish my usual Saturday shopping trip and head for my favourite pub for lunch. At least there I could watch the wretchedness from comfort. What I wasn't expecting was an apparition that would change my whole outlook.

I tried very hard not to stare, but I couldn't pull it off. I could look away for a few seconds, but I was inevitably drawn back to her. She was sitting at a window table that overlooked the harbour. Two of her friends (I assumed) were with her. One I could only see from the back; a mass of wavy, careless auburn locks was her most distinctive feature. The other, sitting between the two by the window was small, dark haired in what I thought of as a pixie cut. She wasn't especially pretty as far as I could tell.

I was sitting in the middle of the narrow lower level of the pub, facing the three women from an angle. Two of the trio had come in and been seated a minute after I had arrived, while the third, the object of my interest, appeared a few minutes later looking a bit rushed. They apparently decided to chat over their drinks before ordering their lunch. Having already placed my food order, I nursed a Guinness until it arrived. But while I waited, I took every opportunity to study the remarkable woman who was most directly in my line of sight.

She wasn't movie star beautiful, but she was beautiful in a simple, uncomplicated, unadorned way. As I looked at her carefully, she gave me the impression that she might have overslept, barely having enough time to wash her face, and brush her pale blonde hair straight back. There wasn't a hint of makeup. No eye shadow, no eyebrow pencil, no lip gloss, no earrings, or any jewelry that I could see ... nothing. But her face was flawless. Not so much as a freckle to interrupt the smooth transition from jaw to cheek to forehead.

As I observed her, I could see that she was tall. Taller than her friends. Almost a head taller than the little dark-haired woman. I guessed her age to be late twenties. She was wearing a sweater that looked far too large for her, a non-descript washed-out pink, or possibly even gray. It looked like a back-of-the-rack selection from Value Village. It hid much of her upper body, but not so much that I couldn't see that she was quite shapely. In fact, I got the feeling of athleticism from her. There was something about her shoulders and her bearing, even though she was seated, that spoke of fitness and strength.

I watched her face as she talked with her friends. She didn't exhibit a lot of animation in her expression or during her conversation. The word that came to mind was serene. She was calm, yet quick to show a soft, warm smile. Her eyes shifted to each of her friends as they talked, until finally forced to consult the menu and order. In my head I heard the lyrics to Roberta Flack's The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. Now I understood what she meant. Now I knew what drew me to this woman.

Finishing my lunch, I decided to order another ale. I wanted to watch this woman for as long as I could. It was hard to believe she hadn't noticed me staring at her; perhaps because I was fifteen or so feet away and not in her direct line of sight. But sooner or later...

Inevitably, it happened. She paused between bites of salad, and for whatever reason, looked over at me. I couldn't avoid her eyes. I was powerless to look away and pretend I wasn't watching her. I was caught. She held my gaze for several seconds before she smiled slightly, then returned to her food. I had been holding my breath as she acknowledged me, unable to take my eyes from her.

What was it about her that was so fascinating? Yes, she was beautiful, but there was more to it than that. I was trying to comprehend just what made her exceptional and it was eluding me. More than anything, her lack of adornment was a huge factor. Her beauty was natural. If, as I had imagined, she had simply washed her face, brushed her hair, threw on a ratty old sweater and a pair of jeans, then hurried to the restaurant, it made her even more incredible.

How might I meet her? I tried to think of a way to introduce myself. The time-tested "you look familiar" strategy? It had never worked for me before, so why would it now? There was nothing I could think that wouldn't be cheesy or lame. Maybe I could wait until she left the restaurant and follow her? That was a long shot too. So what if I found out where she was going? What then? No ... I needed something a little better than that and nothing I could think of would work.

I finally gave up and paid the bill, leaving a nice tip in an overly-generous gesture. Resigned to the idea that it was a singular event, we were not destined to be together. Ah well, that's the way things seemed to go for me these days.

Breaking up the dullness of the winter was the home show at B.C. Place Stadium in the third week of February. I hadn't attended one for several years and this was an opportunity for me to investigate areas of interest that applied to my home. The show ran from Wednesday through Sunday. I could finish up the Friday edition on Thursday afternoon and catch a late ferry to the mainland, leaving me three full days to conduct my search. My mother would welcome my staying with her.

There was a list of things I needed, including a tankless water heating system and new fixtures for the main bathroom. I also wanted to investigate ground source heat pumps as an effective way to heat and cool the house. The current electric forced air system was inefficient and expensive.

Lew had tried to use solar panels on the roof, but they proved inadequate. Too much dead-fall from the pines would end up on the panels and hinder their efficiency. Going up on a ladder several times a year to clear the detritus off them was a real pain, he told me. In addition, the trees blocked enough light that they inhibited the available sun as well, even before the dead-fall occurred. He couldn't cut the trees down, nor did he want to. It was better to just abandon the project as a bad idea. The panels and plumbing were removed and stored in the basement.

I caught the nine o'clock ferry on Thursday evening and was at my mother's home before midnight. I had a key, knowing mother would have retired a couple of hours earlier. Shutting off the alarm as I entered, I reset it as I made for my old bedroom. Not much had changed since I had left. I slept well and rose at seven the next morning. Mother was already up, rising at six-thirty every morning.

"Good morning, Nolan," she smiled as she stood before the stove, preparing some scrambled eggs and sausage.

"Good morning, Mom," I replied, walking to her and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"You slept well?"

"Of course. I always do, Mother. It's so quiet here, just like my new home."

"You didn't bring Travis with you this time."

"No, my neighbour volunteered to look after him. He's happier right where he is."

"When am I going to see this new home of yours? You've been stalling me," she complained.

"When it's done," I grinned, knowing that question would be asked almost right away. "I'm hoping the last details of what I want in it can be found at the home show. When it's done, it will be a very nice place to live."

"I assume there will be enough room for a wife and children?" she quizzed. Again, a totally predictable question.

"Yes, Mother. There will be plenty of room for a wife and children."

These question and answer routines were now well worn. I knew which questions she would ask and she knew how they would be answered. There were still a couple more to come.

"Any new girlfriends on the horizon?" she asked, fulfilling my expectations.

"No ... not yet. I'm looking, but nothing so far."

"You're not getting any younger, Nolan," she finished the predicted conversation.

"I'm only twenty-nine, Mother. Plenty of time yet."

With the preliminaries over with, I sat down to eat one of her very nice breakfasts. She knew the way to her son's heart was to start his day with a great breakfast of eggs, sausage, fried tomatoes, toast, and fresh coffee. The show didn't open until noon today, but would be open tomorrow and Sunday at ten am. I planned to head back to Comox on Sunday mid-day, having given myself plenty of time to view all the booths and collect what literature I thought was worthwhile.