Chapter 2

I WATCHED THE POOL guy vacuum the pool in the early morning light, forcing myself not to look away. The pool held so many cherished memories. Now, at least I could watch. Now I could swim without sinking into despair. But the ache was ever-present.

The day passed, time flowing. I worked out in the morning, read a book, read the news, watched TV without really following it. I found myself browsing the Internet on an iPad in the evening and, without really thinking about it, I searched for Kimber McBride.

She was all over the place. Thousands of photos; fashion shoots, Paris, Milan, and London fashion shows, and magazine covers. According to some articles, Kimber had attained supermodel status, now referred to by her first name alone, and it was easy to see why.

The camera adored her. Everything she wore, and some of the outfits seemed ridiculous to me, looked fabulous on her. She was a chameleon, her face showing distain, sweetness, cool elegance, goofiness, all with mesmerizing emerald green eyes so powerful they almost overwhelmed the clothes. And yet, here she was back in Toronto to further her education. Clearly she was determined and confident. She couldn’t be this successful on looks alone. She had a head on her shoulders, a brain behind those looks. My respect for her went up a couple of notches.

I thought back to yesterday afternoon I’d spent with her. While at the time I hadn’t realized it, after the fact I understood how I’d enjoyed myself. The painful memories of Addison that so haunted me became softer. Kimber had deftly steered the conversation, touching memories then moving on. And a few of my smiles hadn’t been forced.

If I wasn’t so old...

Age is a state of mind. Four years ago I was a teenager. Now I’m a crippled old man. The joi de vivre had gone; a life lived in four and a half years.

Leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, I looked through the kitchen window at the back garden; a perfectly mowed lawn, spring flowers blooming, trees lush and full, the pool glittering in the morning sun. It should have pleased me. Nothing.

The doorbell rang.

Coffee mug in hand, still dressed in jeans, no shirt, and barefoot, I ambled to the front door and opened it.

“I waited. You didn’t call, so here I am,” Kimber said with a blinding smile. She’d gathered her dark mahogany hair up on the back of her head, some loose tresses falling to her neck. Yellow Capri pants, sockless in Keds, a sleeveless pale green top, a large handbag hooked over one shoulder - she looked as fresh as spring.

I stared.

She looked me up and down. My worn and faded jeans were no match for her fashion.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Uh, no. Come in,” I said, stepping back to give her room.

Some subtle perfume touched my nose when she passed.

“Can I get you a mug of coffee?” I asked.

“Is it strong? I’ve grown to like strong coffee, not the Americano style.”

“Yes. It’s strong.” I pointed. “The kitchen’s this way.”

“I know. I remember. I’ve been here before.” Walking through the living room behind me, she observed, “Nothing’s changed. It’s exactly the same.”

In the kitchen, I poured her a mug. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Black, please.” She sat at the kitchen island counter.

Placing the mug in front of her, I asked, “Not that I’m complaining, but what brings you here?”

She smiled. “I told you. You didn’t call.”

“Was I supposed to?”

She laughed. “Why do you think a girl gives a guy her number? For prosperity?”

I smiled. “No. Out of pity. To make us saps feel good for a while.”

Kimber laughed again, her face alive, eyes glowing. “For your information, there are very few people who have my phone number. I protect my privacy. I have to, otherwise I’d never get any peace. So, no pity here, buster. You’re one of the privileged few.”

“Then I’m honored.”

“You should be.” She sipped her coffee. “Mmmm. Good. So why didn’t you call? I thought we had fun the other day. We had a connection. I enjoyed it.”

“So did I.”

Kimber studied me for a few moments, sipping her coffee. She put the mug down and said, “I need to tell you something about Addison and then I won’t mention her again.

“Julia and I grew up with her from kindergarten. We were best friends, playing together, going to each other’s birthday parties, hanging out together. In all the time I knew her, I’d never seen her happier than she was after you suffered from amnesia. She was seriously happy and couldn’t stop talking about you. I thought you should know.”

Kimber paused. In a softer tone, she said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here at the end. I was in Europe. Mom wouldn’t let me fly back.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Kimber sat up straighter. She smiled. “Well, where are you taking me?”

“Huh?”

“I don’t dress up for any guy. I only look this good when I’m being taken out.”

“You’d look good in old, stinky sweats,” I countered with a grin, thankful for the change of subject.

“You think so?” she asked, her eyes bright, a smile playing across her face. “Then, why didn’t you call me?”

“That again? You’re nothing but persistent.”

“Yes I am. You haven’t answered me.”

“I thought you were being polite when you gave me your number.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I can see that. You’re an old fogy, me a gorgeous girl. I can see why it scares you.”

“Scares me? It doesn’t!”

“Sure it does. Fragile male ego and all that. Never mind. Get dressed. I’ll take you out since you clearly aren’t taking me out.”

I sort of froze, mildly confused at the speed of the conversation.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Get dressed and I’ll finish my coffee.”

As I ambled out of the kitchen, still bemused, she called out, “Dress casual, Mr. Roth. Those jeans are great.”

“It’s Jim!” I yelled back.

She laughed. “We’ll see. I haven’t decided that yet.”

Despite what she suggested, I changed into tan Chinos, soft loafers, and a soft buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up. She’d finished her coffee and was waiting when I returned. I looked around.

“What are you looking for?” she asked. “By the way, nice outfit. The jeans were better.”

“Car keys,” I replied.

“You don’t need them. I’m driving.”

Kimber had a Mini Cooper. It was surprisingly spacious inside once I moved the seat back. As the seatbelt clicked, Kimber took off with a squeal of rubber throwing me back in the seat.

“I’m taking you downtown. There’s an art gallery off Hazelton Lanes with an exhibit of a painter I want to see.”

She tore down the wealthy residential road and came to a sharp stop. The tires burned rubber when she made a right turn.

“This’ll be fun,” she announced with a smile. “With you being with me I won’t be hit on.”

Gripping the door handle as she took a corner very fast, I asked, “Where did you learn to drive? Italy?”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Watch the road,” I suggested, nodding ahead.

Kimber laughed. “Relax. I know what I’m doing.”

It took me fifteen minutes to realize she wasn’t a maniac. Kimber obeyed all the rules of the road. She just drove aggressively, competently, full of energy, her car extremely zippy. Understanding it, I relaxed and enjoyed the drive down the winding Bayview extension.

“Are you hit on a lot?” I asked.

“All the time. It was fun for the first week and a pain in the butt ever since.” She glanced across at me and smiled broadly. “Now I’ll have some arm candy with me.” Then she laughed. “Don’t look so uncomfortable!”

“I’m not arm candy material.”

“Yes you are! Did you know I had a crush on you when I was fourteen?”

Twenty minutes later, we walked into a small lane lined with old trees and renovated shops. Kimber slipped her arm through mine and steered me.