Chapter 1

He had to escape. He had no choice. There was always something there to remind him. He sat in the forward lounge of the ferry and looked out to the west toward the island. He needed to look forward, not back. He needed to find something or someplace to start again. Start again? No, that wasn’t possible. There would be no new beginning, no fairy-tale rescue for him. He would just have to move on and look for the next place to be.

When Shannon died, a big piece of him died as well. He did the predictable and threw himself into his work – his business. But it was futile. He spent the hours and made the effort, but there was no relief. The final straw was the death of Abby, her chocolate Lab. Cancer had destroyed Shannon and old age and heartbreak had destroyed Abby. He knew then it was hopeless. He couldn’t go on this way. There was no continuation. He had to be somewhere else, and do something else.

He sold his business and then their home and furnishings. He gave as much as he could to their son, Mike, but in the end much of their chattel went to the Goodwill. He said goodbye to his parents and they wished him well with a distinct air of understanding and sadness. He packed his clothes and the precious things that came from their marriage, shoved them randomly into his Volvo wagon and headed for Vancouver Island. Close enough to civilization and far enough to be ‘away.’ They had talked about retiring to the Comox Valley many times, but Shannon’s disease, her treatments and finally, her death, put an end to that dream. And so she was gone, unable to share anything with him anymore.

He checked into the Riverside Bed & Breakfast. The next day he made arrangements for a heated storage container for his clothes and the other things he had brought with him. He kept one suitcase and a selection of clothes to last him over the time it would take to find a place to live. He relaxed and drove aimlessly around the area for a couple of days to get the lay of the land and see if he could pick out an area where he would be content. Three days after his arrival, he walked into the Valley Real Estate office in Courtenay and asked to see a sales representative.

Donna Remple was almost fifty and dreaded counting the days until that number was confirmed. She had sailed through forty without much thought, but this milestone was proving to be a larger obstacle. She had been divorced for almost fifteen years, and her only child, Melanie, was attending the University of Victoria, studying god-knows-what. The young woman had no sense of direction and, despite having been raised by her mother with only occasional guidance from her father, she was just coasting along, wondering what might come next.

Melanie’s mother was the polar opposite. Donna was a driven woman, determined to succeed. She had accomplished that and more in the little community. She was the top sales agent in the valley and served on a number of volunteer committees in the district. She had been asked to run for town council, but had politely declined, recognizing the workload and the polarization of opinion that would result. She also knew that her single-minded nature had been the cause of the failure of her marriage to Jim Remple. He was a mild-mannered gentleman with a successful tax and investment business. He was happy with what Donna viewed then as modest success. They were probably never quite right for each other. It took them almost twelve years to figure that out. They parted without animosity, but knowing they had failed at something important.

When Jack Matheson walked into the office that morning, she quickly sized him up. Early fifties at most, tall – over six feet, handsome in an unconventional way, neatly dressed, distinguished graying at the temples, no glasses, nice nails and a wedding ring. Qualifying the customer was a very old habit.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a representative. I’m thinking of moving here.” He was looking at her carefully.

“I’m Donna Remple. I can help you,” she smiled, holding out her hand.

“Jack Matheson.” He sensed her stiffening as he gave his name. “Something wrong?”

“Any relation to Geoff Matheson?” she asked carefully.

“No ... not that I know of. I’m new to the area,” he answered with a slight smile.

“Good ... I mean ... welcome to Courtenay, Mr. Matheson. Why don’t you come into my office and we can talk there.”

He nodded his acceptance and followed her to the small glass-walled office in the rear. He was watching Donna Remple, and thinking that this was an attractive woman, slightly overweight, but not dramatically so. He wondered idly when the last time he thought about another woman might have been. It hadn’t been on his mind much lately.

He sat in the upholstered chair opposite her and waited for her to begin.

“Is your wife going to be here as well?” she began.

“No ... no she’s not,” he answered averting her eyes. “I’m ... on my own,” he continued.

“Oh ... I see.” She seemed to take a breath and then began again. “What type of a home are you looking for?”

“Nothing fancy. Not a bachelor pad, and not a townhouse. I kind of like my privacy. A bungalow, I guess. Maybe with a basement, and preferable with a garage.”

The woman was rapidly making notes as he talked and looking up at him on occasion. She stopped for a moment. His eyes ... there was a sad look about them. A wedding ring, but no wife. Divorced? Not likely. Separated? Possibly. Widowed? Possibly. At some point she’d find out. She liked the look of this guy, but it was just a first impression. Besides, with that last name, he was going to have some questions coming his way that he wouldn’t expect or understand.

“Well, there’s a pretty good inventory right now, so I’m sure we can find more than a few houses to look at,” she offered cheerfully. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t I drive you around to some of the best districts and show you what’s what, and then we can weed out the better choices.”

“Fine. When would you like to do that?” he asked.

“Well, I have all afternoon free. How’s your schedule?”

“Open. Let’s do that,” he said succinctly.

Donna Remple was intrigued. There was something about this man that was missing, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She wanted to get to know him better, better than just riding around in the car and looking at houses.

“I have a suggestion, Mr. Matheson. Why don’t we have lunch and I can get a little better idea of what you’re looking for, and then we can come back here and see what there is in the inventory. I know this area very well, and I can steer you away from the areas you wouldn’t be happy with.” She was pleased that she didn’t detect any wariness on his part. He was nodding agreement as she spoke.

“Sure ... that would be fine. By the way ... it’s Jack,” he smiled.

“Donna,” she smiled in return. She was happy that they had gotten off to such a pleasant beginning.

Donna chose a little pub down by the river for lunch, mainly because it had small broken-up areas that would afford more privacy and less noise. She saw the favorable reaction by Jack as they entered, and knew she had made a good choice. They found a small booth in a back corner and ordered a drink before their meal. Jack’s local ale and Donna’s white wine arrived and they ordered their lunch.

Jack had a feeling of comfort with Donna that he hadn’t expected. She was a professional and he was satisfied he was in good hands, but the other part of the equation was her personal style. She was composed, but not pushy or aggressive. He had seen the numerous awards on the wall of her office, and knew she was a top sales person in the district. He expected someone more dynamic and was surprised that she was anything but.

Donna was also surprised. She felt no need to be aggressive with Jack. She didn’t need to push him. He knew what he wanted and she suspected she was going to have to be careful around this man. He was stronger than he looked at first glance. She was also aware of her attraction to him. That hadn’t happened in a long time. It certainly hadn’t ever happened in this short period.

She asked him to describe his ideal home and after some hesitation and thought, he spelled out the criteria of his “perfect home.” Again, she was surprised. It wasn’t what she had expected. It wasn’t an all-male domain and yet it wasn’t some Good Housekeeping model either. It seemed to be a mix of ideas that came together better than she thought they would. She also realized that there were only a few homes in this area that would fit his description.

“Maybe you should design and build your own home,” she finally suggested.

“Maybe ... but I’d rather not.” he grinned. “I gather that there’s nothing in the inventory that looks quite like what I’ve described.”

“Not that I know of,” she laughed. “But, we won’t know until we look.” She was enjoying the conversation. “Why don’t you make a list of musts, wants and likes? It’s what I usually work from anyway. I don’t often get a client that has such detailed ideas of what they are looking for. I’m sure we can find something for you and then you can decide if you want to build your own. Okay?”