53 Letters For My Lover (40 page)

August 10th, 2001

We merge into traffic
headed for the Falls. The power of thundering water, as it pours over from the Great Lakes, is awe-inspiring. A fine mist covers our visors as brightly lit casinos and multi-storey hotels come into view. Troy pulls into a private parking lot and takes off his helmet.

“Everything set?” he asks the guard at the security station.

“Yes, Mr. Heathgate. Dale is waiting for you.” The guard lets us in.

“Are you going to tell me now?” I ask when he unstraps my helmet.

“Patience, Beetroot.”

Dale walks us to a concrete circle marked with a big ‘H’. A bright blue helicopter with shiny rotor blades awaits us.

“A helicopter tour?” I almost jump up and down.

Troy grins and ushers me inside. “The last time we were here, we didn’t quite make it to the falls.”

I feel my cheeks flame as he straps me in. How can this man still make me blush?

“Is it just us?” I ask, eyeing the empty seats as Dale starts the engine.

“Just us.” He puts on a baseball cap and holds my hand as we take off.

The timing is perfect. The setting sun paints the sky with bold strokes of pink and gold. Below us, rainbows appear and disappear as we skim over vast clouds of mist. We soar past the Whirlpool Rapids and the American Falls to the Canadian Horseshoe, spellbound by the majesty and power of the spectacle below us.

“A lot of the water from the Niagara River is diverted by dams and stored in underground reservoirs for power plants,” Dale informs us. “What you see going over the falls is only a fraction of it.”

His commentary continues as we circle the falls and then fly over the Rainbow Bridge.

“Don’t forget your picnic basket,” he says.

Troy opens a wicker basket lined with quilted plaid, and pulls out a blanket. We spread it between us and dig into an assortment of drinks, gourmet sandwiches, fruit, cheese...

“A bundt cake?” I ask.

“Special request,” replies Dale over the drone of the blades.

Troy looks at me like he’s completely clueless and bites into a drumstick.

We follow the river over picturesque gardens and fruit orchards. I huddle under the blanket, soaking in the spectacular aerial views as the sun dips below the horizon.

“Hot chocolate?” Troy opens the thermos and hands me a mug. “One more time around the falls, Dale.”

We get there just as the kaleidoscope of nightly lights come on, turning the thundering water into a rainbow of colors. I rest my head on Troy’s shoulder, settling in. It feels good, sharing this with him, a powerful force that can’t be held or grasped or contained.

“Hey, Troy?” I say.

“What?”

I take his baseball cap and throw it out the door.

For a moment he stares at me, mouth hanging open. Then he laughs so hard that Dale throws us an inquiring glance.

August 11th, 2001

We spend the day
revisiting favorite places. Afternoon tea at The Prince of Wales Hotel; strolling down Queen Street; a trip to the cluttered vintage store in Hamilton.

It’s good to see Ken and Judy again, to listen to the wind chimes and look out the window to the busy street.

I fucking love you
, Troy had said.

“How did you like the cottage you rented last year?” asks Ken.

We look at each other and smile.

“It worked out pretty well,” says Troy.

“There’s another lovely place by the river. Remember, Judy?”

“Oh yes. The one in the woods. A bit of a drive, but absolutely enchanting.”

“Save it for the next couple that comes in,” says Troy. “We already bought our little patch of magic.”

“You did? Congratulations! So anything particular you’re looking for today?”

We pick up a matching Beatles t-shirt for Troy and I get a pair of silver starfish hair clips for Natasha.

“No wigs?” asks Judy.

“No.” Troy kisses the top of my head. “No more disguises.”

By the time we
head back, the stars are out and the sky is steeped in inky blue.

“You still use this laptop?” asks Troy when he spots it on the table.

“That’s how I tracked you down, once I saw your parents’ photo.”

“You spied on my property records? With the very laptop I gave you? That’s not very nice, Beetroot.”

“All is fair in love and war.” I reply. “Need I remind you, you lied to me.”

“About what?”

“You said you’re not free.”

“I’m not. I’m bound to you. Chained, wired, and branded, with your stamp across my chest. For life. I believe that earns me eternal kanoodling.” His hand explores the hollows of my back. “So did you finish the story about the prince?” he asks.

“I’m still working on it.”

“Are you ever going to let me read it?”

“When it’s done.” I stand on tip-toe and kiss him.

“Keep that up and we can forget about dinner.” He steps away reluctantly. “I’m still on a mission to fatten you up, you know.”

“But you make it so much fun to burn up the calories.”

“Grrrrr. You’re the queen of distractions.” He smacks my butt. “You want to eat out on the deck tonight?”

We set the table outside and turn on the mini-lanterns on the ledge.

Troy holds my hand as we eat, his eyes lingering on my fingers.

“What?” I ask, as he studies them intently.

“I can’t get enough of this. Bare fingers, mine to put a ring on. I’m trying to picture what would suit you best.”

“I already have something in mind. And it’s not gold or diamonds.”

“What are you thinking, Beetroot?”

“I’ll tell you when we get back.”

“I can’t wait to tell my parents.”

I push my food around half-heartedly. “They’ll never have grand-kids, Troy.”

“They’ll just have to make do with one deliriously happy kid. And two amazing step grand-kids. You gotta admit. That’s a pretty sweet deal.”

He balances me out so perfectly, it feels like we’re two pieces of a puzzle falling into place, part of a beautiful picture that was always meant to be.

I pull my shawl closer, feeling the chill of the night settle around us.

“Let’s go inside,” says Troy.

“Not yet.” I don’t want to give up this night, this moon, this last bit of magic before we head back.

“Then let’s get you warmed up.” He holds his hand out and leads me to the gazebo.

I lean against the latticed railing and watch as he turns on the patio heater. The tall column fires up a stunning flame, providing instant warmth. Troy opens a built in panel and punches a few buttons. Soft music surrounds us.

“You know what we didn’t do this time?” I ask.

“What?” He wraps his arms around me.

“Chicken wings and karaoke.”

“Easily remedied.”

We dance as he sings Duran Duran’s ‘Come Undone’ to me—something about an immaculate dream made breath and skin, in that sexy, breathless tone that sends goosebumps tingling all over me.

“I was listening to this when I saw you that day, by the pond,” he says.

The day I found the dead butterfly. The day that changed it all.

“Nice karaoke. And what about the chicken wings?” I ask, drunk on this moment, the look in his eyes, the silver reflections on the lake.

“Got those covered too.” He takes a hold of my bony elbows and flaps them.

“Troy!” I laugh.

“I love you, Beetroot Butterfly.”

“I love you, Scary Cherry.”

August 12th, 2001

I sit up in
the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat.

“What’s wrong?” Troy gets up.

“Crap!” I shake my head and bury my face in my hands. “Crap, crap, crap.”

“Shayda? What’s wro—”

“How am I going to explain this to Jayne?” I crawl into his arms

We fall back on the bed and start laughing—silly, absurd, convulsing chuckles. He rolls me over and puts his ear on my chest.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Listening to you laugh.”

I sigh and stroke his hair. “She has a baby now.”

“Jayne?”

“Yes. A little boy.”

“Good. She won’t give a crap, crap, crap.” He smiles.

At least, I feel him smile, because it’s too dark for me to see. So I trace his mouth and let my hands wander over his face, savoring the curves, the contours, the bones beneath his skin, the smoothness of ear lobes, the orbits of his eyes.

When I wake up again, the first rays of daylight are just peeking through the shutters.

“Going for a run?” I ask Troy, sleepily.

“Not today.” He snuggles into me. “Today, everything I need is right here.”

We drift off again, only to be woken up by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Then a dog barks from the living room, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet.

“Fuck!” Troy sits up in bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I forgot to tell Amy—no more rentals.”

The bedroom door opens. Four pairs of startled eyes stare back at us. Mum, dad, a little boy and the family pet.

Troy and I look at each other.

Caught naked under the covers.

“I don’t give a fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper in his ear.

“Excuse my fiancée.” Troy gives our unexpected guests a lopsided smile. “She has a real potty mouth.”

We fall back on the bed and start laughing.

“Say that again.” I pull the bedsheet over us.

“Excuse my fiancée?”

“I love when you call me your fiancée.”

May 9th, 2010

“I hope it doesn’t
rain,” says Natasha, looking out of the arched window.

“If it does, they have the sun room and the tent ready to go.” I knot the sash around her waist. The bright fuchsia adds a pop of color to her soft ivory dress.

“I know, but I’ve always wanted an outdoor reception.”

“And that’s exactly what you’ll have.” I adjust the starfish clips that hold up the whimsical flower crown on her head. With dainty white cherry blossoms and baby leaves woven through delicate vine, it makes her look like an ethereal woodland creature.

“Beautiful.” I sigh. “My baby girl is all grown up.”

“Can you believe it?” She smiles as I admire her reflection in the antique mirror.

The bohemian dress hugs her figure and falls to her feet in layers of soft tulle. Its stunning low back is edged with silk rosettes. Lace cap sleeves accentuate her shoulders. She looks like every woman should on her wedding day—glowing, radiant and sublimely happy.

“Oh, mum.” She catches me wiping a tear for the umpteenth time. “It’s Nathan.
Our
Nathan. I’m married to my best friend.”

“And it’s about time.” I sniff. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”

I give her a small gift bag and a large one. She looks inside the first and lets out a squeal of delight.

“Your butterfly umbrella?”

The one that Troy gave me.

“It’s yours now.” I say. “I hope you don’t have to use it today, but if you do, it’ll help you dance through it all. All of your rainy days.”

“And this?” She pulls out a crimson coat from the bigger bag. “Oh my god! It’s the coat that dad bought you. Remember when I used to play dress-up with it? Now I can take all those memories with me to our new place. Thanks, mum. I love them both!”