Period of Adjustment Ch. 01-04

Another little diner on the town's edge featured a breakfast special with coffee and it was perfect. I took stock of myself, and for the first time in a long, long while, I was in a good mood. There was no rush. I had no place to go and no hurry about getting there. As I gazed out the front window, I watched a young woman on the other side of the street looking forlornly at her car. It took me a moment to notice that she had a flat tire.

I watched her for a minute or so, and she seemed uncertain about what to do. I decided that it was time to put on my Sir Galahad outfit and see if I could help. I paid the bill, and crossed the street to the scene of the problem.

"Mornin', you need some help?" I asked in my "friendly" voice.

Her head snapped around. She had an angry look on her face, but she took one look at me and immediately changed into "helpless female mode."

"Yes ... thanks. The tire's flat and I don't know how to change it. Can you do it? I'd be very grateful."

I had a good look at her for the first time. She was young, late twenties at most, with what I thought might be Asian features. Maybe five-six tall with a nice, slim build. Very attractive.

"I'm Nate Poirier," I said, offering my hand.

"Natasha ... Natasha Collier," she replied, taking it.

"Let's have a look in the trunk."

"Why?"

I laughed. "That's where you keep the spare tire, and likely the jack as well."

"Oh ... I don't think there's a spare tire. I haven't seen one. I've never had a flat before."

I just shook my head as she pulled the cable release on the trunk. I lifted what passed for a floor, and a small unused spare was revealed, as well as a crank jack, also unused. It took less than ten minutes to change the tire.

"Just take this to the nearest tire dealer and get if fixed. It shouldn't cost too much."

"Oh ... thank you so much, Nate. That was so kind of you. Do you live around here?"

"No, just passing through. I'm from Canada."

"Oh ... me too. This is my cousin's car. I just borrowed it for the day. She lives in Sebastopol."

I must have had a funny look on my face, not having a clue where Sebastopol was.

"That's in the Russian River Valley, down 101, south and west of here," she explained. "It's really a lovely place. You'd like it."

She had a great smile, and had cheered up noticeably since I'd helped with the tire. I was still in my good mood, and we connected nicely I thought.

"How do I get there ... and if I do, will you be there?"

She flashed me a big, toothy smile. "Yeah ... sometime this afternoon. Just follow Highway 101 south to Santa Rosa. It's just a few miles west of 101 on 12. Easy to find. It's not a very big town."

"That spare won't get you very far. I'll bet you can get the tire fixed in town."

"Yeah ... that sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Nate. Where are you from, by the way?"

"Ah, well, I was living in Ottawa, but I'm on my way to Vancouver. I think I'll like it better there."

"Oh ... I know you will. Not much winter!"

"I thought about that. That does have its appeal, all right. And I hear it's a nice, clean city."

"Well ... mostly. It has some nasty places too, like every city. I live in Burnaby, on the east side of Vancouver. Pretty nice there."

"How long are you down here for?"

"Uhmmm ... three more days. Then I'm flying home from San Francisco. I needed a break, so with my cousin here it was a fairly cheap vacation."

"Well, maybe we could get together again. For lunch, or even dinner if you'd like," I tested.

"Uhmmm ... I guess so. Maybe lunch ... tomorrow?"

"Great. You name the spot and I'll meet you there. Or if your cousin needs the car, I can come and pick you up."

"I've kind of been monopolizing the car, so ... if it's not too much trouble, maybe you can pick me up?" She fished around in her purse, and pulled out a used envelope.

"Here's my cousin's address on the front. Why don't we meet there at noon? I know a neat place for lunch."

"Great. I'll look forward to it."

I went back to my room and looked up Sebastopol on the Internet. I found a map that showed the location of the address on Natasha's envelope. I also found a listing for motels. There were only a few, but with one phone call I had a reservation for tonight. With a bit of luck, I might extend my stay for a day or two more. With a bit of luck.

By late afternoon, I had worked myself down to Santa Rosa. I followed Natasha's instructions and turned west on Highway 12, winding my way down the short drive to Sebastopol. Again, I had found a quiet, out-of-the-way place.

It was past six when I pulled into the entrance to the motel. It was as nice as the Internet pictures had depicted it, both inside and out. I chose to stay two nights, thinking it was just a few minutes further down the valley to the coast.

I looked out the front window of my room and saw a seafood restaurant across the street. I hadn't had any on this trip, and I was drawn to the small eatery. By seven, I had finished a glass of a local Cabernet, and was halfway through the Chef's special, a jambalaya that I would have devoured if I hadn't slowed myself down.

The second glass of wine was stretched to give my meal a chance to settle while I enjoyed the surroundings, and that very good feeling that I had maintained all day.

On a whim, I rose and walked to the front desk, requesting a phone book. I looked up Natasha's cousin's number, and stepping into the washroom, punched in the number on my cell.

"Hello?" It was a soft, feminine voice, but I was pretty sure it wasn't Natasha.

"Hello, is Natasha Collier there, please?"

"Yes ... just a moment."

I could hear the mumbling in the background, undoubtedly wondering who knew she was at this number.

"Hello ... this is Natasha," she answered cautiously.

"Hi Natasha, Nate Poirier. From this morning in Geyserville."

"Oh hi, Nate. Where are you?"

"I just checked into The Valley Inn a while ago, and had a nice meal at the seafood restaurant across the street. I thought I'd call to see if we were still on for lunch tomorrow."

"Yes ... sure. I thought you were staying in Geyserville tonight."

"Well, I thought a change of scenery wouldn't hurt, and you said this area was very nice, so I decided to come over a little earlier. You were right, it is very nice."

"Oh ... good. I'm glad you like it. I thought you would."

"Yeah. Listen, if it's not too late, can I pick you up and we can have a coffee or a drink or something. Your cousin can join us too," I quickly added. I was feeling bold, and I was pushing my luck.

"Oh ... uhmmm ... well, Janice has a couple of kids to look after. But ... I guess I can get away for a little while. Do you know how to find the house?"

"Yeah. I've got a map and checked it out earlier. I can find it. How about I pick you up in ... what ... ten minutes?"

"Okay. I'll watch for you. See you in ten." She sounded a bit uncertain.

"Natasha ... uhmmm ... I realize I'm being very forward. I just thought ... if you're uncomfortable, we can leave it 'til tomorrow."

"No ... no. That's alright. You just caught me by surprise."

"Alright, then. See you in ten."

I paid the bill and headed for my car. I had noted when I checked in that my motel had a small bar and restaurant, so we could go there if she didn't have a preference.

My timing was right on. When I arrived at the address ten minutes later I noticed the regular tire for the car was back on. Quick service in a small town, I guessed.

Natasha's cousin lived in an older style craftsman house which looked to be in very good condition with nicely groomed and treed grounds surrounding it. I walked up the wide, tall front steps and knocked on the door.

She must have been nearby waiting, as the door swung open almost immediately, and I was facing a smiling Natasha Collier.

"Hi ... come in for a moment and I'll introduce you," she said, giving me room to pass.

I walked into the lovely living room, and saw a woman I assumed was Natasha's cousin. She was attractive, older by several years than Natasha. We shook hands, introducing ourselves. The walls were covered in paintings -- some oils, others watercolors. They appeared to be local scenes, but I couldn't be sure.

"Are you the artist, Janice?"

She nodded, smiling.

"They are very good. Do you sell them?"

"Yes. I have an arrangement with a gift shop in Bodega Bay, and another in Duncan Mills. It isn't my principal source of income, but I'm getting better known in the last couple of years."

"I can see why." I could, too. She was very talented, and had a unique style that avoided many of the artistic clichés that were so familiar. When you saw her work, you knew immediately it was hers.

"You sound like you know a bit about art," Natasha said.

"Mostly from books and the Internet. I'm just an interested amateur."

"Natasha is an art appraiser, you know," Janice explained.

"No ... I didn't know. That's a surprise for someone so young," I said, wondering if I might have offended her.

"Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is," I assured her. "That must make it awkward for you two."

Janice laughed. "I wouldn't put her in that situation, Nate. But she does help me a lot with what sells and why. I just have to decide whether selling paintings is more important than doing what I enjoy. So far, the two have been in sync. I really want it to stay that way."

I examined several of the paintings more closely and could see the detail and bold use of colour in each of them. Janice was genuinely talented.

"You two run along now or you won't get out of here. Natasha, you have a key, so I'll leave the porch light on for you. I may be in bed when you get back. My two will be up early again, getting ready for school."

We were out the door and down the stairs, into the warm night air when Natasha spoke.

"Thanks for calling, Nate. Janice doesn't have a TV, and to be honest, there isn't much to do in the evenings. She reads or paints, so we don't even have many conversations."

"My pleasure. By the way, that was a very smart thing to do ... inviting me in to meet Janice."

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"You were going out with someone you had only just met briefly that morning. You don't know me or anything about me. By making sure Janice saw me, she could recognize me if necessary."

Natasha looked at me with a strange expression. "Should I be worried about you?"

"No ... but then, I'm bound to say that, aren't I?"

"Now I am starting to get nervous."

"Don't be. My ex-wife would be the first to tell you I'm harmless. I'm completely housebroken, trained on and off the leash, and I brush my teeth twice a day."

She couldn't help herself. She laughed. "Where are you taking me?"

"There's a nice little restaurant and a bar in the motel. If there's somewhere else you'd prefer, name it."

She looked at me carefully as I drove slowly back toward the inn. "No ... I know the place you mean. It's quiet and comfortable, and ... it's close to your room," she added with what I took to be a sly smile.

"So ... you've decided to trust me."

"For now. Don't really know why, but ... I do. Must be something about you. I guess I'll have to get you to tell me all about yourself, just to make sure though."

"Alright, fair enough."

I parked in the lot near my room and we walked to the restaurant entrance.

"Restaurant or lounge?" I asked.

"Lounge. Hardly anyone in there tonight and they have nice looking booths for privacy."

"You think we need privacy?

"If you're going to tell me your life story, I guess so," she said with a grin.

Natasha ordered a Bailey's on-the-rocks, while I chose an Anchor Steam beer.

"So, Nathan Poirier, just who are you and why are you moving to Vancouver?"

Chapter 2: A Tasty Bit of Company

I'm a practiced liar. I'm good at it because it was my job. I made people believe whatever story I chose to tell them. The only thing I had to work hard at was remembering which story I was using at the time. If you lie enough times, you start to lose track of which one you are telling.

I had a handicap, as well. Women remembered me. They remembered me much better than men did. As much as I would like to be forgettable, or even invisible, they remembered me. A friend of mine at CSIS said it was because I looked something like Valery Putin, while another claimed I resembled a young Yul Brynner with hair. It wasn't good news. I was a bit too memorable for my liking.

I'm five foot ten inches tall, and currently a very fit one hundred and seventy-five pounds. My hair is dark brown and cut short, but no mousse or trendy spikes. I had grown a goatee while in prison, and it changed my appearance quite a bit. My eyes are blue-gray, I have very high cheekbones, and my nose is slim and straight. I wear very ordinary clothes, seldom with a tie. I have no tattoos or piercings or other distinguishing marks. I don't laugh out loud much, and my voice isn't unique. I try very hard to be commonplace.

If I have one quirk, it is my penchant for cowboy boots. At one time I had four pair. That was over eight years ago. I have one pair now. Old, but in beautiful condition after many hours of polishing and waxing. Soft as deerskin, they feel like a light glove on the foot. Damned if I know why my ex-wife wanted three pairs of size ten cowboy boots.

Natasha Collier wanted my life story. That was going to be tricky. I would tell her as much of the truth as I dared, but not all of it. I didn't know her, and I wasn't about to put either her or myself in jeopardy. That was another of my necessary rules -- trust no one.

I usually had a sixth sense about people, but it wasn't infallible, and I was still wary about what might lie in the future. As much as I'd like to get to know Ms. Collier, I had to keep to my self-imposed policy. That didn't mean I wouldn't romance the lady.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" Natasha began as we sat in the high-backed booth.

"Well, it's probably just two ships passing, that sort of thing, so there usually isn't a lot of time."

"Tell me, Nathan, what do you do for a living?"

"Nothing. At least, not right now. I'm living on severance from my last job."

"And what was that?"

"Security."

"Like a mall guard or an armored car guy?"

"No ... not exactly. I worked for the Canadian government. Internal security."

"You aren't giving me much," she said, appearing frustrated.

"Just as well. There isn't much I can give you."

That seemed to stop that line of questioning temporarily.

"You said you had an ex-wife. How long were you married?"

"Three years, one month, and twenty-six days."

"Not very long."

"Long enough. She decided she could do better. I don't know if she has, though."

"You still love her?"

"Nope. The past is the past, and she won't be coming back."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to pick at a scab."

"No problem. It's been quite a while ... almost eight years since the divorce was final."

"Any current girlfriends?"

"Nope. No opportunity. You are the first young lady I've had the pleasure of spending any time with in quite a long while."

"Lucky me," she smiled.

I replied in kind, "No ... lucky me."

She sat staring at me for some time, and I was looking right into her eyes as she did. She was trying to read me, and I was doing the same with her.

"What did you learn?"

She looked surprised, then curious. "About what?"

"About me. You were studying me. What did you learn?"

She blushed. It was attractive and quite natural. It confirmed just how lovely she was.

"You seem to be a study in contrasts. Sometimes hard, sometimes soft. Sometimes tense, sometimes relaxed. You are very hard to read."

"Perhaps I can help. I'm a thirty-five year old heterosexual male. You already know I'm single. I have no brothers or sisters. As far as I know, my parents are still alive, but my grandparents are not. I have a college degree in human behavior from Queens University via the Internet. I'm physically fit, and work out regularly. My hobbies are reading, fitness, and solving puzzles. I know how to ski, skate, swim, and dance. Any thing else you'd like to know?"

"That's quite comprehensive, thank you. I supposed you'd like to have me reciprocate?"

"Only if you want to."

"I'm twenty-nine, single, a graduate of Simon Fraser in Communication, Art and Technology. I'm currently employed as a junior appraisal clerk for Blindside Galleries. I look for up-and-coming artists, and recommend their work for display and sale at our galleries. I have no current boyfriend. My parents are alive, and I have an identical twin sister, Felicia. Three of my four grandparents are still alive."

"And what do you like to do in your spare time?"

"Swim, bike, ski, dance, party ... you know ... all the young person stuff. I'm single, but I don't have any problems getting a date when I need one."

"I'm not surprised. You are very attractive."

"Thank you." She returned my smile. "I don't mean to offend you, Nathan, but ... you look older than thirty-five."

I laughed. "No offense taken. Occupational hazard. I haven't exactly been lying around on the beach much in the last few years. I'm hoping I can put a stop to my premature aging."

She blushed again. "I didn't mean you weren't good looking. You have a very mature face. An interesting face. Almost familiar in a way. What is your family background?"

I hadn't thought of this coming up. I needed to think fast. "French and Russian. The French part from the Normandy coast and the Russian part from Siberia, near the Mongolian border."

"Wow. That's quite a combination."

I nodded. "Yes, it certainly is. I lean toward the Russian side of the family, like my father. Mom looks more French, luckily for her."

"I think that explains why I find your face so interesting."

"What about you?" I asked.

"Mostly plain vanilla Canadian, but some Haida as well. My great grandfather was a coast native."

"Tell me about your sister."

"Felicia. Well she looks just like me, but we don't dress alike unless we're trying to fool someone. We used to double-date, so you can guess some of the things we got up to."

"Sounds like you two enjoyed being a bit naughty now and then."

"Felicia more than me. We may look alike, but that's where it ends. She's a part-time model, part-time actress, and part-time hostess."

"Hostess?"

"Yeah ... you know ... like at trade shows. She points to the product and hands out brochures, fetches the sales and technical guys when the questions get too tricky. That sort of thing."

"Oh, sure. Sounds like she lives an interesting life too."

"Yeah ... she does I guess. She goes through boyfriends like crazy. Never seems to keep one around for very long. She's a bit flighty ... if you know what I mean."

"What about you? How long do your boyfriends last?"

"Depends. I had one that lasted three years and a couple that lasted one date. I guess you couldn't really call them boyfriends ... except that I knew them for a while before I went out with them."

"Ever been in love?" I was treading on dangerous ground, but it was too late now.

"I thought so. The guy I was with for three years. He was in love with me, but ... in the end ... I knew I wasn't. That's why I broke up with him. I know it hurt him, but I wasn't going to pretend something that wasn't there. He was a nice guy, but ...." She left the comment unfinished.

"Too bad for him. I can understand why he'd be disappointed. You're easy to like."

"Nice line, Nathan," she said with a smirk.

Busted, I shrugged it off. "I'm a little out of practice, so you'll have to make allowances for me." I was hoping it would get me back in her good graces, and it seemed to work.