Unravelled Read online

  I felt a surge of panic. This Thad character was turning my best friend into some raw food-eating, magic water-drinking weirdo! And what was next? Sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber? Adopting a chimpanzee? But I knew I couldn’t express my concern without antagonizing Angie. I bit into the spicy chicken wing to keep from commenting.

  At nine-thirty we packed away our accoutrements and called it a night. Martin had his car there—a silver Mazda Protegé which gave no indication of his sexual proclivity. If only he’d been driving a hot pink VW Bug! He dropped off Angie first, and then me. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, when we pulled up in front of my building.

  “No problem. We should have coffee soon. We still haven’t talked about your story ideas.”

  “I know. Let’s definitely do that. I’ll call you next week.”

  “Okay. And thanks again for the maple fudge. It’s so Canadian.”

  “My pleasure.” My hand gripped the door handle but I hesitated before jumping out of the car. I’d always felt comfortable with Martin, like he was the kind of guy you could really open up to. And seeing him weekly for the past couple of months had made me feel closer to him than ever. I looked into his warm brown eyes and felt a real connection. So why didn’t I just ask him if he was gay? Maybe even tell him that Sophie was developing feelings for him so that he could put a stop to things before she did any permanent damage to her marriage.

  “So . . .” I began, but something stopped the words from coming. What if Martin was straight? Would he be offended that I thought he was gay? Or what if he was gay? Would he be offended that Sophie and Angie thought he was straight? What if he was straight and had feelings for Sophie? Did I want to be the one to blow the whole thing wide open and essentially end Sophie’s marriage? Did I want to be the one responsible for breaking up baby Flynn’s family? “. . . I’ll talk to you soon,” I finished. “Good night.”

  Inside the apartment Kendra was lying under a blanket watching Sweet Home Alabama. “Hi,” I mumbled. “Got some work to do . . .” This had become my standard excuse for hiding out in my room. I knew I should have been making more of an effort to befriend my roommate, but I didn’t have the energy this late in the evening. Besides, she wouldn’t want me distracting her from Reese Witherspoon’s agonizing choice between Patrick Dempsey and Josh Lucas.

  Alone in my bedroom, I opened my laptop. Hopefully, I clicked on the email icon. Jim had sent me an email on the Monday after our return thanking me for joining him and saying he hoped he’d see me soon. Since then, all had been quiet. It was only Thursday, but I’d hoped this new phase of our relationship meant I’d be hearing from him more often. When the little hourglass on the screen disappeared, I felt a swell of disappointment. There were no new messages.

  I sighed heavily and prepared to visit soapcity.com to catch up on some of the daytime TV viewing I’d missed since work had picked up. Just as the homepage appeared, I was struck by a sudden thought. Why wasn’t I emailing Jim? Or even calling him, for that matter? I hadn’t imagined the closeness we’d felt in Whistler, that sense of comfort and belonging. I mean, I kind of sort of considered him my almost boyfriend now. Yes, I would call him. It was perfectly normal, even expected, to call your almost-boyfriend and wish him good night.

  My cell phone batteries were dead so I sneaked to the kitchen and retrieved the cordless phone. Kendra was so immersed in Reese pouring her heart out to Josh, while inexplicably sitting on a tombstone, that she didn’t even notice my furtive presence. When I was back in my room, I closed the door and dialed Jim’s cell phone number.

  As I waited, listening to it ring in the quiet Bainbridge Island house, my heart began to beat loudly in my throat. It was silly to be nervous. Jim would be delighted to hear from me. We were practically a couple, after all. On the other hand, I was dealing with a man from another generation. Maybe he didn’t believe in women calling men? Maybe he’d think I was being too forward? Too much of a women’s libber? Just as I was considering hanging up, he answered.

  “Hi,” I said cheerfully, camouflaging my nervousness. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, thanks. You?” He sounded friendly, but it wasn’t exactly the effusive greeting I’d hoped for.

  “Good... I’m good. I hope you don’t mind me calling.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I just...I haven’t talked to you since Sunday and I guess . . . well, I just missed you.”

  “Me too,” he said, his voice suddenly softer and full of caring.

  I breathed a small sigh of relief. “So, what are you doing right now?” My tone was slightly suggestive.

  “I was working, actually. After the symposium I was asked to contribute to a number of papers on energy consumption and healthier interior environments.”

  “Oh . . . That’s great.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Was it my imagination, or was he sounding a little dismissive? “Well, I guess I shouldn’t keep you.”

  “Yeah, I should get back to it.”

  Definitely dismissive! “Okay...uh, I’ll see you next time you’re in the city.”

  “Right.”

  “Well . . . good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Eighteen

  MAYBE HE’S JUST not really a phone person?” I said, hopefully. Mel and I were sipping lattes while Toby splashed in the frigid waters of Puget Sound. “When he first called me to discuss my article, I thought he was a little brusque.”

  “It’s possible, but there’s probably more to it,” Mel answered. I knew when I told her about my relationship with Jim that she’d give me her two cents. I probably should have opened up to her when all was happy and full of promise, not now that I was afraid he was blowing me off.

  “Like what?” I asked, grudgingly.

  “It could be any number of things. Maybe he compartmentalizes his professional and personal lives and didn’t appreciate a call when he was working. Or, he might prefer a more traditional relationship where the woman isn’t so aggressive. He might even view your relationship as almost a father/daughter thing.”

  “Eww!”

  “I’m just speculating. Maybe it’s just another woman.”

  “EWW!”

  “Okay, okay!” she laughed. “I just think it’s got to be more than him not being a real phone person.”

  “I guess. But I felt so close to him when we were away. It’s really strange.”

  “What about Colin?” Mel changed the subject. “Have you spoken to him since your night together?”

  “No,” I mumbled. Recalling that last encounter with my ex just added to my chagrin. I so wished I had been a supportive and caring friend instead of just his fuck buddy.

  “That could be part of the problem,” Mel said, blowing a kiss to Toby who was careening wildly up and down the beach.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well.” She took a drink of her latte. “It’s a proven fact that it’s impossible to start a new, healthy relationship while you still have unresolved feelings for a former lover.”

  “A proven fact?” I asked skeptically.

  “I did a lot of reading after my first divorce. One of my books explained how people subconsciously sabotage their new relationships if they’re not completely over their past ones.”

  “Well,” I snorted, “I certainly haven’t done anything to sabotage my relationship with Jim.”

  “Maybe not consciously, but there could be subtle messages that you’re sending him.”

  Hmm...subtle messages like passing out naked instead of joining him for dinner with his colleagues? Oh god! Maybe she was right? “So what do I do about it?”

  “I think you need to end things with Colin on a more positive note. Make him see that you’re not going to get back together, but you wish him all the best in the future.”

  “Sounds good. How should I do it?”

  “I don’t have all the answers,” Mel chuckled. She stood and whistled to Toby, who obediently came bound
ing toward her. She took a moment to have a joyous reunion with her beloved from whom she had been separated for approximately four minutes. “With Dennis, I wrote him a long, heartfelt letter,” she said, explaining the closure with ex-husband number one. “But with Matt, and also Todd, I had to have deep conversations with them. It took a lot of words... and a lot of tears.” Todd was ex number two and I think Matt was a boyfriend in between. “I was angry with Steve for a long time,” she continued, moving on to a more recent paramour. “That’s why things didn’t work out when I started seeing Ivan. I thought that my anger meant I didn’t love Steve anymore, but the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.”

  “Thanks Dr. Phil.” I gave her an elbow in the ribs.

  “You can joke,” she said sagely as she clipped Toby’s leash to his collar, “but if you really want things to work out with Jim, you’re going to have to deal with Colin.”

  I didn’t want to deal with Colin. Last time we tried to deal with each other, we ended up getting back together, having sex, and then breaking up again, all in the span of one night. What could I say to give us positive closure? What could I do to turn our feelings of anger and resentment into slightly wistful, happy memories? When I stormed out of Colin’s apartment that morning, I’d felt positive that that was the end. But apparently it wasn’t going to be that simple. Though I was fairly sure mixing alcohol and muscle relaxants was sheer stupidity and not subconscious sabotage, I was better safe than sorry. I was going to have to reach out to Colin.

  Alone in the apartment, I decided a letter was the best vehicle. It was probably not a good idea to see each other in person. While I was confident that I wouldn’t fall for his lies and jump back into bed with him, it was always safer to keep your distance. It was like scuba diving with sharks: They probably wouldn’t bite you, but you never knew for sure, unless you stayed out of the water. Besides, I sort of had a new boyfriend now, and he might not appreciate me meeting up with my ex. With a pad of yellow, lined paper and a pen, I sat at the kitchen table. Shoving the quilted placemats to one side, I began to write.

  Dear Colin,

  I am writing to you in a quest for healthy, positive closure. The last time I saw you, I felt angry and betrayed. Your so-called epiphany about our relationship seemed to be nothing more than a trick to get me into your bed. But now that some time has passed, I have released those feelings of hurt and resentment. I forgive you, Colin. And I hope that you can let go of any negative feelings you might harbour toward me (though I can’t imagine why you would have any negative feelings toward me since I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong). Let’s let the fond memories of the time we shared together guide us to a place of understanding and forgiveness.

  Yours, in positive, healthy closure,

  Beth

  I re-read it. It was really good! I almost sounded . . . wise. And it was definitely heartfelt. I considered adding a droplet of water to it to simulate a tear, but maybe that was overkill? I didn’t want Colin to think I was still devastated by our breakup and pining for reconciliation. No, this missive should do the job without the fake waterworks. Folding it neatly, I headed to my bedroom office to find an envelope.

  As I searched through my cluttered desk, the blip indicating a new email message distracted me from my quest. My heart leapt as I read:

  From: Jim Davidson

  To: Beth Carruthers

  Subject: Missing You

  Eagerly, I opened the message.

  Hey you,

  I was wondering if you’d like to come out to my place on Bainbridge soon? It’s been too long.

  Let me know if you’re free this weekend.

  Jim

  I was so happy and full of relief I nearly cried. I hadn’t even mailed Colin’s letter yet and already it was working! From now on, I would pay Mel’s relationship advice much more heed. Eagerly, I replied to Jim’s missive, with an:

  I’d LOVE to spend a weekend on Bainbridge Island with you.

  Before hitting send, I de-capitalized the word love. Even though I was flooded with joy at the invitation, I didn’t want to appear too keen.

  Preparations for my Bainbridge weekend began immediately in the form of a bikini wax, upper lip bleaching, and a large bottle of skin-firming, anti-cellulite body lotion. There was no way I was going to let another opportunity for intimacy pass us by. Jim had to be on the same wavelength—otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested we spend an entire weekend together.

  On Tuesday, I met Martin for coffee and pitched some story ideas, one of which he sounded quite interested in. Of course, he couldn’t quite offer me the assignment without talking to his editorial team first. But I was so elated by the weekend’s prospects that I wasn’t bothered by the delay. Our enjoyable conversation and his double espresso shot did nothing to indicate his sexuality, and while the rapport I felt with him was increasing, I was still loathe to ask him about it, point-blank.

  It was Wednesday when I received an urgent email message from Sophie. She was requesting a women-only consultation prior to the regular meeting of the stitch ’n bitch club. Would Angie, Nicola, and I be able to meet for coffee at her place on Thursday morning to discuss the Martin issue? “I’ll be there,” I responded. Of course, I wished my recent meeting with Martin had been more revealing. In fact, I was more confused than ever about his ambiguous sexuality. But I would do my best to help my friend during this confusing and difficult time. My knitting circle had been so supportive when I was grappling with my unresolved feelings for Colin. Now that I had moved on and had a promising new relationship, it was important that I did not desert them.

  That morning, Sophie opened the door with an adorable tow-headed toddler on her hip. “Hi,” I addressed my friend. “And hello, Flynn.” I reached out to touch his pudgy cheek as he stared at me blankly, sucking furiously on a blue-handled pacifier.

  “He’s just about to go down for his nap,” Sophie explained. “Nicola’s in the kitchen. Go on in and make yourself at home. There’s coffee in the pot. I’ll be right there.”

  I’d no sooner poured myself a cup of coffee than Angie rang the bell. Nicola hurried to usher her in and we were all seated comfortably in Sophie’s sunny kitchen when she returned from her son’s bedroom. “Thanks so much for coming,” Sophie said, filling her mug and joining us at the table. “I just couldn’t face Martin tonight without talking to you girls first.”

  “We’re here for you,” I said, with a supportive smile.

  “How are things with Rob this week?” Nicola asked, her voice hopeful. “Any improvement?”

  “Not really,” Sophie muttered. “I mean, we haven’t been fighting as much, but that’s only because he’s been working late and I’ve been distracted by my fantasies about Martin.”

  “Okay,” Angie said, “has anyone figured out if he’s gay or not?”

  “He can’t be gay!” Sophie cried. “Did you see how he was looking at me last week? There’s something between us! I can feel it.”

  Angie nodded. “I definitely sensed something between you two.”

  “I wasn’t there last week,” Nicola said, “but I still get a distinctly homosexual feeling from him. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s more than just his nice clothes and good hygiene.”

  “And you’re still adamant that he’s gay?” Angie addressed me.

  “I—I don’t know. I mean, I always thought he was but... well, I guess I’ve never really had any proof.”

  “See?” Sophie said. “There’s absolutely no proof that he dates men.”

  “Or women,” I added.

  “Right,” Angie said. “There’s only one solution. You’re going to have to ask him point-blank.”

  It took me a moment to realize that she was looking at me. “I’m going to have to ask him? Why me?”

  “You’re the closest to him,” she continued. “It makes the most sense coming from you.”

  “Oh, please,” Sophie pleaded, reaching for my hand, which I was momenta
rily afraid she was going to start kissing. “It would solve everything!”

  “No,” I said, extracting myself from her grip. “I’m sorry but I’m not comfortable delving into his private life. Martin and I are friends but we also have a professional relationship. If he wanted his sexuality to be common knowledge, I’m sure it would be.”

  “That’s just great,” Sophie said, flopping back in her chair in a huff. “Am I just supposed to go on wondering indefinitely?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Nicola suggested tentatively.

  “I can’t!” Sophie cried. “I can barely form words around him lately. Every time he looks at me my heart starts pounding and my tongue swells to twice its normal size.”

  “Eww,” Angie said, making a face.

  Sophie continued, “I just can’t believe I could be so intensely attracted to someone with no sexual interest in women.”

  “I’ve got the perfect solution!” I cried, excitedly. “You’ve got to kiss him! We’ll leave you two alone tonight so you can make your move. If he kisses you back, he’s straight. If he pushes you away and runs off to rinse his mouth out, he’s gay.” They all looked at me like I’d just suggested she stand on her head naked in front of him. “It’s just a kiss,” I mumbled defensively.

  “Obviously, Beth’s idea is far too outrageous,” Angie said, without looking in my direction. “But there is another option.”

  “What?” Sophie asked eagerly.

  “Reconnaissance,” Angie said. “We’re going to have to spy on him.”

  “Spy on him?” I shrieked. “And my idea was too outrageous?” Angie had lost all common sense. This had to be Hollywood Thad’s doing. He was probably reading espionage scripts to her while they were shacked up in his Vancouver hotel room.

  “If no one is prepared to ask him, it’s the only way to find out,” Angie said.