Terminal Grill (15 page)

The long, long days went on. It seemed that many had passed before he called me again, but actually, it was in the middle of the night between the first Friday and the first Saturday that he was gone—only a few days after he left—that the machine intercepted a call from him again. He said, “Hello, Marie, I just wanted to say hello.”

My heart sang at the sound of his voice. I was still terrified, but I longed for him so, that I played the tape over and over again, just to hear those eight words.

The next day was a rainy, dismal Sunday. I folded the panther sweater—which had not disappeared—and put it away. I spent the long day alone, as I had spent so many Sundays before he came.

At six—the hour at which he'd so often called me before—the phone rang.

“Hello,” he said, “this is Matthew.”

“I know.”

His voice was very broken and really sounded as though he were in tears. “I just wanted you to know,” he said, “that I am extremely sorry for what happened. Somewhere along the line, I got off the track …”

There was a long silence. My heart closed, as though this were not happening at all, as though I had no feeling left in me. Finally, though, I forced myself to say, “Well, thank you for telling me that; I really appreciate it.”

There was another pause. “I just wanted to say goodbye,” he said, his voice still sounding as though he spoke with great difficulty.

Somehow, I could not keep a smile out of my own voice. It was a smile of relief that he was gone. It was a smile of gratitude that he had been noble enough to call. It was a smile of well-wishing. It was a smile of a kind of love. “Goodbye, Matthew,” I said, too blithely, too easily. And I hung up the phone. I felt almost nothing, except that I thought it was very nice of him to have called.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
HE FIRST THING
I learned was that I was not pregnant.

Then I learned that Matthew had not tried to rob, pilfer, or cheat me out of anything except the money he had asked for and had been freely given.

Each time that I checked and found that Matthew had not hurt me in some way I had suspected, my hurt over the loss of him became more acute.

There remained only to find out whether he had in some way infected me.

When the day came, I found myself sitting in the blood testing laboratory when an old female patient walked in and sat in a neighbouring chair, all cheerful and friendly and nice. I almost expected her to ask me—in a small-talk sort of way—what I was being tested for and I was almost prepared to say, “Oh, well, I fell in love with this vagrant who is possibly bi-sexual so I thought it made good sense to be tested for AIDS ….”

She never asked.

So I just sat there and watched as the virginal technician approached me and punched a hole in my arm and waited for five glass vials to fill quickly with my blood. And as I watched those fat glass tubes turn red, I thought what a tough old muscle is my good heart.

Several weeks later, the doctor phoned to say that all the tests were negative.

I wept. Matthew now seemed officially—well and truly—gone from my life. And all the harm he had done, as far as anyone could tell, was to let me love him, then to go when I sent him away. I longed for him as never before. Though I knew that what I longed for would never be mine—or anyone's—because Matthew was a myth.

There had been times when I had feared that I would find him again someday. Sleeping on a subway grate. Hunched in a doorway. Wandering some ward I was doing volunteer work in or dragged into some courtroom where I was observing a trial.

But as I realized for one last time that he had not robbed, raped, defiled, seduced, impregnated or infected me, I felt the certain knowledge that I would never see Matthew again. I wondered what it would be like to love like a widow.

It was now the latter part of June, again a Sunday, and the bright spring warmth of March had given way to the heat of summer.

I was down at the harbour, sitting on a bench, idly watching the yachts and smaller craft negotiating the turns necessary to get out onto the wide free waters of the lake. There were people walking on the path behind me. I could hear their conversations, the idle chatter of families and friends enjoying the leisure of a day off.

I was happy for them, happy for them all. As for myself, I was content to watch the boats and to read my book and to enjoy my own leisure.

I don't know how long I had sat there when I heard it. At first I thought it must be my imagination. Behind me came the voices of a couple. She sounded sophisticated, an educated woman, but friendly, too. She spoke of her love of the lake and how much she enjoyed sharing time beside it with a new friend.

The man said, “Well, as I'll only be in town for a couple of weeks working in the studio, I appreciate any time I can spend relaxing. “And,” he added, “finding a woman like you to spend it with, that makes it really special.”

Whatever the woman said in reply, I couldn't hear. But I heard him again, and this time I knew who it was who spoke.

“It's nearly one now,” he said, “and I really should be getting back. But I'll be done at about eight-thirty.”

“Oh,” the woman replied, hesitantly, hopefully, I thought.

“So maybe we can meet. Have a little supper …”

“I guess that would be okay. Yes. That would be fine.”

There was a silence as if she were wondering exactly what or where he had in mind.

“Listen,” he finally said. “I know a cute little place in the west end. I'd like to meet you there, treat you to a beer or two …”

The woman laughed. “I'm not really a beer drinker, but …”

“You'll love the place. It's called The Lakeview Restaurant. You can wait for me …”

“I don't usually sit alone in a bar,” the woman answered. “I find that sort of scary.”

“No,” I heard the man reply in his soft, persuasive voice. “Not scary at all. A beautiful woman like you has no need to be afraid. Someone will always look after you.”

I didn't turn. I didn't watch them as they walked away.

For a good long time, I watched the boats speed out of the harbour and toward the adventure of the deep open waters. Then I closed my book, stood up, walked away and, with a smile of relief and forgiveness, lost myself in the crowd.

Acknowledgements

I would like to acknowledge the support of the Quattro crew, especially John Calabro and Allan Briesmaster. And I say a special thanks to my husband, Douglas Purdon.

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