Chapter 3 - Blast from the Past

I headed into town to meet up with Granny's lawyers and finalize some left-over paperwork.  Today, my grandmother's old Victorian would officially become mine.  I found myself enthralled in thoughts of how I was going to make that large house my own.  So enthralled was I, that I found myself walking face first into a rock hard chest.

“Whoa!  Slow down there Sweets.”  I hear as two large hands grab my shoulders firmly, steadying me.  I look up, slightly insulted at this guy's utterance and found myself recognizing the face before me.  I smiled as it was a face from my past.

“Dean?”  I wonder aloud.  The man nods.  I let out a short burst of laughter as I took in his appearance.  Dean Saunders had changed drastically from his tall lanky and awkward frame since our high school days.  Standing before me was a tall, solidly built and expensively suited man with his dirty blond hair and brown eyes.  He chuckled as he watched me checking him out.

“Subtle.”  He mutters teasingly as I find myself blushing.  “I heard you were back in town.”  I nodded.  “I'm sorry about your grandmother.”  He holds onto my arm gently, rubbing his thumb in a soothing manner.

“Thanks.”  I say as I begin to look at the business-fronts around me and realized that I had walked past my intended destination.  “Well, it's nice to see you Dean but I've got to get somewhere.”

“Sure.  I don't want to keep you from anything.”  He tells me as he hands me a business card.  “Give me a call.  We should catch up.”  I smile at him as I stuff his card in the outer pocket of my purse and begin to turn around toward the door that I had passed by, a mere fifteen steps, only moments earlier.

“I just might.”  I found myself looking at his smiling face.  He nodded and off I went.

As I stood in the mezzanine, waiting for an elevator ride to the fourteenth floor, I felt a pair of eyes on me and turn as I hear a faint chuckle.  There Dean was, standing off to my side.

“Stalking me?”  I joked.

“Hardly.”  He said.  “I work in this building.”

“Ah!  That explains the suit.”  I laugh.  “What do you do if I may be so bold to ask?”

It turns out that Dean Saunders was a lawyer for the very firm I was about to visit.  He had been working there for the past year, trying to get up the ladder so to speak.  He definitely had come a long way and made something of himself.  As the elevator doors opened, everyone pooled inside, tossed like sardines in a can.  Dean blushed when I found myself pushed up against him.  I smiled shyly with an apologetic look in my eye.  As the elevator stopped on what seemed like every floor and slowly emptied its contents, Dean and I found ourselves consumed with an awkward silence.  I was glad when the ride ended and he held the door open for me as we walked into the offices of Cambrian, Hollister & Sons.

An hour and a mountain of signed paperwork later, I found myself walking the streets of downtown Port Hope; the proud owner of a Victorian mansion, its entire contents and financially wealthier.  The money, I could care less about as I've mentioned before but would most likely come in handy with the plans I had for myself.  As I mentally went on planning and mapping out what I wanted to do with my newly acquired home, sorting out minor details for my business; yes I planned on decorating again, I found myself at the entrance of my favorite bistro.  I smiled as I walked through the doors; the place hadn't changed in all these years since Granny brought me in every Saturday, for brunch.  My heart ached at the very memory.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!”  I snap out of my daze and laugh at the sound of my favorite waitress.  Missy Dundas and her large frame hobbled over to me with her arms open.  I found myself excitedly rushing toward her and her wonderful embrace.  “I've been wondering when I'd be seeing you here.”  She tells me.  “Come.  Come!  I've got your usual window seat, just for you.”  She grabs my hand and pulls me toward my old haunt of a table.

“Thanks Missy.”  I tell her smiling as I sat down, putting my file filled with copies of the earlier paperwork off to the side.

“What'll it be?”  She asked me at the ready with her notepad and pen.  I shook my head at her, seeing she hadn’t changed and ordered my usual save for my chocolate milk.  I opted for a vanilla latte in its stead.  I watched Missy shuffle her feet back to the kitchen to put my order in.

As I looked out of the window, staring at passers-by, I began realizing that I had truly missed this place.  Port Hope and its people were what made this place feel like home to me.  Now that I was here permanently, I looked forward to settling into a new life, filled with promise, away from those that tried to poison my very existence, mainly Adam and his antics.  Aside from the bad circumstances, I was glad when Mrs. Masterson had called.  It had only been a week since Adam had left me without a word.  I had spent the week, crying out my feelings of abandonment when it occurred to me that I should confront the bastard for what he put me through.

As I stormed through his office door, I froze mid-stride.  Shocked at the sight that beheld me; there he was with the tramp of an assistant of his, straddling his waist; caught in the act.

“What the f...”  He yelled out as he peered around Sarah, to see who had barged in after he had specifically told his receptionist that he didn't want to be disturbed.  Like hell I was going to listen to her.  I was a woman on a mission.  “Amy.”  He blurted as his color left his face.  I hadn't realized until then that I despised being called that.  Adam was the only one to call me 'Amy' and I accepted it because aside from his occasional snoring; it was the only other fault that I had found in our three years together.  That was, until now.  I was able to add 'man-whore' to the list of things least desirable about Adam Cross.

“Yeah!  That's right.   Amy.”  I scoffed as I walk further into his office, slamming the door behind me, in the process, making Sarah jump.  She quickly got off Adam and stood by his side as she attempted to straighten herself up.  “Oh, don't bother, Sweetheart.”  I tell her spitefully.  “This won't take long.”  And she looked from me to Adam.

“I think I'll leave you two alone.”  She backed away and followed the wall so she could make her way to the door and leave us be.

“No.  Stay.”  Adam grabs her hand and judging by his white knuckles, I must have been scaring him.  And so, Sarah stayed standing by the grotesque remnants of who used to be my Adam; once, the love of my life.

“Explain.”  I stood in front of his desk, now.  “After three years, that's it?  You pack up, leave, no word, no letter, no hint that things were headed south for you, for us?  How long has this been going on?”  Adam sat there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, at a loss for words.  If he didn't speak up soon, he might end up as a dead fish.  “Well?”

My face darkened at the memory of him telling me that he hadn't loved me for the last year.  It was like a kick in the gut.  There I was, thinking that we were blissfully happy when he hadn't been.  It turns out that he had been sleeping around with Sarah for the last couple of months.  Sitting here now, after digesting all of what he had divulged that day in his office, I kicked myself for failing to see the signs.  He was barely home and when he was, he claimed he was either too tired or too busy, constantly brushing me off.  The daily phone calls to check up on my day became less and less frequent.  Our once passionate level of intimacy declined to the point where it was almost non-existent.

I looked down at my plate and realized that I had barely touched my meal.  I called Missy over and asked her to stick my food in a take-home container.

“Is everything alright?”  She asked with a concerned look on her face.

“I'm fine.”  I tell her.

“Come and see us soon.”  She tells me after she comes back with my take-out container.  I smiled reassuringly and got up to leave, leaving her the money to pay for my meal three times over.

Once home, I stood on my walkway and looked up at the vast house that stood before me and a thought occurred.  I'm home.  And then I decided that the yard was in need of a bit of attention.  I headed in to change into some old clothes.  I knew a bit about gardening but I wouldn't exactly admit that I had a green thumb.  As I walked out the back door, to the tool shed, I had decided that the grass could use a good mowing before anything else.  I had been so wrapped up with Granny's passing and the funeral planning that I had forgotten to call the landscaper.  I cringed at what my grandmother would have said had she been present yesterday with the lawn being so overgrown.  Despite trying to prove the contrary, when I was growing up, appearances meant everything for my grandmother.  The riding mower was sitting there, waiting for me.

After what seemed like hours of fiddling with starting the mower, unsuccessfully, I might add, I found myself flustered.

“Piece of crap!”  I yelled out at it and kicked one of the wheels.  Who was I trying to kid?  I didn’t know the first thing about all things mechanical.  Maybe I should have called the landscaping service after all.  As I gave it one last try, unsuccessful yet again, I heard a chuckle.

“You might want to pull the emergency shut off button up.”  He said.  I looked up but found that the sun was shinning into my face, thus obliterating every detail of the man that towered above me as I was bent to pick up the rag I had dropped.  As the figure moved in toward me to show me the button he spoke of, I was able to make out who it was.  Christian Masterson.  Public enemy number one!