Page 117 of Just for Tonight

Jake

It’s been twenty years since a sixteen-year-old could influence my choices with her smile.

I should have turned Sierra down, but Mackenzie was watching, and I knew that was what she expected me to do. Shit, saying no was what I expected myself to do.

But then I realized that here was a chance to do something for someone I like.

That’s why Mackenzie was watching me. Expecting me to do one thing but hoping I’d do something else.

And that was a challenge I was ready to take. She is a dangerous influence that way.

I like Mike. I barely know Sierra, but I like females unafraid to ask for what they want. We live in a world that expects women to put themselves last, to bury their desires and take up less space. When they stand up and speak up, I can’t resist lending a hand.

Mackenzie, presenting me with a drink at that function, with a come-hither look in her eye, was absolutely irresistible.

Sierra has a bit of that going on, too. There’s a hunger in her that reminds me of myself at her age, a desire to see it all and do it all, and I respect that.

It’s just a car. (My mechanic got a hive when I thought that.) But really, I can teach her something and maybe build her confidence. I can definitely be part of her evolution in this world.

That’s a pretty awesome thing.

And really, the world needs more people who can drive a stick.

More women who can drive a stick.

I’ll bet you a coffee that Mackenzie can.

Once that’s settled, Mike and I head out, as planned. We had a talk about how we should play this wedding and agreed that we wanted to attend. The fact that we were asked was significant. Declining would be rude.

On the other hand, we’re not all exactly best friends. We can’t change the past, but changing the future means at least acknowledging the past.

Sylvia and Sierra had volunteered to serve the dinner at the café, so it wasn’t like Mike would be dumping his family if we left. We’d agreed on attending the service, stopping at the café for drinks, and then ducking out. We plan to eat at the farm he and Sylvia are making their own. I’ll drive him back into town to pick them up later and get his truck, then head back to Havelock myself.

I’d forgotten how pretty it is around Empire in the fall. The fields are various shades of gold, and the sky is clear blue. There are woodlots between the fields, and the leaves are starting to change colour on the trees. I open the windows and I can smell the lake. There are fewer windmills on this side of Empire as well as fewer greenhouses, but I don’t doubt that will change in time. Mike takes off his tie right away and rolls it up, putting it in the pocket of his jacket. He’s probably itching to get back into his jeans and a T-shirt. I’ve tossed my jeans etc. in the back seat, so I can change as well.

We talk a bit about our upcoming meeting with potential investors. Mike talks about the end of the season, the workers heading home. He points out the place that Carlos is going to rent when he returns with his family in the winter. He talks about his seasonal workers like they’re family, but then, guys like Carlos have been coming to pick at Cavendish Enterprises for decades. I like that Mike has made it possible for Carlos to immigrate with his family, that my kid brother is making someone’s dream come true.

I say that to him and he grins with pride.

We pull into the long straight drive he indicates and it’s exactly as I pictured it would be. There’s a ditch on one side of the drive and the hydro line to the house is on the other side. On both sides, there are wildflowers – orange daylilies by the ditch and a mix of pink and yellow flowers on the other side, blowing in the wind. There are some sunflowers mixed in there, too.

Mike notices me looking. “Sylvia,” he says, as if she is the explanation for everything good, not just the flowers. There’s a contentment about him now, a satisfaction that he never had before, and I know it’s because they’re together at last.

The house isn’t particularly special. It’s old and the paint is faded. It has a big porch and a wooden door, probably four bedrooms on the second floor. It fits with the land, as if it’s always been here, big old gnarled lilacs growing around it on one side. On the other side is a greenhouse, the way they made them when we were kids, and I can see the greenery inside it. There’s no one home, as Rupert has gone to visit his daughter and plan for his move away from the farm.

Mike shows me around after we change and points out the boundaries of the land. It’s a good place and being there suits him. We check out the Jetta behind the barn. It’s ancient and olive green, but it starts. The gear box is nice and tight.

We sit on the back patio while the burgers grill, and it’s easy to be together.

“You’re probably impatient to get home,” he says and I look up, surprised.

I make some sound that could be agreement and change the subject, thinking. The truth is that I’m not eager to head back to the city, and that’s a bit surprising. I’m not in a hurry to get back to my condo with its great view, or to battle the traffic everywhere, or be in a place so devoid of green.

The fact is that sitting with Mike at his farm is the first time I’ve felt at home in a very long time.

I’ll have to think about that.

Then Mike razzes me about agreeing to teach Sierra to drive a stick and I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. I tease him about totalling a Honda back in the day, and we get to laughing so hard about our high school antics that we almost forget to head back to Empire in time to pick up ‘his girls’.