Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance
….. What they don’t tell you is that you’ll cycle through them all every day.
― Ranata Suzuki
Tara
I wanted a night out to distract me and lower my stress but that wasn't happening—quite the opposite.
Tara, my ex, just walked into the bar with Norm Lockwood, my rival. Not exactly the night I had planned.
She spotted me and whispered something to Norm and waited while he went to find a vacant table.
It was my turn to make a move. "Be back in a few minutes." I told Dan, then stood up and approached her.
"Sorry Clay," she began, "didn't realize this was your territory. We'll have a quick drink and leave—we're on our way to a reception at the Royal York anyway."
"You don't have to do that—we were bound to run into each other but I just didn't figure it would be sooner rather than later."
She gave me a What are you gonna do? look. "So, how are you doing, Clay?"
"Keeping busy—got a possible new project in the works but can't really talk about it yet."
"Knowing you, it'll be a winner," she smiled sadly as if she really meant it, but considering how we ended, I doubted it.
"Anyway, good seeing you, Tar—don't hurry out on account of me. It's all good, believe me."
Of course, it wasn't all good. I was just barely getting by emotionally, regardless of my prospective windfall from Owen Collins.
Seeing her again just re-opened the wound inside me. I would have been better off staying home with a glass of wine, staring at the photo of Dolores Wiltshire.
Well, maybe not.
I returned to our table where Dan was waiting for me.
"Sorry Pal, I've never seen Tara in here, if I did, I would have picked another tavern."
"No worries, Dan, she has never been in here but Norm, her date, probably has and may have even planned this."
"The guy's a weasel," Dan went on, "I hated him at university—always bragging about his family's wealth. But what the hell, when he inherits it, he'll just piss it away like Trump did with his father's fortune."
I laughed, "You don't like the rich and famous very much, do you?"
"I'll make an exception for you, Pal, when you write an Oscar-winner for Owen Collins."
"You're assuming I even consider his proposal."
"You'd be a fool if you didn't. What have you go to lose?"
At that moment, I saw Tara and Norm leaving. As usual, she was turning heads with her beauty.
"You're right, Pal—I lost everything else," I growled, glowering at my draft, "so taking Owen Collins up on his offer is hardly much of a risk for me."
I drove home later that night, with spiral gusts of snow whirling madly in my headlight tunnels.
Why was I afraid of doing business with Owen Collins? If I didn't like his proposal, I could still walk away with the equivalent of a hefty advance toward the next book I'd be writing.
Just stating that fact fortified me.
But when I got in and settled with my laptop and wine, I ended up staring into her face again—not Tara's, but the photo of the woman I never met who made me realize I was terrified...
Somehow, I knew in my gut she was alive and would change my life forever.