someone will care enough to write upon it
I decided to return to the family estate in West Harbour although I lacked any memory of the place.
A head injury left me lacking an autobiographical memory and the demise of my parents and absence of any relatives in the area left me orphaned and lacking a personal history.
Any information about my roots would have to come from Arthur Reid, the family lawyer who was executing my father's will and kindly offered to help orient me to my new surroundings.
Unfortunately, Arthur's knowledge of my parents' affairs was almost solely limited to their financial dealings and he possessed only scant details and impressions gleaned from local gossip.
I resigned myself to being a tabula rasa, my only hope being that some local resident might write a few details upon the blank slate I inherited.
Arthur dropped by just after six and graciously took me out to dinner.
"So what's your choice for this evening, Marcus," he asked when we were in his Lexus, "seafood, steak or pasta—or do you have a preference?"
"Not really, although I did notice a restaurant on the drive in today that looked interesting. It was called Shakespeare's."
His eyes grew wide but then he quickly recovered, averting his gaze. He simply nodded and remarked, "Then, steak it is."
I did detect a note of feigned nonchalance in his tone but said nothing.
We had to drive into the downtown section as the restaurant was located on a major thoroughfare appropriately named Main Street.
The restaurant had an old world charm complete with dark stained timbers and stained glass windows. I liked the ambiance.
Arthur ordered a cocktail and I opted for a whiskey sour—why? I had absolutely no idea, but noted again Arthur's eyes almost imperceptibly widening. He was obviously managing more control over his non-verbal reactions.
As the evening wore on Arthur was savouring his cocktails and beginning to mellow slightly. It was remarkable the effect of alcohol as his face began to shine and his gestures came alive, all the result of the warmth a small amount of alcohol could light in him.
"Did I mention the family estate includes a sailboat, now in dry dock at the marina?"
My interest piqued. "Really? I might enjoy spending time out on the lake now that the weather is getting warmer."
"Do you know how to sail?" he asked casually.
"Yes," I replied, then reconsidered, "at least, I think so."
He laughed. "They offer sailing lessons at the marina in case you need to brush up on your technique, although I doubt you'll need much refreshing."
He went on talking expansively about West Harbour and various civic renewal projects he was spearheading but I was still stuck on his remark about sailing.
Why was Arthur so certain I'd need little instruction about sailing—and for that matter, why all the subtle tells that seemed to indicate he was more aware of me than I was myself?
Perhaps Arthur's taciturn manner and reticence was more contrived than I thought. I began to suspect Arthur knew a whole lot more about me than he cared to show.
For a moment I felt a brief frisson. I could feel the hair rising on my arms and a tingling at the base of my skull.
There was a deeper mystery here at West Harbour than I first divined and most likely more significant than I ever intended to know.