But then, Elke is very much a creature of habit.
Elke and I went to grad school together in the Netherlands. She now works for a Dutch company that makes automatic systems for greenhouses – for watering, ventilation, temperature control and more. Every summer she comes to Canada to visit their existing clients while hunting down some new ones. I enjoy the chance to talk about the technology with someone as passionate about greenhouse growing as I am. I inevitably learn something new that I can put into practice.
She’s particular, which maybe is why there was never a possibility of our being a couple. Elke knows what she wants, what she likes and how the world should be. Maybe it would be better for all of us if she was in charge, but there’s only so much micro-managing one person can take.
I pick her up at the airport and take her back each year. She rents a condo in Havelock that includes a car and goes about her own business most of the time. We have dinner about once a week when she’s here, and I know she’s going to love Merrie’s place.
Elke has no interest in fast food or take-out or diners.
She arrives on Saturday and I drive to Pearson to pick her up. Traffic is miserable but her flight is delayed so I’m not late. It’s good to be tall when you’re waving someone down in Arrivals and she sees me right away. Of course, she looks trim and perfectly groomed, even after her long flight. It’s just how she rolls. Of course, she’s wearing high heels, eventhough her feet have swollen on the plane and she complains about her shoes all the way back to the car.
I can’t believe how much parking costs me, but at least they didn’t lose her luggage. We’re on our way in time to have a late dinner at The Carpe Diem Café. I tell her about it on the way. For once, I don’t mind her preference for air conditioning over open windows. It’s hot on the highway and I’m glad to arrive still reasonably uncrumpled.
We stop on the sidewalk on Queen Street and she brushes something off my sleeve, touches her fingertips to my chin. “I cannot understand why you abide that beard all the time, Michael,” she says, just as she always does. “You are so handsome without it.”
“I like it, though.”
“It makes you look like azeerover,” she says, using the Dutch word forpiratejust the way right on cue. “Yet you will let it start to grow again tomorrow.”
“Absolutely. It’s good to trim it down once a year and start again. Like mowing a lawn.”
“Ugh!” She shudders.
I laugh and offer my arm to her. “Come on. You’re going to like this place.”
“Finally, somewhere good to eat in Empire?”
“Exactly.”
“I will like that. It will be good not to lose weight while I am here this year.” She takes a deep breath and smiles. “If they have a restroom, Michael, this place will make me the happiest woman in Canada.”
I point it out to her while waiting for a table.
Because of that, Sierra seats me alone, maybe not realizing I’m with someone else.
“Mike, Mike, Mike,” she says, dropping into the seatopposite me. “You have to help me.” She glances toward the kitchen guiltily, then back at me.
“Do I?”
“You know you do. It’simportant.” She eyes me. “Where were you today? I waited at the greenhouse.”
“I had to go to the airport today. Otherwise, I would have been there, too.”
“The airport in Toronto? Why?”
The answer appears behind Sierra, every hair in place and disapproval in her expression. Elke has touched up her lipstick, too, and it looks bright to me. “Excuse me. Is this not my place?”
Sierra looks up with surprise, noticing Elke for the first time. She looks her up and down, no doubt taking note of her expensive clothes and just how much Elke looks out of place.
Elke is beautiful. Tall, blonde, elegant and confident. She’s wearing a suit of blue tweed with a white silk blouse and carrying a purse that even I know must have cost a month of my salary. (Maybe more.) She could be Daphne Bradshaw, but Dutch and fair. (Lisa adores her.) Elke lifts a brow, imperious even in silence, and Sierra bounces out of the seat.
“Who areyou?” Sierra demands and I clear my throat. She tosses me a look, maybe as an apology, then smiles at Elke. “We haven’t met.”
“No, we have not,” Elke says smoothly as she sits and picks up her menu. “But why should we have done so?” She looks daggers at me over the top of it, making my oversight clear.
“Elke, this is Sierra. She’s Una’s granddaughter. Maybe you remember Una Kinkaid? She lives in the forest.”
Elke nods. “Ah yes. The gingerbread house.”
