Page 19 of Just Trouble

I cross the road and head back on the south side of Queen, passing the convenience store, which is open, neon lightflashing, and a taco truck, which is not open. The taco truck is new and I check the hours on the sign, planning to drop by Friday if I’m still in town. Empire seems an unlikely place for a good taco, but then again, a lot of the seasonal workers in Patrick’s greenhouses are Mexican.

Next to the convenience store is the Canadian Legion. There are a few cars there now, cheap beer having an eternal appeal. I hear a bit of laughter and some old rock and roll, but am not tempted to go in. The Grand Hotel beside it might once have been spectacular, but now it’s dreary. Technically, it remains open, but I can’t believe anyone would choose to stay there.

There’s another empty storefront of no particular distinction, then The Golden Lotus Chinese & Canadian Cuisine, which occupies the former Bank of Montreal building on the southwest corner of that main intersection. I smile at the sight of it, remembering a lot of late-night eating at Mr. Chang’s. It was the place to go when we had the munchies, and if it was close to closing, Mr. Chang let us eat as much as we wanted of whatever had already been prepared.

To my right, Erie Street heads south, curving past an auto repair place and a bicycle shop before heading to Port Cavendish. I make the circle around Big Red all the way to head north on Erie Street, and turn right on Caledonia Street.

Caledonia runs parallel to Queen, followed by Britannia immediately to the north—somewhat higher in terms of altitude and more expensive in terms of real estate. They’re both filled with houses and I’m guessing Daph lives on one or the other. I can’t imagine her in the trailer park at Port Cavendish, but she might have a surprise for me.

Most of the houses are neat and modestly sized on Caledonia. They are a mix of styles and vintages, and there are a few in dire need of repair. Forest Drive is a short street at the end, running south from Britannia past Caledonia and ending in a circle. Youcould cut through the trees there to get to the United Church when walking.

I spot the pewter Honda parked in front of a two-storey house with a porch. It’s on the east side of Forest Drive between Caledonia and Britannia. Behind it is a forest that merges into the provincial park just outside of town. Somewhere in that cluster of trees is the cottage owned by Una. I pass the house where Daph must live, deciding what to say and do, and turn down Britannia while I plan. I walk it to the very end, past Erie Street, past the house where Daph’s dad must still live. There’s a big Mercedes sedan parked out front and lights on inside. A couple of doors down is Margaret’s house, the Regency cottage that looks as abandoned as it is.

That’s the house I want Abbie to have, and I study it for a long moment, knowing it would suit her perfectly. On the other side of Britannia are newer houses, including some from the 70s that look like they host extensive macramé collections. There’s a footpath that leads down to Caledonia and on to Queen, but the ground is uneven here. To the west is a creek and though there are a couple of walking trails, it’s dark as Hades out there. This time of year, the mosquitos will be thirsty, so I take a pass and head back toward Daph’s place.

And there you have it. You’ve seen Empire, such as it is.

Small, but not particularly mighty.

And I’ve stalled as long as possible. Time to get the verdict.

The upside is that it’s another chance to see Daph.

I stepup to Daph’s porch, wondering suddenly if there are more pewter Hondas in Empire than I realize. The house is neat to thepoint of austerity. I expected fluffy chick stuff for a woman living alone, but then, Daph does have that Vulcan thing going on.

Does she own the place? Maybe.

The porch runs across the front of the house and is simple. The lack of curlicues and gingerbread, the plain cream paint, makes me suspect I’m in the right place. The door has a new coat of paint, too, a deep blue that looks great with the creamy trim. There’s no cutesy welcome sign or wreath of arranged flowers on the door, just a wooden bench for two under the front window. It’s a light green, closer to lime than mint. The front garden is almost non-existent—I’m thinking that some ancient and overgrown shrubs have been torn free of the earth, and guess that there are plans for this year—but there are tulips growing on either side of the steps. Pink ones. The aesthetic is kind of Scandinavian and would photograph well.

I knock on the door and shove my hands in my pockets when I hear footsteps.

When the door opens, I catch my breath.

Daph has not only gone casual, but she’s mad as hell.

She’s wearing dark leggings that show her fabulous legs to advantage, and an oversized cream cabled sweater that falls off one shoulder. I can see the hollow of her throat and enough skin that I know there’s not a bra strap. I drag my gaze back to her eyes.

They’re all silver fire, an even better view than the one offered by the sweater.

Damn. I have to look away to compose myself.

“He’s an asshole,” she says and I’m not going to dispute that, knowing exactly who she means.

“Patrick said no?” I guess.

“He took out the Foreman place, just like you expected.” She frowns. “Wait. How did you know where I live?”

“I looked for your car.”

Surprise lights her eyes for a moment, then she pivots. She leaves the door open and marches back to her kitchen, which I take as an invitation.

I follow her, closing the door behind myself, sweeping a glance over the interior. It’s beyond neat. I shed my jacket and boots, leaving them at the door.

The house has to be close to a hundred years old, but it’s surprisingly modern inside. Almost austere in its minimalism. There’s a fireplace in the front room, polished hardwood floors throughout, a packed bookcase in that front room that I want to explore. (Yes, I want to know Daph’s secrets as revealed by her choice of reading material.) The furniture is teak, vintage gems with new upholstery in shades of silver and blue. The area rug is creamy white and thick, more than a Berber. The overall look is elegant, just like Daph.

There must have been a dining room once between the kitchen and front living room, but it’s become part of the kitchen. The structural beam reveals that a wall is gone. There’s a table for four, then a counter with bar stools, and a new kitchen where Daph is slicing a lemon with enough enthusiasm to lose a finger. I like the talavera tiles on the kitchen backsplash, all blue and white with hints of yellow, and the open shelving. There’s a door at the back, one with a half-window, but I can’t see anything beyond it. Her place backs onto the forest, so there’d only be shadows out there at this hour.

There was a staircase opposite the front door, leaving up to probably two or maybe three bedrooms and bath. It’s a small house, but it is both inviting and cozy.

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