Leonard's Legacy

Chapter One

Lisa’s brain ached as she thought back over twenty years of safe solitude. How did I let this happen? I need to get him out of here. I need to get me out of here. And do it without him seeing me naked.

He made a snuffling sound and opened his eyes. They were hazel. It felt backwards to notice a person’s eye colour after having sex with them. What was she meant to say to someone she hardly knew when they were sharing a pillow? “Good morning.”

“You’re really something.” He turned to face her. “So British and together, but then so fun, and when we got into bed – bam – you were amazing.”

Lisa tried not to cringe. Through the haze that was last night, she remembered doing that special thing that Leonard had liked so much. But when Dan was inside her, it had hurt. Why? Is it possible to lose your virginity twice? The first time hadn’t been painful. Christ, that was forty-six years ago, in the back of Tim Baker’s Mini.

After going so long without sex… the evening … the alcohol… had transported her back to when she thought it was all about ‘pleasing her man’. No wonder Dan thought she was amazing. She needed to recalibrate. She needed him to leave.

He tipped his head toward hers.

Oh no…

His mouth was warm, his tongue a gentle reminder. She had really enjoyed the kissing. She felt herself lean into him. This time yesterday, she would have said she had lost all interest in sex, even with herself. Today, her body seemed to have its own will.

“I’d love to stay,” he whispered, “but I have to be in Beamish to price a job at 7:30. It’s going to take me an hour to get there.”

He gave her another kiss and slipped out of bed.

He’s made of muscle and bone.

“I need a Tylenol and some coffee.” He was holding his head.

Hers felt like a family was using it for drum practice. “No Tylenol, only got coffee.”

“Stay there and I’ll bring you a cup. I’m sure I can find my way round your kitchen. Do you take cream? Sugar?”

“Just black,” she sighed, surrendering to the pillow and falling back to sleep.

Four hours later, Dan was gone and Lisa was sitting up sipping cold coffee. Exactly how had last night happened? With Dan … who’d come to mend the fence. Not to have sex.

Lisa owned fifty acres of Ontario granite and forest, but there was a wooden picket around the house that hadn’t been repaired in the eighteen years she’d lived there. By the time he came into to the door to talk about a new gate, it was almost dark. She had just made minestrone soup – her favorite one-bowl meal.

“Smells good,” he said, hovering in the doorway.

Cold air was cooling the kitchen. “Come in,” she said. He looked out of place. It was a while since she’d had a man who wasn’t her eighty-year-old neighbour in the house. Dan was talking about gates.

“Okay. Do you know the best place to get a one?”

“I’ll see what I can find. If there’s nothing available, I can get in touch with a guy I know. He’ll make one.”

“That sounds perfect. Would you … have you eaten?”

Where did that come from? Among her retirement goals was to make friends and be more spontaneous, but Lisa surprised herself with the invitation.

He laughed. “Do I look that hungry? I was in such a rush this morning, I forgot to pack a lunch.”

While he went to wash, she put a loaf of bread in the oven, opened a bottle of red and started cutting lettuce for salad.

“These old farmhouses are great.”

“Aren’t they?” She nodded, trying to tone down the pride she felt.

Dan walked around the room appreciatively and Lisa wondered how old he might be. Mid fifties? She grinned, happy to hear him notice the details she loved: original pine base boards, storm windows she’d fought to preserve, the funny little door to the cold cellar.

“And this red floor is inspired,” he added, crouching down to touch the painted wood. “Did you do the work yourself?”

“That’s flattering,” she chuckled. “But no. I’d only just moved here from England when I bought the house. It needed work and I was busy taking over the Art School, but luckily, I found Matt Thompson. Know him? Such a good contractor.”

“I don’t think so… Can I help with anything?”

Lisa set a couple of bowls on the table. “No thanks. Just have a seat while I grab the bread.”

It wasn’t until they sat down to eat that she registered how striking Dan was, in an odd kind of way. His red hair was seriously curly. He had huge hands, quite a big nose and a slightly lopsided mouth that morphed into a tempting smile.

He was easy to talk to, told her about his landscape business. “But it’s been over twenty years now, and I’m ready for a change,” he added. “Spending the next twenty in the same place, doing the same thing, isn’t in the plan.”

Lisa broke a piece off the loaf. “I’ve just taken early retirement. Well, sort of. I’ve got a six-month contract to mentor the new principal and a position on the board, but after all those years of running an art school eight days a week, it’s quite a change.”

“I dream of waking up in the morning with no agenda, but if I’m honest, I think I’d find it a bit scary.”

This was closer to the truth than Lisa wanted to admit. After a moment’s silence, Dan must have sensed her mood shift and changed the subject. “I know it’s a kids’ movie, but I’ve just been to see Dumbo. It was my favorite when I was growing up, and I wanted to know if it was a good as I remember. That little mouse, Timothy, still gets to me.”

Lisa relaxed as they both raved about Tim Burton. She got the giggles when they talked music. He liked his home-grown—Neil Young, Arcade Fire, My Son the Hurricane. She tried not to tell him she still listened to Fleetwood Mac and Elton John, but somehow Dan managed to make her show him her favs playlist. After that, they had an almost-fight about Justin Trudeau, and when the conversation turned to Trump, she opened another bottle.

That’s when they’d really started to laugh—about the ancient picture of the Queen in the post office and the way Moose FM still played ‘Bat Out of Hell’ every morning. Real belly laughing. How long was it since she’d done that? Suddenly self-conscious, she thought she may have food stuck in her teeth, and it wasn’t until she went to the bathroom that she realized how drunk she was. Holding the sink for security, she pushed the hair off her face, looked in the mirror and wondered if she still owned any make-up and where it might be. Like a character in a Jane Austin novel, she rubbed and pinched her cheeks before going back, concentrating hard because the wine made her woozy. But she didn’t want the evening to end, she was having too much fun.

“There’s a bottle of Jameson in the van,” he said. “I got if for my buddy’s birthday. We could crack it open … if you … do you drink whisky?”

They moved into the living room. Lisa turned on the little lamp by the bookcase and pulled the curtains. Fido was already stretched in front of the wood stove. Dan sank into the couch, opened the bottle and handed her a glass. She took a sip, enjoying its warmth, but knew she’d had enough, so curled into the armchair and listened as he talked about his daughter. “She’s in Manitoba now, doing her Masters. Alison – my ex – left when Anna was ten. Since then, it’s just been the two of us.”

“You raised her on your own?”

“People always say that, like it’s such a big deal. I guess it was a big deal, but I loved every second of it. I know it’s a cliché, but Anna really is the best thing that’s happened to me.” His face softened. “She was so fun and funny when she was little, and clever. Once she got to high school, we used to go for ice cream every time she got an A. We ended up with our own table at Eddie’s Cones. I really miss her.”

“Where did she do her undergrad?”

“In Kingston. It’s funny, she started there over four years ago, but still came home for the holidays, worked with me every summer. It didn’t really feel like she was gone. Now she’s in Manitoba it’s different. She’s making a life there, got a boyfriend I’ve never met … I guess I’m what they call an empty nester. Anyway, enough about me.”

Lisa tried not to feel inadequate as she described how work-focused she’d been since arriving from England. After that, things got hazy. Dan went to the bathroom and tripped over the rug on his way back. She remembered him saying something about not being able to drive home and suggesting he stay. She really couldn’t recall much more except the kissing and then the pain.

The kissing had dissolved her. Gentle at first – tasting, nibbling, exploring. It had grown into unrestrained desire. She was a teenager again. By the time they got to the bedroom, she wanted him in every way possible. It had been twenty years. But when he was inside her it had hurt. Not enough to make her stop, but enough to leave her puzzled.

Lisa jolted as the sound of synthesized Canada geese honked up through the floorboards. She must have left her cell downstairs. Thirty seconds later the landline by the bed rang. Shit, Hugs for Healthcare. That’ll be Susan phoning to give me a ride. “Yes, that’s great, thanks. I’ll be outside and ready to go.”

Susan was the reason Lisa had moved to Canada. They met in 2000 in New York, at a conference for adult education, Lisa’s badge declaring her the Head of Harpinger Art College, London, England. After sitting together for five days, Susan had told her they were looking for a new principal for Souville School of the Arts. She suggested Lisa apply and, five months later, her work visa came through. She boarded the plane with an overweight suitcase, half a container of furniture, books and CDs following by sea.

Now Lisa was nauseous. She wasn’t used to drinking the way she had last night. She didn’t want to get out of bed, let alone spend the morning wrapping her arms around people she didn’t know. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a big fleece, hoping its texture might make her more cuddlable. The March weather was confused, strong sun but with an east wind that stopped any real warmth from coming through.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Susan had said when they saw the call for volunteers. Giving her hair a quick brush, Lisa hoped her friend was right. Hugging strangers wasn’t her natural inclination, but she did think it might help to erode her image as a pillar. She was pleased to be part of Souville’s tight-knit community, and proud of all that her work at the art school had brought to the town, but at her retirement party she noticed that most of the appreciations were architectural: … strong… upstanding…solid... pillar of the community.

“Later Fido,” she said, bending to stroke his soft chocolate ears. “We’ll go for a walk when I get back.”

Susan’s blue Jeep was at the gate. “Nice shades.”

“I think I’ve got an eye infection,” Lisa lied. “The light bothers me.” Susan was her closest friend, but Lisa wasn’t ready to talk about Dan. Apart from anything, she didn’t know what to say.

There was quite a crowd outside the library on Queen Street, under a banner that read Donate a Dollar, Have a Hug. Lisa felt lost. Susan knew them all. Their kids had grown up together, they’d survived empty nests together, and now their days were filling with grandchildren. Suddenly Lisa was meant to be one of them, but she wasn’t. An all too familiar sadness took her back to school, and university, and even home. Alone and different with no real idea how to fit in.

She honestly did want to be more friendly, to start making connections outside work, but not today. She couldn’t take off her sunglasses. The small talk hurt her head and bending to hug the people shorter than her, which most of them were, made her queasy. In the end, she just held the donation box and put her effort into trying to smile, rather than opening her arms, but she was disappointed in herself.

“Hey hon, what’s up?” Susan asked on the drive home.

Lisa garbled something about a headache but didn’t have the wits to stop Susan following her past newly raked flowerbeds to the back door. “Your yard’s looking good already,” her friend said. “How do you do that when the snow’s just melted?”

Lisa didn’t answer. She knew Susan was about to see the debris of last night’s dinner and ask questions. Fido rushed to the door squeaking his stuffed duck. The noise split Lisa’s head.

“Jeez, somebody had a good time last night.” Susan plopped herself down in front of a bowl of soup-soaked breadcrumbs. “That explains the shades. Eye infection my ass, you’ve got a hangover.”

Lisa watched Susan take in the unusually untidy counter tops: empty wine bottles, oven mitts, tea towels, dirty dishes.

“Caught,” Lisa said. “A friend turned up and we drank far too much.”

“A friend with curly red hair?”

Lisa froze. “Excuse me?”

“He left his calling card.”

Calling card? She took off her sunglasses. “I don’t understand.”

Susan pointed past the remains of the bread to an odd-shaped jar. Lisa picked it up, and as she held it to the window, the contents looked golden. “Honey?”

“He sells it at The Trading Post.”

“I don’t know why I lied. Dan was here yesterday mending my fence and ended up staying for supper. And we did drink far too much.”

“Is ‘mending my fence’ some kind of British euphemism I don’t know about?”

Lisa’s cheeks flushed.

“Holy smokes, you like him. After all the hours I’ve spent listening to you blather on about independence and self-sufficiency.”

“He’s good company, we had fun. But as I said, it was just supper.”

“Well, I hate to pee on your Pop-Tart, but if you do decide to let down the draw bridge, make sure he’s not the one you invite in.” Susan leaned forward. “Here’s what you need to know about Dan Davidson. My niece works–”

Lisa couldn’t handle this conversation now. “We just ate together and drank too much, that’s all. You know, I’m not in a fit state for lunch. Could we do coffee after yoga or something instead?”

“Sure, but I’m thinking of ditching yoga. I can’t stand looking at my butterball thighs in leggings.”

“Oh Susan, your body’s totally loveable. Don’t talk like that.”

Rolling her eyes, Susan stood up and opened her arms. As her friend’s round tummy pressed into her, Lisa felt better. “I’ll give you a call on Thursday.”

When Susan had gone, Lisa glanced at the dishes and went back up to bed. Leaving her clothes on the floor, she relished the feel of the cool, smooth cotton against her bare legs. She thought of Dan’s eyes, his hands, and stroked her own neck the way he had that morning, thumb grazing lips. She stretched the expanse of her mattress in a way she hadn’t for a long time. Something in her had opened. She raised her arms and took a deep breath.

It was getting dark when she woke up and looked at her phone. A voice message from Dan: “I was thinking … I’m going to this thing on Saturday … maybe you’d like to come? They call it a ball but it’s not that fancy, just a meal in a church hall really. The Beekeepers’ Association of Southern Ontario. Give me a call. I could pick you up at six?”

Lisa tried to ignore the excitement tingling through her. This can’t happen. I made a promise, on my fortieth birthday, twenty-one years ago. She closed her eyes. I must not do this.