Her hair was pinned up again. She had gray sweats on. Working clothes. I offered to help her. She said she needed to be alone for a while.

She came over by the door and gave me a quick kiss on the mouth. Then I left.

By the time I got home, there was a message waiting on my machine.

“Sorry I was a little weird this morning,” she said. There was a pause. “It’s been a long time for me, if you know what I mean. Give me a call in a couple of days, eh? If you feel like coming back out, I’ll make you dinner.”

That was it. I waited a couple of days. Three, to be exact. I tried not to think about her. It was one night. You were there and something happened and it was great and so what. You’ve got your own problems and she’s got hers.

When I finally called her, she apologized again, and asked me if I wanted to come back out for her beef stew.

“I think you should know,” I said. “My man Jackie does a beef stew that’ll knock you out.”

“So you’re saying you’ve got some high standards.”

“Yeah, but if you’ve got some Canadian beer in the house, you might win me over.”

“Molson Canadian,” she said. “A case in the fridge. Bottles, not cans.”

“I’m on my way.”

It was two and a half hours in the truck again, across the bridge and down the Queens Highway. Of course, up here that’s nothing. You drive two and a half hours to buy your groceries.

It was still light out when I got there. She was wearing the same gray sweats. She had a white handkerchief wrapped around her head.

“You shouldn’t have gotten all dressed up just for me,” I said.