Page 146 of Power of the Mind

But it didn’t mean I was suitable boyfriend material.

It didn’t mean I could enact the level of intimacy Tallus sought.

I wasn’t. I couldn’t.

I lit another cigarette and checked the time. Six thirty. Traffic was picking up. The sun had risen, crisp and bright. Dew blanketed the world. It was damp. The humidity from the previous week was gone. A hint of fall hung in the air with a morning chill. A few pedestrians, dressed in business attire, passed me by, chatting on cell phones or listening to music so loud it leaked through their earbuds.

Among the exhaust fumes and pollution, I could smell the syrupy breakfast choices at McDonald’s down the street.

It was too early for the construction workers to start their day, so it was still quiet. Although the city had finished whatever they were doing on my road, they had started a new project the next block over. It was interminable. Year after year. Some projects never saw completion.

The scaffolding outside my building’s front entrance would forever remain. Whatever plans the owners had made must have fallen through. It had been years since I’d seen anyone from their crew.

At seven, I made a phone call, drawing on Tallus’s jovial, friendly nature, so hopefully, I could convince the person on the other end to do me one last favor.

“I’ve got your golden ticket, but there’s a catch.”

We made plans to meet for an early lunch. I stubbed out my cigarette and headed for the Jeep. I didn’t want to call my therapist and make extra appointments, so I headed for the gym, hoping I wouldn’t wheeze through a much-needed workout. Smoking and cardio had never meshed.

When I was done, I would visit Nana, brush her hair, fix her knitting, and pretend to be someone I wasn’t. Hopefully Dad would be long gone to work by then. Nana wouldn’t understand my problems, so I would keep them to myself. She barely knew who I was anymore, but I took comfort in having her near me.

***

At ten to eleven, I pulled into Casey’s diner near the Toronto Police Headquarters building and scanned the lot. It was busier than I’d have liked, but to be agreeable, I’d refrained from arguing when Doyle had suggested it as a meeting point.

I grabbed an unmarked paper bag from the passenger seat and headed inside. It was a cop joint, and with its proximity to headquarters, it was often filled with detectives from every department. Like today. During my short stint under probation, when I’d worked in the same building as Doyle, I never went to the diner. I’d never fit in.

I was a loner then, and I was a loner now.

The bell chimed, announcing my arrival. A few heads turned to see who had arrived. Inquisitive stares. Judgmental expressions.

My skin itched, but I tamped down my nerves and scanned, finding Doyle alone in a corner booth, focused on his phone. A waitress approached, mid-forties, huge, welcoming smile. I indicated I was meeting someone, grumbled something incoherent, and she winked and headed to another table, coffee pot in hand.

I slid onto the bench across from Doyle, and he glanced up from his phone screen, grinning.

“Krause, my man.”

I grunted, tipping my head in a subtle nod.

“I’ve been seeing a lot of you lately.”

“Yeah.”

“Got yourself entwined in a goodie, huh? Need help from the pros?”

I didn’t know how to politely respond, so I stayed silent.

“Where’s your sidekick?” Doyle glanced toward the door.

“Working.”

Before he could ask more questions, the same waitress who’d greeted me at the door sidled up to the table and set down two clean mugs, filling the one in front of Doyle while speaking to me. “Well, ain’t you a handsome fella. New hire?”

“Krause is a consultant,” Doyle said by way of explanation.

I wasn’t, but I didn’t correct him.

“Ah, okay. Well, I’m Vanessa, and you can’t go wrong at Casey’s. Best food in a ten-mile radius. Am I right?” she asked Doyle.

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