gentle rain Part 1

Kara was Rio and I was Dublin—she liked to be sun-drenched, whereas I preferred a drizzly rain-soaked walk.

And so, despite our initial attraction, we drifted slowly apart—she to Spain and the Costa del Sol and I to a misty dream of my own.

In the same year Kara left, my parents passed and left me their Rosedale estate, but I soon realized I couldn’t live there. It was my childhood home full of memories and ghosts and it was a constant reminder of another loss. So, I sold the manse and began searching for a place of my own.

Several months passed and I was in limbo, feeling bereft, and unable to find my niche. It was frustrating. Nothing fit—and it wasn’t just location, architecture, or bricks and mortar—it was something more than that—something profoundly existential. And in the end, I concluded it was me.

I was a man without country, attachments, or dreams.

And it was at this low point in my life when an old publishing friend, Tom Eaton, recommended a realty firm to me.

“Try Sotheby’s—they helped Kate and me find our Bridle Path digs, and you know how picky we are.”

I smiled wryly at the mention of Cat—the one woman who seemed to get me, who shared my dreams. She was my soul mate who just happened to be married to my good, old friend.

Story of my life, I’d say.

Perhaps Tom sensed my angst—he was intuitive—not like Cat—but in a mundane, practical way.

He handed me a card with the realtor’s phone number and address. The agent’s name looked Arabic—Mairi Said.

“Is this the agent who worked with you?” I asked.

“No,” he replied wistfully. “The agent who helped us was Cyn Thomas—she since retired. Sadly, I heard she passed away last year.”

I could see his pain. “Sorry to hear it, Tom.”

“I appreciate that, Daniel. Life is short—too short to waste even a minute of it.”

“Amen to that,” I added soberly, thinking of my own pain.

Tom read my mood and deftly changed the subject, giving me an encouraging smile.

“Well, on the bright side, I hear the new agent is just as competent, but frankly, I’ve never met her. A colleague did have some dealings with her and said she’s very professional and personable.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, I might remark,” he added with a sly wink, “she’s also apparently quite good-looking.”

“I’m sure that’s an asset in sales,” I replied noncommittally, while inwardly dismissing the prospect. Last thing I wanted or needed was another Girl from Ipanema.

That was the state of my mind at the time. But two weeks later, at the end of my rope, I found myself downtown with a few hours to spare.

By chance, my fingers found the sharp edges of the Sotheby’s business card tucked into the pocket of my Harris Tweed coat.

Could it be Providence? At this point in my life, I doubted it, but it could be an adventure, I consoled myself.

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved.

Photo: https://goo.gl/images/YygAFW