The hot dog wrappers and Styrofoam coffee cup containers, containing their impromptu lunch, went into the tree stump disguised, waste container, and they stood in awkward silence with nothing of further relevance to say. Nigel had listened to Ross's explanation with interest as the lunchtime crowds began filling the park, each nugget assessed for disposition in his mental ledger of moral responsibility.

Ross checked his watch and grumped about having to get back, shook Nigel's hand and took off at a trot across the grass. Ross had been surprisingly candid, considering their brief acquaintance spanned a period of less than one, albeit memorable, summer. Somewhat bemused, Nigel watched him until he reached the street and was swallowed up by the noonday traffic.

He now knew that his conscious wracking concerns were at least a little out of proportion. Still, the fact that a family had fractured niggled at him. The lunch crowd swirled about, hunting down the few benches available, and he decided to head back into town rather than face any more accidental encounters. The breeze died as he reached Main Street and the air became muggy and heavy.

Towering scoops of fluffy cloud played hide and seek with the noon sun. Far more traffic than he remembered coursed along the roadway, horns barking and engines racing as drivers hunted down scarce parking places. He crossed between the cars to the shady side of the road, and stopped in front of what used to be a woman's shop. It was now a record store, featuring a display of CDs promoting a group called, Hobnail Justice, the cover photo reminiscent of characters from a John Carpenter film.

Diagonally down the block, to where Ross had hurried, sat Hardware Heaven. Large, bright banners advertising a monster summer sale, hung tiredly over the entrance, the sidewalk in front was packed with garden supplies, from power mowers to trowels. He caught a glimpse of the owner, Allen Gregorio fussing with a price sign and waving to passers-by.

Two youngsters on skateboards rattled past, weaving through the streams of pedestrians, garnering a shouted scolding from startled shoppers. Nigel knew, but pretended he didn't know why his steps led him down the street toward Fawn Do. It wasn't planned, but something stronger than his will drew him in that direction. The nasty voice from earlier intruded rudely. Of course you know, you wimp. You want to see Darlene.

He flipped his hand angrily, startling a young mother with a stroller who made a wide circle around him, acknowledging his apologetic smile with cautious reserve. Nigel stepped up to the door sucking in a deep breath, and pushed it open. The fragrant smell of rose water halted him in his tracks, bringing a rush of memories to his already racing pulse.

A young girl with blonde hair, pulled back severely by a pink ribbon, and a pearl stud in one nostril, looked up pleasantly from her desk. "Good afternoon, sir, may I help you?"

He coughed, trying to resurrect his voice and returned her smile nervously. "I uh- is uhm, Darlene . . . around?"

"She's busy out the back at the moment. Did you have an appointment?"

"Uh no- no, I aah . . . I'm an old friend." It came out in the form of a doubtful question, and the girl held her smile for a beat before reaching for the phone.

"May I say who her old friend is?"

Why had he come in? This was a big mistake. "It's uuh, kind of a surprise." He held his hands out in a placating gesture.

"Certainly." The smile waned. "If you'll just take a seat." She pushed a button and he could hear a faint bell from the back of the store.

"Uh look, why don't I just—"

"Miss King. There's a- a gentleman out here to see you – an old friend, he says." Nigel cringed and sank into one of the vinyl chairs beside the desk, perspiration gathering in tubs beneath his arms. "She'll be out in a moment, sir." He nodded, but the girl had already resumed her work without a glance.

A hawk-faced woman with her head covered in huge red rollers, stared at him from beneath a huge dryer that was slowly being lowered by another young woman; the sound of their voices mixed together in a soft echo as they both appraised him. Suddenly the back door of the shop opened and Nigel twitched  leaning forward, ready to stand.

Darlene, in a white smock over a bottle-green blouse, slowed her pace and even more slowly, withdrew her glasses, as she watched the visitor stand awkwardly, framing a silly grin.

"Nigel? Nigel Stainway?" It seemed everybody so far needed both his names for recognition.

"Hello Darlene."

"Nigel!" She stepped forward, taking his arms and offering her cheek for a peck. "Why are you here? I thought . . ." The familiar scent and the touch of her satin skin against his lips held him speechless. Once again, they were back in the dark park, playing on the swing, falling into the grass. "Nigel?"

"Aaaah, Darlene – you look terrific." He stepped back, holding her hands at arm length. "I uh, I was just uhm, passing by. I- I'm up visiting Victoria, and I was just, you know . . . passing by."

Her amused look held his eyes, prying behind his thoughts as the colour rose in his cheeks. "Nigel, it's so good to see you. Uhm, listen, I'm really busy at the moment—"

"Hey! No. Look, I just wanted to—"

"Are you free in about an hour? We could grab a coffee or something?" Her face blotted out the world and Nigel struggled to make his mouth work. "If you're busy, well—"

"No!" There, it worked. "Not busy at all. Coffee would be great. Shall I- do you want me to—?"

"Come back in an hour, and we'll go and catch up on old times." A far more poised and mature Darlene than he remembered.

"Great. See you in an hour. You really do look . . ." The young receptionist gave a frosted sigh without looking up.

"One hour then." Darlene lifted a dainty wave and smiled him out of the shop.

*****

"He hasn't changed much, maybe a little more tired around the eyes." Ross stood across the counter from Tiffany, recounting his meeting with Nigel. She was leaning over the counter, eating salad out of a cardboard container.

"Worldly, perhaps?" Tiffany picked at her takeaway salad, slipping a slice of tomato between her scarlet lips.

"Just tired, I think." Ross said, smiling at the ceremony. "I got the impression Toronto probably proved too much for him."

"Well I hope I get to see him. I always liked old Nigel, he had a- a definite savoir faire." She gave a small whoop and jerked upright as Allen came up behind her.

"Who has savoir faire?" He asked, releasing Tiffany's bottom.

"'Member Nigel Stainway? He's back in town visiting his aunt." Ross kept a straight face as Tiffany leaned back against Allen.

"Yeah? Our playhouse director? What's he doin' here?" Leaning in return.

"Says he's here to pay his respects to the playhouse anniversary. I met him in the park at lunch."

"Hunh, good old Nigel, eh." Allen savoured another handful of Tiffany before clapping his palms and heading back to his office. "Need you to go over some stock items when you're free Ti." Ross dipped his head and busied himself at the counter.

"Be right there, Allen." She closed her salad container with a smug look at Ross, and wiggled through the store to the office.

"So you think old Nigel had savoir faire, eh" Allen teased, as Tiffany entered the office and set the container on his desk behind him. She smoothed her short skirt and gave the cloud of hair on her head a shake.

"I always thought so, yes." She stood close to him, toying with the buttons on his shirt. Allen grunted reflexively, grasping her backside and tugging her tight against him.

"Is the door locked?" He gargled huskily.

"I slid the bolt . . . like this." Allen moaned, pulling her backwards as he sat on the desk, his face collapsing in distress, feeling the wet dressing from Tiffany's squashed salad container soaking into his pants.