"I've heard of it. Do you like it?"

"Oh, sure. It's not bad. And no, I don't object to being called a 'sales girl'. I'm in sales and I'm a girl, so what's the big fuss. I hate people who are all politically correct and shit. I don't care, why should anyone else?"

"I dunno." I took a sip of my coffee and started to relax. When she sat down, I had envisioned a conversation based on environmental issues and women's rights and stuff that girls who look like her usually talk about. I'm starting to think I could really like this girl.

"Sorry to break the two of you up, but here's your lunches." Gladys appeared with two plates and set them down in front of us. There was a few minutes of silence while we dug in.

"So, you're an accountant? Why?" She put her fork down and looked me in the eye.

"I have a fluff degree from university. I can't really do anything with it..."

"So why did you get it?"

"It just felt right. I was always told that I should get a degree when I grew up. So I got a degree, not a fancy one, just a degree. Then I realized that the job availability for someone with a general degree was very limited - extremely limited, actually - that I figured I may as well go get a real degree so I could get a job."

"Oh. A rather round-about way of doing it, isn't it? I mean why not just get a degree..."

"It's more like a diploma."

"Okay, diploma in accounting to begin with?"

"See, with a general degree, you can take any class you want and not have to worry about staying in one straight course - like arts or sciences or whatever. So I tried to take courses in every faculty I could. I took a business course in my fourth year - in my last term at school, actually - and found out I really liked it. And I was good at it, too." I was definitely relaxing around her now. She was someone I could be myself around. Even though I'd known her for a really short period of time, a half our at most, she was the type of person I could become friends with.

"I didn't know that. I was thinking about going to college or something after high school, but it just didn't seem to be a big priority. I'm one of those people who needs a big push to do something. I guess that's why I work at Millicent's - it's not a hard job, doesn't use much brain power and I got the job because I live next door to the owner."

"Well, everyone's different." We finished our lunches and Gladys came over to our table again. She filled up our cups and took our dishes away.

"So, Nic, what do you do for fun? You look like a pretty, well, intense guy with that bruise on your face."

"Oh, this?" I put my hand up to my face self-consciously. "This was from a fight I had the other night at the bar."

"What did you do?"

"Pissed some guy off. It was worse before. I heal fast so it'll be gone by the weekend, or at least barely noticeable."

"Geez. So besides picking on guys at the bar, what else do you do in your spare time?" She was laughing. I had to join in because it was a funny thing, if you thought about it. I'm not a violent person and if she thought that I regularly picked fights in bars, she was sorely mistaken. But I think she knew that.

"I hang out with my buddy Mickey, watch a lot of television, eat here every day, and that's about it."

"Wow, such an exciting life." She reached across the table and took a cigarette out of my pack. I handed her my lighter and she lit it. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you are one of the most boring people I've ever met."

"No offence taken." I leaned back into my chair and thought about what she said. Maybe I am the most boring person alive. I had one close friend and all we ever did was hang out - either at my house or at The Imp's Tavern. It is pretty sad when you think about it. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I got this invitation, I guess, to be part of a scavenger hunt..."

She leaned forward and grabbed my arm. "You too?"

"Yeah... why? Did you get one?"

"Where's my Gramma?" She leaned even closer and whispered. "I don't want her to know about this. She'll tell my parents and then I'll have to answer their questions..."

I looked around the diner and noticed her over in the other corner, teasing some of the older regulars. "She's talking to Bill and Gene."

"Okay. So I opened my mailbox yesterday and there was this box in there. I opened it right there, on the street and... What's it for?"

"It's called the Pinegrove Scavenger Blowout..."

"Extravaganza." She pulled out her note and spread it flat on the table. "I'm entrant number 8. So there's 10 people in this thing and we get paired off. We might end up together on a team."

"Yeah. You're the second person I know to get this, besides me."

"Really? Who else?"

"My buddy Mickey got one, too. He's number 4."

"Wow. My friend Jayme got one, too. She's numer 10."

I blanched and could feel my stomach tighten. "Your friend... Jayme?"

"Yeah, Jayme Michard. Do you know her?"

I could feel the walls closing in on me. In the last four days, my life had turned completely upside down. For four years, I had yearned to talk to Jayme again, and I had accomplished that feat three times since the week began. Now, I'm on a date with a friend of hers. I ddin't know how much she knew about me or if this was real or maybe she was just playing me because she did know everything about Jayme and I and wanted to see what I would say about her. I stood up from the table and coughed. "Would you excuse me for a moment." I turned and went into the men's washroom.

I pulled my cell phone out and dialed Mickey's number. "Yellow, Mickey here."

"You won't believe who she's friends with."

"And hello to you, too. Who's friends with who?" Something crashed on his end. "Hey, watch it. I'm on the phone here."

"Bri, Glady's grandaughter. She's friends with Jayme."

"And?"

"Fuck, man. What the hell am I supposed to do?" I clenched the phone so tightly in my hand I was afraid it was going to break.

"Grow up. I don't know. Just go talk to her. See what she knows. I gotta go." He hung up and I stood there, in the middle of the washroom, with my phone up to my ear. I was still standing there a few minutes later when I heard Gladys on the other side of the door.

"Hey, honey. Are you okay. Would you like me to get you some bicarbonate soda?" She opened the door and poked her nose around it. "Bri's wondering what's going on."

"I'm fine, Gladys. I'll be right out." I went over to the sink and looked into the mirror. I stared into my own eyes and told myself that it was over between Jayme and I. There was no way we were going to get back together. I had to move on. Bri was a good way to do that, if she was willing to help me move on. I splashed some cold water on my face and went back out into the diner. I sat back down at the table and Bri looked up at me.

"Is everything okay?" She took my hand and held it. It was tiny, but warm.

"Yeah. Fine. So how do you know Jayme?"

"I've known her for a few years. We met here, actually."

"Oh. Do you know..." I waved me hand in a general direction, hoping she'd know I meant the history between me and Jayme.

"Yeah. I know about you two. I know about how you went to her house the night you got beat up and how you showed up at her house again, the next night with her painting. I know everything - or at least what she wants me to know."

"And what do you think?" I looked at her expectantly.

"Water under the bridge, to tell you the truth. I really don't care what happened between the two of you." She took a sip of her coffee and waved Gladys over again. "Dessert time."

We ate our desserts and discussed anything else but relationships. Once we settled the bill and stepped outside, I broached the subject of further lunches.

"So, did you want to get together again sometime?" I put my hands in my pockets and clenched my shoulders up around my ears. It was a defensive mechanism I'd developed suddenly when I was 16.

"Well, let's see how the meeting tomorrow goes and go from there, okay?" She put her hand on my arm and squeezed. "Don't worry, Nic. I don't think you're a jackass. See you tomorrow." She turned and headed down the street.

I checked my watch and realized I was going to be late for my meeting with Dr. Woon. Every Thursday at 1:30, I had a meeting with him. I crossed the street and hopped into my car to drive to his office on the other side of town.

I cut the engine after pulling into his drive way and saw Dr. Woon standing on his porch. "Nicolas! You're late!" He came down and gave me a friendly handshake and a quick backslap.

"Sorry, Dr. Woon. I had a lunch date."

"Oh! A date." He led me into his office on the main floor of his house. It was a typical psychiatrist's office - wood everywhere, a comfortable chair for him and an even more comfortable leather bench thing for me.

"Not a date, date. Just a girl I met for lunch." I followed him into the office and sat down on the bench and poured myself a glass of water. "You'll be pleased to know that I've spoken to Jayme, though."

"Oh, no. Nicolas, we agreed that wouldn't be a good thing." He sat down in the chair with his usual cup of tea and offered me a biscuit off the tray on the table beside him.

"No, thanks. I had dessert. Yeah, I was kind of forced into it."

"Um-hmm. How many times have you spoken to her since then?" He raised his eyebrows at me, already knowing that I had spoken to her - at length - more than once.

"Two, I think, maybe three."

"And are you going to continue doing this?"

"No, I don't think so. But the girl I met for lunch is a friend of hers."

"Did you meet because of her?"

"In a very disconnected, obscure way, yes."

"You like this girl?" He took his small pad of paper out and was ready to write down everything now.

"Maybe. I don't know. We talked a lot about all sorts of stuff. She's a nice girl, I guess. I could be friends with her, that's for sure." I leaned back on the bench and laid down. There was a spot on the ceiling I stared at - a knot in the wood that had facinated me for almost 20 years. It was like staring into someone's eye, it was so mesmerizing.

"That's a step in the right direction then. How's your sleeping?"

"Here and there. Some good nights, some bad. I've tried different things, but nothing's working."

"Ah. How have you slept since you talked to Jayme?"

"The same. Really deep for a while then wide awake. It's wierd - I thought I might sleep better when I talked to her, but no dice." I half-sat up on my elbows and looked over at Dr. Woon. "So we've decided it's not Jayme causing my sleep problems now, right?"

"Oh, it's pretty definite that it's not Jayme. So we return to our old standby excuse - your parent's divorce."

"Yeah." I laid back down and stared at the knot. "I spoke to my mom on Sunday."

"How did that go?"

"Okay, I guess. I mean, she's in rehab, so she's a little better. She's making progress, at least."

"And your father?"

I clenched my hands across my chest and took a deep breath. "Same as last week. Not a word."

"Did you call him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he can bloody well call me." I sat up and looked at Dr. Woon. "He hasn't called me in months - almost a year now. I think he knows my number. He can call me."

"Nicolas, you are just being stubborn. Grow up. Call him."

"No."