Chapter 39
I barely have the chance to inhale the smell of bacon before I spot Mr. McNaught in his regular seat at the counter, just as I suspected. He has the Toronto Star in front of him, open to the crossword puzzle, where he looks to be lingering on the last few clues.
“I had a feeling you’d be hiding out here.” I settle into the empty stool beside him. “You know the coffee in the dining room really isn’t that bad.”
He sets his pencil down, turning to me, his lips curved upward in a small smile. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t come here for the coffee. I come here for Rosie.” He lifts his mug in her direction and gets a swat with the rag as Rosie rolls her eyes.
“This one is far too smooth, Jules,” she says as she takes the pot and refills his cup. “You have to be careful around him.”
Mr. McNaught takes a sip with an approving nod of his head. “The coffee is better here.” He motions at the pot, as if asking if I want a cup, but I shake my head.
“The older you get, the less willing you are to put up with bullshit in your life,” he says. “And that includes people. I like it here. I like my friends.” He points to the shelf above the coffeemaker. “I’ve already told Lou when I die, I want my ashes left right up there.”
Rosie turns her head, following the direction of his finger, then whips back around with a shake of her head. “That’s a little too close to the Folgers, hon.”
Mr. McNaught chuffs. “Fine. Over there then.” He points to a shelf a little farther from the coffee, filled with photographs of various patrons of Lou’s. It was put up last year when they ran out of room on the far wall.
Mr. McNaught leans close, tipping his head so only I can hear. “When I go, do you want my seat?” He taps his leg on his stool. “No one has asked for that yet. I’ll leave it to you if you like?”
I shake my head, my new philosophy firmly being that I don’t want to be named in any wills and testaments for the foreseeable future.
“Thanks, but I’m good. And I wouldn’t be giving it away too soon. I don’t think you’re going anywhere for a while.”
Mr. McNaught shrugs, his smile highlighting the wrinkles around his eyes. “You never know; life throws you curveballs when you least expect it.”
A lesson I’ve learned this year.
“Well, why don’t we do our best to get ahead of one of those curveballs? You’ve got a doctor’s appointment in…” I check my phone. “Twenty minutes. What do you say? Should we try to get there on time?”
He waves me off, taking another sip of his coffee. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m an old man. I’ll act a little confused in the waiting room. The doctor will cut me a break.”
I get to my feet, hoping it will prompt him along. “That might work for you, but I need to answer to Nurse Bouchard.”
He sighs and nods. “Then I guess I’d better finish my coffee and come with ya.”
I wait while he does just that, then takes a trip to the bathroom because “Port Logan is a ways away, and my prostate isn’t what it used to be.”
I wait for him by the front door, busying myself by skimming all the pictures on the far wall. Lou’s whole history with this town. There are so many with Sunnyvale residents. Most of them were taken long before they came to live at the home.
I close my eyes, the full weight of the day taking hold.
When I open them again, my gaze catches on a black-and-white photo.
It’s taken in front of what I now recognize as the dance hall.
Two women and two men, arms around one another, laughing.
I must have passed this photo easily a hundred times on my way to and from the bathroom over the years.
However, as I brace my hand against the wall to lean closer, I wonder if I’ve ever really looked at it.
“Good-looking fella, wasn’t he?”
I jump at the unexpected voice.
“Yes. Very good-looking.” I glance at the next photo over.
It’s of Mr. McNaught, sitting at his spot at Lou’s counter, Mardi Gras beads around his neck, posed in front of a giant plate of chocolate chip pancakes.
“And still is.” I reach up to wipe a smudge from the glass, but Mr. McNaught shakes his head.
“Not that one. He’s an old fart. But he used to have a little more hair back in his day.” I follow his gaze to the dance hall picture, to the tall, gangly teen with the big nose and slicked hair, and only then do I see the resemblance.
“That’s you.”
He’s smiling in the photo, although he isn’t looking at the camera. His eyes are on the beautiful blond girl standing next to him in her white dress.
“And that’s Kitty,” I whisper.
Mr. McNaught nods. “Now, she was a looker.”
The word triggers something. A memory. Or a dream. In less than a breath, my kaleidoscope of memories spins and then clicks—forming a completely different picture.
Knots.
McNaught.
“You’re…Knots.” I don’t fully believe it, even as the words leave my mouth.
Mr. McNaught laughs softly to himself. “I haven’t been called that in years.”
I guess I assumed all along the nickname was a rope thing. Ropes and knots. I feel so stupid.
He smiles. “They used to call my father by that nickname, too.”
He reaches up and taps his finger on the other woman in the picture, the one I don’t recognize. “I’ve always thought you look a little like your great-grandmother.”
“I’m sorry…what? Who?”
He taps the glass. “Dotty. It’s the eyes. Your mother had them, too. Must run in the family.”
I shake my head, not following. “Dot wasn’t my great-grandmother. My great-grandmother’s name was Gillian.”
Mr. McNaught brushes his thumb over her face.
“She had the cutest freckles. Like a smattering of polka dots across her nose. She was never a fan of the nickname. Made us call her Gillian again when she married your great-grandpa.”
Dotty.
Not some figment of my imagination pieced together with snippets of Kitty’s diary.
A real person.
Not only that, but my flesh and blood.
Mr. McNaught steps toward me, taking me by the elbow. “You’re looking a little pale there, honey. Maybe you should come with me to the doctor.”
“I’m…okay.”
Mr. McNaught ignores my words and leads me to an empty booth, where I sink into the leather as my knees give out.
“You and Kitty,” I whisper, still not fully understanding. “I didn’t know.”
He settles into the seat across from me. “Most people didn’t. It was so long ago.”
I am filling in the remaining blanks. All those years after the diary and before today.
Kitty comes back to West Lake.
Knots is still here.
They’ve been living the last two years under the same roof.
So was it a love story after all?
“Is that why she came back?” I ask. “Because of you?”
Mr. McNaught looks up at my question, a surprised lift to his eyebrows. I half expect him to ask why I seem to know their history so intimately, but instead, his eyes shift to the window, first to the old abandoned dance hall, then to the retirement home next door.
“She wanted her last days to be spent in her hometown.” His eyes drift back to meet mine. “And I think she wanted to remember the girl she used to be.”
I have so many questions. Even with the diary and the dreams, there are so many gaps.
“Can I ask a personal question?” My curiosity overwhelms my conscience. “Did you ever ask her why…why she said yes to Beau? I mean, you had to know she loved you.”
His eyes return to the window, and a moment passes, then two. I open my mouth to apologize, but he clears his throat, his gaze dropping to his hands.
“Oh, I asked myself that question more than a few times over the years.” He looks up, giving me a half smile. “For the first few, I assumed it was simply that Kitty wanted a life I couldn’t give her….”
Mr. McNaught pauses, his voice suddenly choking up. I go to the counter and fill a glass of water, Rosie giving me her nod of approval from the other side of the restaurant before I return to the booth and hand Mr. McNaught the water glass.
“Thank you.” He takes it from me with shaking hands, drawing a long sip before setting it down in front of him. “But when we finally closed the place down in sixty-four, I came across the paperwork that named her as the owner. I saw the dates and put two and two together.”
I’ve lost the plot.
Mr. McNaught tips his head to the side, studying me. “When I realized who Mr. Scott sold the dance hall to all those years ago, I understood why she left.”
“Kitty bought the dance hall?” I ask, still unsure if I’ve got it right, but Mr. McNaught nods.
“It was her wedding present from Beau. She knew the town needed it, and…” His voice cracks. “I think it was Kitty’s way of telling me she loved me.”
It’s like the world has all of a sudden shifted, and I’m seeing everything from a different angle.
“I didn’t know.” My voice is a whisper.
“That was Kitty’s way.”
He reaches for the water again, his eyes glassy and an even lighter shade of green.
“Do you think she ever regretted it?”
It’s a question I’ve wondered since I first began reading the diary.
Mr. McNaught stares at the half-empty glass for a moment before answering. “I think she always wondered what life would have been like had she…chosen me. I think it’s perhaps why she came back in the end. We had our last few years together. She died knowing…”
His voice cracks, and there is no water left.
I move to stand, but his hands reach for mine, pulling me back into my seat.
“I loved that woman.” His eyes meet mine in time for me to see his glassy gaze turn into teardrops that he doesn’t try to hide as they spill down his cheeks.
“I’ll take my last breath—not too long from now—and I will still love that woman.
But to answer your question, I think the thing she regretted most of all was that she had to choose in the first place. She couldn’t do it all on her own.”
“She left it to me when she died,” I whisper, my gaze automatically shifting to the lot across the street.
Mr. McNaught’s does the same. “Did she? I wondered about that.”
Suddenly, a new thought surfaces.
“Do you think she did it because of Dot? Gillian, I mean. She and Kitty were close. That would make a lot more sense.”
Mr. McNaught shakes his head. “I don’t think so. They lost touch after Kitty left. Kitty lost touch with most of us.”
“Then why…” I try to finish the thought but can’t find the right words, and before I do, Mr. McNaught’s hands cover mine. They’re aged with brown spots and skin so thin that I can see his blue veins underneath.
“I think she saw herself in you.” He squeezes my hands. “The both of you were born and raised in West Lake and maybe a little stuck. I think she wanted to make sure that if it came down to love and your future, you could choose both.”
Kitty never had a choice. It was live in West Lake with Knots but give up all of her dreams or marry Beau and live them out. I love me even more.
He removes his hands from mine to check his watch, an old digital Timex with big orange buttons. “Shall we get going? It’s getting a little late. I’m charming, but I don’t think I should push my luck with the doctor too much.”
He pulls a napkin from the metal holder and holds it out to me. That’s when I feel a single tear roll down my cheek, landing on the table with a quiet plop.
Mr. McNaught stands and waits. Holding out his hand to me, he says, “I can walk back on my own if you want to sit for a little longer.”
Another tear falls, landing almost on top of the first, forming the shape of a heart for a brief moment before I smear it into the tabletop with the pad of my thumb.
“Honey?” Mr. McNaught picks the napkin up again. This time I take it, pressing it to my cheeks.
It took Kitty almost a lifetime to choose love.
Luckily, it hasn’t taken me quite as long.