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COUNTRY LIFE IN BC • JANUARY 2020 Susan embarks on her secret rendezvous


When we left off last time, Susan had just received a delivery of 12 crimson roses accompanied by an invitation to dinner from a “secret admirer.” Rural Redemption, part 118, continues ...


Chronicles by BOB COLLINS


When Frank finished his business at Sutcliffe’s All- Occasion Florists, he walked three doors down and dropped his suit off at the one-hour dry cleaners. Ten minutes after that, he parked his old Ford truck right in front of Sawyer’s Men’s Wear (Since 1946).


The bell over the door jingled when he stepped through. He stopped and stood eyeing the racks and shelves suspiciously. “Can I help you?” called a


voice from the back of the store.


“Is that you, Jimmy?” called


Frank. “No, Jimmy hasn’t been


here for more than 20 years. You’re thinking of my Dad.” An impeccably dressed man 30 years younger than Frank offered his hand. “I’m Jack Sawyer. Nice to


meet you. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” “That’s ‘cause I didn’t throw


it at you,” said Frank. “There’s no reason you need to know


it. I pay cash and I don’t shop here much.” “Alright then, cash it is. What can I help you with today?”


“I need a shirt.” “Dress shirt? Casual?”


“Something you Woodshed


can wear with a suit.” “Okay. What colour is your suit?”


“Black.” “White’s always


good with black, or maybe a light blue. Do you have a preference?” “Which one’s cheaper?” “They would be the same


price. $78.” “SEVENTY-EIGHT DOLLARS?


I got my whole damned suit here from Jimmy for less than that!” “When was that, sir,” asked


Jack.


“1966.” “You probably would have bought it from my grandfather back then. His name was Ernie. I’m afraid prices have gone up a little since then.” “Haven’t you got something on sale?” “Let’s have a look in the clearance section and see what we have.”


Jack thumbed through the stack of clearance shirts and pulled out all the ones he figured might fit Frank. “Take a look at these and see if there are any that catch your eye.” “Which one is cheapest?” Jack smiled and slid a shirt


from the middle of the pile. “Without a doubt it would be this one.” “Why’s it that one?” “It has been here for some


time. No one seems to care for the colour.” “What’s wrong with it?


Green’s not a bad colour.” “Pickle green to be exact. If


you like it, I can let you have it for $10.”


“I couldn’t see myself giving


you more than eight for it.” “Tell you what,” said Jack,


“I’ll take five.”


Jack put the shirt in a bag and explained the no return policy for clearance items. He smiled to himself when Frank left. The shirt had been on the clearance shelf for more than 30 years. His father had pronounced it the ugliest damned shirt he’d ever seen. When he retired, he made Jack promise to keep it because, as dreadful as it was, someday it would be just what someone was looking for. The old man was right, he thought. Frank arrived home about the same time as Susan received the flowers from her secret admirer. He phoned the Seaside Rendezvous Restaurant and made a reservation in her name, then retired to his bedroom to assemble his wardrobe: black suit, pickle green shirt, and his favourite tie – his only tie – brown silk with golden needled palmy looking trees, and silver storks with iridescent green beaks, and a nest of hatchlings,


embroidered on it. Above the trees there appeared to be some wispy clouds, or maybe they were soup stains


vvv


Back at the Hendersons’, Susan considered her meagre wardrobe. “I have nothing to wear,” she said distractedly. “I’ll bet you have something nice with you, Grandma. You always look amazing,” said Ashley. “Nothing special, I’m afraid.


I didn’t pack anything dressy at all.” “I know a cool little store in


town where you could probably find something if you feel like shopping.” They returned nearly three hours later with a long- sleeved red dress with a shallow vee neck. Susan wasn’t sold on it at first, but when she tried it on Ashley said “WOW!” and gave her two thumbs up. “Really?” asked Susan. “Oh yeah, really!” said


Ashley. “Trust me, you’re a total fox.”


On the way home, they


drove by the Seaside Rendezvous Restaurant so Susan would know where it was. At 6, Susan came down the stairs. “How do I look?” Ashley stopped in her tracks with a look of mock concern on her face. “I don’t know, Grandma. I’m a little bit worried about that dress.”


Susan looked down at the


dress and tugged at the hem. “Worried about what?” she


asked, sounding worried herself. “I’m worried that seeing


you in that dress is going to give poor Mr. Pullman a heart attack.”


Susan chuckled. “Grandmothers don’t give men heart attacks, sweetie.” “I don’t know about that,”


said Ashley. “You’re not Mr. Pullman’s grandmother, and I think you’re going to look to- die-for to him.”


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given this approval,” he emphasized, adding no cavalry are coming over the hill to save farmers who rely on the product. He said producers need to speak up rather than saying, “Oh, I wish someone would speak up.” Glen Lucas, general manager of the BC Fruit Growers Association, says he hasn’t heard any concerns from growers. Most have other priorities. He says the product is more important for grain growers. Caleigh Hallink-Irwin, crop protection manager with the


Canadian Horticultural Council in Ottawa, emphasized the responsible approach producers take when using glyphosate. “We at CHC have confidence in Canada’s science-based approach to risk assessments and have the utmost trust in our regulatory bodies, Health Canada and the Pest Management Regulatory Agency,” she said. “Canadian fruit and vegetable growers who use glyphosate do so according to the legal label and follow all safety precautions.”


vvv At 6:30, Frank arrived at the


restaurant and headed for what the management referred to as the holding room, supposedly a comfortable area where dinner guests can enjoy a beverage while waiting for their table. In fact, four televisions and some sports memorabilia had turned it into a lucrative haunt for a mostly younger clientele who came to drink, eat hot wings, and watch sports events. Frank raised every eyebrow


in the room when he walked in. He found a seat on the far wall where he could see the front door. He kept a sharp eye on the entry and thought ruefully of the days when the $6 glass of beer he was nursing would only have cost 15 cents. His foot tapped nervously, and he tugged at the too-tight collar of his new pickle green shirt. There was a little wad of Kleenex stuck to his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving. Susan came through the door at five after six. Frank exhaled and his foot stopped tapping. He sat back in his chair and took the first sip of his beer.


The maître d’ welcomed Susan and asked if she had a reservation. “This is a bit awkward; I’m meeting someone…” “Ahh,” said the maître d’. “Are


you Susan Henderson?” “Yes.” “Well then, you do have a


reservation to meet someone, I understand.” Susan blushed. “Come this way. I have a special table for you.” He led her to a table in a


cozy nook in the far corner and seated her with her back to the room so she could see the lights from the marina dancing across the water. Susan sipped at a glass of water and glanced at her wristwatch every few minutes. 6:30 came and went. To be continued ...


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