In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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It's been two months, five hours, and thirty-six minutes since I last saw Blake. I'm not even going to pretend that it's normal that I know that. If I checked my watch, I could probably get his exact departure from my life down to the second. But doing that would be foolish because whenever Blake crosses my mind, it feels like I can't breathe properly. I'm suffocating, slowly, and no one here even knows.
From across the huge warehouse, Herb gives me a visual check in. He's the site manager for the Northern Canada project and old enough to be my father. There's a spark of intelligence in his brown eyes coupled with a world weariness that I like. The way he carries himself reminds me of someone else, even if I don't want it to.
The Northern Canada project is the only location Doctors International offered me after my interview. Jane, in HR, claimed they start everyone on a low risk project at first, but I wonder if he who shall not be named is at the root of my 'safe' assignment.
If we were speaking, I'd tell him the joke was on him. These tiny commuter planes used to fly into the remote communities would terrify him. He'd be pouring over safety checks and maintenance reports. Me? I just get on the plane and hope the thing holds itself together.
But we aren't speaking. Not even a little bit. The only communication we've had is a bouquet of my favorite Canadian candy bars delivered to my parents' house for my birthday. The card that came with them simply said, "Blake" with no personal note. Receiving it was one of the happiest and saddest moments of my life. I'm on his mind but not enough to change anything. He's probably working on his tan while trying not to get shot or blown up in the DRC.
That's the most depressing thought I've ever had—and I've had a lot in the last two months.
Other people come into the warehouse to unload products we've purchased, and the cold winter breeze rushes in behind them. It's practically balmy on Manitoulin Island compared to Nunavut, which is where we're supposed to be going next.
Herb appears beside me and checks my screen before pointing to a product. "That's the one," he says.
I click on it and start filling out the paperwork for Doctors International to purchase the right quantity. The job would probably be harder in another country that didn't have access to normal transportation modes and routes, but since we're in Ontario, the only tricky bit is sometimes getting whatever we need onto the island before a scheduled flight.
"I know I asked you when you first got here, but are you sure we've never met before this? There's something about you that seems familiar. I'm very good with faces." Herb crosses his arms.
When I first arrived, the last thing in the world I wanted to discuss was Blake. Still don't. But I can't keep denying that we met once before, however briefly. It's not like I don't remember. Blake had a meltdown which led to us going in our separate directions the first time. Herb knows Blake, probably well.
