The High Road by Terry Fallis Page A

king on the back rank with my two rooks. No big celebration this time. That would have been unseemly.
    “How is the fair lass Lindsay now that she’s ensconced in the boathouse?”
    “She is, quite simply, amazing,” I replied with more emotion than I’d planned on deploying.
    “Aye, she is. Providence has shone on you. But she’s not doin’ too badly in your company, I daresay.”
    “It’s difficult to explain. We seem to connect on a different plane. It just feels different. Better. Deeper. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m being clear.”
    “You’re comin’ in loud and clear to me.” He paused, but then continued. “Forty years or so ago, I’d probably be describin’ my bond with Marin using similarly vague and imprecise terms,” Angus confided. “It was very odd. I felt utterly changed yet still myself at one and the same time. It was almost as if my life had been fuzzy, slightly out of focus. Marin seemed to adjust my lens so that everythin’ was brighter, sharper, more vibrant and vital.Where I’d only seen murky shadows, she let me see a riot of colour. Where my view had been cut short, she gave me a distant horizon. I really didnae know what being alive actually meant, until I met her.”
    He stopped talking suddenly. I kept my eyes on the river, not daring to look at him. A few minutes passed.
    “You dinnae need to attempt to give form and order to that which defies explanation and confounds understandin’. Just let it be. And hold onto it for as long as you can. I’m very happy for you both.”
    DIARY
    Wednesday, January 1
    My Love,
    The year has turned. “Happy New Year” they all say. I cannot fathom it. It is odd that it’s no longer officially the same year in which you left me. I think I was waiting for this day so I could finally be free of such a miserable year and what it brought us. I thought I might feel different. And I guess I do in some ways. But my life is different not because the year has turned over. Simply changing the number when I write the date has done nothing. It was folly to think otherwise. You are still gone. That part of me, that part of my life, remains … numb. But don’t fear for me. There are glimmers in the distance to keep me from wallowing.
    But for a spot of drama, the deed was done today. I am the Liberal candidate, for better or worse. It felt much different signing the nomination papers this time around. A busy couple of fortnights beckons. We will not succumb to the temptation to campaign as most others do. That is the one wan and wispy hope we have. I’m determined, as the old song says, to “Take the High Road.”
    AM

CHAPTER FIVE
    When clouds blocked the morning sun, it was chilly in the boat-house. Lindsay,
Cumberland Crier
in hand, ran into the room and vaulted back into the double bed like a gymnast off a minitramp, plowing her elbow into my stomach as she came down beside me.
    “Oooooff!” was my articulate response as the air left my lungs in a hurry.
    “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I thought I was clear of you,” Lindsay said as she rolled and propped herself up on the guilty elbow. “I’m not as coordinated in the air when it’s so frickin’ cold. We really need at least a queen if I’m going to land those safely.”
    When you’re unable to breathe, you’re unable to speak. So I just nodded. Lindsay spread out the
Crier
.
    “Uh-oh. André has done it again,” she warned.
    I turned to scan the front page. Oh good, two photos of Angus. The first covered nearly the whole front page, above the fold. André sure had a knack with a Nikon. There, in full colour, was
Baddeck 1
dragging Angus behind as he looked right at the camera and waved. The caption: the very predictable “What a drag!” Nice. The second picture, as I feared, was a shot of a snow-covered Angus, arms outstretched in apparent political crucifixion as I appeared to attack him with a corn broom. The cutline on it: “McLintock hopes to sweep to victory.” So the