In the morning , Finn drove into the town of Waterton for some supplies. A herd of elk forced him to stop on the way when it emerged from a copse of trees and nonchalantly crossed the road in front of his car, delighting him. He realized it was Sunday, and hoped he wouldn't have any trouble finding anything open. He needn't have worried; it was the beginning of tourist season.
The small grocery had what he needed, even Molson beer. Finn heard Canadian Molson was much better than the imported stuff back home, and he was determined to give it a try. It went against his better judgment, but he also decided to buy gas in Waterton, knowing full well how expensive it would be.
While the tank filled, he spread out a map of Montana and Wyoming on the hood of his truck, studying where he planned to go next. Yellowstone looked promising to him, but his thoughts were broken by a woman's voice:
"That's a nice pakul you're wearing—did you get it in Afghanistan?"
He looked up in surprise, touching his hat, which was the pakul, a traditional male Afghan cap. A white sedan was at the curb, driver's window rolled down, with the letters "RCMP" on the side. The door opened, and out stepped the first real Mountie Finn had ever seen in person.
She was tall, five-nine at least, athletically-built, with very dark hair, fair skin, and sea-gray eyes, like a warrior-princess from some Celtic saga. Apparently, she was in her dress uniform: the brilliant red serge tunic, long dark blue skirt, and a black military-style female's cap. She saw him staring and shrugged, while at the same time giving him a dazzling smile.
"It's Sunday and I have front desk duty," she said in explanation. "I'm Constable Jane Feeney, RCMP. Pleased to meet you."
He smiled. "Finn Hudson. And yes, I got this in Afghanistan. Have you been there? "
She nodded. "I was in the Canadian Forces Military Police over there before joining the RCMP."
They chatted briefly. The RCMP maintained a detachment at Waterton Lakes National Park during tourist season, and Jane was working the desk that day. During the rest of the year she worked at the detachment in Cardston. Finn simply told her he served in Afghanistan, and that he was staying at Belly River for a few days.
She looked at her watch. "Well, Mr. Hudson, I'm overdue at work. Welcome to Canada, and enjoy your stay." Before turning to leave, she added, "I'm glad you made it back safely."
"You too," Finn replied, waving, and when she was out of earshot gave a low whistle.
His sleep that night was unbroken and dreamless.
The next morning he was having coffee, picking at his guitar while sitting on the picnic table. Red had started him playing, and he was surprised to find how quickly he picked it up. Here, at the start of what was going to be a gorgeous spring day, the idea for the melody of a song came to him, so he ran through it a few times, then went to the truck and found his pad of music paper, which he hadn't used since high school, but for some reason kept.
He was writing it down when a green, mud-spattered Land Rover pulled up by his car. A woman got out and walked towards him.
It was Jane. She was dressed casually this time, almost like him: red plaid flannel shirt, jeans and boots. Her dark hair was down, shoulder–length, wavy. He was pleasantly surprised at how much he appreciated that the shirt didn't hide the substantial swell of her breasts. She carried a thermos and a small white bag.
"I thought by now you could appreciate some decent coffee," she said, again with that killer smile.
"Hi Constable," Finn said, grinning. "Dressed a bit casually for work, aren't you? But you're right; I could use some decent coffee."
"Took a vacation day," she replied, pouring into his cup, "Which my boss owed me for taking someone else's shift." She filled the thermos cup for herself, and opened the bag, offering it to him. "Donut hole?"
They were glazed. His favorite.
"God, this coffee is good," he exclaimed, then popped a donut hole in his mouth.
"I'm glad you like it black—it's a pretty strong roast, and I grind it myself."
He nodded as he chewed.
"So, what plans do you have for your vacation day?" He tentatively felt his way, not wanting to appear too forward.
She immediately put him at ease.
"I was wondering if you could use some company, and if you like, a home cooked meal."
Sweet. Open. Direct. He liked that. And she was very pretty—from certain angles she resembled the actress Mary-Louise Parker.
"I'd like that very much," he replied.
She smiled, and he could see a touch of relief on her face. So she'd been taking chances too. Like Rachel did, with that picnic in the auditorium, he thought.
They finished the coffee and the donut holes, and talked. Jane was divorced. Her ex-husband had been in the military police with her, and joined the RCMP when she did. But he wasn't able to handle the big city ("He thinks Cardston is the big city"), while she couldn't handle the isolation of the Northwest Territories, where he was finally stationed.
"Talk about irreconcilable differences," she said sadly, "But he's happier now."
"Are you?" Finn asked, as gently as he could.
"No," was her honest reply. He changed the subject.
"How's the fishing here?" That made her smile.
"Come on." Jane got up. "I'll show you".
They walked down to the river's edge. It had a slow, stately flow.
"The Belly's full of Brown Trout," Jane said, deadpan. "Pun intended."
He said he'd always wanted to learn how to fly fish. She shyly offered to teach him, assuming he had a visa. And a place to stay, he reminded her. She nodded, then added drily, "and a job." They laughed.
When it was time for lunch, Finn was pleasantly surprised to find that Jane had packed a picnic basket. She gave him a choice of fresh egg salad or turkey sandwiches; he chose the turkey.
"I don't know, Finn, I make a mean egg salad ," she said, but didn't seem to really mind. She also brought beer in a cooler, Wilds Rose IPA, an Alberta microbrew. It was delicious.
She'd been born near Edmonton, and was a year-and-a-half older than Finn. Her parents were farmers. He told her more about himself. About Glee and Nationals, and Rachel. She listened carefully as they ate, then raised her eyebrows.
"You almost got married to her twice? Are you sure you're done?"
Finn sighed. "I know how it must sound. But Jane, we tried, and it was just too painful. And now I don't think we could ever relate to each other like we used to. I think my life makes more sense out West, while hers makes more sense in New York."
"Boy, can I relate to that," Jane said. She put her hand on his arm.
"Listen, Finn…" He could tell this wasn't easy for her to say, "… I went through something harrowing in Afghanistan, like you…a riot at the prison where I was stationed… hostages taken and killed, including some MP's I knew. And I had to go through the same stages you've been going through to get my head straight. But I made it, mostly because I had someone who could relate to my experience."
"Your husband?"
"Yeah. Brian got me through it before our marriage went south."
Something struck him at that moment. It was what Red had said, about meeting his wife. He stared at Jane intently, perhaps too much so, because her eyes began to flick back and forth, like Rachel's did when she was apprehensive.
"Are you okay?" she asked, uncomfortable.
He snapped out of it.
"Yeah, yeah…I'm okay." He swallowed some beer. For now it was enough to just be in the company of a pretty, interesting woman who had no trouble understanding what he had just been through.
Jane visibly relaxed, and soon was looking at his music pad.
"So you still write songs?"
"Not really. I just had an idea for a melody this morning. It's the first time I've tried anything since high school."
"Yet you still carry around a pad of music paper."
He took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair.
"Yeah, I guess so. Force of habit."
Jane looked down. "I play guitar," she said, carefully. "Want to go work on the song at my place? I can cook that meal I promised you, too."
Something, far in the back of his mind, told Finn this was the right thing to do, even if it felt like crossing the Rubicon, with no going back. He put his cap back on.
"Sounds great," he replied, with an honest smile.