Johnny grinned his timeless grin and asked, “You hungry? I know a little place not far from here, closer to the water, and they have the best salmon dinner. I call that place ‘Swan-a-licious.’ You ever been there?”

“I don’t go out, Johnny. This was the first time I stepped into a bar in this place. And the last. I’m sorry. I have to go back to my place. I can’t eat. I can’t think. I have to go.”

Annie walked up the sidewalk as fast as she could, but Johnny stayed by her side as though he was out on an evening stroll. Johnny stepped out in front of her and did something that Annie thought he would never do.

Johnny Cochrane wrapped his arms around her shoulders and folded Annie into his chest. She let out the longest howl of sorrow. They created one crooked and sideways Inukshuk as they cried together on a street filled with tourists.

They cried for all the hate they had felt from the world. They cried for all the hate they had had for each other all those years up North. They cried together because they were the two people who knew what it was like to lose the love of Moses Henry.

Johnny pulled his face back from hers. He did what we all do when our emotions tell us to get some control. He burst out laughing. Annie joined him. When they had laughed themselves out, they wiped the wetness from their faces onto the sleeves of their shirts.

Johnny asked again, “Dinner?” and put his right arm out for Annie to latch onto.

They walked in silence down the streets of the small city. No words were shared between them, and when they arrived at the restaurant, Johnny gallantly pulled the chair back for Annie.

Then he pointed up to the top of the wall and said, “Madam, you are seated in what I call The Pierre Chair. Our former prime minister will be dining with us tonight.” Annie looked up and smiled at the portrait of Pierre Trudeau, who was looking down at them with a softness in his eyes.

“Seems like life was easier when we had that guy around, don’t you think?”

Johnny shrugged and smiled his big smile. The smile that had got him in and out of bed with so many women. Johnny Cochrane may have had his hair turn a shade of grey, but that grin had never left him. He was charm. He was handsome. He was magic.

“Oh, we always think that the old days were good, but were they really?” Johnny asked. The waitress approached, and Johnny turned on his charm. Within five minutes he had ordered a bottle of Chardonnay, found out the name of the waitress, what time her shift was over and where he could find her at eleven at night. Annie sat across from him, shaking her head and smiling.

“Some things never change,” she said.