“Rob?”
“What?” He let the ball roll and came over to her.
“Are all Mamma’s family in Italy?”
“Yeah.”
Elena paused. She knew that already, but she had still hoped for a different answer. She’d never been to Italy but she knew it was far away; too far for visiting. Mamma’s parents immigrated to Canada when Mamma was little. A few years later, after Mamma had grown up, Nonna died and Nonno moved back to Italy to be near his brothers. That’s what Mamma said. Mamma stayed in Canada and married Dad.
Elena had asked several times over the years if she could talk to Nonno over the phone, but Mamma always gave the same response. It wasn’t possible because Nonno didn’t speak any English. Elena thought that was strange for someone who’d lived in Canada, and anyway, she didn’t mind. She only wanted to hear his voice, she didn’t need to understand his words. But Mamma said no. Mamma didn’t even speak to Nonno, and he was her dad. As she got older, Elena realized Mamma could speak to Nonno if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to, and Elena never got any closer to figuring out why. It was difficult to speak to Mamma about some things because as soon as the conversation got interesting she would go quiet and leave the room to do something else. In any case, Nonno and the rest of Mamma’s family were in Italy and they weren’t coming to help.
“Are all Dad’s family up north?”
Rob shrugged. “I dunno. Why?”
“Maybe they’ll come and help us find Dad.”
“If they cared about us, we would’ve met them by now.”
Elena disagreed. They’d come. They had to. Up North wasn’t that far away. It wasn’t like Italy. They could drive here in probably a day or so, Elena thought. When they came, she’d finally see what they looked like. Grandma or Gran or Nan; Grandpa or Granddad or Gramps, they could choose. Elena wanted a Gramma and Gramps, ideally. She liked the word Gramps. Grumpy Gramps, except he wouldn’t be grumpy around her. Old people almost always liked her. Dad called them Jim and Audrey whenever she forced him to tell her something about them (which wasn’t often because he said they weren’t worth talking about) but she wouldn’t call them that because no one called their grandparents by their first names.
At least she had Rob. On their first and only search, they had found dad’s truck.
“We have to keep looking for Dad.”
Rob frowned. “Mom is never going to let us go out like that again.”
“He was at that cabin and Frank knows something.”
Rob lost it. “Why do you keep making things up all the time?”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because you’re always like this. Coming up with stupid stories about things that didn’t happen.”
“You can’t just give up.”
“What if he did it?”
Elena couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth. There was no way he could really think that, but he repeated it.
“What if he set the mill on fire?”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“No, you don’t. You’re too dumb to understand anything.” Rob picked up his basketball and for once, quietly walked inside.
CHAPTER 14
2 0 1 8
THE COMMUNITY HALL is bare, stripped of the Fall Fair decorations. Vivian hadn’t planned on coming in, but the main door had been left wide open and now she’s standing on the worn beige linoleum staring at the knots in the wall-to-wall wood panelling they’d installed in the seventies.
In the quiet, she remembers how busy it once was. Local community groups used to fight over time slots in the packed schedule. Club meetings, bingo, exercise classes, performances.
Pam’s crop top shows off the tight muscles on her stomach. Her white sneakers and socks over her black leggings flash up and down as she moves. Dance music blasts through the hall and rows of women hop on and off low platforms. “Step, lift! Step, lift! One more time.”
Vivian has been invited to speak to the Seniors Club; a chance to network with voters and hear their concerns. She regrets showing up early.
“Switch sides. Lift, lift!”
Vivian stalks around the edge of the hall and stands directly beside the portable stereo system. She looks at her watch. Pam turns and meets her stare, claps her hands twice and shouts: “Great work ladies! Let’s cool down.”
Pam bounds over and turns off the music as the women reach their arms gently towards the ceiling and back down to their toes. “We’ve still got five minutes,” she says to Vivian.
As the women carry their steps into the storage room, Vivian reminds them not to block the foldable chairs and tables that are about to come out. None of them seem to be in a hurry to leave, even as the seniors start hovering by the entrance.
Pam’s class gather around her, chatting as they approach the main doors at snail pace. Her voice sails across the top of the rest: “What?” Vivian instinctively tunes in.
A woman in leggings and a green leotard is speaking. “It’s the same type of cancer. Lung cancer, I think Janice said. And they all work at the mill.”
The women mutter sympathy. Vivian marches into the storage cupboard. Minutes tick by as she stands and stares at the folding chairs until a white-haired gentleman taps her on the shoulder and offers to help.
The wood panelling had been a mistake, in hindsight. It makes the hall look so dark and dated now. The storage cupboard doors swing open as the mayor’s wife, Carol, pushes through them with chairs under each arm.
“Oh, hello Vivian. I didn’t know you were coming to our paint night.”
Vivian waves her hand. “No, no. Unfortunately, I have plans. I was just passing by.”
“We’re painting two cats on a branch under the moonlight. And there’s wine. You’d be very welcome. The more the merrier!”
Carol is a beanpole with turquoise glasses. The brightly coloured silk scarf around her neck has been fastened with the knot off-centre, presumably to look artistic, but it makes her look like an ageing flight attendant.
“Maybe some other time,” Vivian mutters as she walks towards the door.
“Next month it’s Van Gogh’s Sunflowers,” Carol calls after her.
“Oh no,” Vivian answers. “Not my style.”
Three prints by post-impressionist painters do very little to brighten the poorly lit reception area at the clinic. From there, it gets worse; the only colour in the examination rooms are the faded blues of the beds. The doctor’s surgery is in a humble heritage building on Main Street, recently purchased from a now-retired physician who never thought beyond the immediate needs of his patients.
“The first heavy rain, the roof started leaking,” the prematurely bald young doctor says. He misses his family and hates the summer heat and isn’t sure how to fill the shoes of the doctor who spent the last 40 years earning the locals’ trust. His girlfriend is dragging her feet about moving to a small town.
He pushes his large glasses onto his nose. “The numbers are unusual,” he says. “Much higher than the national average among the mill workers.”
His tone is unsentimental, detached from this town and its patients and the faces behind the statistics. For Vivian, that is a relief.
“Please keep this between us for now. I’ll have the site tested but for all we know lifestyle factors could be the cause. We don’t want to start a panic.”
“Of course.” He closes his folder of numbers and Vivian takes it out of his hands, his mouth opening to object.
“I have a lot of business connections in the Lower Mainland,” Vivian says. “A friend of mine runs a private clinic in North Van and he’s looking for a young doctor.”
“I did not invite that man over to dinner!”
“Yes, my dear, you did.”
“I would never invite someone to dinner on a Monday evening, Todd. We have a council meeting to get to.”
Vivian scrutinizes t
he positioning of the silverware laid out on the dining table before hurrying into the bathroom to put a comb through her layered bob and fumble with her lipstick. She isn’t sure why she’s holding her handbag or what she’s angry about, but she is furious. He makes everything such a challenge. She thinks about it. Who? Who does? Tim. Tab. Todd. TODD. She says it out loud to make it stick and he surfaces in the bathroom doorway like the puppet he is, except that he isn’t her puppet anymore.
“Angie says our guest has just pulled into the driveway.”
“Who the heck is Angie?”
“She takes care of you.”
Yes, Angie. The silverware placer. Useless woman. Vivian would rearrange it, but there’s no time. Todd grabs her by the arm and tries to lead her gently out of the bathroom. She shakes him off and marches towards the dining table. Angie hovers by the front doorway; the woman who conspires with him to drug her and confuse her and make her sit when they want her to sit and sleep when they tell her to and get dressed when they say she should.
Angie shows her a ridiculous, oversized grin and says: “It’s so nice to be joining you and your friend for dinner.”
Why is she joining them? Doesn’t she have anything better to do? Vivian stares at the top of Angie’s head. She has a dreadful perm; the sort that is falling apart and wouldn’t have looked particularly attractive to begin with, puffing out around her scalp and ending abruptly above her shoulders.
The doorbell rings. Todd moves towards it but Vivian pulls him back.
“What about the council meeting? We’re going to be late!”
Todd sighs. “We talked about this. We both stepped down from our council positions because of your health.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Yes, you did.”
Vivian shakes her finger at him. “You forced me to, then. You forced me!”
He does what he always does when she gets angry; the most exasperating thing of all. Nothing.
“Who replaced us?”
“It doesn’t matter, Vivian. We’re out of it now.”
“But what about our plans?”
“Someone else will take care of it.”
“Hah.”
“I’ll keep any eye on things.”
“Will you?”
“We’ve been married for more than half a century. You have to start trusting my decisions because you don’t have much of a choice anymore.”
Vivian is about to object when the doorbell rings again. Vivian looks at Angie and wonders how they’re going to introduce Todd’s co-conspirator. There’s no time to ask. Todd is at the door welcoming their guest.
Vivian looks up at his black hair and thin smile. “Frank!” she says happily.
The young man’s expression falters, but only for a second. “I’m Dean. Frank’s son.”
“Of course. Dean. Come in.”
“What a beautiful home you have,” he says as he removes his burnished brown leather shoes. He’s in a collared shirt and casual blazer and he offers her a very nice-looking bottle of red wine. “Much better than Frank’s,” he says.
Todd introduces Angie as a family friend, but Vivian can tell by the look Todd gives Dean that their guest already knows what’s what. Dean has been fed all this claptrap about Vivian being in “poor health.” She would rather have introduced Angie as the cleaner than a family friend but there’s nothing she can do about that now.
Dean commends the grilled eggplant and goat cheese salad that Todd has carefully assembled. The two of them have a brief discussion about the availability of locally-grown produce and Vivian zones in and out because the chit-chat is making her sleepy. At some point Todd asks Dean how he’s managing to divide his time between Stapleton and his consulting work. “I have a business partner who’s helping to fill in while I take care of Frank’s affairs,” Dean explains. Something seems off about the way he says it: Frank’s affairs. Vivian wonders what exactly he means.
The mood disintegrates about halfway through Todd’s prized salmon on a bed of asparagus. “My mom said she told Frank about me a few months after the mill explosion,” Dean announces out of the blue. Vivian and Todd glance at each other, neither being particularly adept at sensitive conversations. Their guest continues undeterred.
“Stapleton was in the news constantly and my mom thought it was about time she told him.”
Another awkward pause.
“It must have been difficult,” Vivian offers softly.
Dean doesn’t acknowledge her attempt at kindness. “Frank told my mom he couldn’t be a dad because he wasn’t a good person, and I was better off not knowing him, so my mom decided not to tell me about him. My mom said he seemed genuinely sad about it, like he wished he’d known about me earlier, when he thought he was good enough to be my dad. It makes me wonder what changed for him.”
Vivian hums and Todd reaches for his wine.
Dean turns the conversation and his attention sharply in Vivian’s direction. “I heard you were involved in bringing the sawmill to Stapleton.”
Todd sees the threat and intervenes before she has a chance to answer. “Vivian was involved in so many projects during her years on council. I think honestly she’s quite tired of discussing them.”
Dean doesn’t take the hint. “Wasn’t it built in the late ’70s?”
“Yes,” Todd answers again, even though the question was clearly directed at Vivian.
Dean nods. “I thought so. I was too young to remember that.”
Todd tries to keep the conversation casual since Dean seems intent on continuing, but Vivian can hear the tension rising in his voice.
“Of course, you were. The mill opened in ... let me think ... in 1978.”
“Did you work there?” Dean asks him.
“No. We had business interests in the Interior and the Lower Mainland, so I spent quite a bit of time travelling.”
“Did you invest in the mill?”
“No. Well ... the group had a few shares in the parent company, but it wasn’t one of our primary interests. The fast food franchises always did very well for us.”
“Someone was telling me ... I can’t remember who ... that one of your companies provided security services for the mill site after the explosion.”
It isn’t a question he should be asking, not over dinner, not in their home, and certainly not after his peculiar speculation about Frank’s inability to commit to fatherhood. He is beginning to sound accusatorial. Todd stumbles on his answer. “As you know ... the key to business is finding opportunities, filling gaps—you know—providing services where needed.”
Todd puts a halt to the conversation by asking Angie if she wouldn’t mind bringing in the dessert. He has outdone himself with a homemade crème caramel. Vivian’s eyes focus on the knife as he slices through the dripping dark caramel and the perfectly soft but firm custard.
Dean scoops up a spoonful and tastes it. His lips lift and he is temporarily pacified. He praises Todd once again on his culinary talents. There’s something about Dean’s manner that Vivian recognizes in herself. He’s a schemer. Didn’t Todd say something to that effect? What was it again? Something about being prepared.
“So Vivian,” Dean says, “after all your hard work getting the mill built, the explosion must have been particularly devastating for you.”
She keeps her mouth closed and watches his sharp green eyes. This is all part of his plan, but she doesn’t have an inkling of his intentions. That’s alright. She will study his moves until he gives himself away.
Todd fills the awkward pause. “It was a traumatic time. Vivian doesn’t like talking about it.”
Dean raises a hand apologetically. “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just ...”
He looks at her again with those eyes, just like Frank’s. “As you know, I’m considering spending more time in this town ... maybe even keeping my investment in it ... so I need to know exactly what, and who, I’m investing in. There appear to be a few anomalies around what act
ually happened at the mill.”
“Anomalies?” Todd repeats.
“Yes. Do you think Curtis Reid was set up?”
Vivian’s mind is racing and rambling simultaneously as is now customary. Curtis Reid. She knows the name. She can picture him. Thick set. Thuggish looking. And the girl.
“Elena,” she says.
Their guest leans in as though he hasn’t heard. “What?”
Todd puts his napkin on the table and stands. “I’m sorry to have to cut this short, Dean, but Vivian is getting tired.”
“Of course.” Dean pushes his chair back and holds out a hand for Vivian to shake. “It was so nice to see you again.”
She doesn’t acknowledge him. She’s thinking about the girl. Elena. She barely knew her, what with her own son already grown. She stares coldly at the tablecloth. Frank was so upset. But it wasn’t their fault. They couldn’t have known.
Dean’s voice again. She wishes he would just leave. “I keep forgetting to ask you if you found your dog.”
Vivian tightens up and glares at him. “She isn’t lost.”
“Oh, my mistake. Must’ve been someone else.”
She hears the lies Todd tells him as he walks him out, just audible to her not-so-deaf ears. “Vivian’s dog, Cherie, passed away a few weeks ago,” he tells him quietly. “Vivian doesn’t always remember.”
Todd is hovering with a cup of water and two little yellow pills. No. She’s not taking them. He pushes the cup towards her and she swipes it out of his hand. The water sploshes onto the hardwood, snaking towards his slippers as he steps back, cursing. He clutches his back while he mops his precious floor. He forgets he isn’t so young himself.
Father is hanging over the mantelpiece. He shouldn’t be here, in her house. Father never visits. A present and a card arrive on her 17th birthday while she is home for the holidays. The card is signed in his name but it isn’t his handwriting. The gift is one he’d never have chosen.
Unravelling Page 12
