by Gail Bowen
“Come inside, and I’ll get you some ice for that,” I said.
Kyle followed me to the kitchen and sat at the table. I took a package of frozen peas from the freezer, cracked it on the side of the table to move the peas around so the bag would be more flexible, wrapped the bag in a clean tea towel and handed it to Kyle. “Try to keep it on the area around your eye, not on the eye itself,” I said. “So what happened?”
He tried a smile. “Would you believe I walked into a door?”
“Try again,” I said.
He winced. “Joanne, I wasn’t going to come to you with this, and then I realized it was probably something you should know. Danny Kerrigan and I were in a fight.”
“Danny — that gangly boy who has a crush on Vale?”
Kyle nodded. “Yeah, and that crush is the problem. I was talking to one of Nick’s guys, Bernie Farron, about the best lighting for the room at the end of the hall in Taylor and Vale’s new place. Bernie called Danny over to join the discussion, and when I explained the exchange of services our department had arranged with Taylor, I mentioned that Taylor and Vale would be sharing the apartment. Danny said something like ‘It’ll be nice for Vale to have a roommate.’
“Bernie’s kind of a wise guy so of course he couldn’t leave that alone. He said, ‘Duh — they’re not roommates, dude, they’re in a relationship.’ When Danny just stood there looking confused, Bernie said, ‘You are aware that there are chicks who are into other chicks, aren’t you?’ Danny still didn’t seem to get it, so I tried to clarify. I said, ‘Vale and Taylor are a couple — they’re in love.’”
“And Danny was hurt,” I said.
Kyle adjusted the pack of peas on his eye and winced. “Danny’s reaction went well beyond hurt,” he said. “He went nuts. He called me a liar and told me to take back what I said because what I was saying meant Vale was a sinner who would burn in hell, and she wasn’t a sinner, she was perfect. I tried to explain that there was nothing wrong with two women loving each other, but Danny wouldn’t listen. Finally, he hauled off, hit me in the eye and ran out of the room crying.”
Suddenly I was overcome with weariness. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “For Danny, for you and for Taylor and Vale. I was hoping they’d be spared this, but I guess not.”
“Nobody I know gives same-sex relationships a second thought,” Kyle said. “These days it’s a non-issue.”
“Apparently it’s not a non-issue for Danny,” I said. “He seems like a nice guy, but that church he and Lizzie belong to might have a pretty narrow interpretation of Biblical teachings.”
“It does. The first day we worked together, he gave me some pamphlets and invited me to come to a meeting at the Church of Bountiful Gifts. I tried to be gentle when I turned him down, and he seemed to take it well. He said he’d pray for me, and the subject hasn’t come up again.”
“It sounds as if his heart’s in the right place,” I said. “I just wish he could understand how destructive that kind of intolerance can be. A friend of mine who waited until he was forty to come out said that he’d wasted years translating his life into something other people would accept. My friend is a gentle person, but he was bitter about the years he’d lost.”
Kyle looked miserable. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, you did the right thing,” I said. “But if Taylor asks about your eye, stick with the door story. I’ll talk to her later.”
Chapter Nine
On the invitation Chloe had made for Nick’s birthday dinner, she had printed the time the party would begin in turquoise ink — a clear indication that a six p.m. arrival was non-negotiable. So at the stroke of six, Taylor, Zack and I were on the porch of Nick’s childhood two-storey brick house on Winnipeg Street. Despite the fact that Zack had, by his own assessment, been “squashed like a cockroach” in the judge’s ruling, he was in fine fettle, relieved to have done his best in an impossible case and lived to litigate another day. Taylor had spent a blissful afternoon in her studio studying Sally’s technique in Flying Blue Horses and considering how best to replicate the painting for the series. My day had been complex, but when Chloe and Georgie greeted us at the door wearing airy pastel dresses that whispered of spring, and Chloe twirled to show us how her silky raven hair had been styled in a French braid, the clouds parted.
Except for Taylor and me, the guests at the dinner were all members of the poker group that had met most Wednesday evenings for over twenty years. The group’s domestic lives were checkered. Vince Treadgold’s first wife had committed suicide, and his second had taunted Vince with her infidelities. Henry Chan and his wife had recently separated, and Nick’s marriage had ended cruelly; Zack and I had been the lucky ones, meeting in mid-life and entering into a marriage that sustained and enriched us both.
Together, Nick, Vince, Henry and Zack had celebrated joys and weathered sorrows. As they greeted one another in a home that, I suspect, looked much as it had during the years when Nick and his brothers were growing up, the four men had the easy camaraderie of veterans who knew the secrets of one another’s lives and hearts. They knew that Nick’s life centred on the girl moving carefully around the living room in her petal pink polished cotton dress, offering her family’s guests platters of Hungarian appetizers — korozott, paprika hummus and Hungarian cheese puffs — and reminding us in a kind but firm voice, not to eat too much because there was way more food coming.
After we selected our appetizers, and Chloe moved on, Zack drew my attention to Georgie and Nick sitting on the couch across the room from us, hand in hand, following Chloe’s progress with private smiles and watchful eyes. “They look right together, don’t they?” Zack said. “Wouldn’t it be great if . . .”
I placed my finger on his lips. “Don’t say the words or you’ll jinx it, but yes, it would be great if . . .”
As Zsofia Szabo, who had been the live-in housekeeper for the Kovacs family since Nick could remember, led the eight of us into the dining room, I was struck by how powerfully the room conveyed the lives of the three generations that had taken their meals together around the heavy oak table. The walls, like the walls of the living room, were hung with pictures of the Holy Family and the Kovacs family, juxtaposed in a way that suggested a close and easy relationship between the family’s faith and its everyday life.
As Zsofia stood at the head of the table, gesturing us to our places, she said Nick had requested a meal that was nothing special, just an ordinary family dinner for an evening with friends. When Zsofia added that the tablecloth, bright with embroidered birds and flowers, was over eighty years old and brought out only on family birthdays, there was a collective intake of breath. Sensing that her comment had made us uneasy, Zsofia patted the air in a calming gesture. “Please relax. In this home, guests are family. This cloth has seen many birthdays, including those of Nicholas and his brothers. It has survived more spills than could be counted on all the fingers and toes in this room, and it is still flawless. No stain has ever been stubborn enough to defeat me. Enjoy your dinner. A spill is a spill, but a dinner with loved ones is a blessing. Nicholas and Chloe will tell you about the meal.”
Father and daughter rose and took turns explaining the significance to the Kovacs family of the dishes being served: paprika-spiced cauliflower soup, chicken paprikash, Hungarian cucumber salad, rolls with cracklings and prune jam, Hungarian-style stuffed cabbage. There were a few slips, but father and daughter finished strong, and when Nick said dessert would be plum cake, and Chloe chimed in that there would also be a real birthday cake from Dairy Queen, our applause was enthusiastic.
The meal was far from ordinary, but Nick’s wish for a happy evening with friends was fulfilled. The Kovacs hadn’t stuck to the male/female seating arrangement. Nick sat at one end of the table, Georgie at the other. I was seated between Nick and Vince Treadgold; Zack was between Vince and Georgie. On the other side of the table, Taylor was seat
ed between Nick and Chloe, and Henry was between Chloe and Georgie. Ms. Manners might not have approved, but it worked for us.
Vince was a long-time member of AA, so that night he was drinking soda water with a slice of lime. When Nick poured me a glass of Malbec, Vince raised his glass to Nick. “Thank you for seating Joanne and me together. It’s been too long since she and I had a chance to talk.”
“I was thinking that very thing,” I said. “So fill me in. What’s going on in your life these days?”
“Except for work, absolutely nothing,” Vince said. “I’m still in that huge house on Albert Street where Lauren and I lived. I no longer have the salukis. I sent them to live with my daughter, Celeste, in Ottawa. I’m at the hospital from five in the morning till after eight at night. The yard is fenced, but my housekeeper was living in mortal terror that Dalila and Darius would somehow get out and take off. Not an unreasonable fear — salukis are hunters. They’ll run after anything that moves and they can travel at sixty-nine kilometres an hour. I miss them, Joanne. I really do, but keeping them without companionship or running space wasn’t fair to them or to my housekeeper. So I’m rattling around in that mausoleum knowing that if I’m going to have a life, I have to make changes, but I don’t lift a finger.”
Vince had the cool watchful eyes of a sentry, but his crooked smile revealed a surprising vulnerability. “The first course hasn’t been served yet,” he said. “It’s not too late for you to ask someone at the table to trade places. You deserve to sit next to someone more scintillating than a lugubrious bone doctor.”
I touched his arm. “I’m exactly where I want to be,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve considered all the obvious changes you can make: sell the house on Albert Street, get a dog that can’t run sixty-nine kilometres an hour and cut back on your patient load.”
“I have,” he said. “Maybe the reason I haven’t done anything is because I know that living in a smaller place with a slower dog and reduced hours won’t be enough. It will just be more of the same.”
“Maybe it’s time for some radical thinking,” I said. “When you were a kid what did you want to be when you grew up?”
Vince shrugged. “My father was an orthopedic surgeon. He died when he was thirty-eight. That pretty well decided it for me.”
“You told me once that when a parent dies young, children often feel the touch of the scythe on their own necks,” I said. “Did you become a surgeon to replace your father?”
“To be honest, I never gave it any thought,” he said. “I did well at school and it seemed logical for me to simply follow my father’s footsteps and become an OS.” Vince’s brow furrowed in concentration. “But before that . . .” Suddenly his eyes widened in surprise. “I wanted to be a farmer,” he said. “A farmer who raised animals — not to kill them, just to breed them and learn.”
“Is that a life that still appeals to you?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to think about it.”
“Fair enough, but let me point out that even the prospect of spending your life raising animals made your face light up.”
Vince’s laugh was open and robust, and Zack turned his chair to face us. “What’s going on here?” he said.
“Joanne is changing my life,” Vince said. “Now if you’ll give us some privacy, she’ll be able to finish the job.”
As we savoured Zsofia Szabo’s amazing meal, the talk around the table was inclusive and general. Henry Chan was curious about how a TV series came into being, and Georgie and Nick were eager to explain the process. When Nick mentioned that the company would be shooting on Lindner Island, Henry’s interest was piqued. “Kismet,” he said. “We — or I guess it’s just me now — anyway, I have a cottage on Anglin Lake, half an hour away from where you’ll be. It’s a big place, and I probably won’t come up this year. Nick, you, Georgie, Chloe and any guests you wish to bring along are welcome to use it.”
Taylor raised her hand. “Please put Vale and me on the list. She’ll be working, and I’ve always wanted to see Ernest Lindner’s island.”
“Consider yourselves on the list,” Nick said. His look took in Chloe and Georgie. “So just like that we have a cottage and our first guests. I wish all of life was that easy.”
Chloe had been quietly eating, listening and laughing when everyone else laughed. She did not take part in the conversation, but her pleasure in being part of the circle in which the conversation took place seemed to be enough for her and for Nick.
The only interruption in the party came when Nick’s phone rang just as Zsofia Szabo and Chloe were clearing away the dishes from the main course. After a quick look at his phone, Nick said he had to take the call and excused himself. When he returned to the table, he said, “Just a work problem. Nothing serious,” and the party resumed its easy conviviality. At the appropriate time, the lights were dimmed, and Zsofia and Chloe brought in the two cakes, both with flickering candles, and we sang “Happy Birthday.” When Chloe put the Dairy Queen cake in front of Nick she whispered, “Don’t forget to make a wish, Daddy.”
“I won’t forget.” Nick held out his arm. “Now come help me blow out the candles, and since there are two cakes with candles, you can make a wish too.”
When Chloe blew out her candles she said, “I wished for a sleepover.” She turned to her father. “You can have a different wish. You and Georgie have sleepovers all the time.”
Nick blushed and cleared his throat. “Okay, everybody. Time to put in your cake orders: plum, DQ or both?”
After the dessert plates and coffee things were cleared away, we trooped into the living room; Nick opened his gifts and we said our goodbyes. Before we started for our cars, Vince took me aside. “When everybody was singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Nick, I looked at Nick’s face and I realized he doesn’t want anything more from life than what he has. I envied him, Joanne. I don’t know where to start with this whole farm idea, but I’ll figure it out.”
“When Peter and our daughter-in-law were married, he took over her family farm. He has a breeding program of heritage poultry — turkeys, ducks, geese and chickens — and they have goats, sheep, cows and four riding horses. Their farm is seventy-five kilometres south of the city. If you’re interested, I’ll give you his contact information.”
“I am interested. Let me sleep on it, but I may just follow through with your son,” Vince said. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Thanks. I’m excited about this.”
Taylor was driving us home, so I was sitting in the back seat. As soon as we snapped our seat belts, Zack half turned towards me. “Okay, what’s going on with you and Vince?”
“You heard the man,” I said. “I’m changing his life.”
After I related my conversation with Vince, Zack said, “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. I’ve been worried about Vince ever since his marriage to Lauren blew up — actually even before that. I tried to get through to him. So did Nick and Henry, but Vince is a very private guy. I don’t know how you got him to open up to you. I’m just glad he did.”
“So am I,” I said.
“Do you think he really is serious about this farm idea?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I hope so.”
“So do I,” Zack said. “Vince hasn’t had much happiness in his life. He’s been a good friend to me and a lot of other people. It would be nice if he finally had a shot at the brass ring.”
* * *
Taylor might have been an eighteen-year-old woman in a committed relationship, but she still liked to have Zack and me come to her room to say good night. And we still liked to be there.
That night our daughter had an announcement. “Don’t count on me being home tomorrow night,” she said. “Chloe asked me if I could come to her house for a sleepover, and I told her I’d be delighted.”
“Good news all around,” Zack said. “And this is Friday the thirte
enth. So much for superstition. We made it through.”
I glanced at the pretty Wedgwood wall clock my older children and I had given Taylor for her first birthday as a member of our family. It was ten thirty-five. Remembering what the anonymous informant had told MediaNation about the role hallucinogens had played in Roy Brodnitz’s breakdown and death, I shivered. We weren’t safe yet.
* * *
The clients of trial lawyers keep irregular hours, so when Zack’s phone rang after we’d both fallen asleep, I was annoyed but not concerned. Zack kept his voice low, and I didn’t strain to hear what he said. When he broke the connection, he moved towards me and touched my shoulder. “That was Nick,” he said. “He’s at Georgie’s. There’s a fire at the production studios.”
“Is it bad?” Georgie and Ainsley’s apartments were across the street from the studios.
“Too soon to tell, but I think it may be. At this moment, Nick and Georgie are standing at her living room window watching the fire and feeling helpless.”
“Is Ainsley with them?”
“Nick didn’t say. All he said was that he thought I might want to be there because our firm represents Living Skies, so we have a vested interest in Sisters and Strangers.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said. “I have a vested interested in Sisters and Strangers too.”
* * *
Both Georgie’s apartment and the production studios were on College Avenue. Anticipating that College would be blocked off for emergency vehicles, I took a route that would get us to the alley behind Georgie’s building, and Zack called ahead and arranged for her to meet us there. When we left our house, the night was pretty: mild, clear and starry, but as soon as we parked behind Georgie’s and opened the car doors, a thick, acrid smoke enveloped us, and Zack had to fight to breathe as he hurried to snap together his wheelchair. Georgie was waiting by the door for us, and it was a relief to step inside the apartment and inhale. Georgie was clearly exhausted and worried.
