'I think so,' Geoff said. 'It's an outlet for her, it's a way she can prove her own worth. It's probably even more than that. She's a complex person.'
'Well,' said Marion, 'that will make for an interesting article.'
Geoff shook his head. 'I don't plan on writing about her past.'
Marion blinked with surprise. 'No? I would have thought that would be the best part.'
And then, with the sort of acuity that had characterised his days at the Toronto Stock Exchange, Matthew bypassed the idea that Geoff's compassion towards Petra had anything to do with his role as journalist and said, 'You're pretty serious about this girl, aren't you?'
Marion gave her husband a startled glance. 'I don't think…' she began.
'I'm in love with her,' Geoff said.
There was a long silence around the patio table as Geoff applied marmalade to his buttered toast and took a large bite. Both his parents watched this process with utter fascination as if they'd never seen him eat before.
Finally, Marion said, 'Geoff, I don't know what to say. You've just taken my breath away.'
Matthew said, 'Perhaps, congratulations are in order.'
Geoff shook his head. 'Not exactly.'
But Marion hadn't heard this. The ramifications of his announcement were just starting to make themselves clear, and her head had got quite wrapped up in such details as engagements, bridal showers and weddings. 'You know,' she said, a bit breathlessly, 'you're the last of my boys to get married. Second oldest, but the last to settle down. Tom's got the two little girls already, and David's got one daughter and as for Alex… well, I mean they haven't officially told me yet, but I'm sure Fiona is pregnant. It would be nice if it were a boy, but your father and I don't ask for anything except a healthy baby.' She took a deep breath. 'And now you… I can hardly believe it. I never thought I'd see the day that…'
'Mom?'
His voice stopped her and the sad smile on his face. 'What?'
'I'm not getting married.'
'Oh.' Marion glanced at Matthew for help.
'You're living with her?' Matthew asked.
'No, I'm not. I'd like to be, but I'm not.'
'Oh, Geoff,' said Marion with a sigh, 'I wish I could understand these modern relationships. It isn't that I disapprove, it's just that I can never quite figure out what's going on.'
'Well, in this case, you don't have to worry, because nothing's going on at all. In fact, I'm afraid that the young lady in question doesn't reciprocate my feelings.'
There was another silence as Geoff poured himself another coffee, added a bit of milk and then a dollop of sugar. This time his parents were busy looking elsewhere. Marion was giving Matthew a helpless look while he was rummaging through his paper as if trying to find the answers to the most profound questions in the universe.
'Well,' Marion said. 'What can we do to help?'
Geoff gave his mother a grin. 'I thought it might be nice if she saw what a great family I have, what a friendly bunch we are. She might think better of me then.'
'Geoff.' Marion put her hand on his. 'How can she not think well of you? You're the best-looking of all my boys, quite possibly the smartest and without a doubt the most dashing. You've broken more hearts than all the others combined.'
'You know something, Mom? I always feel better when I know that you're on my cheering squad. Of course, it could be that you're prejudiced.'
Marion sat back. 'Never,' she said haughtily. 'Right, dear?'
But Matthew was once again immersed in his paper. He had, after all, lived through the raising of four boys and been the observer of at least a dozen of their love affairs. He knew better than to interfere, comment or otherwise get himself unduly concerned about matters he couldn't influence even if he'd wanted to. 'Right,' he said. 'Anything you say.'
Petra felt as if she were surrounded by versions of Geoff. There was the shorter, squarer version who was Tom, the taller, lankier version who was David and the pudgier one who was Alex. All the brothers had the same wavy, golden hair, blue eyes, tanned complexions and square chins. It was uncanny to look around the dinner table and see four men who looked as if they'd all been cut from the same cookie-cutter.
Of course, they weren't, personality-wise, the same at all. She'd already learned during the course of the evening that Tom was serious, David was an extrovert and Alex was shy. And they had all arrived with their wives, none of whom looked alike and, if they had any, their children. The dining-room in the Hamilton home was a mad-house. Tom's daughter Melissa, three years old and already a hellraiser, refused to sit in her high chair and would have thrown a temper tantrum if Grandpa hadn't intervened and sat her on his lap. Her sister Amanda was happily banging a spoon on the tray of her high-chair while David's daughter Penelope was letting her presence in the playpen be known by alternating loud noises with experimental whimpers. All the children were clearly Hamiltons. Even the smallest had those tell-tale golden curls.
Above the noise supplied by the children, the adults in the family were carrying on a raucous conversation over the merits and failures of the Conservative government. From what Petra could gather, the family was intensely split over party loyalties and vehement words were being exchanged over Liberal policy versus that of the New Democratic Party concerning recent laws on trade unions, the minimum wage and tax hikes. It was all very voluble and very emphatic with Matthew pounding his fist on the table and Tom getting slightly red in the face. But, just at the moment when the controversy hit its most acrimonious point, and Petra was sure a family feud would ensue, Alex's wife Fiona said something amusing and the conversation fell into much laughter. Petra had never really seen anything quite like it. Mealtimes when she had been growing up had been either silent or lonely.
The roast beef was cleared away along with the jellied salad that Tom's wife Wendy had brought, the mashed potatoes, the cole slaw and the Harvard beetroot. 'Matthew adores beetroot,' Marion had confided to Petra when she'd helped with dinner. 'No one else will touch them. But you know how it is, you have to pamper a man a little or he gets grumbly.' In fact, Petra didn't know how it was, she had no idea how one was supposed to treat a husband, but Marion seemed to be doing such a good job of it, that she filed the information away in that place in her head that wondered about men and relationships.
Once the main courses were put away, the dessert arrived to an enormous fanfare. Geoff gave an admiring whistle, Melissa drummed on the table, Matthew gave a loud hurrah and David's wife Jeannie blushed because the two apple pies, their tops baked to a golden brown, a savoury steam rising from the cuts in the crust, were hers.
'Cut them up fair and square, Mom,' said Alex. 'No playing favourites.'
'Have I ever cheated you?' Marion said tartly.
'A million times,' he replied cheerfully. 'I'll never forget that lemon meringue pie.'
'Me either,' said David. 'That was the best lemon meringue pie I've ever had.'
'That,' Alex said, 'was because you got the biggest piece. Mom cut you the biggest piece and we all had a fit.'
'No, it was Geoff.'
Geoff gave them an innocent look. 'Me?'
Tom stepped in. 'You sneaked a piece. Remember?'
'For heaven's sake,' Marion exclaimed. 'I don't even know what pie you're talking about. Do you know, dear?'
Matthew, who was bouncing Melissa on his knee, shook his head. 'Nope.'
Geoff had leaned back in his chair and was idly studying the ceiling. 'One you baked in… let's see, was it 1969?'
'1971,' said Tom.
' '72,' said David. 'I was in grade 10.'
Marion put down the knife she'd been wielding on one of the pies. 'If you boys don't quit arguing now, none of you will get any of this.'
Geoff immediately straightened up while his brothers either saluted or tried to look appropriately terrified. Marion threw Petra a can-you-believe-this look and then shook her head in disgust. Petra smiled back at her and, for a second, had a vivid vision of w
hat it must have been like for Marion and Matthew to bring up four rambunctious, loud and noisy boys. She imagined a kitchen with boys sitting on the edges of chairs, digging through the refrigerator, applying peanut butter to bread and, just generally, making a nuisance of themselves. She imagined a dinner table where grubby hands were prevalent, the conversation was about hockey or baseball and milk was drunk in huge quantities. She didn't exactly envisage the Hamilton life as idyllic as a television sitcom; she knew it must have had its bad spots and rough patches, but she did capture the emotional context of love, appreciation and loyalty.
The pie was distributed evenly, coffee was served and the post-dinner conversation was much quieter with Melissa's mouth full of pie and the two other babies soothed with bottles. It was at that time that the conversation ambled gently and then, just as if the Hamiltons had given her a chance to get acclimatised and now thought she was ready for their attention, the whole family focussed on Petra and her swim.
She had to describe her training sessions, explain how the swim was organised, how the weather would affect what she did, the sort of bathing suit she'd wear, how she would eat, drink and protect her skin against the water.
'Aren't you afraid?' Wendy asked. 'I mean, I'd be terrified.'
Petra thought about that for a moment. 'Terrified of what?' she finally asked.
'Fish,' Tom said, giving his wife a humorous glance. 'She'd be afraid a trout would get her.'
'Actually,' said Petra, 'there once was a swimmer that had his trunks torn off by a huge salmon. They could see it in the radar.'
'There,' said Wendy triumphantly to Tom, 'you see? I'm not so crazy after all.'
'Well,' said Marion, 'I, for one, would be terrified of drowning. How deep is Lake Ontario? Miles to the bottom?'
Geoff reached across the table and patted her hand. 'Mom, you're the world's lousiest swimmer.'
'Still,' she said, 'what if even a good swimmer gets tired? I'm sure that some of those marathon swimmers didn't make it.' And she looked to Petra for help.
'There was a guy who tried to cross in the mid-seventies,' Petra said. 'He had one boat with him and a friend who was pacing him occasionally. A wind came up and they got separated from the boat. The friend wanted to stay in one place, but the swimmer insisted on going ahead. Eventually the two of them separated as well. The boat came back and managed to pick up the friend, but they never found the swimmer.' There were grimaces around the table. 'But I don't worry about that. Swimmers are better protected now. I'll have four boats with me, and my trainer wouldn't let me stay in the water if it gets too rough or cold.'
'Still,' said David, 'I can understand why that swimmer didn't want to give up. It must be hard as hell to give up in the middle.'
Petra gave him a shy smile. 'That's the swimmer's nightmare.'
'I'll never forget when that little girl swam the lake back in the fifties,' Marion said. 'Bell, that was her name. Marilyn Bell. My father was in the hospital then after his accident with a broken back and two broken legs. He was terribly depressed, and even the doctors worried that he'd give up. But one night he was listening to the reports of her swim on the radio, and he turned to my mother and me and said, "If that little girl can do it, if she can have the courage to swim that huge lake, well, by God, I'll have the courage to get through this."' Marion leaned toward Petra. 'I think it's wonderful what you're doing. You're an inspiration to those of us who can only dream.'
Petra was too embarrassed by that to do anything but smile and look down at the table, but before she did, she caught a glimpse of Geoff's face. He had, during the course of her stay, treated her with a friendly casualness. He hadn't touched her in any proprietary way; he hadn't acted towards her as if she were anything more than an acquaintance. And his family had taken the hint. If they were wondering if Geoff and Petra were more to one another than friends, they didn't show it. So dinner had been relaxed, and Petra had seen Geoff smiling at her occasionally and, when she spoke, bestowing on her the same interest that the rest of the Hamiltons had given her. But after his mother's words, he wore an odd expression. Petra couldn't read it, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. His face had become serious and a slight frown wrinkled his forehead. And his eyes rested on her with a look that mixed bewilderment, reflection and something else that she couldn't identify at all.
Geoff only realised that Petra had disappeared after Tom and Wendy had finally got their two children in hand and made farewells that seemed to go on for half an hour. There had been such a bustle and confusion in the foyer of grown-ups and children and car beds and nappy bags that she had slipped away without anyone noticing that she was gone. Geoff quickly said goodbye to his two remaining brothers and their wives and then went upstairs. But when he reached her bedroom and knocked on the door, there was no answer. And, on opening the door, he discovered that it was empty. Her suitcase sat neatly on the chair, the shorts and T-shirt she'd worn earlier in the day were folded neatly in the bed. He let out his breath with relief, suddenly realising how frightened he'd been. He'd actually thought she might pack up her belongings and depart, and his fear had come from knowing that she was here against her will, that he and Joe had forced her into coming.
'Geoff? Is anything the matter?' Marion was standing in the hall, watching him.
'I thought Petra might be in here.'
'Perhaps she went for a walk.' Marion gave a small laugh. 'Perhaps she needed some peace. We Hamiltons can be pretty overwhelming sometimes.'
'I thought she enjoyed dinner.'
'I think she did, but she's unhappy, Geoff. There's so much sadness in her. It might have been asking an awful lot to have her put up with us after her mother's death.'
'I don't know. I can never tell what Petra's thinking.'
'She's a challenge to you, isn't she?'
'Very,' he said drily.
'That's what you need, you know, a challenge. You've never been one to like what comes easily.'
'I thought I did,' he said.
They might have been talking in a sort of shorthand, but Marion knew precisely what Geoff was saying. The names of too many women had been spoken in the past fifteen years; hints of too many casual affairs had been dropped in the parental lap.
'I know,' she said gently, 'but it seems that you've changed.'
Geoff opened the back door of the house and stepped out into the night. There was a full moon, casting its ivory illumination over the garden so that the huge elms threw deep shadows and the high hedge seemed to be a sculpture in modulated shades of grey. He traversed the patio, peering into the yard and calling softly, 'Petra?' There was no voice answering him back, only the sounds of crickets and the occasional flash of a lightning bug. Every now and again, a slight breeze swayed the branches of the trees, sending the leaves into a hectic rustling, but then it would die off and everything would be still until the crickets started up again.
It was a beautiful night. Stars sprinkled the black dome of the sky, the moon was a giant, unblinking eye. The smell of summer night was prevalent, a mixture of honeysuckle, lilac and warm earth. Geoff stepped on to the grass and felt its softness yield beneath his feet. He had kicked off his sandals during dinner and could feel the blades tickling his toes. With his awkward limp, he walked deeper into the garden, but still could see nothing. Perhaps she had decided to take a walk around the block, he thought and began to turn in the direction of the front of the house when he caught a glimpse of white near the largest of the elms, the tree that the Hamilton boys had once built a rickety house in and hung a tyre swing from. He remembered that Petra was wearing the light grey dress that she'd bought for the funeral. It was pale enough to turn to white under the moon's strong light.
'Petra?'
No answer.
Geoff walked towards that tiny smudge of white, passing by the badminton net, his mother's small herb garden, the stump of a huge tree that had died and been cut down. He brushed aside the overhanging branch of a dogwood and walked until t
hat tiny smudge of white grew large enough to reveal the form of a woman sitting with her back to the tree, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her hair was dark enough to meld in with the surrounding blackness, but her face was a tiny, shadowed oval.
Geoff knelt down beside her. 'Petra? Are you okay?'
But she still didn't answer so he reached out and, with his fingers bent, gently touched her cheek with his knuckles. He felt the dampness immediately, felt the fullness of a tear rolling down her skin. It fell on to his finger and trembled there before dropping off on to the grass.
'Oh, Petra,' he said, groaning, 'for God's sake.' And he forgot the injunction she'd placed on him, the restraint against any physical contact, and he pulled her into his arms, the sadness in her communicated to him by the way she drew in a shaky breath, curled into him and pressed her eyes against his shoulder. He put his hand on the back of her neck, rested his cheek against the springiness of her hair and held her as tight as he could while she cried. He held her while she shook and sobbed. He held her while the crisp fabric of his shirt went limp under the onslaught of her tears. He held her until she finally stopped and simply rested, her breathing uneven and erratic.
'I'm sorry,' she finally said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
'For what?'
'For… for you having to witness this.'
'Petra, there's no shame in crying.'
'It's just self-pity.'
His arms tightened around her. 'Maybe you have a right to feel sorry for yourself. After all, your mother has just died. Did you think you were going to walk away from the funeral as if it hadn't happened?'
'But… it's not just that.'
'No?'
She sat up a bit so that Geoff's arms formed a loose circle around her. 'It's a whole mix of things,' she said despairingly. 'Of horrible things.'
'Like what?'
'Like… well, that I'm sad over her death. I loved her… I really did. She was my mother, but… well, part of me is so angry at her.' Her voice quavered and then she rushed on as if to keep one step ahead of the tears. 'I found out from the lawyer that she'd refused to get in contact with my father, that she could have done it but didn't want to.'
Love is a Distant Shore Page 14
