On the balcony—it’s mild enough to step outside—Evvie crouches to clear away a heap of nuts piled in the corner. The rainy cedars are dark green. The squirrels scramble up the side of the building, but what can you do? Jenny cocks her old young face and peers sideways down the wall. They must think the apartments are trees, she says. And the balconies are holes in the trees. Exactly, says Evvie. Living alone is all very well, but it’s nice to have someone take an interest. Maya has small round glasses now and looks like Grandpa Percy. She’s in burgundy velveteen with a lace collar, Jenny in forest green. White tights and patent leather flats. Wonders will never cease.
Talking to Evvie in a flat abstract voice as if he’s just met her even if he’s known her all his life, Leo, home for Christmas, allows as to how the west end must be a nice place for his aunt to live. He always tries, bless his heart, as if he’d like to be appropriately present in a room, and how can people think he’s not? He spent the summer near Princeton working in microwave technology, part of a team that discovered a hum they thought might be in the machinery was actually an echo of the big bang. Jenny listens, fascinated. If the universe is expanding faster and faster, it has to be moving away from some starting point, he explains, helping Evvie pile acorns. Even though Venus is almost a sister planet to Earth, do they have any idea how dry and barren it is? There’s a runaway greenhouse effect, he says. (Maya sees a glass house with arms and legs running along the sea-wall.) You’d think when galaxies move away from each other, they’d slow down, but they don’t because there’s some kind of dark matter pushing them apart, but they still don’t know what it is.
Ada still looks like a queen-sized version of her son. Her beige camel hair coat never seems to wear out. I like your jigsaw puzzles, Ev, she says. Evvie does them to keep her brain from atrophying now that she’s retired from Woodwards, hangs them on her living rooms walls. With Ada, it’s crossword puzzles.
Jenny’s been seconded to pass around a tray of appetizers. Guess what they are? Oysters? Dates wrapped in bacon, actually. Jack nibbles one, perched tensely on the arm of the sofa as if terrified by the Christmas crackers on the table.
Nothing like being near a tennis court, Evvie says.
You’re going to play to the bitter end, are you? Leo asks.
The bitter end, she says.
Maybe Evvie should open one of her leftover presents under the tree while they wait for the Cornish game hens she’s made to give people a change from turkey. She pushes aside a place setting on the table, unwraps the new puzzle. How the Sam Hill is she supposed to put this together? It’s too difficult, all yellow pieces with no pattern. Gwen turns the lid over. Yellow Peril it’s called. Who’d give somebody a thing like this? she says. In this day and age? (If Shima were here, she’d put down her napkin and go. Her departing hand would leave a print on the table like a glove).
Isabelle looks so stricken, Gwen takes her hand. When Evvie spreads out the jigsaw, Leo picks up a corner piece of the puzzle with two wings and a marking as if for a bird’s eye, lets it land near the edge of the table. People better be careful running on the seawall, he says. A man on the radio said he got his scalp pecked by an owl when he was jogging at dawn. The owls think peoples’ heads of hair running below them are squirrels so they swoop down and attack them. Of course, from high up, that’s how it would look.
I had friends whose table had a pattern in it like that puzzle piece, Isabelle says quietly.
At dinner, Jack’s barely sitting down before he’s up on his feet, tipping over his chair. Glancing over the balcony railing, he spots a sandy path stretching to the edge of the low tide. I can go there, he says dashing for the door. He’s not well, Isabelle says, getting up to go after him. Another chair pushed back. The two empty spots at the table gape like missing teeth.
Shall we eat, Ada says, reaching for the platter. Put your hand against the thigh, Perce, it should be soft.
I think it’s soft, he says.
Are the juices running clear? Twirl the legs.
They twirl.
Napkins are shaken into laps, plates passed to receive the small plucked birds. The relish is that fresh-ground cranberry and orange everyone likes. Leo eats fixedly, staring at his plate as if trying to put layers of food between himself and whatever it is he’s trying to keep at bay. Dessert is lime sorbet—nice to have something different for a change.
After everyone’s finished dessert, Ada says she has an announcement to make. She wants to tell everyone that she and Percy have decided to put their share of the Scarborough property up for sale.
Mother, no, Gwen says. I want to talk to you and Dad about that.
It’s not your decision, Gwen, says Ada. Who wants more coffee?
Please, Mom. Lily owns half, right? She’d have to agree to sell too. Right, Leo?
The deed is tenants-in-common; either side can sell, Leo insists. We need to get market value, Gwen.
We, what is this we? But family has first option? she asks.
Not officially. Mom and Dad need every bit of money they can raise to invest and live on the interest. It’s expensive to retire.
Why does she always feel that Leo wants to make things difficult for her?
We do have our eye on a small plane, admits Percy.
You could mortgage Blenheim St., says Gwen.
How could you suggest such a thing, Gwen? Ada says. I can’t believe you’d say that.
Are they coming back? says Jenny, and everyone looks at her. They’ve forgotten who she means. Don’t forget to take Grandpa Gallagher his dinner, she says.
The next day, Gwen walks up Denman and along Haro to the small brownstone canopied hotel with wisteria vines twisting up the front posts. Shima’s in her room practising her flute when the desk clerk comes to the door. Is she making too much noise? Aren’t the rooms either side of her empty? It’s not that. There’s someone downstairs to see her.
Two sofas face each other in front of the gas fire in the lobby. In the last few days, Gwen’s researched everything she could find out about tenants-in-common law. What’s clear is that a half owner is not required to take a discount if he or she wants to sell. Her parents are under no obligation to sell to her at a lower price than they could get elsewhere; they’re entitled to sell their half to someone outside the family, but, if a family member were to come up with the money, the case would likely be settled in her favour.
Shima, I’ve come to ask if you’d like to live with us at Scarborough as an owner of a full third without any money changing hands. My parents are willing to be bought out—I hope to be the one to do that—Lily and I have agreed to change the deed so the three of us would own the place. Actually, I should be paying your parents. We owe the money to your parents and grandparents, but at least this way you’d be getting a share.
But you aren’t a co-owner, says Shima.
I’m working on it. My parents wouldn’t sell to a stranger if I can come up with close to the market value.
Thank you, Gwen. I’ll certainly think about it. Your father did pay the government, even if it was token. And some day, there’ll be the compensation.
You think that?
I’m dedicating my life to it.
Ada’s taking the Christmas lights and cedar from around the front door when Gwen drives up. Her daughter looks officious with that briefcase; she’s not sure that she didn’t like her better when she was more undone. She’s been trying not to say too much when her daughters are in crisis, which is pretty much all the time.
About the other night, Mom.
At least let me get these lights down, Gwen.
Sorry, Gwen says, helping dismantle the string. Mom, could we sit down a minute. No, Mom, listen. About Scarborough. As I said on the phone, I’m trying to raise the money to buy you and Dad out. Lily doesn’t want to live there anymore. She owns half as it stands now, right? I have some extraordinary news. Takumi Yoshito’s daughter has shown up out of the blue; I met her at Habitat. It’s so sad wh
at happened to her grandparents, and her mother’s dead. If I owned half, we could change the title and bring her in for a third with no money changing hands as a way of making it up to her. Lily agrees with my idea and says it’s okay if I approach you on her behalf. So what do you think?
Ada looks like someone who’s prepared a virulent divorce petition and submitted it to her lawyer before realizing that her husband would be reading it as well. I don’t understand why you’re being Lily’s messenger, Gwen, she says, slowly circling the lights into their box. Why isn’t she talking to me herself?
She’s on her way back to Checleset to find a place for her and Annabelle to live in Port Renfrew. I guess it doesn’t mean that much to her.
It’s too complicated, Ada says.
Will you at least approach Dad about it? You have to admit the idea has merit.
Gwen, the purchase was Dad’s idea. I didn’t know about the transaction, but he was the one who got the cheque for his work, if you see what I mean.
Oh I do, Mother. I do. But get back to me, will you? This is important.
Frankly, Percy says walking with Gwen on the flats below Marine Drive, I didn’t know your mother was going to present our decision so undiplomatically at Evvie’s like that. They stop to give sugar cubes to a horse who rolls his lips in their palms. He’d been thinking. Oh no, not thinking! Their old running joke. He does have some money put aside. He didn’t spend all their savings on flying. But he didn’t tell her mother about his secret fund. How much has she managed to raise from her daycare work?
The daycare almost breaks even, Dad. I’m not doing it full-time. I got a bit of a settlement from Eugene. I’m good for five at this point. The judge ordered a lump sum payment, and since it’s going to shelter for the kids… If you could front another five, maybe I could take out a loan for the rest if the interest were cheaper than that on a mortgage. I could pay you back the way I’d pay a mortgage back. I have monthly post-dated cheques now, and I could budget…
So I’d be loaning you money to help buy half the place from me so you could deal in this Yoshito girl?
I know it sounds complicated.
Well, I never did think it was fair that Mother left her half only to Lily.
She takes his arm. It didn’t feel right to me over there from the start, Dad. I knew something was wrong. I didn’t want to go there, remember? I think Grandma Flora thought I didn’t like her, but it wasn’t that. Would it be fair to Mom, though, not leveling with her about the extra money? She’s only thinking of you when it comes to the plane. (Dad deserves his retirement, she’d said coldly, as if Gwen was sure to be thinking otherwise.)
Let me worry about that, Percy says. Things were different in the war and the Depression, Gwen. I don’t know how much you’re going to need: the market value might have changed by the time you get the paperwork done, but I’ll trust you to sort it. We’re leaving on our trip to Mexico in a small borrowed plane. He gives her a blank cheque; that way she can fill in the amount when she knows how much she’ll need from him.
She drives away. Even if the new setup would mean more heirs with each generation, it’s a big place, and they can divide it up and build lots of houses. Derek would want Annabelle to inherit as well, so maybe it’s all to the good. Wonder how these cousins will get along when all is said and done?
After she gets back to Scarborough, the phone rings. It’s Shima saying she’s thinking of coming over. It’s a go, Shima, she says. My Dad’s on side. Maybe you’d like to stay for a night or two, see how you feel about the place? Get a chance to walk around, find out the lay of the land. Shima says she would.
Gwen decides to take the girls to town overnight to check her parents’ place and give her new friend a chance to be alone. The next day, it turns seriously cold. Strolling close to the house on her first round, Shima notices that most of the pipes are on the outside. It’s mild here, but not that mild. It’s getting cold—really cold—what about the water? Anyone who’s grown up in the north is used to worrying about pipes. She gets a shovel to see how far down the pipes are laid: way too close to the surface in her opinion. The barometer in the kitchen is falling. There’s a narrow iron rod sticking up from the ground out beside the bathtub that must be the water lever; she finds a wrench on the shed wall beside an old clay urn. Thrashes away at the burdock, tries to pick burrs off her cord trousers as she works, but they stick to her gloves and clump on her boots. It’s tricky; looks like it’s only a small turn that’s possible, a narrow difference between on and off. She wrenches the lever hard west; back in the house, the twist seems to have done the trick. When the taps are open, after a brief trickle, there’s no water coming out. Kitchen sink taps open. Bathroom sink taps. Upstairs bathroom taps. Basement laundry sinks. Done. Finishing the chore feels good: she likes Gwen, and the place certainly needs people. And work. She heard people on the ferry talking about commuting. So maybe it’s a possibility. She locks up the house and heads for the three.
Later that afternoon, Billy’s three-wheeler howls to a stop at the bottom of the driveway. Good he had a few drinks, makes it easier to put it to Lily again about the birth certificate. He doesn’t want Annabelle to have any legal problems down the road with the Sycamores or those lesbians Derek’d been so crazy about. No one home; probably in her upstairs desk. Finds it in the top drawer, folds it up and puts it in his pocket. Getting damn cold. Better make sure the water’s off so’s those outside pipes don’t freeze. You take your wrench, give her a half turn, and there you go. Only thinking of the kid, he’ll tell her. He’ll make her see, he has his ways. As he roars away, water starts pouring out of every tap in the house.
55.
Gwen hears the water before she sees it flowing under the door frames. It’s risen high enough to float the plastic toys left in the kitchen. The ceiling has disintegrated, the upstairs taps must be on on as well. That ancient sump pump didn’t work, they should have replaced it. She quickly turns off the main switch on the electrical panel, wades through the kitchen in her gumboots, manages to turn off the downstairs taps, goes out and wrenches the lever to off. Is on the phone to Shima when Billy pulls up with a god-awful roar. You turned the water off? she’s saying to her new friend. Well then, how…? Billy stands straddling his three wheeler.. Shit, I just came back to check everything was okay. I thought the water was turned on.
Fuck.
It’s not your fault, she says to Shima. It was Billy. He thought the water was turned on.
Except that it was turned off, she says to Billy.
I’ll take the truck and see if anyone’s got flood pumps, he says, jumping in the truck and pulling away. In the southern hemisphere, they say water circles down the drain in the opposite direction from the way it coils in the north. You skin burn somebody’s arm by encircling the victim’s skin with both hands and wringing it. The dancers on the outside circle move clockwise; the ones on the inside move counter-clockwise. ‘When the music stops, you dance with the person across from you.
Tromping around in her gumboots, Gwen calls Leo to ask him to go over to Blenheim St. and look through the den desk for the insurance policy. That’s terrible, he says. Why wouldn’t our parents have left us an address or phone number? It’s irresponsible of them. I’ll bring it over when I come. I should catch the four. The trouble with raising children, Percy said to Ada drying the dishes, is they never leave.
Gwen changes the phone to her other ear. Lucky a lot of our stuff is over at the Deluxe. It’s a mess. Oh no. Her purse is in the glove compartment of the truck. The blank cheque. Oh Jesus. The flood distracted her before she could deposit it. Percy and Ada are halfway across Nevada with a double sleeping bag in the plane in case they have to make a crash landing. What bank’s it written on? She hadn’t noticed. Anyone could fill in the amount and present fake ID. They wouldn’t even have to do that. Her ID is in her purse. All Billy has to do is open the glove compartment.
Later, Leo and Gwen stand on the rim of the sunken kitc
hen. What’s going to happen when Billy and Leo see each other?
I have to tell you, Leo. Billy Fenn, you remember Billy, he’s supposed to be searching for flood pumps. He’s been doing some work around here. Leo backs away from the floor edge, as if someone were about to push him in. Here’s the insurance stuff, Gwen. I’d better leave.
What if you stayed? What if you faced him? she says. Her brother’s heavier than he used to be and somehow his trousers are always an inch or two too short. I could try, he says. If you’re here. When Billy shows up with a water vacuum and flood pumps—the wiring might be too messed up to take a chance, he’s brought a generator as well—Gwen steps outside, gets in the truck, pushes the button on the glove compartment which opens slowly as if on a timer. Let my purse be there. I’ll never ask for anything else. It’s there. The warm leather safe in her hand. The cheque is there. Hallelujah. Even though Billy doesn’t know anything about it, she feels as if he’s returned her down payment.
In the basement, Leo’s trying to cope with twisted hoses. I can put those to the side, Leo, says Billy, meeting Gwen’s firm gaze when she comes in. Later, after they’ve got the pumps going and are sitting out at the old picnic table, Billy tells them he doesn’t think the house is salvageable. Leo is miserable beside her, steeling himself to stay because he told her he would.
I’m sorry about what I did to you when we were kids, Leo, says Billy. I’ve started to understand a lot more since I’ve had a child of my own. Thinking about what I wouldn’t want to happen to her.
Leo nods, but doesn’t say anything. When Billy leaves, Leo says what does he mean he has a child?
Annabelle, says Gwen.
Annabelle? But she’s Derek’s.
Lily was living with Derek, but she had an affair with Billy.
She did? So he’s Annabelle’s real father?
The Dancehall Years Page 28
