The Winter Wives

by Linden MacIntyre

  –Understandable, I said.

  –I suppose the wives have told you all about the big affair.

  –Actually, no. I don’t know anything about a big affair.

  –No one mentioned Grace?

  –You mentioned Grace, I think? At the hotel. Before the…golf.

  –Yes.

  –I heard she passed away.

  –Well, if you heard that…

  –That’s all I heard.

  –But you didn’t hear how?

  –No.

  –I see. Well. She took her own life.

  –Man. That’s…

  –With my help.

  I stared at him, processing the words. Allan had a flair for the dramatic.

  –That was the big affair, he said, and laughed again.

  He told me that he and Grace had been close, but just as friends. Maybe it was deeper, emotionally, but it never progressed beyond deep conversation. Intimate disclosure.

  –Which is, I suppose, a kind of infidelity…but what the hell. If people can’t talk to one another, what’s the point. Peggy had her suspicions, though. She has a nose for anything threatening.

  Then Grace got sick with ALS.

  –I read up on it. There are cases where it goes really slow. Sometimes it stops. But not for her. It was…galloping. She didn’t want anybody to know. I was the only one. Nobody at work. She had family out on the west coast, a couple of kids from a marriage.

  –And she didn’t tell them?

  –Nope. I considered going behind her back, then I told her I was going to tell them. It was unfair to them not to know, not to be able to help. But she said, “If they know, they’ll make me want to die.” I didn’t really get it. Not then. But I went along with her. Now I can understand.

  –Not sure I do.

  –Some people don’t like to be a burden. And the distress of the people who care about you makes you want to get it over with. It’s how she saw it, anyway, and I couldn’t argue with her.

  He and Grace spent a lot of time together in her final months. She had always worked from home. When she fell ill, he’d visit every day. And so, it was presumed that they were having an affair. For her, that was easier to live with than the truth. Illness had become a more complicated problem than infidelity. The lie was simpler and Allan went along with it.

  –You think it through. If you’re a good person, it’s easier to suffer than to cause suffering. You don’t have to agree with her. But that was her thinking.

  –You never told Peggy.

  –I’ll tell her. Sooner or later. But I haven’t yet.

  He winked at me again, hinting at something. The wired room, perhaps.

  –What?

  –Nothing. Nothing. Where was I?

  –You said you helped her end it.

  –Yes. I let her down big time. Like I turned into one of her worst fears.

  –I don’t understand.

  –It got to me, watching her go downhill, and of course she noticed. That was too much for her, watching me watching her.

  His face was grim, eyes wet.

  –She expected me to be stronger, and I wasn’t. I became part of what she warned about. What I’ve always been. A fucking disappointment to the women.

  –Come on…

  –So she asked me to help her get it over with. She wanted a contact. And she asked me to be with her at the end. I couldn’t refuse, could I?

  –What kind of contact?

  –A doctor I knew from way back. Smoked a lot of weed. The least I could do was step up. Be there for what she needed even if I hated like hell the thing she needed.

  –You set it up.

  –Yes. And she was right, you know. She basically just fell asleep. It was a relief, actually, after watching her…disintegrating. That was when I understood what she’d been telling me. When somebody gives up on life, it’s because of what his life is doing to the lives of other people. Can you understand that?

  He studied his hands. Looked away. Looked back.

  –So. If it ever came to that, Byron…

  –Fuck you.

  –The guy’s card…

  –I’m not listening…

  –It’s in the top right desk drawer.

  I stood.

  –Allan, if that’s why you dragged me up here, you’re wasting my time and yours.

  –It isn’t the only reason. Just something you should know I’m counting on. I want you to be here.

  –I’ll be here when there’s a sensible reason to be here.

  –That won’t be up to you.

  Outside his office, I felt a moment of confused alarm. Had he lost his mind? For Christ’s sake…the room is wired? Really? Was it paranoia now? Then I remembered he’d put something in my pocket. Something small. I reached inside my jacket and found a USB thumb drive.

  * * *

  —

  Peggy was sitting back in a large recliner, feet on the footstool, ankles crossed. She had a document file open on a small table beside her.

  –How did he seem?

  –Feeble, physically.

  I suddenly felt awkward. There was something in her tone, her expression. I was sure there was nothing I could tell her about Allan that she didn’t know already. She doesn’t want to know what I think. She wants to know where I stand.

  –I had to help him getting back to bed.

  She smiled.

  –You should know he usually manages to get there by himself.

  I shrugged.

  –But, yes, he’s going downhill.

  She closed the file, folded her arms.

  –It’s partly because he won’t do anything to help himself. Flatly refuses rehab. Just stays in that office day and night. But maybe he was playing with your head a bit, exaggerating a little?

  –I didn’t think so.

  –What I notice most is the mental change. He’ll say things, sometimes, that are off the wall. Did you notice that?

  –No, but sitting in a room twenty-four seven will do things to anyone’s head. Have you tried to get him out for a walk or something?

  –He hasn’t shown any interest. It would be pointless asking.

  –I might, anyway.

  –Be my guest. But he’s pretty well given up. I think people as physical as he was have a harder time with disability. I realize I don’t have to tell you…

  I smiled.

  –It takes backbone to confront adversity. As you know.

  I shrugged.

  –Listen to me, she said, and laughed. As if I know frig all about adversity. But, just the same, he’s never really had to struggle, physically.

  I said,

  –The reality is that there are always people worse off, and better off.

  –Which is why I hope you can stay and remind him what it takes.

  She stood and stretched, folded her arms, studied the floor briefly, then asked,

  –What do you know about vascular dementia?

  –Not a thing. Are you saying there’s more than the damage from the stroke going on?

  –There are a few things I need you to sign before you go back.

  –I can do it now.

  –Later, maybe. Do you have plans for lunch, Byron?

  –Not yet.

  –Let me take you to lunch. There’s a nice little place not far from here. We can walk.

  * * *

  —

  It was a Greek place and she ordered for us both, including a sweaty carafe of white. A litre. It was going to be a long lunch.

  I noticed that she hardly touched her salad. She drank her wine, though, and she talked a lot about Florida and southern California, the southwestern United States. A casino in New Mexico. She only mentioned Allan near the end.


  We’d finished the carafe. She looked around the restaurant. The place was nearly empty, the lunch crowd long since dispersed.

  –Allan is only happy at the edge of things, she said.

  –A dangerous place to be sometimes.

  –Almost all the time. I feel much safer at the centre, where the people are. Safety in numbers, I say.

  –That’s why you’re an accountant?

  –I never thought of it like that, but yes.

  She smiled, reached across and clasped my hand.

  –We’ve always kind of danced around each other, haven’t we?

  I allowed my hand to fold around hers. I stared at our two hands, imagining that they belonged to other people.

  –But from here on, we’re going to have to be pretty open.

  She pulled her hand away.

  –I’ll do my best, but I’m just the lawyer, I said.

  She laughed.

  –So, why did you mention vascular dementia?

  –It’s something we should be ready for. Even now…

  She looked away, then met my eyes.

  –We have to keep in mind that, for all practical purposes, there is no Allan. This isn’t something new. Officially, there never was an Allan in the business. But now it’s important we find out who he really is.

  –Who he really is?

  –You, of all people, know what I mean. Allan is a fiction, a creative enterprise that he’s been working on for decades.

  –Aren’t we all, more or less?

  – Do you know Allan, Byron?

  –I know the Allan he’s always wanted me to know.

  –Is that enough for you?

  –Sometimes more than enough.

  She wagged her head a bit in disagreement.

  –Not anymore, she said.

  –You’ve been married to him all these years. What’s left for you to know?

  She stared at me. I knew the look, the weary, hesitating expression of one who needs to share her knowledge but is afraid to.

  –What are you thinking, Peggy? Spit it out.

  –I’m mainly thinking about you, she said.

  –Never mind that. We know that he trusts us.

  She smiled.

  –He trusts you, Byron. Not us.

  I wanted to disagree. But I couldn’t, truthfully.

  * * *

  —

  After we left the restaurant, we walked a block or two, until we were on the flank of the lower Don Valley. We crossed on a pedestrian bridge over the whizzing parkway and the muddy Don River. She slipped her arm through mine, then retracted it. And after a while she caught my hand.

  –I don’t want to be here, in Toronto, I said.

  –It doesn’t have to be forever. Just long enough to navigate the changes we have to deal with.

  –Why me?

  –Don’t you get it, Byron? You are—for all intents and purposes, and legally—the company.

  –I’m the name on a lot of documents, I know that. I guess it would be wise to make a plan in case anything happens to me. Where would you be then?

  I laughed. She frowned.

  –There’s nothing wrong with you, she said.

  I shrugged, kicked a stone. She caught my arm and turned me toward her.

  –Right? And if there was, you’d say. Right?

  –Yes.

  –No secrets from here on, Byron.

  We crossed a playing field, then climbed a steep hill. Near the top, I noticed a familiar musk in the air, barn smells, the pungency of old manure.

  –There’s a little hobby farm over there, she said, pointing toward a weathered fence, some barns. We can sit there for a while.

  We wandered through a gate, into another century. A quaint old farmhouse. There were small groups of people, mostly children, ogling the horses, chickens. We found a sheltered place to sit.

  –You know this scene, she said.

  –Yes. It takes me back.

  –To a good place?

  –Not especially.

  She put an arm around my shoulder, leaned her head close to mine.

  –God forbid that anything should happen to you, she said, squeezed me and let go.

  –Is it his competence you’re worried about, Peggy? It seems to me he’s still on top of things.

  –Yes. He’s still aware and engaged. But Allan isn’t nearly as together as he might seem. It’s why you need to stay around long enough to draw your own conclusions.

  The lawyer part of me was suddenly alert. Listen carefully, it said. Weigh every word.

  –He suspects that people close to him are ganging up on him, spying on him, hiding things. Paranoia, I think, might be the first clue he’s headed nowhere good in terms of his mental state.

  I frowned. They hear everything.

  –He talked about disappointing people, I said.

  –Disappointing Grace, you mean?

  She was staring at me, her eyebrows arched. I looked away.

  –I know he told you about how he helped her die, she said, and shrugged. He has a point, about disappointing people.

  I was beginning to feel a deep anxiety. Perhaps it was the barn smells. The adults speaking to the children in loud, emphatic voices, like weary nurses on a ward, impatiently projecting patience.

  –Can we go somewhere else?

  –I thought you’d like it here, but sure, let’s walk.

  I headed toward the gate, leaving her behind. She caught up just as I stopped to let a crowd of children and their braying supervisor by.

  –You okay, Byron?

  –I’m great.

  We walked back toward the expressway. From the pedestrian bridge, I could see, to the north, heavy traffic on the viaduct that spanned the valley, a long, high bridge that people used to jump from. To deter jumpers, the city installed a barrier, a tight assembly of vertical steel rods. A “veil,” some people call it. The experts say a jumper needs to be deterred only briefly to experience the glimmer that might change his mind. How long did my uncle hesitate, waiting for a glimmer that clearly never came?

  –The creepy viaduct, Peggy said, following my gaze.

  –Yes.

  –I could not imagine…

  –You know about my uncle.

  –What uncle would that be?

  –My mother’s kid brother. She only had the one.

  She was frowning now.

  –His name was Angus, I said.

  –I know.

  –You know. And you know they named me after him.

  –I never think of you as Angus. What made you think about him?

  –Looking up there.

  She nodded then.

  –You know the story. He jumped from the bridge across the harbour in Halifax. I think it’s about that high.

  –That’s fucking morbid, Byron.

  I stopped, turned to face her.

  –Did you know about my uncle when you rechristened me?

  –No, she said.

  I turned away, looked back up the valley. Cars now slowing down. Rush-hour traffic clogging the viaduct and the expressway.

  –I think about him now and then. What goes through someone’s mind.

  –Allan has a theory that suicide is an impulse of misguided mercy, she said.

  –You do it for other people.

  –Something like that. I think it’s crazy.

  –I’m not so sure.

  –How could you possibly love someone that much?

  –I think Allan could. I always thought that about him, in spite of what he’s always tried to make people think. It’s just a feeling I’ve always had.

  –He loves you, she said.

  –And he loves you.

  –I only wish,
she said.

  I stopped to watch the traffic below us. You’d really have to be determined to do it from here, from the pedestrian overpass. You’d have to wait until the cars and trucks were really flying and then aim yourself. You’d be making a shit show out of some driver’s life, but you wouldn’t have to worry about things like consequences.

  Peggy had kept walking. Now she stopped and called back to me.

  –Are you coming, Byron?

  –I think Allan has a death wish, I said.

  –Allan has had a death wish for as long as I have known him. Restructuring the company is part of it.

  –I’m not talking about the business…

  –But it’s all the same. You hear about suicides first killing their children…

  –No, no…

  –First, he wants to kill off everything he’s achieved. Be prepared to hear about the grand plan. Giving back is his new buzz phrase. He’s determined to give something back.

  –How is that a death wish?

  –Okay, call it phase one of self-destruction.

  –We’re talking about his money, not his life.

  –It’s money that belongs to all of us.

  –And what is it he wants to do with the money?

  –Like I said, he wants us to start giving everything away, as his atonement for all his little failures, all the disappointments he’s caused, the harm he thinks he’s done.

  –What harm would that be? He always said, “It’s only pot,” like it was manna from heaven.

  She looked away.

  –There was more than pot, of course. At least at one stage.

  –He’s never told me that.

  –We were in Mexico for a while.

  –I see.

  –There were people there. I was scared shitless half the time.

  –What kind of people?

  –The kind of people down there who have power. The SUVs. The bodyguards. The guns. He was careful to keep me out of it.

  –Allan was never into guns.

  She wagged her head back and forth, to agree and disagree.

  –He isn’t now, she said.

  –I’m sorry.

  –Don’t be sorry. I was young and having fun when I wasn’t terrified.

  –So, you’re saying that he has regrets about that now.

  –Life got complicated for a while and things happened that you and I will never know about. And yes, now he has regrets and he thinks he can buy his way out of them. And, to cap it all, there’s Grace.