The Noon God

by Donna Carrick

  For as long as I could remember, Phil had been part of our lives. And we had been part of his.

  A sudden memory sent me reeling. It was about two years before Mommy died. Daddy was having one of his book-launching parties at the house. There must have been at least a hundred people. I was fourteen.

  I climbed the stairs to use the washroom. It was occupied. I leaned against the wall to wait my turn and heard Phil’s voice coming from – could it really be coming from my room? I couldn’t make out his words, but my mother’s higher voice carried to my ears.

  “Phil, forget it,” she said. “It isn’t going to happen.”

  I listened more closely.

  “It’s already happened,” he said. “I’m not going to forget it.”

  “It was a mistake. He’ll ruin you if he finds out. You’re his friend.”

  “You’re his wife. I can’t stand to see you unhappy.”

  “Then don’t look. This is the way I am.” She laughed. “It’s a conundrum. I can’t stay and I can’t leave. If I leave, I go alone. He’d never let me take the girls.”

  “Then let’s try to enjoy whatever happiness we can find.”

  “There is no happiness, Phil. He loves you and that makes it worse. He’ll never forgive you. He’ll ruin you.”

  My mother came out of my room and saw me standing there. My feelings must have shown on my face, because she smiled sheepishly and tousled my hair before hurrying down the stairs.

  “Mona,” Phil said, looking at me from the doorway of my room. “It’s not what you think. Your mother was just unhappy. Sometimes adults get unhappy.”

  “No shit,” I snapped, turning away.

  “Mona, come and talk to me for a moment.”

  Something made me stop. I skulked into my room and stood with my arms folded across my chest, scowling at the floor.

  “Be careful, Mona, not to judge the world too harshly.”

  “I’m not judging anything.”

  “Sure you are. You’re judging me. You’re judging your mother. She loves you, you know.”

  “I know.” He had no idea. How could he? He didn’t know about the alcoholism, the hospitalization, my years of diligence. I was still on guard, would always be on guard. I didn’t know what to make of this private conversation I had walked in on. It worried me. It was a sign, but I didn’t know of what.

  “She tries hard to be happy,” he said.

  I felt tears fill my eyes. I continued to glare at the floor, but they slid down my nose.

  Suddenly I turned at the sound of a familiar footstep.

  “Desdemona,” Daddy said, looking with suspicion from Phil to me, “what’s going on here?”

  “Nothing. I was just waiting to use the bathroom.” I quickly sucked in my breath and pulled myself up. At fourteen I was already tall, though not nearly as tall as Daddy was. I smiled.

  “It’s free now,” he said.

  “Phil was here first,” I said, standing back to let him pass. He hesitated, then slipped past me to the washroom.

  “What’s going on here?” Daddy repeated when we were alone. I was surprised to see the worry on his face. Then I got it. Daddy thought Phil and I…

  “Nothing’s going on, silly,” I laughed. “Phil was waiting to use the washroom. I wanted to show him my math homework. We’re doing algebra.” I waved my hand toward my desk, where thankfully my math book lay open at the current assignment.

  “Desdemona, you don’t invite men into your room,” he said. I could tell he was relieved. “They may get the wrong idea.”

  “What do you mean?” I put on my most innocent teenager face.

  “Never mind. Just don’t do it again.”

  “Ok.” I heard Phil leave the bathroom and gave Daddy my best smile. “My turn!”

  I locked the door behind me and ran the water, allowing my emotions to erupt at last. Was I losing my mother? Was she having an affair with Phil? In the end, each of us believes the world revolves around him. My chief concern was how my mother’s unhappiness would affect me. We are not noble beasts when it comes right down to it.

  I made the last few calls and carried my bag over to Daddy’s chair. My second reading of Millennium Girl had to be finished before the service so I could send the manuscript back to New York with Andy.

  I was struck yet again by the power of my father’s words. It was true what the critics said – he was a master of our time. More than any other living Canadian and maybe more than any international writer today, J. Caesar Fortune had a depth of global awareness that shone through every page. His understanding of the human condition was nothing short of profound.

  But like so many who possess a mountain view, he was blind when it came to his immediate surroundings. His family mattered to him only in so far as we could bolster his ego.

  That wasn’t entirely true – I mattered to him. I mattered because of his intense love for me. But more importantly, I mattered because he saw in me the potential to carry on his greatness.

  Of all the people in my father’s world, I was the most like him.

  I looked like him. I moved effortlessly among his peers. I shared his love of the written word and his understanding of its power to shape events.

  Millennium Girl was a masterwork. Caesar would have known that. But on a more personal level, it was also a plea. It was my father’s way of asking me one last time to leave my mundane existence behind and to finally begin to actualise my destiny.

  The world was waiting. Anything I produced would turn to gold. Andy Rivard would see to that.

  I had the power, through my father’s name, to change my life. I had the potential to shape my world, or at least to contribute in some small way to our times.

  Thanks to my father’s estate, I could retire from teaching comfortably. I would never miss the income.

  I’d always wanted to write a book. My journals were filled with endless scribbles, bits of thought flying loose like down from an old blanket.

  All they needed was direction. All I needed was focus to bring those thoughts together into something meaningful.

  All I needed was a story.

  I put the manuscript down. I was at the halfway point, where the daughter has fallen in love. She and her man are seeing Africa for the first time.

  Dark faces drown them in a sea of desperation. Need is everywhere. It calls out for help like a dying nation.

  But I had drifted off again. The dark faces lived only in my mind. I rubbed my eyes and lifted myself from my father’s chair.

  There was one person I had not yet called.

  Ben was still at his school. He answered his cell phone on the first ring.

  I realised it was his voice I had always loved. It filled me with a sense of hope I didn’t find anywhere else. One word, ‘hello’, spoken with the slight inflection of a question, brought with it such warmth and welcome…

  “Ben.”

  “Hi, Mona.” He sounded weary. He was disappointed it was me. I knew he would be. He had a new life, a new wife, Adelle, and two young sons. Time stands still for no one.

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. I had to call Ben. He would have been hurt if I hadn’t. After all, my father was his father-in-law. There was no way I could have avoided making the call.

  But it smacked of reaching out to Ben, and that was wrong on so many levels.

  I swallowed my pride – a huge pill.

  “Ben, I have some bad news.”

  “What is it, Mona?”

  “It’s Daddy.” The tears came. It didn’t matter that I had resolved to keep them inside. It didn’t matter Ben was no longer mine to lean on.

  I’d lost too much. In that dark moment, the losses I’d suffered were too much to bear. My mother, my sister, my father, my husband. It was ironic. I was the one who understood the value of love, of family. I was the one who had tried to gather those pearls close to me. It seemed like I was meant to be alone. A swell of despair rose in me with such force that I almost p
ut the receiver down.

  “What happened?” His voice was tender. He wasn’t angry. That, at least, was something.

  I told him what I could.

  “I’ll be right there,” he said.

  I’ll be right there! Oh, the brutal power of those words. Be there for what purpose? To hold me? To love me? To tell me everything will be all right?

  But first, I knew, Ben would call his wife, Adelle. He was an honest man. He would explain to her what had happened and they would both agree he needed to come to me. It was the right thing for him to do.

  I wanted to die. How could I face him now, at my darkest moment?

  How could I look into those eyes, see the soul I had loved, and deny the force of my need? How could I take only the measure of comfort he was free to offer and not ask for more?

  How could I hold him, feel his strength cover me, then send him back to his wife and children?

  I hadn’t wanted to call Ben. I had no choice.

  I went to tell Lucy Ben was on his way. Thank God I still had Lucy. I would have to try my best not to screw that up.

  TEN

  Lucy was still in the tub. She had fallen asleep. I woke her and left her to dress before Ben arrived. I went to freshen up.

  I was shocked to see my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t the woman Ben had married all those years ago. I wasn’t even the woman who had run into him two months earlier at the mall. Funny – we were both scouring the teachers’ supplies store during the June end-of-season sale. I laughed when I saw the selection in his cart. Almost to the item I had the same things in mine.

  We made small talk as we paid the cashier, then he walked me to my car. I don’t remember how it came about, but we went back into the mall for lunch. Before the food came we had both fallen headfirst into the past like Alice down some crazy rabbit hole. I don’t think it was deliberate. I’m not even sure we could have stopped it. If we could have, we would have. Neither of us is that kind of person.

  For me there had never been anyone but Ben. When I closed my eyes at night it was his grace, his power that lifted me into my dreams. Others had made the ritual noises, taken me out for dinner, or to a show. But none had ever broken through my memory of the love I held for Ben.

  By the time we got to my place, I was convinced he still loved me, too. Oh, the deaf, dumb, blindness of desire! He did still love me. No one could fake the need I saw in his eyes. No man could pretend the love I felt that sweet, long afternoon.

  But it was a mistake. The moment he rolled over, the naked regret clear in his eyes, I knew it. There was still Adelle. There were still his sons. I didn’t wait for him to say the words. I got out of bed.

  “You’d better go,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be. I’m not. I’ve waited a long time to let you know how I feel. Now you know.”

  “I always knew. I always felt the same. I just couldn’t stand up to…”

  “I know. It was Daddy. He made it impossible for us.”

  “No, Mona. It was you. I could have stood your father. He was what he was. But you – you needed to love me more.”

  “I couldn’t have loved you more.”

  “That was the problem.”

  “No anger, Ben. Don’t take any anger when you leave this time. It hurts too much.”

  And so he went away. What did he take with him? I can’t guess. Maybe the last remaining piece of my soul.

  And now I was altered. Maybe no one else would notice. Maybe no one would see the emptiness behind those striking blue eyes, my father’s eyes. But I saw it. Too much loss. I had been hollowed out from the inside.

  My slacks were binding in the heat. I decided to change my clothes. I pulled a casual cotton dress over my head, touched some powder to my face and drew my hair back in a ponytail.

  Was I presentable? Did it matter? Ben loved me. I had no doubt. I also knew how pointless his love was. Mommy had left me empty all those years ago, and every time I looked for meaning, for something to fill my life, it disappeared like quicksilver from my hands. Only Ben had filled the void. I smoothed the dress over my tummy. Things were different now. Daddy was gone. Lucy needed me.

  Ben arrived. His compassion was genuine, but its expression was muted by the secret he and I shared. There had been that afternoon two months earlier…

  Lucy was overwhelmed to see him. She laid her head on his shoulder and wept openly.

  “Do the police have any leads?” he asked me over her shoulder.

  “No. They think it was a random attack. Maybe a failed robbery.”

  “Guys who do that sort of thing aren’t master criminals. They usually give themselves away at some point. Maybe they say too much to the wrong person. The police will catch them. Don’t give up hope.” He patted Lucy’s head and she nodded.

  “The service will be on Thursday with a public memorial on Friday. I’ll let you know the details once I make the arrangements.”

  “Would you like me to go with you to the funeral home?”

  I almost said no. I should have said no. Uncle Willard could surely go with me, and if it came right down to it, I was capable of going alone. I had reserves of inner strength beyond what most people saw. Yet when it came to Ben, I was putty.

  “Yes. I’d appreciate that.”

  And that’s how I came to be sitting in Ben’s car, in the seat where Adelle usually sat, my head pressed against the window she looked through and her husband’s black hand resting naturally on my white thigh. He meant it as a comfort, but it burned. I didn’t have the will to push it away. I let it burn me and I let the tears fall like rain down my face.

  This moment too would pass.

  When Gail died a light went off in some faraway corner of my soul. It never came on again. Gail was a pain in the ass. She was an addict, a troublemaker, an ingrate. She was my sister. I was supposed to take care of her. I failed. Just like I’d failed to take care of my mother.

  After Gail’s death I withdrew. Ben couldn’t reach me through my veil of grief. I wore it like an angry silence that stayed with me for over a year. I functioned, did chores, called Lucy weekly, met with Daddy for lunch or dinner. But I felt like I was fatally wounded. I felt like we were burying me as well as Gail.

  By the time the cloud lifted from my eyes, it was too late. The laughter was gone from my marriage. Daddy knew my relationship with Ben wouldn’t last. As the rift between Ben and me grew wider, Daddy encouraged it along. He bought me a car. He feigned illness twice and insisted I stay at the house with him. He began needling Ben across the dinner table. He belittled him in public. Finally Ben refused to spend time with Daddy. I was forced to go alone to see him. Every time I went to Daddy’s house, the chasm between my husband and me grew.

  Confused and hurt, I started pushing Ben away. Call it pre-emptive strike. I didn’t wait for him to leave me. I cut him loose.

  It was the single most stupid thing I have ever done in my life.

  Did I expect Ben to keep trying? Did I expect him to call me until I relented? What I did not expect was to see him at a school board function with Adelle on his arm, his head held high and a smile fixed on his handsome face. That crushed me.

  Of course I deserved it. Knowing it was my own fault didn’t help.

  So there we were, sitting in his car, his touch burning me like the seventh circle of hell, the tears streaming unabashedly down my weary face. The nausea rising in my throat…

  “Will you be ok?” he said. We had made the arrangements. There was nothing else to keep him.

  “Yes.”

  He held me one last time, and I forced myself to climb out of his car. I didn’t look back, but I could feel him watching me as I walked toward Daddy’s house, climbed the step, turned the key.

  ELEVEN

  The next few days passed in an unreal haze of activity. People came. The phone rang off the wall. The media camped on the street outside our house. Uncle Willa
rd came and went, bringing food, advice and care.

  One of the local stations did a two-hour biography on Daddy. I watched, hoping to see interviews with some of the writers Daddy had admired. Instead the host dedicated much of the two hours to interviews with critics from The Star and The Globe and Mail.

  One critic told an anecdote about Daddy that was typical, something about him taking issue with a review of Under the Moon. Daddy had come across the critic at a local restaurant the day after he had run a poor review of the book. He had called it “over-reaching”, a laughable adjective to apply to my father’s work.

  Never one to suffer amateurish criticism, Daddy immediately set out to prove the critic wrong. He gathered all of the other diners around him and asked each of them in turn to comment on Under the Moon. The critic was shocked to learn every single diner had not only read Daddy’s work, but had also formed a connection to the author through his words.

  The critic was so impressed, the following day he ran another review, completely reversing his first one.

  That was Daddy. The Pied Piper of the Page.

  Lucy did her best to muddle through the rush of well-meaning friends, but she was beginning to show signs of wear. I tried to get her to relax, but she fussed like a mother hen over guests, bringing food and drinks. She kept saying Daddy would have wanted her to be strong.

  I wondered.

  On Wednesday Helen came to the house. She brought a turkey casserole and some pastries. Lucy didn’t remember her. My little sister fidgeted until I asked her to go to the kitchen to heat up the casserole. She disappeared gratefully, leaving me to reminisce with Daddy’s ex-lover.

  “I was sorry to hear about Gail,” Helen said.

  “Did Daddy stay in touch with you?”

  “Yes. We were always in contact. I didn’t hear about Gail, though, till six months after she died. Otherwise I would have come to the service.”