by Gail Bowen
“And I have a meeting downtown,” Zack said. “Jo, do you want me to hang around and drive you home?”
“Thanks, but I could use some extra time with Mieka and the girls, and I don’t want to make you late for that meeting.”
“Is it okay if I bring Margot back for lunch?”
“Of course.” I bent to kiss him. “I’ll say goodbye to Madeleine and Lena for you.”
The girls were still sporting their borrowed hard hats when I joined them. “You’re going to have to give those back,” I said. “They’ve got Blake, Margot, and Riel’s names in them. But Ms. Treadgold’s SUV is over there, and she might have a couple that you can have for keeps.”
Lauren did indeed have extras, but dazzling as the hard hats were, the girls had eyes only for the salukis. When Lauren saw how taken the girls were, she leashed the dogs and asked Madeleine and Lena if they’d do her a favour and walk them.
She didn’t have to ask twice. As Lauren and I watched the girls, solemn with responsibility, lead the salukis in a careful circle, Lauren’s face relaxed. “Your granddaughters are good with Darius and Dalila,” she said. “If you ever consider a puppy, they’re more than welcome to come to our house and give the salukis a tryout.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I have a feeling there could be a dog in Madeleine and Lena’s future. Zack’s been talking about it, and once he makes up his mind, he’s not easily dissuaded.”
Lauren looked away. “Has Zack made up his mind about me?”
“Zack has seen Vince through some tough times in the past. It’s natural he’d be concerned.”
“And how about you?”
“I like both you and Vince,” I said. “But you’re starting down a dangerous path, Lauren. There are other people involved. Please think this through.”
Lauren tilted her chin obstinately. “Joanne, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was fifteen, I’ve learned to think things through. I didn’t fall into the traps so many of the other girls fell into. I never had an eating disorder. I never did drugs. I never slept with people just to get ahead. I learned to take directions. I was always punctual, prepared, and professional – a model model.” Lauren laughed softly at her joke. “And I was so busy being the model model that I never had a life.”
“But after your career was over, you had Vince,” I said.
“Being married to Vince turned out to be just another job. He never really got over Solange’s suicide. Neither did Celeste. I truly believed that sending Celeste to boarding school was the best decision for us all. I thought we all needed a fresh start. As you know, that didn’t work out. And now, here I am stuck in a loveless marriage with a stepdaughter who hates me.”
“You don’t love Vince?”
“I thought I did, once. And I like him well enough, I know he’s a good man,” she said. “But Vince and I both know that all he cares about is his work. I’m like the salukis – something beautiful and exotic that Vince can afford to own. Julian is my last chance for real love.” Lauren gave me the winsome smile that had sold hundreds of thousands of fashion magazines. “Wish me luck,” she said.
I felt a chill. Lauren had obviously reached the point of no return. “I wish you both luck,” I said. I was relieved when Mieka joined us. The busyness of getting the dogs back in the SUV allowed Lauren and me to take refuge in the quotidian. We parted with the usual pleasantries.
As I walked with Mieka and the girls to their car, I noticed that my daughter was chewing her lower lip – a sure sign that she was anxious.
I slipped my arm around her waist. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. Riel’s just not thinking clearly. We’d talked about him sitting down with Ernest, but you just saw what happened when Ernest tried to get close to him. I don’t know what to do next.”
“Well, short-term, why don’t I come along when you drop the girls off at school, and we can carry on to Magpies Kitchen? I’ll even spring for a couple of their cinnamon buns.”
“You’re on,” Mieka said. “Thanks.”
Business at Magpies Kitchen was brisk, but we hit it lucky. A couple was just vacating a table by the window. Mieka gave me a thumbs-up. “My luck is turning,” she said.
We ate our cinnamon buns and drank our chai lattes in comfortable silence. When she’d finished her bun, Mieka trailed her forefinger through the leftover buttery crumbs and icing on her plate. She was thirty-three years old. When she licked her finger, I didn’t say a word.
Mieka took another lick and shot me a mischievous grin. “You know I don’t let the girls do this.”
“I know. I also know there are times when cinnamon and sugar are the only solace.”
“I appear to be in the middle of one of those times,” Mieka said wearily. “Mum, I love Riel. He loves me and he loves the girls, but I don’t know what’s up with him any more. He has these moments of meanness that come out of nowhere. That shot he took at you and Zack about the Volvo last week was just the beginning.”
“There was more later?”
Mieka nodded. “We had a great Halloween. Everybody loved our costumes and the girls made out like bandits. We got home, went through the girls’ bags with them, then I took Maddy and Lena upstairs to get ready for bed. While we were upstairs, the second string of trick or treaters came.”
“The kids from North Central,” I said. “They always wait till the neighbourhood kids are off the street.”
“They don’t want trouble,” Mieka said. “They come here because it’s safer and they know that even if they don’t have a costume, they’ll get candy. Those kids have been coming here so long I never even think about it. I just do what you always did – make sure there’s extra candy in reserve and keep the pumpkin lit.”
“But this was Riel’s first Halloween in Old Lakeview, and he didn’t know the drill,” I said.
“He figured it out soon enough,” Mieka said bleakly. “And then he exploded. I didn’t need a lecture. I know it’s not fair that our kids get so much and the kids in North Central get so little. I told Riel he was yelling at the wrong person, but he wouldn’t stop. He just kept on and on and on. I told him to lower his voice because Madeleine and Lena could hear him. He said they should hear him because it was about time they knew the truth about their lives.”
“Madeleine and Lena do know the truth about their lives,” I said. “You’ve always made certain that the girls know they’re fortunate.”
“I try,” Mieka said. “But I was angry, too, and I was scared. I didn’t want Maddy and Lena to see Riel like that – he was crazy, Mum. He said we should sell this house and move downtown to Winnipeg Street so the girls could see what ‘real life’ is like. I told him to take a walk to cool down. He left and he didn’t come home until the next morning.”
“But things have been all right since then?”
“It’s been tense, but we were both trying, and then last night, Riel blew up again over something he saw on the news. He stormed off. He’d just come back when you called this morning. He said he walked around all night, but I don’t know …”
Mieka swallowed hard. “Mum, Riel knew how important this photo shoot was. He knew he had to show the Peyben board and all the people connected with Racette-Hunter that he was totally committed and that the project was in good hands. By the time he came home, he could barely stand up. You saw what he looked like when we got to the construction site.” Mieka stared out the window. “The situation has become intolerable.”
My veins tightened. “He’s not hurting you?”
Mieka shook her head emphatically. “You know I wouldn’t put up with that. Riel’s not violent. He’s just … a different person. He keeps apologizing for his behaviour, but it never gets better.”
During the time that she and Riel had been happy together, Mieka had radiated the contentment of a woman who knows that she is well and truly loved. That morning as the unforgiving November light poured through the window at Magpies Kitchen, I saw how dr
awn my daughter’s face had become. She was naturally slender, but now she was thin and tense.
“The contractors want me to come over and look at our old house sometime today,” I said. “Why don’t I go over to the house this afternoon, scope out the situation, then pick the girls up from school and bring them back to Halifax Street for a sleepover.”
“That would be a lifesaver, Mum. Riel and I need a chance to talk, and if the girls aren’t around, maybe we can sort this out once and for all.”
Before we separated, I hugged Mieka hard. “We’ll get through this,” I said.
Mieka’s face was wan. “I know. It’s just that this time I really believed I’d found Mr. Right.”
——
When I got back to the condo, a courier was dropping a notification slip into our mailbox. “Great timing,” I said to him. “That’s for us.”
The package from NationTV was expected. Jill Oziowy, the producer of For the Common Good, had told me the rough-cut was ready. I made myself a cup of tea and dropped the DVD in the player. I’d been working on segments of the program since early summer, so there were no surprises, but this was the first time the segments had been arranged in sequence and in many ways I felt like a time traveller.
The first shots were of an altercation that took place shortly after the convocation where Leland Hunter had been given an honorary Ph.D. On that June day, so bright with promise, Riel Delorme was just the name of a graduate student of mine who’d dropped out five years earlier. I’d just retired from the political science department. Zack, Taylor, and I were still living in our house on the creek, and I was still anticipating that we would live there happily ever after. Leland and Margot were planning their wedding, and Leland’s company was razing crumbling houses and abandoned buildings to make way for The Village.
The convocation was marred by a nasty incident. Two weeks earlier, Danny Racette, a young Aboriginal man who was shadowing the project manager, had been killed when explosives were set off prematurely at a demolition site. Those opposed to The Village blamed Racette’s death on workplace negligence. When Leland emerged from the ceremony, the protestors sprang into action, chanting slogans and taunting Leland and his family. Somehow in the melee, Riel Delorme’s sign hit Leland’s head, causing a nasty gash. Seeing blood, the demonstrators’ chants grew uglier and the situation deteriorated until Leland was taken by ambulance to the hospital and the police stepped in.
The confrontation between Leland and Riel was a riveting opening scene for the show, but the passages that showed them joining forces were even more compelling.
After Riel and Leland agreed to participate in the documentary, our local producer arranged for an up-close and personal interview with each man. The segments had been shot simply, using an off-camera interviewer. Leland had long been a friend as well as a client of Zack’s, and I had come to know him in the months before his death. We were running partners for a time, and as I watched the rough-cut and listened to him talk about his dream of transforming our derelict neighbourhood into a vibrant community, it was impossible to believe he was dead. “There can be no phoenix without the ashes,” he said. The passion in Leland’s voice caused tears to sting my eyes.
But it was Riel’s appearance that riveted my attention. The man on my TV screen was powerful and healthy, and in the interview he was forceful and confident. As he spoke of the life-changing effect the new centre would have on North Central’s children and adolescents, his voice was fervent.
My mind drifted to moments that Riel and our family had shared. The images were sharp-edged: Riel building a child-sized ice cream stand for the girls; Riel’s arms around Mieka as they watched the girls swim; Mieka’s face soft with pride as Riel presented Margot with a Métis scarf at Leland’s funeral.
But there were darker memories. Riel was often scathing about the comfort of Zack’s and my life, and he and I had clashed over April’s Place. Mieka and Lisa had worked with members of the community to make certain it met the neighbourhood’s needs. Riel was usually supportive, but in moments of anger, he dismissed April’s Place as a sop to divert the community from pressing for everything that was rightfully theirs.
Whatever his mood, Riel had always been bracingly vital. The man I’d seen at the construction site this morning seemed defeated, a tired grey shadow of the man on my screen.
CHAPTER
3
I’d just finished making a plate of tuna salad sandwiches when Zack and Margot arrived. Margot kicked off her boots, slipped off her coat, and looked dubiously towards the stools ranged around the butcher-block table in the kitchen.
“Why don’t we sit in the dining room,” I suggested. “Everything’s ready. What’s your beverage of choice?”
“Milk, please.” Margot said.
“Milk sounds good,” Zack said.
I brought in a tray with sandwiches, plates, napkins, three glasses of milk, and a bowl of potato chips. Margot bit into her sandwich and made an approving sound. “I was starving. These days I’m always hungry.”
“Eating for two,” Zack said sagely.
Margot was withering. “Racette-Hunter is paying you a dollar a year for those insights, and Big Guy, you’re worth every penny.”
Zack raised his glass to her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Margot and Zack had been sparring partners long before I came on the scene, and I’d learned that there were times when it was wise to change the subject. “How did the meeting with the Webers go?” I asked.
“Very well,” Zack said. “Especially because Brock Poitras has become the newest member of the Racette-Hunter working team, and today was his first meeting.”
“Brock’s name is familiar,” I said.
“He played for the Riders,” Zack said. “He also has an M.B.A.; he grew up in North Central; and he speaks Cree. Construction of the centre is moving along well. What Racette-Hunter needs now is someone to convince the decision makers that they have to start opening doors for people who need a chance.”
“Brock is the perfect candidate,” Margot said. “He’s done it all. He’s high profile, so he’ll help with fundraising, and he can brainstorm with business leaders about how to set up internships and mentoring and job shadowing programs for the unemployed or the underemployed.”
“Wow,” I said. “You were lucky to get him.”
Margot sighed. “We haven’t got him yet. Brock’s on loan from Blackwell Investments.”
Zack leaned forward in his chair. “But he doesn’t belong there. At Blackwell everybody spends the day hunched over their smartphones waiting for the latest news from Bloomberg. Brock has way too much potential to spend his life staring at a spreadsheet.”
Margot had just taken a bite of her sandwich. She waved her hand to indicate that as soon as she’d finished, she wanted to talk. When she was ready, she was even more enthusiastic than Zack. “Jo, if you could have seen Brock with the Webers, you’d know why we need him permanently at Racette-Hunter. It turns out that Warren Weber is a big fan of the Riders, so when Brock made the pitch, Warren was receptive. Brock didn’t waste his chance. His argument was cogent and passionate. Warren was writing out the cheque before Brock finished.”
“Good news all around,” I said. I took a breath. “Riel was at that meeting, wasn’t he?” I said.
“Yep,” Zack said, “and that was the one fly in the ointment.”
“What happened?”
“Well, for starters,” Zack said, “despite the fact that Brock’s argument was dynamite, Riel nodded off.”
“He had a bad night,” I said. “Something upset him and he walked out. Mieka said he didn’t get back till this morning.”
Margot finished her milk. “I’m sorry Riel’s having problems,” she said, “but it would have been better for everybody if he had stayed at home to catch up on his rest. Having the R-H community liaison officer snore loudly during a colleague’s presentation to a potential donor didn’t speak highly for ou
r level of commitment.”
“He’s obviously having an off day,” I said. “But he’s done good work for Racette-Hunter. I just watched the rough-cut of For the Common Good, and it’s a powerful piece.”
Margot picked up her sandwich. “Did the network include the footage the NationTV camera guy shot today?”
“They haven’t had time to edit it,” I said. “But I know what you’re getting at. Riel looked terrible this morning, but that can be fixed in the edit suite.”
“I think the problem might be something the edit suite can’t fix,” Margot said. “Jo, I hate to even say the words, but is it possible that Riel’s using again?”
My stomach clenched. “He’s been clean for three years,” I said. “Before he moved in with Mieka, Riel promised her the drugs were in his past. He has problems, but he loves Mieka and he loves the girls. When I watched the rough-cut, it was clear that Riel’s health has deteriorated, but I can’t believe he’s using again. Maybe he has a medical problem or an emotional one. Depression and anxiety can wreak havoc.”
“I agree he doesn’t seem well,” Zack agreed. “But that doesn’t mean he gets a free pass as far as his work is concerned. When Riel finally woke up during Brock’s presentation to the Webers, he asked a couple of questions to which he would have known the answers if he’d stayed awake, then he got up and left. No apologies. No goodbyes. No nothing.”
“That’s not like him,” I said. I took a bite of sandwich. Suddenly it tasted like cardboard, but I chewed dutifully.
“It isn’t,” Margot said. “So what do we do?”
“Let’s work on Joanne’s assumption that the problem is medical,” Zack said. “We’ll urge Riel to see a doctor, and if Joanne’s right, Riel can take medical leave until he’s ready to work again. I’ll talk to him.”
“No,” I said. “Mieka should talk to him. He loves her. I’ve never doubted that for a moment. I told Mieka we’d take the girls tonight. She and Riel need some time alone to work this through.”
