What's Left Behind

by Gail Bowen

  Bouviers like to swim. Esme was already halfway to the raft when we got to the beach. English mastiffs are not fond of water, so Pantera had taken up his customary position at the end of the dock where he could watch Zack slide into the water with his pull buoy and position the figure-eight-shaped piece of foam between his thighs to support his body. With his pull buoy in place, he and I were able to do laps together. As we finally headed for the shore, I could see that the tension had left Zack’s body and I could feel the headache that had been moving from the back of my neck to my temples receding.

  We were sitting in the sun, Zack in his wheelchair and Madeleine, Lena, and I on beach towels, when Milo arrived. It was almost four-thirty. He’d already changed into his bathing trunks, and he sped past us with a quick wave, ran along the dock, dived in, swam straight to the diving tower, climbed to the highboard, and did a perfect front dive with somersault. The girls, eyes wide, mouths forming Os, watched as Milo swam back to the ladder, climbed to the high board again, and executed a flawless front dive. Before he swam to shore, Milo completed six dives of varying degrees of complexity. When he pulled himself onto the dock, Lena and Madeleine ran to him. “Teach us how to do that,” Lena said, and I could almost hear her lower lip quiver. “Please.”

  “Okay,” Milo said. “But we start on the raft.”

  For the next half-hour, Milo taught Madeleine and Lena the rudiments of the forward dive. Until that day, despite my best efforts, the girls’ dives had been haphazard – a grudging step-up from the belly flop, but they were attentive to Milo, aligning their bodies carefully as he spoke.

  The water was chilly, and the girls were blue-lipped and shivering when they came back to the dock. Like every child before them, they insisted that they weren’t cold, but I sent them up to the cottage to change anyway.

  I handed Milo a towel. “That was really great. Where did you learn to dive like that?”

  “Here and there,” he said airily. “Now, I’d better change and get back to town.”

  “We’re going to build a bonfire on the beach and have a wiener roast,” I said. “Why don’t you stay? We’re making s’mores.”

  Milo wrapped his towel around his waist in a sarong. He and I had always been straight with each other. He narrowed his eyes. “You guys don’t really do that,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We really do.”

  “So it’s 1956 on Lawyers’ Bay,” Milo said.

  “1956 has a lot to recommend it,” Zack said. “In 1956, Don Larsen pitched the first and only World Series perfect game.”

  Milo’s tone was somewhere between adulation and pity. “Big man, you are mind-blowing!” He gave me a private smile. “Thanks for the respite from reality, Jo.”

  “Any time,” I said.

  After Milo loped up the hill to the cottage, Zack turned to me. “Milo’s pretty mind-blowing himself,” he said. “What do we really know about him?”

  “Not much,” I said. “Since he works for us and not the city, I have his CV, and that’s the source for pretty much all my information. He’s from Ottawa. He has a BA from Carleton and an MA in strategic public relations from George Washington University. He graduated summa cum laude from George Washington, and since he graduated he’s worked steadily on political campaigns in the States and here in Canada. He’s drawn to situations where the odds are against the candidate, and since he’s a strategist not an ideologue, every campaign in trouble wants him. He’s a gun for hire, and in my books, he’s perfect. He’s absolutely loyal, and I’ve never once had to give him instructions. He loves politics; he knows what needs to be done, and he does it.”

  Zack cocked his head. “But you don’t know anything about his private life.”

  “When he started working for us, I asked him a couple of ‘getting to know you’ questions. He shut me down, so I stopped asking. I think the only thing that matters to Milo is his work. When he moved into that flat we own above the Sahara Club I told him to make whatever changes he wanted and send us the bills. I never heard another word about it. My guess is that if I told Milo to shut his eyes and describe his living room, he wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “But he could give you a detailed demographic breakdown of every district in the city,” Zack said.

  “Yes, and after eight months here, he has the contact information of everyone who matters in our small world.”

  Zack peered over his glasses at me. “Jo, when Milo gave you his contact information, who did he list as next of kin?”

  “Me,” I said.

  “I guess that tells us something,” Zack said, and he wasn’t smiling.

  That night Brock, Angus, and Declan built a bonfire on the beach. As promised, we had a weenie roast, made s’mores, and watched the sun go down. It was the perfect ending to a day that had been anything but perfect, and as we tucked the girls in, Zack and I looked at each other gratefully.

  I was about to turn out the light on my nightstand when my cell rang. It was Milo. “I just had a phone call from Mansell Donnelly,” he said. I groaned. “Hold that groan,” he said. “This merits perusal. Mansell Donnelly wants the big man to consider joining him for a media statement tomorrow morning. Mansell thinks it’s time for a truce – no more craziness, no more personal attacks. Civil discourse only.”

  “Was Mansell acting on behalf of Quinn and Lancaster?”

  “He didn’t say. My guess is he was calling on his own hook.”

  “So Mansell had a ‘Saul on the road to Damascus’ moment?” I said.

  There was a pause. Finally Milo said, “Joanne, sometimes your wig bubbles float right past me.”

  “Sorry. What I meant was did Mansell suggest how he arrived at this decision? I had an encounter with the Donnellys after the funeral. More accurately, I had an encounter with Quinn. Mansell was physically present, but his mind was elsewhere.”

  “So, it was just you and Quinn. How did it go?”

  “We’ll find out,” I said. “I gave them twenty-four hours to meet with us and come up with a plan committing both sides to behave rationally until the day of the vote. I told Quinn if they weren’t in touch, I’d go to the media and say their side refused to cooperate.”

  “Hardball. But obviously it worked.”

  “I wonder,” I said. “I don’t trust them, Milo.”

  “It’s possible Mansell realizes the situation is out of hand.”

  “I guess anything’s possible,” I said. “When he looked at that picture of Lee after the funeral, he seemed shattered.”

  “So the old bad Mansell fell away and out came a good Mansell?” Milo’s tone was ironic. “Jo, we don’t even know if there is a good Mansell.”

  “Oh there is,” I said. “I got a glimpse of him at the wedding reception. He and the twins shared a moment that made it clear Mansell is a man who feels and cares. The three of them even laughed together at a private joke.”

  “You think Mansell regrets Lancaster’s attacks on Lee.”

  “I’m sure he does,” I said. “But regret is one thing; breaking ties with Lancaster is another.”

  “Agreed. So let’s consider the other options. The obvious one is that the media blitz at Lee’s funeral made Lancaster realize that stepping up the attacks on Lee would be dumb as shit, so it was time to chill, and Quinn had Mansell make the call. The Machiavellian one is that Lancaster wants Mansell to be mayor, and that means putting some distance between him and their looney-tunes Meighen loyalists.”

  “Including Quinn Donnelly? That’s pretty hard to swallow.”

  “It is, but Quinn’s smart enough to read the writing on the wall. We’re gaining support for our bylaws every day. Sustainability is an idea whose time has come. Barring disaster, we’re going to win, and Quinn and her cohorts want Mansell to be on the winning side. By joining Zack and calling for a fair and rational campaign, Mansell moves one step away from the marginalized and one step closer to the mainstream.”

  “And broadens his base when he runs for
mayor,” I said. “So we’re being used.”

  Milo was nonchalant. “We’re using Mansell too. The optics of the big man and him shaking hands will legitimize our position on the bylaws with a lot of Mansell’s on-the-fence voters.”

  “And it will legitimize Mansell with a lot of our on-the-fence voters, and torpedo Brock’s chances of being mayor,” I said. “Brock’s a good human being who’s educated, experienced, and committed. His election would send a signal about the kind of city we are.”

  “A city where it’s possible that a gay Aboriginal man with a boyfriend who’s a married psychiatrist who lost his medical licence for malpractice can be elected mayor?”

  “You make it sound impossible,” I said.

  “It’s not. You and I can get Brock elected, Jo. It won’t be easy, but if we begin early enough we can do it.”

  “I thought we’d start raising Brock’s profile in September. Racette-Hunter will be celebrating its first anniversary on Labour Day weekend, and Brock’s the director. There’ll be plenty of positive coverage.”

  “My thought too,” Milo said. “That’s going to be one mother of a campaign, but we can do it. However, that’s in the future. Right now the ball is in the big man’s court.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  Zack had been watching me carefully as I talked to Milo. When I broke the connection, I turned to him. “Want me to fill you in on Milo’s side of the conversation?”

  “Please,” Zack said. “But give me a minute to get vertical.” Zack piled his pillows against the headboard and pulled himself to a sitting position. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  I explained the situation. “We’ll have to make a decision tonight,” I said.

  “What’s your opinion?”

  “I think we should say no.”

  Zack shot me a lawyerly gaze. “But you were the one who issued the ultimatum.”

  “Zack, what I asked for was a private meeting between the opposing sides, not a media event. We all know that Mansell’s positioning himself to run for mayor after your term’s up. Milo says that by standing in front of the cameras with you and calling for a reasoned discussion of the issues, Mansell will move from the marginalized to the mainstream.”

  “And it will encourage the business community to take a second look at what we’re proposing and we’ll win the referendum.”

  “What about Brock?”

  “Jo, I know you’ve hoped that Brock would succeed me as mayor, but be realistic. Brock’s one of my closest friends. You know how much I respect and admire him, but he has too much baggage to be elected.”

  “You’ve never mentioned Brock’s baggage before.”

  “The issue wasn’t relevant before. Now that you’ve thrown down the gauntlet, the issue has become relevant. You gave Lancaster twenty-four hours to make their move, and they did.” Zack’s voice was even.

  “I overplayed it,” I said. “I was planning to start positioning Brock to run for mayor in September. Mansell’s people will use the footage of you and Mansell presenting a united front to undercut Brock’s candidacy before it gets off the ground. I’ll call Mansell and tell him we want a private meeting.”

  “Before you do that, let’s call Brock and tell him what’s happening.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t want Brock to feel that you turned down Mansell’s offer to make a joint statement because of him.”

  Zack was moving to get out of bed. I watched as he transferred his body onto his wheelchair and picked up his robe. “I’m not turning down Mansell’s offer, Joanne. I’m going to call Brock and explain my decision. He’ll understand. We were elected to serve all the people. Making the joint statement is the best thing for the city. I’ll call from the living room so I don’t disturb your sleep.”

  Zack was back in fifteen minutes. “Brock’s fine with me making the statement,” he said. “And I’ve called Mansell. We’re meeting in front of City Hall at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No point,” I said. “It sounds like a done deed.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “Very, and I’m disappointed. I’ve seen you in court, Zack. I know the lengths you’ll go to get the outcome that’s favourable to you. But until this moment, I never realized you’d sacrifice a friend to win.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  Zack was still sleeping, or pretending to sleep, when I got up. After I let the dogs out, I made two phone calls. Brock was sanguine about the possible ramifications of the joint statement on his own political career. “We were elected to serve all the people,” he said. “Winning the referendum is the best thing for the city.”

  “So you’re swallowing Zack’s argument hook, line, and sinker,” I said. “What about your political future?”

  “I spent the night thinking about that. And after I got past my injured pride, I realized that as councillor for Ward 6 and director of Racette-Hunter, I’m exactly where I should be. Racette-Hunter’s just starting to realize its potential. I want to do everything I can to make sure the centre succeeds. If I ran for mayor, I couldn’t do that.”

  “But as mayor you could do so much more,” I said.

  “I could, but Margot and our children would be forced to pay a price they shouldn’t have to pay. Jo, Margot and I need to have a private life that’s private. The family we have is not traditional, but it works, and it will continue to work if we can simply be the people we are. That means Margot and I will both be free to have relationships with other people. Our kids will grow up knowing that there are other people in their mother’s life and in mine, but the central truth will always be that Margot and I love each other and we love them.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I really do. Brock, I’m sorry if I pushed too hard.”

  “You didn’t,” he said. “To be honest, it was flattering to be pushed. But we can talk about this later. Margot and I are taking the kids to Lawyers’ Bay for the day, so we’ll see you there.”

  “Good. I’ll feel better when I can see you and know you’re really all right with this.”

  When I filled Milo in on my talk with Brock he, too, was sanguine. “Brock’s a sensible guy, and given his situation it’s a good decision.” His laugh was rueful. “But, wowsers, that would have been an epic campaign to run.”

  “There’ll be other epic campaigns.”

  “True, and there are always diversions,” Milo said. “For starters, I just learned that last night Mansell Donnelly either left or was thrown out of the family homestead.”

  “You’re kidding. So I guess he and Quinn aren’t joined at the hip after all.”

  “Not any more. Apparently when Mansell called me about the joint statement with Zack, he was acting on his own. Quinn was not pleased. They had words, and they did not share a bed last night.”

  “Milo, how do you know these things?”

  “I’m a good listener,” he said airily. “Anyway, hang on to your toga because there’s bigger news. At the media meet today, Mansell is not only going to join Zack in calling for civility, but he’s also going to announce that he’s supporting the Yes vote in the referendum.”

  “You’re sure of your source.”

  “Yep, and I’ll be standing right beside you outside City Hall when Mansell has his big moment.”

  “Milo, why don’t you ride out to the lake this afternoon? We have a lot to talk about. You can swim, and I’ll teach you how to make s’mores.”

  “An offer I can’t refuse. I’ll be there.”

  I could smell the coffee as soon as the dogs and I came up from our run on the beach. The table was set, the dogs’ water dishes were filled, bacon sizzled on the grill, and there was a bowl of fresh strawberries at my place. Zack brought me a cup of coffee. His eyes were deeply shadowed. He had not slept well.

  “Truce?” he said.

  “Truce,” I said, and I kissed the top of his head.

 
By the time we left for the city, Madeleine and Lena were having breakfast in the sunroom with Taylor, Gracie Falconer, and Isobel Wainberg. The drive into town was pleasant. The heat had broken and so had the tension between Zack and me. While the dogs and I were on our run, Mansell had called Zack to tell him he was going to announce his support for the referendum, so the subject of our conversation was how to handle what came next.

  A cool breeze snapped the flags in the Queen Elizabeth Courtyard in front of City Hall. Pride Week was on the horizon. Soon the rainbow flag would fly alongside the flags of Canada, Saskatchewan, the Union Jack, Regina, Treaty4, and the Métis nation.

  It was Sunday morning, and there’d been no attempt to alert the public to the fact that Mansell and Zack would be appearing jointly to make statements. But TV vans were parked along Victoria Avenue, cameras and microphones were already set up in the Queen Elizabeth Courtyard, and the media were waiting.

  Mansell arrived just as we did. In a small cosmic joke it happened that Mansell and Zack had dressed alike: dove-grey suits, pale-blue shirts, and dark-blue paisley ties. They gave each other an appraising glance and smiled. It was an auspicious beginning. When they’d talked earlier, Mansell and Zack had decided that after statements stressing the need for conciliation, cooperation, and civility from the opposing camps, Mansell would announce that he was now supporting Zack’s bylaws and would encourage citizens to vote Yes in the referendum. Zack would say that there would be no questions and thank the media for coming out.

  Milo was already there in his invariable uniform of black T-shirt, chinos, lace-up black Keds, and ballcap. Mansell and Zack didn’t waste time glad-handing. They approached the microphones and delivered their appeal for calm and reason. When Mansell announced his change of position on the new bylaws, a moment of stunned silence was followed by a barrage of questions. The two men shook hands, and then, camera people and print journalists in tow, Mansell headed towards his car. His surprise statement had turned a staged-for-media event into front-page news.