by Gail Bowen
Milo walked us to our car. Zack got into the driver’s seat and began taking his wheelchair apart. Milo and I stepped aside to give him room.
“Do you give rain checks on the s’mores lessons?” Milo said.
“Of course. Did something come up?”
“Just some stuff I’d like to check out.”
“While you’re checking, see if you can find out where Slater Doyle was this morning,” I said.
“Slater was up shit creek,” Milo said. “That’s where he’s been since Lee’s death. Quinn might have started the rumour, but Slater orchestrated the smear campaign against Lee. Word has it that Lee’s funeral got to Mansell and he insisted Quinn deep-six Slater.”
“And Quinn refused?” I said.
“So far, she’s hanging tough. But my guess is that unless Slater comes up with something fast, even Quinn will be ready to turn her bad boy’s ass to grass.”
“And you got this information where?” Zack asked.
“Here and there,” Milo said.
Brock and the granddaughters were working on an old Charlotte’s Web puzzle when we got back. “Taylor and Declan took the dogs for a walk,” Brock said. “So I’m getting acquainted with Fern and Wilbur.”
Zack rolled over to investigate. He was terrible at puzzles, but he never stopped trying. When the girls saw him pick up a puzzle piece, they tensed. “It’s okay, Granddad. We’re just about through,” Lena said.
Zack tried jamming a piece that was clearly part of Wilbur’s snout into a cloud and then into a space at the base of some foliage. “But you’ve still got half the puzzle to go,” he said.
“Lena just meant we’re done for the day,” Madeleine said. She smiled at Zack. “So, Granddad, you can go off and do whatever you want to do.”
Brock stood. “Zack, we both have office work we should catch up on.”
“And the girls and I have a project of our own,” I said.
“Your vegetable garden,” Zack said.
“Right. Tomorrow’s June 1, I think it’s safe to get seeds in the soil.”
When Madeleine, Lena, and I decided to plant a garden at the lake, we went online and consulted The Old Farmers’ Almanac. We were following the almanac’s advice to the letter. We had chosen a place behind the cottage that got plenty of sun, over eight hours a day, and offered good drainage. As the almanac advised, we kept our plot small – five metres by three. Noah Wainberg dug the garden, and the girls and I added compost to the soil.
Since the first week in May, we had been gardening on paper. We had ruled eleven rows running north to south to take full advantage of the sun. Each row would be three metres long. Lena had drawn vegetable pictures to indicate what we would plant where; Madeleine had written the names of the vegetables on Popsicle sticks with an indelible felt-tip pen. Finally, we had shopped for seeds. That Sunday armed with the map of the garden, the Popsicle sticks, and the seeds, we set to work. As we planted, we talked about Lee – her life, her death, and what it all meant. The girls had many questions, and I had few satisfactory answers, but it was good to talk while the sun beat down on our backs and our hands were buried in the loamy earth.
None of us wanted our time at the lake to end, so we decided to stay over and go back to the city early the next morning. That night after we got the kids to bed, the adults sat out on the deck with a cooler of Coronas and soft drinks, a basket of tortilla chips, and a bowl of Zack’s charred tomatillo guacamole, a dish that was almost as good as he believed it to be. A nearly full moon hung in the dark sky, and the night was quiet except for the slap of the waves against the shoreline.
Zack took a sip of his beer and sighed contentedly. He turned to me. “We need more nights like this, Joanne. When I’m through with the mayor thing, let’s make every weekend a long weekend at the lake.”
“Fine with me,” I said. “But it’ll be two and half years before you’re through with the mayor thing.”
Margot took a handful of chips and scooped some guacamole onto her plate. “What are you planning to do when you leave City Hall?” she asked.
“Go back to being a lawyer,” Zack said. “I miss the rush.”
“So do I,” Margot said. “In two and half years, Kai and Lexi will be old enough for me to split my time between home and work.”
“And with Falconer Shreve now officially a family-friendly firm you’ll actually be able to work part-time,” Zack said.
I turned to my husband. “Can you get in on that part-time lawyer thing?”
“Zack will be able to write his own ticket,” Margot said. “The firm needs him. We have some promising associates, including Maisie and Angus, but Falconer Shreve needs the old bull to share his wisdom about how to survive in the ring.”
“I’m not crazy about the bull analogy,” Zack said. “Any bull that outsmarts a matador is executed.”
“Retribution?” I said.
“No,” Zack said. “The theory is that the bull will have learned enough moves to kill his next opponents.”
Margot grinned. “You’ve always known how to gore the next matador, Zack.”
“A lot will have changed in two and half years,” I said. “The old bull and I will be empty-nesters. Taylor will be in university.”
Taylor and Declan were sitting side by side on the porch swing. “In Toronto,” Taylor said. “I’ve decided to go to OCAD.”
I felt a pang. “The old College of Art,” I said.
Taylor smiled. “Is that what they called it when you were at U OF T? Now they teach drawing and painting, material art and design, photography, printmaking, sculpture, installation, critical studies, and so many other things I’ll either need to know or want to know. I’ve checked online and OCAD is the right place for me. I need to be somewhere where I can see a lot of art and the school is right next to the Art Gallery of Ontario. And I want to be with other people who are making art. Most of all I just want to paint.”
“Toronto really does have a great art scene,” Declan said, “and it’s an hour from New York and Chicago. By the time Taylor graduates from high school, I’ll be in my final year at U OF T. We can share a place.”
Zack narrowed his eyes. “But just as roommates,” he said.
Taylor was gentle. “Who knows? As Jo said, a lot can change in two and a half years.” When Zack sputtered, Taylor held out her hand to him. “Dad, would you mind passing the guacamole?”
That night when Zack and I went in to say goodnight to Taylor, I felt the weight of Zack’s eyes on me, and after he left, I stayed behind. Taylor’s smile was impish. “I’ll bet you a loonie I know what you want to talk about.”
“I never make a bet I know I’m going to lose. May I sit down?”
Taylor patted the bed. “Of course.”
“You know how fond your dad and I are of Declan,” I said.
“Then there’s no problem,” Taylor said. She hugged her knees. With her face scrubbed clean and her breath minty with toothpaste, she seemed like the little girl I’d always known. “I thought you and Dad would be relieved that I wasn’t going off somewhere by myself,” she said.
“We are,” I said. “It’s just hard for us to let go. I read once that the love between a parent and a child is the only love that must grow towards separation.”
Taylor had her birth mother’s expressive mouth. I could always read her mood by looking at her lips. At that moment her mouth showed sadness but also resolve. “I guess that’s true,” Taylor said. “I love you. You’re my family, and you’ll always be my family. But after I finish high school, I’ll have to find my own way.”
“And your own way is with Declan,” I said.
She nodded. “We’re good together.”
“Taylor, didn’t you ever think you might want to date other people?”
“No,” she said. “I listen to how the other girls at school talk about boys. There’s so much drama. One minute a girl is crazy happy and the next she’s suicidal. Declan and I know we’re right for
each other, so why complicate things?”
“I just think that maybe you should both be meeting other people, having other experiences.”
“We don’t want that. We want what we have. Jo, when did you know Dad was the right man for you?”
“About a week after I met him,” I said.
“And you’ve never wanted to be with anybody else since then.”
I hesitated.
Taylor’s face pinched with concern. “Are you and Dad having problems?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I heard you last night.”
My heart sank. “It was just a political disagreement.”
Taylor’s voice was small. “Did Milo have something to do with it?”
“Why would you think your dad and I would be having a problem about Milo?”
“Because of the way he looks at you.”
“Taylor, Milo doesn’t let many people get close to him. He’s let me get close, and Milo and I are both grateful for that, but we’re friends – that’s all. I’m old enough to be Milo’s mother, and I love your father.”
“I love him too,” Taylor said. “And I love you. And I like Milo a lot. He and I have had some really good talks. I was just worried.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I said. “I promise.”
The next morning, after I dropped Taylor off at school and Zack at City Hall, I went up to the roof garden and stretched out on a lazy lounge with an old copy of The New Yorker and tried not to think about the troubling conversation with our daughter the night before. My cell rang just as I finished a vignette in “Talk of the Town” about Neil Patrick Harris’s makeup regime for his role as the transgender protagonist in Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
It was Margot. “Good. I caught you before you got started on your day,” she said. “Where are you?”
“Up on the roof reading about Neil Patrick Harris.”
“I love him,” Margot said. “Got time to come down here for a visit? There are a couple of things I’d like to run by you.”
“I’ll be there in two minutes,” I said.
Margot met me at her condo door with Kai in her arms and Lexi at her heels. “Take a child, any child,” she said. “But if you break it, it’s yours.”
I picked up Lexi. She had an orange mouth and a sodden Cheezie in her hand. She offered the Cheezie to me.
I had eaten many Cheezies of dubious provenance, but this one had toilet paper stuck to it.
“Thank you,” I said. “But I’m still full from breakfast.”
“Good call,” Margot said. “That Cheezie has been around since I was an object of unbridled lust.” She stepped aside. “Come inside. Tread carefully. Those Fisher-Price Little People are sneaky.”
“I remember,” I said. I gazed around Margot’s condo. Like ours, it was an open-concept plan with a vaulted ceiling and skylights. Two storeys of light, hardwood, granite, and glass. Margot’s original decorating choices had been cool and elegant – soft creamy leather couches, ivory worsted-wool Wilton carpets, a round mahogany dining room table with chairs upholstered in the palest yellow silk. A perfect setting for the sleek, flaxen-haired, immaculate trial lawyer whose dagger nails were always painted the signature red that suggested danger.
As the single parent of two children under the age of two, Margot had made some changes. The Wilton carpet and the mahogany table were bearing up, but the creamy leather of the couches was now protected by bright, washable throws; the silk-upholstered dining room chairs were in a storeroom in the basement, replaced by two high chairs and sturdy, wide, deep adult chairs that a child could not tip over. The dagger nails were now short and unpolished; the flaxen hair had returned to its natural honey blond, and these days Margot’s wardrobe was pretty much wash and wear. That morning she was in sneakers, blue jean cutoffs, and a T-shirt that read “Childbirth: A Labour of Love.”
She blew a strand of hair back off her forehead. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I really am still full from breakfast.”
“In that case, I’m going to take advantage of having another adult present and feed my hungry boy.” We trouped into the living room, where Margot and Kai settled into the birchwood rocking chair that Margot favoured for nursing. A basket filled with bright blocks was on the floor beside her. I squatted, picked up the basket, and held it towards Lexi. “Do you want to play blocks with me?” I said.
“No,” she said, and then she came over, plopped down, emptied the basket, and began piling blocks. I joined in. Kai had latched on to Margot’s breast and was tugging enthusiastically.
Margot beamed. “Sometimes I just have all the moves,” she said. “Before I forget, I called Maisie and asked if she wanted my maternity clothes. She does, and they’re all packed up and ready to go.”
Lexi was choosing only red blocks to pile atop one another. When I picked up a blue block and set it on the pile, she scowled. “Okay,” I said, removing the offending block. “I’ll keep blue over here with me.” Lexi immediately began handing me blue blocks.
“Smart girl,” I said. “I’ll take the clothes out to Maisie this afternoon. I always welcome an excuse to drive out there. I don’t want to hover, but Maisie has so much to deal with.”
“Maisie and I had a good talk when I called about the clothes,” Margot said. “It’s so hard to know what to say, so I followed her lead. She asked me to tell her how I managed to get through my pregnancy after Leland died.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her I kept reminding myself that I was carrying a new life and I had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. When that didn’t work any more, I crawled into bed and cried.”
“That’s about it,” I said.
“I also told Maisie to lean on other people when she needed to. I honestly don’t know how I would have made it through if I hadn’t known you and Zack were just across the hall.”
“That goes both ways, you know.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said. Kai was fussing, and Margot adjusted his position. When he snuggled right in, Margot turned her attention back to me. “I saw Zack and Mansell’s announcement on the news,” she said. “I’ve been pondering Mansell’s one-eighty on the referendum.”
“So has everyone else,” I said. “It was a shocker, and even more shocking, Mansell’s walked away from Quinn and Lancaster over it.”
Margot was thoughtful. “Leland said once that Mansell hadn’t drawn a breath without Quinn’s permission since the day they were married. He knew them both better than I did, of course. Quinn was a competitor, and Leland had some dealings with Mansell back when Mansell was still farming. Apparently, he was a different man then. He loved the land, loved his life, was filled with plans and dreams, and then, about ten years ago, he walked away from it all and ended up as a puppet for Lancaster. That always puzzled Leland. He said it was as if Mansell simply gave up on life.”
“Maybe Mansell’s decision to break with Quinn and Lancaster is a sign that he’s back in the game,” I said.
Margot was wistful. “That would make Leland happy.”
“That would make me happy too,” I said. “The day of the wedding, I got a glimpse of the old Mansell, and I liked him.”
“We live in hope,” Margot said. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something else. Incredible as it may seem, Peyben’s just about ready to start selling houses and condos. I’ve seen our ad campaign for North Village, and it’s going to be a real boon to the Yes side. The ads show concrete proof that there’s a right way to reclaim the inner city. Our neighbourhood is a case in point. It was the worst, but Peyben took the time and spent the money on good materials and solid workmanship and we’ve created a real community.”
“You’ve done a terrific job.”
Margot waved her hand dismissively. “The concept was Leland’s. He’d already made all the decisions before he died. I just made sure Peyben followed through. I told the ad agency I wan
ted people to know what can be accomplished when a company commits to developing a mixed-use neighbourhood that will last for generations. They suggested a time lapse ad showing what this area looked like when Leland started and the process that led to what we have today.”
“Very smart,” I said, “to show that unlike throwing up tract housing, real urban renewal takes time. I have to admit, I was dubious that first year. The neighbourhood looked as if it had been bombed.”
“I remember,” Margot said. “Leland had to remind me more than once that there could be no phoenix without ashes. But two and a half years after that upheaval and destruction, we have North Village, and it really is what we promised: a place in the city where people of all ages and levels of income can live good lives.”
When his mother shifted Kai to the other breast, he attacked hungrily but quickly settled into making glugging sounds.
“No complaints about the grub from that boy,” I said.
Margot smoothed Kai’s thick black hair and kissed his head. “He’s going to be a big guy, like his dad,” she said. “Speaking of Brock. He’s seen the North Village ad, and he says it dovetails perfectly with what you’ll be doing in the past two weeks before the referendum. He loved the footage we included of the countryside just five minutes away from the village.”
“A proximity that will be preserved if the new bylaws go through,” I said.
“Right. And we hammer away at the fact that the infrastructure and services necessary for North Village – roads, sewers, water, power, public transportation, mail delivery – are already in place so our tax base won’t be sucked dry by skyrocketing infrastructure payments, and we didn’t spoil prime land outside the city with tract housing. The slogan we’re using is ‘Building upon what we have.’ What do you think?”
