by Gail Bowen
Zack reached over and stroked my leg. “I was hoping you’d choose that option.”
When we turned onto our street, Taylor’s car was in our driveway. “Looks like our day of surprises just spawned another surprise,” I said.
Zack shook his head. “It’s always a joy to see our daughter,” he said, “but her timing could have been better.”
“It could have been worse,” I said. “Taylor could have arrived half an hour from now, and it’s still her house. She never knocks.”
Taylor came running out to meet us. “I saw you pull up,” she said. “Where’ve you guys been?”
“Mortlach,” Zack said.
Her eyes sparkled. “You went to the Little Red Market Café,” she said. “A group of us went there for dinner one night during the Sisters and Strangers shoot. There was a problem with the lighting, and all the actors and peripheral people like me got off early. One of the grips suggested we have dinner in Mortlach. It was snowing like crazy that night, but the Cajun food was worth the white-knuckle drive.”
“I’m sure it was,” I said.
Taylor slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “And of course, you went there because it’s your birthday, and all I’ve done is ramble on about me. Happy birthday. I love you. I love you too, Dad.” She hugged us both. “I didn’t forget your birthday, Jo. Your birthday is why I’m here. I have a surprise gift that can’t be a surprise because I’m going to be working on it for at least a week — as soon as the McCudden crew finishes the reno of the swimming pool room, and I get the commission I’m working on out of the way. So, what do you think?”
Zack grinned. “Your mother and I could probably give you a more informed opinion if we knew what you were talking about.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Angus always said I was a space cadet. Looks like he was right. I’m going to make some art on the walls in the swimming pool room. That white paint is bleak, and Dad, you know you’ll use that as an excuse to get out of swimming.” Taylor lowered her voice into a whining bass. “I know I should do twenty laps, but it’s like a fucking morgue in there.”
Zack and I were both laughing, but Taylor carried on. “Anyway, I’ve worked out what I want to do, and today I’ve been taking measurements and photos. The twins’ birthday party doesn’t start till four. That gives me two hours to get the supplies I need. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to take off now and I’ll meet you at the party.”
Our daughter kissed us again, and then like the whirlwind she had become that afternoon, she was gone.
Zack widened his eyes and shrugged. “When everything breaks your way, don’t ask questions, seize the moment.” He turned his chair towards the hall to our bedroom. “Ready when you are,” he said.
* * *
Zack and I arrived at the Crawford-Kilbourn house ten minutes before party time. Mieka, Madeleine and Lena were already at work transforming the twins’ backyard into the world of pirates. Mieka had owned and managed UpSlideDown for over a decade, and she estimated that in that time she had hosted over a thousand birthday parties. The girls had often helped her, and, as a family, they had decided that their present to the twins would be a pirate party, complete with decorations, games, food and pirate talk.
Mieka had picked up Madeleine and Lena from school early, and the three of them had hit the ground running. Pete and the twins had joined Charlie and Des at their house, so the party planners were distraction-free, and they had worked wonders.
Skull and crossbones flags flew from the flagpoles on the garage and the Rocky Mountain Play Structure and Clubhouse; plastic palm trees flanked signs bright with illustrations for non-readers, marking the locations of Pirates Rock, Crocodile Beach, Shark Cove, Lost Lagoon, Sea Monster Swamp and the starting point for all the fun: the Pirates’ Clubhouse. Vinyl tablecloths, decorated with maps alerting the unwary to the perils of a pirate’s life, covered the picnic tables, and twelve treasure chests were lined up on a low table at the edge of the patio.
When Mieka and the girls saw us, they raced over. After a round of hugs and happy birthdays, Mieka said, “We’ve been trying to call you guys all day. Where’ve you been?”
“We went to Mortlach for lunch,” I said.
Madeleine nodded approval. “That sounds nice. What else did you do?”
“That was about it,” Zack said. “Mimi and I had a lazy morning and then we had a nap before we came here.”
Lena was incredulous. “It was Mimi’s birthday, and all you did was have lunch and a nap. Granddad, that’s not much of a birthday.”
“It’s what I wanted,” I said.
Madeleine, a born mediator, attempted to explain. “Lena, what you want to do on your birthday changes. When you’re growing up, you want parties; older people want naps.”
Mieka, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh, snorted. Fortunately, Lena had already lost interest in the discussion. “Hey, look!” she said. “Uncle Pete, Charlie and the boys just came through the side gate.”
They might have come through the side gate, but as soon as the twins spotted the pirate decorations, they took off, and they were now on the move. After a brief exchange, Pete took Des from Charlie; Charlie sprinted after the boys, and Pete joined Zack and me.
“Charlie’s riding herd on the dynamic duo,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you two.”
Mieka gave her brother a sisterly shoulder pat. “Time for the ladies and me to get back to work.”
“Okay, so what’s up?” I asked.
My older son had always gone straight to the point. “I invited Jill to come today,” he said.
“Wow! That’s a surprise,” I said. Zack shot me a worried glance. “But it’s a good one,” I added quickly. Reassured, Zack’s focus shifted back to the baby in his arms.
“Mieka said you’d be pleased,” Pete said. “She sent me the Kintsugi video about repairing broken pieces of pottery with lacquer and powdered gold.”
“The art of precious scars,” I said. “It’s a beautiful idea. Kintsugi helped me find my way with Jill too.”
“So far I’ve just talked to her on the phone,” Pete said. “This will be our first face-to-face, and I’ve never been great at social situations. I don’t want to blow it, Mum.”
“You won’t,” I said. “You have a good heart, and in a few minutes we’re going to be attacked by twelve pirates under the age of six. You have nothing to worry about. I guarantee the pirates will break the ice for you and Jill.”
Pete gave me a smile of goofy relief. “Thanks. Now, I should rescue Charlie from the twins.” He flashed Zack a victory sign. “Des was not a happy boy on his way here in his car seat, but you’ve got the magic touch, big guy.”
“He does, indeed,” I said. This time it was Zack’s turn to give me a goofy smile.
* * *
Jill came to the party alone. For a few moments, she stood just inside the gate looking around. She seemed unsure, but Pete must have been watching for her, because he was at her side almost immediately. Some of the parents of the children at the party had lingered after delivering their child, and Pete introduced Jill and stayed with her chatting until the parents left, and he and Jill both went over to join Mieka.
Taylor arrived at the party with Noah Wainberg and his grandson Jacob, who bore an uncanny physical resemblance to Noah’s late wife, Delia.
Jacob and his cat, Toast, were frequent visitors to our cottage when we were at the lake, and that day, as always, Jacob was happy to see us. He was interested in Des, whom he was seeing for the first time, but a three-week-old baby was no match for the allure of the growing number of young pirates who were gathering at the clubhouse, and when Taylor offered to help Jacob find the pirate chest with his name on it, the two of them were gone in a flash.
Charlie D had helped his namesake and Colin dress in the striped jerseys and bandanas that were in the t
reasure chests labelled with their names, and the boys were already in the thick of the action. Zack was not ready to relinquish Des, so Charlie D, still a boy at heart, ran off to join the pirates.
Noah, Zack and I mulled aloud over Thanksgiving plans. Isobel Wainberg was studying at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and, since American Thanksgiving wasn’t until November, she wouldn’t be home then. Taylor and Gracie would be here for the long weekend, but they were moving Taylor into Gracie’s condo on Monday. Des was being baptized that Sunday, so our family was having Thanksgiving dinner in Regina on Saturday with the Wainbergs, Rose, Betty and whoever else was eager to take a place at the table.
There were always extra guests, but we had agreed that a 12.8-kilogram turkey, a large bone-in ham and a vegetarian option should be sufficient, when Zack asked if I could take Des while he made a pit stop. Noah brought over two lawn chairs, and we settled in.
As he watched Zack wheel towards the house, Noah said, “Zack’s in good form.”
“He loves being a grandfather.”
“I do too,” Noah said. “When Jacob and Toast come barrelling down the hall and jump into bed with me in the morning, the odds that I’ll make it through the day turn in my favour.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said.
“It is, but then an hour later, or a day later or a week later, something will trigger a memory and just like that, I’m standing on the lip of the chasm again.”
“That’s the way it is for Zack too. He’ll be fine for weeks and then seemingly out of nowhere, the darkness hits.”
“What do you do?”
“I wait,” I said. “That’s all I can do. Zack won’t talk about it.”
“This project I’ve been working on with Taylor is helping me,” Noah said. “She’s hoping it will help Zack too.”
“What project?” I said. “I didn’t know you and Taylor were working on something together.”
Noah groaned. “And you weren’t supposed to know. Can we just forget the last thirty seconds of our conversation?”
Des seemed to frown; his face grew red and then relaxed. Noah and I waited for a minute or two, and then he said, “I think it may be time for a diaper change.”
“I think you may be right,” I said. “And a diaper change takes precedence over everything, including whatever it was we were talking about a minute ago.” I stood. “I’m going to take this guy into the house and clean him up. Maisie and Mieka seem to be conferring, so I think the games are going to start. I’ll catch up with you and Zack when Des and I are less pungent.”
When I came back out, Zack and Noah were with Charlie and Pete. Des was clean but hungry, so Charlie took his son to Mieka and rejoined us. “All’s well with mother and child,” he said. “And Mieka assures me that everything is under control.” He took in the scene and shook his head. “Could have fooled me.”
At UpSlideDown, Mieka had adopted my rule for the number of guests at children’s birthday parties: the child’s age plus two. I had no idea where the equation originated, but it had served me well. Now my daughter-in law, who was herself a twin, had adapted the equation for her sons. A guest for each year of the child’s age plus one extra guest per twin.
On paper, two hosts and ten birthday guests was an eminently manageable number, but when the numbers became children — each of whom was six years old or younger, pumped for a party in a large backyard with a Rocky Mountain Play Structure and Clubhouse that had been transformed into a pirate’s paradise — there was bedlam.
Kids that age are as quick and agile as cats. Determined to experience everything, they are constantly on the move, and in the first moments of the party, it seemed that the hosts and the original ten guests had morphed into a small but anarchic army. Mieka and Maisie were standing with Madeleine and Lena. All wore black leggings, and black-and-white striped pirates’ jerseys. Mieka and her daughters had tied brightly coloured scarves pirate-style around their hair; Maisie was bare-headed. Despite the chaos they seemed unperturbed.
Then, after a brief exchange, Maisie reached into the large black duffle bag on the ground beside her, removed a lanyard, which she slipped around her neck, and a black tricorne, trimmed with gold braid and three scarlet feathers. She jammed the tricorne over her thick copper curls and then strode towards the play structure. She effortlessly scaled the rope to the second level, stood for a moment surveying the scene and then took the bosun’s whistle hanging on the lanyard, placed it between her lips and blew two notes.
The sound of a bosun’s whistle is shrill, piercing and loud enough to be heard by every seaman aboard a ship in the middle of a storm-tossed sea. When Maisie sounded the two-note blast, the effect was electric. The twins and their guests moved towards her as if they were under a spell.
Maisie has a strong, carrying voice, and she didn’t have to raise it. The children were silent as they stood in a ragged line looking up at the woman in the tricorne. Maisie held out her whistle. “This is called a bosun’s whistle,” she said. “Pirate ships at sea are noisy places, especially during storms. Commands have to be given so that everyone knows what they should do to keep the ship afloat, but the pirates are all too far apart to hear each other.
“The bosun blows this whistle so that everyone on board the ship knows exactly what they should be doing. That long low pitch I blew before means pay attention. When the pirates hear that sound, they know the next sounds the whistle makes will tell them what to do.” Maisie blew a high pitch note and then a low pitch note. “This bosun blast means all hands on deck, and that means all the pirates should come up on deck and stand together, so they’ll know what to do next. Here’s the third bosun blast.” Maisie blew a warbling sound, like the song of a canary. “That blast tells the pirates that another ship is about to pass them. If it’s a friendly ship, the bosun blows this whistle to let the other ship know there won’t be any trouble. Finally, when the other ship has passed, the bosun makes this canary sound with his whistle.” Maisie blew some warbling notes. “This bosun blast means stand down and that means each pirate can go back to what he was doing before.
“We’re going to start the activities now. So, listen to the whistle blasts and do what they tell you to do. Whistle blast number one means listen up. Whistle blast number two means all hands on deck — that means you all come together. After whistle blast number three — the canary sound — we’ll tell you what activity you’re going to do. Whistle blast number four means the activity’s over and it’s time to listen for whistle number one. Got it?”
Charlie and Colin had obviously been practising with their mother and they shouted, “Got it.” When Maisie repeated the question, all the kids shouted, “Got it.” The party had officially begun.
For the next hour the bosun’s whistle blew to signal the beginning and ending of each activity, and Colin, Charlie and their guests went on a treasure hunt, walked the plank, divided into teams for a race in which the members of the team who crossed the finish line first with a bagel on their foam swords each won a plastic parrot. This being the Age of Participation, there were also parrots for the team that finished last, for the team that dropped the bagel most often and for the team that dropped the bagel least often. And finally all engaged in a game of a mutiny where kids paired up to chase Captain Maisie and her crew, First Mate Mieka back on duty, and her underlings, Pirates in Training Madeleine and Lena, were all captured and wrapped in toilet paper by the rebellious pirates.
My single criterion for a successful birthday party is one where neither the birthday child nor a guest cries. By that criterion Charlie and Colin’s party was a triumph. The guests who sat down at the pirate picnic tables were scrubbed clean, exercised, happy and hungry.
They mowed through the menu of pirate food: Goldfish; pretzel peg legs; cannon balls (mini-meatballs); seaweed (green linguine); gold doubloons (chicken nuggets); pirate’s teeth (pigs in blankets); three waterm
elons fitted out as pirate ships, one carrying cubes of cheese, one carrying cut-up veggies and one carrying cut-up fruit; and two pirate birthday cakes for dessert — all washed down with pirate grogs (healthy smoothies that no kid turned their nose up at).
We were sitting at the adults’ table with Pete, Maisie, Mieka, Charlie, Jill and Taylor. We all enjoyed the meal, and none of us felt the need for conversation. It was pleasure enough simply to listen to the piping voices of kids discussing their lives and times. As he washed down his last pirate tooth with pirate grog, Zack sighed contentedly and took my hand. “I hope you’ve had as much fun today as I did.”
“I couldn’t have asked for anything more,” I said. “Maisie, unless you need help with clean-up, I think Zack and I are about ready to take off.”
“No cleaning up on your birthday,” Maisie said.
“The clean-up is part of the Kilbourn-Dowhanuik deluxe birthday party package,” Mieka added. “We’ve got this, Mum.”
“In that case, we’ll wait till Jill comes back, hug the birthday boys and head for home.”
Jill had been buoyant throughout the party. Everything delighted her; most of all, I think, she was simply delighted to be there. With her smart gamine haircut, caramel cashmere tunic and matching slacks, Jill was a far cry from the girl with the untamed carrot-red hair and fierce loyalty to the women’s clothing racks at Value Village she had once been, but that afternoon she sparkled with the joie de vivre that three decades earlier made being with her a delight.
When she returned from taking her call, the sparkle was gone. Jill was pale and stricken, drained of life. Charlie D went to her. “What’s wrong?”
Jill hugged herself as if she was suddenly very cold. “A farmer found Ellen Exton’s body this afternoon. A blocked culvert was causing some flooding. He had trouble finding a tool with a long enough reach to clear out the blockage.” Jill’s eyes were blank, and she seemed to sway. Charlie steadied her and guided her to sit down at our picnic table.