Would I Lie to You

by Mary Lou Dickinson

  Sue thought she ought to feel delighted, but instead felt sad. All that wasted time when she might have known this woman. Now, Gwen already seemed so familiar that it was uncanny. Not just small likenesses to her and other members of Sue’s family, it was mannerisms that she recognized in herself, and the colouring of Gwen’s skin and hair. There were so many ways in which a stranger might tell they were related. This suddenly pleased her.

  “I have some photos to show you,” Gwen said. “Of my family.”

  Sue saw in her children something familiar also. There were features that either she or Maggie had had when they were younger as well as resemblances to Maggie’s children.

  “I have a sister,” Sue said. “You’d be able to tell that her children are related to yours. They’re older now, of course.”

  “I’d like to see pictures some time,” Gwen said.

  Sue decided it was time for her to broach the possibility of Gwen coming to the house on Walken Avenue.

  “Yes,” Gwen said thoughtfully. “I’d like that.”

  After agreeing on a time, they went on talking. Sue listened intently as Gwen spoke about her children. Her face lit up then and Sue could tell how proud she was of them and of her husband.

  “It’s not the best of times for architects,” Gwen said. “But Tony has done quite well, even over the downturn. With me working, we’ve been more fortunate than many. The kids do their share. Laundry. Dishes. Although you know kids.”

  She said it as if she assumed Sue, who merely smiled, did know. “Come look around,” Gwen said.

  Everywhere, Sue saw photographs of Gwen’s children. There were some of Gwen as a child and one of her parents. She was not surprised that Gwen did not look at all like either of them, nor like any of the other siblings. Yet she could see they were a close family in the way they smiled at the camera and even cavorted together, clearly glad to be together. She felt a twinge of longing, not for the baby she had not kept at sixteen who had fared better in this family than in any environment she could have provided, but for the child she had never raised. For the unborn children she might have had. She found herself suddenly regretting the solitary way in which she had chosen to live her life.

  Sue saw herself in a mirror as they walked up the stairs to the landing. A slim, handsome woman. She could also see that she had been beautiful once, that she might even be considered so still. The woman in the photographs of Gwen’s family had a full figure with ample breasts and a round face. Sometimes she wore glasses, at others she was holding them in her right hand. Her clothing was neat, but old-fashioned with round collars and pendants from another era. Sue thought of her as a woman much older than herself.

  “Do you mind if I ask how old your mother is?”

  “Almost seventy.”

  So she was a lot older. When Sue thought about it that seemed natural. She had been so young herself when this woman and her husband had adopted Gwen. “Is she in good health?”

  “Oh yes. Thank heavens.”

  “I’m grateful to her for giving you a home.”

  “All my life, I never felt that I was different from any of my sisters and brothers. She always made me feel loved and wanted.”

  “It’s a relief to know that. You wonder, you know.”

  “Well, yes, I’m sure you must.”

  Sue nodded. If she could rewrite the past she would. One thing was certain: she would never have gone through a pregnancy at sixteen because she would never have succumbed to the flattery of a young boy who wanted only the satisfaction of the moment. Ah, but I cannot rewrite the past, Sue thought. And she could never tell Gwen that she had been conceived in such a cavalier way.

  Gwen showed Sue the upstairs bedrooms, told her which one belonged to each child and then headed for the stairs to go down again.

  “I’m grateful to you for giving me my life,” Gwen said when they reached the kitchen.

  Sue nodded.

  “May I call you Sue?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to.”

  “Can you tell me any more about my father?”

  Sue stiffened.

  “I’d like to find him, too,” Gwen continued while she opened the refrigerator and took out some juice.

  “He doesn’t know about you. I thought I told you that. Perhaps I forgot.” This was not something Sue had anticipated and she did not know how to respond. So much lay under the veneer that she had presented for so long.

  “Yes, you told me. But I’d still like to find him. Maybe he would want to know.”

  The room lurched in a large, hazy circle. Plates on the walls appeared to be upside down and the photographs Sue had looked at so eagerly before now floated in space. It was as if she were lying or sitting on the ceiling, looking down on Gwen. She seemed to be horizontal or to be spinning.

  “I can understand you might be curious, but I don’t know what benefit there would be in telling him. And I have no idea where he is.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Sue,” Gwen interrupted. “But this is my life. I’ve lived for all these years wondering. Now I’ve met you and that’s what I’ve wanted for so long. And there’s still so much more to learn. Yes, about my birth family on your side. But I had a father. Even if all he did was plant a seed.”

  “Yes,” Sue said. “That is all he did.”

  “I have hurt you.”

  What was she supposed to say? Sue wondered. Could she even bring herself to utter his name now? She did not remember her parents telling her she could not tell him, but it had been understood. It was difficult to know what might have happened had he not left town, how she could have kept it from him. But likely she would have. She had never told anyone else in that town. She had never told anyone anywhere, until Florence had begun to probe and Hans to intimate she had something in her past to deal with.

  “His name was Peter Marshall,” she said. “Probably a fairly common name. I don’t know how you would begin to search for him.”

  “You could help me.”

  “How?”

  “You could start by asking anyone you still know who grew up with you where they think he might be now.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that.” Sue was sure she could not. And yet how could she refuse?

  Peter Marshall had had piercing green-blue eyes that she would never forget, that had seemed to see into her soul. Men do that when they want sex, she thought, but she had not known that soon enough. And he had likely just been learning himself. He had probably been filled with a longing he had not entirely understood yet either.

  “Well, you asked how.”

  “I guess I did.”

  Gwen was silent.

  “He was handsome,” Sue said finally. “And clever. I remember that we were both good at algebra.”

  “Maybe he’s a teacher or a scientist.”

  “Well, I suppose. Or algebra could just be a red herring.”

  Gwen looked disappointed. Her eyebrows, slightly plucked, were drawn together now to form lines over her nose. Her nostrils flared a little as she breathed deeply. As the tension in the room rose, Sue sensed that she was now an impediment.

  “I could ask Maggie,” she said. “My sister.”

  “Could you?” Gwen asked.

  “Not that she’ll know anything, but you never know.”

  “Will you call me if you find out anything?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Once she began to ask questions, other routes could open up. As she gathered bits and pieces of information, she could come up with something. It would be like a problem in algebra. She had loved problems. Why should this be different? In a country with the meagre population of Canada, surely she could figure out what had happened to a boy who had grown up with her in a northern mining town. There was Angus. Over the years, he had run into countless people from Maggie�
��s and her childhood even though he had come from a different place. If he had ever met Peter Marshall, he would not have made a connection with their family. She would ask Angus. She would also phone the woman who had been the mine manager’s daughter whom she still occasionally ran into at political meetings or movies in downtown Toronto. “We’ll find him,” she said. “Or we’ll find out what happened to him.”

  “Thanks,” Gwen said. Her face eased and her eyes were warm again.

  “When would you like to come to my home?” Sue asked.

  “In a couple of weeks?”

  “Well, then, what about two weeks today?”

  Afterward, heading west once more on the subway across the bridge over the Don River Valley, Sue felt as if she were floating. One day she had known nothing about her daughter. Now, she had met her. Now, she could begin to get to know her. A flutter of anxiety marred the picture as she visualized Peter as a greying, balding man walking into it.

  *

  Hens clucked and pranced around his feet as Hans went through the wire door to gather their eggs, the clucking drowning out any other noises. Heather would soon leave for the day and he was avoiding any encounter with her by staying out in the yard longer than usual. He had already fed the horses. When he emerged from the henhouse, Rusty jumped up and down, ready to play.

  He thought he saw Heather in the distance, opening her car door. When the engine turned over and growled, the sound turning into a hum as it disappeared down the driveway, he made his way back to the house. Soon, she would hand in her resignation. While in England, she had found a part-time job close to where her parents lived. Hans thought they had drifted toward this major change without either of them even aware it was happening. Or maybe she had been. But even when he had become involved with Sue, he had not intended that whatever cracks existed in his marriage would become insurmountable.

  Inside, he put the eggs in the refrigerator, keeping two out to fry with bacon. There was a note on the counter and he left it there. I’m being ridiculous, he thought. He was going to have to deal with everything sooner or later. He put the bacon in the pan before picking up the note.

  There’s only one solution, he read. We have to sell the farm.

  But she knew he could not live without the farm. She knew that.

  He read further.

  Please talk to a lawyer and get this in motion. I’m sorry that it’s ended like this.

  The bacon sizzled and he lifted it with a spatula to turn and move it to the side so he could crack the eggs open. He wondered if she had discovered his affair with Sue and had become vindictive. Surely, a lawyer would think of something he could propose to Heather so selling was not necessary. While his mind went on racing, he scrambled to find his calendar, his billfold, what he needed to take into the city for the day. Sheets still lay scattered on the bed, and the pillow was on the floor of the spare bedroom where he had been sleeping since Heather had returned.

  On the road south to the highway, his thoughts were on his land and of how much he would miss it if it had to be sold. Whatever happened, he would have to find a place where he could have Rusty with him. Ever since his sister died, he had felt as if life were not unfolding as it should. He was often irritated by clients who had a sense of entitlement, and yet here he was, thinking he was special enough to deserve to keep this property in the rolling hills. He supposed he’d had more than he deserved, but that did not lessen his frustration.

  After the leisurely drive south past farms and the occasional general store, he reached the 401, where all the vehicles seemed to travel at breakneck speed. He gestured to Rusty to stay down, but the dog seemed to know when the traffic changed without being told. Hans still gave his orders for good measure. It was just common sense to do so, he thought, but so many people had no idea how to handle animals.

  At the Spadina Expressway, he moved into the exit lane and drove down to Eglinton. Traffic was heavy as he came off the highway and he thought the Don Valley Parkway would have been faster. At least it took you to the centre of the city. As he passed by the bottom of Sue’s street, he wondered if this might be a day for him to find time to call her. But when he arrived at the building where he rented an office, he was already immersed again in knowing he would have to speak with a lawyer. As he put his sandwich in the small refrigerator in the waiting room that he shared with others on the floor, he was suddenly aware of a man sitting there. They nodded at each other.

  When he checked the calendar on his desk, he saw that this man had been for a reading once before. He could tell because that information was written in next to the name. Usually, that made a reading slightly easier. With only five minutes before the appointment, Hans thought there was just enough time to check with someone for a legal referral. As he moved quickly down the hall, there was one door open. Approaching Marlie, a social worker who always asked a lot of questions, would mean he might have to reveal more than he wanted. But she was the most likely to know.

  “A family lawyer,” he said when he found her at her desk and quickly told her what he was looking for. If he remained light in his approach, why would she assume anything other than he needed the information for a client? Maybe he needed it for the man whom she would have seen on her way past the waiting room.

  Her eyebrows moved up slightly as she reached for a small book in her purse and gave him two names. He thanked her and went back to his office where he closed the door quietly, sat down, and dialled the first number.

  The receptionist squeezed him in. The first half-hour would be free. He could decide if he wanted to continue. This appealed to him even though he knew there would be no turning back. Heather already had a lawyer and wanted to sell the farm. That would be the big issue. He wondered if she might still reconsider, but he wanted to see Rosalind Clement, the lawyer he had just called, whatever happened. Heather was determined when she set her mind on something. What would her parents think? They both liked him. If they knew he had taken a lover, they would be angry. But how could they know? He wondered if he should fly over to England to see them. He could still try to convince Heather not to walk out on their marriage, but he did not want to do this if his interest was only about the farm and it almost seemed to have come to that.

  Looking at the clock on the wall, he saw he was now five minutes late for his client. Even as he moved to the door, his thoughts were elsewhere. If he had enough money to buy Heather’s share of the farm, it would solve the dilemma. But he did not.

  As the man walked into the office, he hesitated near the chair on the other side of the table from Hans.

  “Yes,” Hans said. “That’s the hot seat.” He put a tape in the recorder on the table and when the man was seated and facing him, he turned it on.

  “I’ve just moved into this great house,” the man said. “I admired it for a long time and even thought of telling the owner to contact me if it were ever up for sale. But he didn’t. It was just good luck when the time came.”

  “You’re going to move to the United States,” Hans interrupted.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” the man asked in an irritated tone. “I just moved. I have no intention of moving again. I just uprooted my family for this house.”

  “You’re still going to move,” Hans said.

  “What the hell am I doing here?” the man asked loudly. “This information isn’t worth paying for.” He stood up and walked quickly out of the room.

  Oh well, Hans thought as the sound of footsteps receded down the stairs. He stood up and sighed. Men were often more demanding than women. They only came if they had something specific to ask and only if someone they knew had recommended him. Now, he would not know what had drawn this one to make another appointment. Nor would he be paid for his time.

  He was about to pick up the phone again when he heard his next client arrive. After he read for her, he went for a walk and came back to eat his sandwic
h. There was a message from Heather’s lawyer. She wanted to sell the farm. Well, he’d known that. No doubt about it now. If he could block her until he could figure out if there were a way to keep it, Hans thought he would have to do just that.

  “I’ll have my lawyer get to you soon,” was all he said when he returned the call.

  When his day of readings was over, he headed out onto the road again. It was after seven and he was hungry and tired. There were still trucks on every side of him as he sped past the highway north to Brampton. His was the next exit and as he edged over into the inside lane a long truck passed him. He often thought of wheels he had heard had come loose and flown into someone’s windshield and of truck accidents that seemed to have increased in the past year. Glad to leave the traffic on the 401 behind as he headed north to the farm, he turned on the radio to classical music.

  When he parked near the gate and walked to the house with Rusty jumping excitedly around him, Heather was at the door.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “I’d rather you didn’t stay here,” she said. “It would be better if you had some place else to sleep.”

  “Pardon,” he said, though he had heard her.

  She had been just over thirty when he married her and her daughter almost thirteen. Now, Heather was in her late forties and still attractive, with long hair streaked with grey. And she wore intriguing new reading glasses that slipped down over the end of her nose. Even so, it seemed the mystery in their marriage had vanished long before Sue had come along, and he knew he had not done enough to save it. Not that he could have, sensing something changing that he had not been able to pinpoint. It was deeper than the physical changes that seemed more a mark of her maturity, of her experience, of her beauty.

  “I’m going out to ride for a while,” she said.

  He pictured her astride the chestnut mare, London Fog. She was handsome when she rode. A competent rider himself, he was hesitant about night riding.

  “It’s dangerous,” he had said many times.