I should have known something was up when he didn’t tell me he was spending the summer on the Island. I found out from Grace, for chrissake. But fine, he was busy or whatever. I got over it. Assumed everything was back to normal until this morning, when I asked him to meet me at Hanlan’s Point—a quick and invigorating bike ride from his new home on Algonquin—and the bastard said no.
Pointed out that it was a workday for most people, and if I wanted to see him badly enough, I could come to Ward’s, meet him at the Rectory Café. He’d give me an hour and he’d pay for lunch, but that was as far as he was willing to go. The choice was mine.
“I don’t believe this,” I’d said. “You want me to abandon my principles just to save you from riding out to Hanlan’s?” He’d laughed at that. Said it wouldn’t be the first time.
I knew what he was getting at and I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Point out that I hadn’t had a drink in ten days. Not because I didn’t want one—which I did—but because I was going to need a fully functioning brain if I wanted to pull off this petition.
Brenda, Nadia, and I had spent the first weekend drinking nothing stronger than coffee while we set up the official head office of Sideshow Legal Services in Nadia’s room. And I was still dead sober when I sat down the following Monday to make up a list of things I’d need and figure out exactly what I had gotten myself into. It hadn’t taken more than a few hours to realize I was not only rusty in the practice of law, I was also in way over my head. Still, I’d pressed on, drawing up the papers, searching for a trustee, and waiting two full days to hear him say yes. Now, ten days later, we were ready. All the hurdles crossed except one—serving the petition. Walking in and plunking that paper into the hands of Mr. Klaus Vandergroot, CEO of Champlain Aerospace—the man who had stopped taking Mitch’s calls.
And last night when I was sitting in my room alone, staring at the blank space at the bottom of the petition, the space where Brenda’s representative would be named, the space where it would read “Elizabeth Donaldson, Attorney at Law,” I had wanted a drink so badly I would have parked my butt at any bar in the city and stayed for a week. But I didn’t because that was when it hit me. If we wanted this to work, we needed a different name in that spot. A name with clout, with weight, with credibility. And I’d best have a clear head if I was going to have a hope in hell of convincing Mark that the name should be his.
“I’ll be at the Rectory at noon,” he’d repeated. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll be on the eleven thirty ferry.”
So I was at the Ward’s Island ferry dock at eleven twenty-five, wearing dark glasses and a floppy hat, trying to blend in with the tourists while I followed the bikes and the grocery carts up the ramp to the Ongiara. Recognizing old Benny Barnes, of course, as well as a kid’s photographer from Algonquin and a feral cat crusader from Ward’s. Hoping none of them noticed me huddled there against the railing. Barely breathing until the ferry bumped the dock on the other side of the bay.
When the deckhands finally lowered the ramp, I risked a glance at Benny, watched him wheel his bike off the ferry and along the dock. I waited until everyone else was gone before walking across that ramp myself. The Rectory was only minutes from the dock and I moved quickly, head down, figuring I was home free until someone called my name.
“Liz Donaldson.” I jerked around. Sly old Benny Barnes waved at me. Fuck. I waved back and he came toward me. Double fuck.
“How are you then?” he asked. “Better than your mom, I hope. She’s been some odd lately, eh? Lots of stress, though, running that business and all.”
The Island drums had obviously been beating, carrying tales of the Donaldsons once more. “I guess. Listen it’s been nice talking to you—”
“Yeah, lots of stress.” He sniffed the air and cleared his throat loudly but thankfully didn’t spit. “Good thing she doesn’t know about Grace gallivanting off to the airport every morning. Or those picnics the two you have on the nude beaches. Probably kill the old girl, eh?”
Double double fuck.
The old bugger’s smarter than he looks, Great-Grandma Lucy used to say. Then she’d wink at me and smile, and I’d always wondered if they’d had an affair back in the day.
“Really hope your mother’s all right,” he continued. “She’s a right corker, Ruby is. Just like her grandma.” He smiled at me. “You’re a lot like them, Lizzie Donaldson. A lot like them.”
“God forbid,” I muttered.
“And don’t you worry. I won’t mention I saw you to a soul.” He started back toward his bike. “Wouldn’t want people talking about the Donaldsons again, would we?”
“Thanks, Benny,” I called, and hurried on to the Rectory, grateful the Island drums had been silenced—for a while anyway.
Mark was waiting for me by the bike rack outside the café. He looked good—slimmer with some color in his face. But he was clearly in work mode—dress pants, white shirt, a tie loosened at his throat. It occurred to me that I should have dressed more appropriately too. Pants instead of jeans. Shirt instead of tank top. Definitely no floppy hat. Promising myself I’d be more dignified next time, I waved and ran toward him, looking forward to having lunch at the Rectory again.
The café had been just another home slated for demolition back in the fifties and sixties, but the concrete construction of the grand two-story building had proved too much for the city’s bulldozers and they’d left it intact. Since then, it had filled a number of roles—including home to the priest of St. Andrew-by-the-Lake—but now it housed the Island Trust offices, the art gallery, the café, and a summer patio that was one of the most beautiful spots on the Island.
“Nice disguise,” Mark said, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Liar,” I said, checking the perimeter for old classmates, even older neighbors, before pulling off the hat and shucking the sunglasses. “Thanks for meeting me. Did you get a table?”
He nodded and I followed him through the gate to an oasis of wrought-iron tables shaded by trees and banked by flower boxes. Only a few tables were occupied—no one I knew—but the place would be jammed soon enough.
“We’re sitting over there, by the boardwalk.” He pointed to the far end of the patio and a table where Jocelyn and Grace sat drinking Cokes and passing their cell phones back and forth. One all in black, the very soul of adolescent angst, the other a picture of innocence in a kitten and puppy T-shirt. No wonder people were staring.
Grace spotted us and waved, a big dopey grin on her lovely face. Jocelyn’s expression didn’t change. Was she ticked at something or just staying in character? I didn’t know the kid well enough to tell. I’d only met her twice, at our weekly beach picnics. I was surprised the first time Grace brought her along, but they seemed to like each other. And Grace could definitely use a friend, even if she was a twelve-year-old Goth.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Mark said. “But Jocelyn’s never had a meal here, and Grace could use one.”
“A little privacy would have been nice—”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Liz. Do you need money? Because if that’s what this is about, then I can give you some work at the office. Filing mostly. They’re overloaded right now—”
“It’s not about money. I have a friend who needs help.”
“Are you already married to him?”
I felt my face warm. “My friend is a woman. Someone I’ve known for a while who now finds herself in a financial bind through no fault of her own.”
He looked over my shoulder, checking on the girls. “I’m not writing anyone a check, Liz. We both know how that turned out the last time.”
God, I sounded like a screwup when he talked that way. No wonder he wasn’t taking me, or my request for a meeting, seriously. I composed my face and adopted a lawyerly stance. “Mark, I don’t want a check, I want you to listen.”
A waitress delivered salads to our table. “The girls were hungry,” Mark said. �
�I ordered them something to start.” He folded his arms. “So tell me about this friend. Just keep it brief.”
Mark in work mode was rarely patient. I’d do well to remember that.
I took a breath and started in, laying out Brenda’s story and the problem they were having collecting the money. But I was rusty after two years away from the practice and I went off on tangents again and again. He wasn’t tactful about bringing me back, forcing me to stay on track. By the time I finished, I was sweating but excited, certain he’d see the value in performing this one small task.
“Petition to bankruptcy? Forget it. You don’t have a case.”
He started to walk away. I put a hand on his arm, holding him back. “I’m not trying to make a case. I’m only trying to shake these people up. Make them see that Brenda and Mitch mean business so they’ll pay their fucking bill.”
“Watch your language. My daughter has a foul enough mouth as it is without you adding to it.”
I held up both my hands. “I’ll be good, I promise. In fact, I’ll be a paragon of virtue if you just let me put the application in your firm’s name. Mark, I’m rusty and I don’t want to make a mistake. Plus, I’ll be going up against Hodgeson and Levi. If they see ‘Elizabeth Donaldson, Attorney at Law’ on the petition, they’ll eat me alive.” I paused and took a breath. Went for the heart. “Mark, these are good people. They deserve a little justice.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “What you’re trying to do is foolhardy at best. You can’t use the court to collect a bill.” He held up a hand when I started to object. “Let me finish. I understand you don’t think it will go that far, but the company you’re going to do this to might feel differently. They may continue to do nothing about the bill and agree to see you in court on the appointed date. After your case is thrown out, they might very well turn around and sue your friends. Are they prepared for that possibility?”
“It’s a nonissue. If they don’t pay, there will be nothing left to sue.”
He shook his head, frowned at a planter box. “I still don’t like it.”
I took a breath. Prepared to close. Reminded myself not to swear. “Mark, I know it’s unorthodox, but it’s their last shot. They’ll be bankrupt inside of a month without this.”
He thought for a moment, jaw working, eyebrows scrunching. I kept my mouth shut, let the silence play out as he’d taught me—once the deal was on the table, never be the first to blink. At last he folded his arms again and lowered his chin—the judge returning from chambers.
“Okay, I’ll sign your application, I’ll deliver it, and I’ll field the calls from Hodgeson and Levi, on one condition.”
My breath left in a rush, leaving me weak and a little giddy. “Anything.” I threw my arms around his neck. “Anything at all. As long as it doesn’t involve Ruby.”
“Then you can forget it.” He removed my arms and started walking. Brushed my hand away when I tried to stop him a second time.
“Mark, be reasonable,” I said, chasing him through the tables.
He stopped and turned on me. “Don’t speak to me about reasonable. You asked me earlier to listen to you, and I did. Now I’m asking you to listen to me. Your mother needs you to come back to the Island, and I need you to agree.”
I stared at him. “I can’t.”
He was on the move again. “Then you’re on your own with the petition.”
I hurried after him. “But I can’t do it on my own. I need the backing of your firm in order to pull this off.”
“Then take the deal.” He pulled out a chair when he reached the table. “Hey, girls, sorry we took so long. What looks good today?”
Grace smiled and said, “Everything,” but Jocelyn ignored him. Snatched her phone back from Grace and slouched lower in the seat. Obviously pissed off. And the target was Mark. Interesting.
He waved me into the chair across from him. “Have a seat, Liz. We need to order.”
I stayed where I was. “Why are you being such a prick about this?”
The girls went quiet. Mark raised his head and looked at me with the steady practiced gaze I had always admired—the one that always reduced his opponents to ash. “I warned you about that kind of language. Now sit down.”
“I can show you the new pictures of the mockingbird,” Grace said, trying to ease the transition.
“I’d like that,” I said, setting my hat on the table, my backpack on the ground as I took my seat. When the waitress arrived I handed her the menu and pointed to Grace. “I’ll have whatever she’s having. And bring me a double vodka with soda and a twist.”
“Bring her the soda with a twist,” Mark said. “No vodka.” He raised his water glass. “You can drink on your own nickel. Not mine.”
My face burned. “No lemon,” I told the waitress. “Just ice.”
She slunk away and Grace held out her phone. “See? That’s the new cage. It’s bigger with branches for her to climb on. And we made a nest from a hanging planter.”
I looked at the screen. Saw a cage. “That’s great,” I said while Mark opened his menu, took a pair of glasses from his pocket, and perused the page. I’d been dismissed. Turned into another child at the table. Any minute now he’d ask the waitress for crayons.
“And here’s the male dancing on the lawn.” Grace frowned. “It’s hard to tell, I guess, but he really is dancing.”
“I told her to video it,” Jocelyn said. “But she doesn’t know how.”
“Then you should show her,” Mark said, flicking his napkin open and setting it in his lap.
“Here’s the lady mockingbird,” Grace said, pushing the camera at me again. “We’ve been feeding her dog food mixed with berries and it seems to be working. She seems a lot better. See?”
I don’t know much about birds, but she might have been right. It was alive at any rate. “She looks great. Maybe she’ll be flying soon.”
“If the cats don’t get her first,” Jocelyn said.
“We’re all working hard to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Mark said. “Jocelyn even came up with a warning system. Why don’t you tell Liz about it?”
“It’s bells,” she said, pushing lettuce around her plate. “And why can’t I go to the sleepover?”
“We’ll talk about this later,” Mark said.
“You’re the one who dropped it on me the moment we sat down.” Jocelyn raised her chin. “I still don’t know why you’re being so mean.”
Definitely pissed. And too good to pass up.
I leaned my arms on the table. “Whose sleepover is it?”
She looked straight at her father. “One of my friends in the city. It’s her birthday and everybody’s going except me.”
“You can go to the party. You just can’t stay overnight. I don’t like the idea of you being over there after the ferries stop running.”
“Like it’s my fault they stop so early.” She slumped back in the chair. “I hate you.”
I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Your dad can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”
Jocelyn nodded. “Yeah, he can.”
“Liz, that’s enough,” Mark said.
I smiled at her. “Laying down the most ridiculous rules for no reason at all.”
She smiled back for the first time. “You got that right.”
“Liz,” Mark repeated, the warning clear. Stop now. Back away from the kid.
But he was the one who’d drawn the lines, treated me like a child. And everyone knows that two twelve-year-olds at a table are always more fun than just one. I sat back. “It’s like he wants to fuck up your life, just for the hell of it sometimes, don’t you think?”
Grace sprayed Coke out of her nose, Jocelyn laughed, and I tried to remember if Mark’s face had ever gone that red when I was a kid. The waitress delivered my soda. “Definitely a pain in the ass,” I said, and took a few small ladylike sips.
“You’re using the wrong tack, Liz,” he said. “I’d change course now if I w
ere you.”
A waiter chose that moment to arrive with salads for Mark and me. I shook out my napkin, ceding the round to him. The game, however, was not over yet.
Grace plunged into the awkward silence, filling it with tales of the mockingbirds. Explaining how the male brought bits of food to the lady, and sang all night long so she’d know he was still there, waiting for her to come out of the cage and join him.
“How romantic,” I said. “And where exactly does he do this singing?”
“In the tree outside Mom’s window.”
“She must love that.”
“She hates it,” Jocelyn said. “Said it’s too bad To Kill a Mockingbird isn’t an instruction manual.”
“I’m sure she’ll find a way.” I sat back as our lunches were delivered. “Seems there’s always someone around to do her dirty work. Someone to make sure she gets exactly what she wants, no matter how hard it is on anyone else.”
Mark rose and dropped his napkin on the table. “Girls, will you excuse Liz and me for a moment? We need to talk.”
I picked up my fork. “After lunch. Don’t want the pasta to get cold.”
“Now,” he said, leaving the table, heading for the gate.
Round two had begun.
“Be right back,” I said to the girls and hurried after him.
He was waiting for me at the edge of the lawn, out of earshot of people at the bike rack and the hostess at the gate. “You think this crap is going to help your case or your friend?” he asked, his voice low, his tone that of a lawyer who knows he has the upper hand at the bargaining table. “You’ve lost all perspective, Liz. You’ve become so accustomed to playing the victim that you’ve lost the ability to be rational. To figure out what’s legitimate rebellion and what’s nothing more than sheer pigheadedness.”
“I have never played the victim.”
“Come on Liz, every drunk plays that role. To be honest, I blame myself. I should have dragged you to AA long ago. Or shoved you into rehab and kept sending you back till you snapped out of it. But I told myself you were a smart girl. You were hurt, but you’d find your way through, only you haven’t. Two years later and you’re still wrapped up so tightly in your own grievances, your own troubles, you can’t think about anyone else anymore. Not your sister, not me, not even the friend you say you want to help so badly.”
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