by Gail Bowen
“Does Mieka share your opinion of Charlie?”
“Are you kidding? She and Pete and Charlie have this primal loyalty thing going. It goes back to when they were kids. There are months when they don’t connect at all, then one of them gets a problem and they’re joined at the navel.”
“Who’s the one with the problem now?” I asked.
Greg’s face tightened, then he looked past me and the tension disappeared. “Not Lena,” he said softly. “She appears to have packed it in for the day.” He reached over and removed his sleeping daughter from the high chair.
Mieka came in from the kitchen carrying a tray with apple pie, ice cream, and dessert plates. Charlie was behind her with the coffee. I reached for my granddaughter. “I’ll take the baby, Greg,” I said. “You stay here with the others and have your dessert.”
Mieka glanced at her husband. “You stay,” she said. “You love apple pie. I’ll go with Mum. Madeleine looks like she’s flagging too.” She leaned over and picked up her daughter. “Time for bed, short stuff.”
I patted Willie’s flank. “Better get a move on,” I said. “This is a tough crowd. Nobody here is going to let you lick the bowl.”
The night was cool, still, and star-lit – and there was a bonus. “Madeleine, look at the sky,” I said. “That’s a harvest moon.”
“Goodnight, moon,” she said. Then, unbidden, she began to pipe the words with which three generations of children, including my own, had been lulled to sleep. As Maddy told the story of the small rabbit who prolonged his bedtime by saying goodnight to everything in his great green room, Mieka and I slowed our pace. Even Willie waited without complaint. Maddy didn’t miss a word. When she was through, I caught my daughter’s gaze.
“This is as good as it gets,” I said.
“I know,” Mieka said, and there was a catch in her voice. “You don’t need to beat me over the head with your motherly subtlety. I know I’m lucky: two healthy kids, a kind husband; a family who loves me. I’m just tired and PMSing and I’m thirty-one years old and I have to figure a few things out.”
“And Charlie’s helping.”
“He’s a good listener,” Mieka said. “He doesn’t jump in to tell me I should be grateful that my cup’s full, when I know it’s overflowing.”
“The way I just did,” I said.
“You meant well,” Mieka said.
“Don’t put that on my gravestone,” I said.
I juggled Lena so I could open the door to the cottage. Unlike the rest of the summer homes at Lawyers’ Bay, the cottage where Mieka and Greg were staying was a real cottage: shabby, comfortable, and filled with photographs and memorabilia from decades of happy summers. It smelled the way a cottage should – of wood smoke and the fishy-weedy odour that works its way into bathing suits and beach towels and never comes out no matter how much time they spend airing on the line.
Greg had turned down the girls’ beds and left their pyjamas on their pillows: Madeleine’s were pink fleece with cupcakes and lollipops, and Lena’s were mauve with a pattern of hearts. I shoehorned Lena into her pyjamas and Mieka took Madeleine to the bathroom. In a few minutes they were back. “Smell my breath,” Madeleine said. “We got princess toothpaste.”
I put my nose next to her mouth and inhaled deeply. “You’re right,” I said. “There’s a definite fragrance of princess.”
Her face lit up. “A joke,” she said. She climbed into bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Mieka and I exchanged glances. “They’re both down for the count,” I said. “Why don’t you go back and get your dessert?”
Mieka shook her head. “No, I think I’ll stay here with my old mother and absorb her wisdom.”
We went back to the living room, and Mieka stretched out on one of the tartan-covered mom-and-pop chairs by the fireplace. I sat in the chair next to hers, and Willie flopped down beside me. “So what do you want to talk about?” I asked.
“Charlie,” Mieka said.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any expert knowledge there.”
“I wasn’t asking for insight – just advice. Charlie wants to know if he should go back to the city.” She picked at her lip – a sign of anxiety from the time she was three. “I hate seeing Greg and Charlie at each other’s throats, but Charlie needs to be with people this weekend. That’s why I invited him to come to the lake.”
“You invited him?”
Mieka frowned. “Did you think he just showed up?”
“No. I just assumed Pete ran into him somewhere, and you know how Pete is about strays.”
“Well, you were partly right. Charlie is kind of lost at the moment.” She hugged her knees to herself. “Mum, did it never occur to Howard that by blabbing about Charlie’s childhood, he was destroying the image Charlie worked his whole life to create.”
“The publicity didn’t hurt Charlie’s career,” I said. “There was an article in the paper a couple of weeks ago saying the ratings for Charlie’s new show have gone through the roof.”
Mieka’s laugh was bitter. “So this was a good career move for Charlie. Is that what you’re saying? Mum, take a giant step back. You had a rotten childhood. Would you like the whole world to know that you’re still trying to get over it?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then don’t minimize what Howard did to Charlie. I was there, and I remember. Charlie and Pete and I logged a lot of time in drafty halls when Howard was premier and Daddy was Attorney General.”
“Did you hate it?”
Mieka smiled. “No. For Pete and me, it was a lot of fun. No supervision. Awesome food. Remember those peanut butter squares with the coloured marshmallows? And those teeny tiny rolled sandwiches at the teas? I always meant to ask you how you got the bread so flat.”
“We ironed it.”
Mieka chortled. “Oh God, you didn’t.”
“Oh God, we did.” I took her hand. “We have some good memories.”
“Charlie doesn’t,” Mieka said.
“Because of his birthmark.”
“You know how kids are. I was always glad Pete and I were there.”
“As allies.”
“Yeah, as allies. Charlie never needed anybody to fight his battles, but it mattered to him that Pete and I were on his side.”
“Charlie’s mother always said that he didn’t have friends; he had fans …”
“That’s because Charlie’s a danger freak.”
“Look at me. See what I’ve done. Guess what I’m going to do next.”
Mieka raised an eyebrow. “Pretty much,” she said. Her face darkened, and she fell silent.
“Something wrong?”
She shuddered. “Just one of those flashbacks. Remember that boy Charlie beat up in Fairlight?”
“No,” I said.
Mieka shook her head. “You have to remember that, Mum. The boy was unconscious. They took him away in an ambulance.”
“I remember being in Fairlight waiting for an ambulance,” I said. “It was winter and the roads were terrible. The boy’s parents were frantic. We were all afraid the ambulance wouldn’t get through. But, Mieka, that boy fell down a fire escape.”
“He didn’t fall down a fire escape,” Mieka said. “He and Charlie got into a fight. Pete and I thought Charlie was going to kill him. We tried to pull Charlie off, but he was like an animal. We finally managed to get them apart, but by then the other kid was in really bad shape.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Mieka’s eyes widened. “Weren’t you ever a kid? I was so scared that boy would die. I kept listening to the news and reading the obituaries. Of course, I only knew his first name. It was Vernon.”
“His last name was Harvey. His parents were long-time supporters. And Vernon Harvey didn’t die, Mieka. He grew up and ran against us in the last election.”
Mieka grinned. “Wow, talk about alienating a supporter.”
It was close to 8:30 when the men joined us. M
ieka and I had our feet up on the hassocks and were sharing a pot of tea. Pete gave us a withering glance. “Tough life,” he said. “Some of us have been scrubbing pots and pans.”
“Be grateful,” I said. “Good karma.”
“We’ll return the favour tomorrow,” Pete said. He yawned and stretched. “Speaking of which, I’m calling it a day. I’m going fishing at the crack of dawn. Anyone care to join me?”
Charlie shuddered. “Not me. I’m a nocturnal animal.”
“I wouldn’t mind going fishing,” Greg said. He went over and touched Mieka’s shoulder. “Okay with you?”
She looked up at him. “Sure, if you’ll take me for a walk now. There’s a harvest moon, and I have a moon story.”
Greg’s face lit with the delight of a man receiving an unexpected gift. “I’ll get your jacket,” he said.
Charlie appeared about to make his move. I caught his eye and indicated the chair Mieka had just vacated. “Why don’t you and I get caught up? It’s been a while.”
Charlie’s smile was vulpine. “Very subtle, but I’ll play along because I want to talk about the trial.”
“Okay with me,” I said.
Charlie slouched on the chair, legs stretched in front of him, hands clasped behind his neck. “Your boyfriend has to win this one,” he said.
“He’s giving it his best shot,” I said. “He believes in Sam’s case, and he likes him. He likes Glenda too.”
“Glenda is a likeable person,” Charlie said.
“You two know each other?”
“When Too Much Hope came out, I got in touch with all of Katherine Morrissey’s subjects. The plan was to get them to come on my show, talk about the book. Counting me, there were thirteen – a baker’s dozen of the misbegotten – about half of them were so fucked by drugs or booze that they couldn’t even comprehend what I was talking about. But some of the others were impressive. I don’t suppose you heard the show the night Olivia Quinn was on.”
“No,” I said. “Now, of course, I wish I had. At the time, the only interest I had in Too Much Hope was what it was doing to you and your father.”
“And now you know,” Charlie said.
I touched his arm. “I saw your father today. Charlie, he’s going through hell.”
“A hell of his own making,” Charlie said crisply. “Like all our hells. Now let’s get back to something relevant. Do you want me to send you the tape of the Olivia Quinn interview.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’d like to know how she’s doing.”
“Consider it done,” he said. “Actually, I can send you all the tapes. If you’re going to be covering the Sam Parker trial, you should know what the book did to Katherine’s victims.”
“I agree,” I said. “Context is always useful.”
Charlie raised his arms above his head and looked at his hands thoughtfully. His skin was, in the title of the old song, a whiter shade of pale. “Glenda Parker thought so too,” he said. “She called me the morning after the shooting and volunteered to go on my show that night.”
“That surprises me,” I said. “I just met Glenda for a few minutes today, but she seemed like a person who valued her privacy.”
“She is,” Charlie said. “But she values her father more.” Charlie sat up and swivelled to face me. “She’s an amazing person. The night she came to the studio must have been one of the worst nights of her life. Her private life was suddenly public property, and her family was shattered. But Glenda had a job to do and she did it.”
“What was her job?”
“She wanted people to know that her father was a decent man and a loving father. She talked about the good times she and Sam had together when she was growing up – how proud he was of her when she started swimming competitively. Apparently, he never missed a swim meet.” Charlie’s face hardened. “Of course, as the child of a man who was absent during my entire life, I found that impossible to believe …”
“But Glenda convinced you.”
“Yes, and I’m not easily convinced. Glenda was as close to the edge as anyone I’ve ever interviewed. We had to tape because the network had legal concerns, but it was still a dynamite interview. Glenda talked about how scared she was when she realized that the feeling she was a girl trapped in a boy’s body wasn’t going to go away. She was ten years old. That’s when she started competitive swimming. It was a gutsy act for a kid. Glenda thought that if she was forced to compete publicly with a body that was demonstrably male, she might start to feel like a boy.”
“But it never happened.”
“No. In her words, the knowledge that she was female engulfed her. When she finally faced the fact that the only way she could live her life was as a woman, she went straight to her father.”
“And he was accepting.”
“Yes. It wasn’t easy for him. I guess it wouldn’t be easy for any parent, but he was Sam Parker, the defender of family values. To his credit, Sam didn’t flay Glenda with chapter and verse about moral abominations. According to Glenda, he took her in his arms and he didn’t let go.”
I felt a lump in my throat. “I’d like to hear that interview.”
“My pleasure,” Charlie said. “It’s unedited except for one sentence.”
“Which was?”
“Just before we stopped taping, Glenda said, ‘I’d kill for him too, you know.’ ” Charlie averted his gaze. “Imagine loving your father that much.”
For a few moments, we sat in silence. There didn’t seem to be much to say. I think we were both relieved when my cellphone rang and it was Zack asking where the hell I was. Within seconds, a car stopped outside the Hynd cottage. Charlie leapt to his feet. “Must be the Big Man,” he said.
I went to the window. Zack’s Jaguar was in the driveway. “Good call,” I said.
Charlie joined me and the two of us watched as Zack unfolded his chair, snapped it into position, and swung his body from the driver’s seat onto the seat of his chair. When Zack started up the path to the house, Charlie put his arm around my shoulder. His body was painfully thin. “Mieka told me she was going to ask you if I should leave. What do you think?”
“It’s Thanksgiving,” I said. “People should be with people they love.”
“Thank you,” he said. “That means a lot. Now, I’ll get the rock out of here, and leave you and Zack alone.”
“Stick around long enough to say hello,” I said.
Charlie shrugged. “My pleasure,” he said.
Zack was still wearing the suit he had on at lunch, and he looked exhausted, but his voice was eager. “Ms. Kilbourn, you are a welcome sight.” His gaze shifted to Charlie. “And you’re here,” he said, extending his hand. “I hope you’re staying for the weekend?”
“That’s the plan,” Charlie said.
“Good,” Zack said. “Then we’ll have a chance to talk. Incidentally, that’s a great T-shirt.”
“Glad you approve,” Charlie said.
After he left, Zack looked at me questioningly.
“Mieka invited him,” I said. “I take it you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Charlie Dowhanuik is a useful person to have around.” Zack glanced around the cottage. “So where is everybody?”
“Well, let’s see. Angus and Leah made it safely to New York. Pete already hit the sack because he wants to go fishing tomorrow. Willie and I are babysitting the little girls till Mieka and Greg get back from their walk in the moonlight. Taylor and Isobel are at our place watching a movie.”
He grinned. “Hey, I like the sound of that ‘our place.’ ”
“And you don’t mind that the girls are staying with us?”
“We said we wanted a big family Thanksgiving. Taylor is family, and Isobel is part of the closest thing I have to a family. I value this, Ms. Kilbourn. When I was driving out here tonight, I was trying to remember what I did last Thanksgiving, and I drew a blank. Then I tried to think of what I’d done other Thanksgivings – more blanks. I don’t care who sleeps
where, as long as everybody’s content and you’re with me.”
CHAPTER
4
Zack’s paraplegia affected every area of his life. There were the everyday frustrations of living in a world that often was not accessible; there were times when he was assaulted by muscle spasms or by pain in his shoulders that had simply been performing too many functions for too long. There were complications that arose because the body’s organs and circulatory system are not designed to be locked in a partially paralyzed body. Despite all this, Zack was neither stoic nor bitter. He accepted his deeply flawed body as unquestioningly as he accepted his thousand-megahertz mind. For him it was all part of the package.
I tried to follow his lead, and most of the time I succeeded. But he was the most exciting man I’d ever known and I was deeply in love with him. I wanted the casual intimacies that I’d always taken for granted: strolling hand in hand through the park, a quick, spontaneous embrace, a passionate and unpremeditated kiss. More than anything, I wanted to spend entire nights with him, but that dream had proved elusive. The logistical problems that confronted us were easily solved. The bedrooms in my house were on the second floor, but Zack had an apartment, and Taylor was certainly old enough for sleepovers at the houses of friends. However, she was also old enough to be forming ideas about sexual behaviour, and I wanted to set a good example. My younger daughter was surprisingly open on the subject of what her peers called “hooking up,” and we had some frank discussions about the mechanics of sex. More importantly, we had talked a lot about the hollowness of sex without mutual respect, affection, and commitment. Given the circumstances, I wanted to make certain that the relationship between Zack and me was serious before we were open about sharing a bed. By Thanksgiving, we knew, and we had arranged the sleeping arrangements accordingly.
The week had been a full one, and Zack and I were both exhausted. As I slid across the cool sheets and embraced him, it was clear that a deep and serious kiss was going to be the extent of our lovemaking. But some time in the small hours I had awakened, aware of Zack’s body warmth and his weight beside me, I drew closer to him and touched my fingers to the side of his neck, feeling the pulse, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, inhaling the scent of his skin. It was a comfort to feel his body beside me, and I was suddenly aware of how much I had missed the solace of lying next to another human being in the darkness. It was good not to be alone, but like the poet Ben Jonson, I knew that love made me vulnerable. Any wound to the man beside me would be a wound to me. The knowledge brought a pang of joy and fear. I moved my head onto Zack’s chest and watched the pale outline of my fingers rise and fall against his skin. I turned my head and kissed his left nipple.