The Endless Knot

by Gail Bowen

  Zack stirred in his sleep. “Am I about to get lucky?” he murmured.

  I shifted my position and felt his erection. “I think we both are,” I said.

  Our lovemaking was unhurried and incredibly sweet, and after the great headlong rush we luxuriated in the novelty of drifting off, side by side, hands touching, separate but still connected.

  I slept deeply, and when Willie nuzzled me awake to take him for his walk, the pattern of light and shadows in the room jolted me with its unfamiliarity. Then I turned my head, saw my beloved, and my pulse slowed. I was exactly where I belonged. Reassured, I slid out of bed, pulled on my sweatshirt and jeans, tied my runners, and Willie and I hit the road.

  Lawyers’ Bay is a horseshoe, and Willie and I had run along its beach for an entire summer. In July and August the lake had been alive with the sounds of shorebirds squawking, motorboats roaring, and kids shrieking as they leapt off the high board of the diving tower, but that morning we ran in a silent world. By the time we doubled back, the haunting half-light of dawn filled the sky, and the series of Inukshuk that Taylor, Isobel, and their friend, Gracie Falconer, had painstakingly built along the shoreline were emerging: eerily human, ghostly figures pointing our way home in grey morning light.

  When I got back to the cottage, I checked on Taylor and Isobel. They were sleeping the sleep of young women who had eaten pizza, watched DVDS, and giggled far into the night. In our room, Zack, who slept five hours a night whether he needed it or not, was propped up in bed, peering through his glasses at the contents of a file folder. When he saw me he placed his file on the nightstand and motioned me over. “Did you two have a good run?”

  “We did,” I said, bending to kiss him.

  He shuddered. “Cold lips.”

  “Cold everything,” I said. “It’s chilly out there.”

  Zack held up the covers. “Then get in here with me.” I took off my jeans and slid in close.

  “Better?”

  “Much,” I said.

  Zack rubbed my shoulders. “Do you know what I want to do?” he asked.

  I groaned. “If it involves a feat of athleticism, you’re going to have to give me time to catch my breath.”

  “No heroics required,” Zack said. “I want to keep doing what we just did. I want to go to bed with you at night, fool around with you in the middle of the night, and wake up with you in the morning.”

  “I want that too,” I said.

  “Good, because I’ve started looking for a house for us – an accessible house where I can trail around after you to my heart’s content.”

  “You want us to move in together?”

  “I want us to get married.”

  “We’ve only known each other three months.”

  His eyes were searching. “You’re not sure about us.”

  I met his gaze. “I’m sure,” I said. “I’m just not ready.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “So I’ll keep looking for a house and when you’re ready, we’ll get married and move in.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “Life is simple. You decide what you want and you go for it.”

  “Right now, I want to eat.”

  He chuckled. “Go for it.”

  I made coffee and porridge, and we took our breakfast into the sunroom so we could watch morning come to the lake. Peter and Greg were down at the dock putting fishing gear into the boat, shrugging on their life jackets.

  “Charlie isn’t going fishing?” Zack asked.

  “No, and it’s probably just as well. He sets Greg’s teeth on edge.”

  “Bad chemistry?” Zack said.

  “Bad chemistry exacerbated by bad timing,” I said. “Mieka’s going through a rough patch in her life.”

  “I wondered about that. There were times this summer when she had that five-mile stare. So what’s the problem?”

  “Do you remember that Peggy Lee song ‘Is That All There Is?’ ”

  “Sure.” Zack sang a few bars in the boozy bass of a lounge singer.

  I shook my head. “Is there no end to your talents?”

  “Give me fifty years and I’ll show you.”

  “In fifty years, I’ll be a hundred and six.”

  “And I’ll still be crazy about you. But we were talking about Mieka.”

  “Right,” I said. “Lately I’ve had the sense she feels the walls are closing in on her. She and Greg have been married since she was twenty-one, and she’s been running her business since she was nineteen. Catering’s not easy – the hours are unpredictable and customers can be fractious. Mieka loves the girls, but according to Greg the business is really taking off, and the company needs to expand. It would be a major commitment for them, and I think Mieka’s wondering if it’s a commitment she wants to make.”

  “And while Mieka’s wondering, along comes Charlie.” Zack sprinkled brown sugar on his porridge. “Is it a romance?”

  “I don’t think so, but in a way that would be easier to handle. Mieka’s relationship with Charlie goes deeper than sex. When they were kids, she and Pete and Charlie did that blood kin thing – you know, where each kid cuts his finger and they let their blood flow together. I’m sure most children forget all about it, but with those three it seemed to take. They share a history, and last night Charlie was using that history to shut Greg out.”

  “Do you want me to see if I can get Charlie to open up?” Zack asked.

  “How well do you know him, anyway?”

  Zack averted his eyes. “Well enough.”

  “It would be good to know how Charlie sees the situation,” I said. “But don’t use your brass knuckles. I have a soft spot for Charlie. You should too. Last night he told me about the interview he did with Glenda just after Sam Parker was arrested.”

  “We have a tape of it at the office,” Zack said. “It got Sam a lot of good press at the beginning. Very helpful.”

  “That’s because before the take aired, Charlie did a little editing.”

  Zack’s spoon stopped in mid-air. “He never mentioned that. What did he take out?”

  “According to Charlie, at the end of the interview, Glenda said, ‘I would have killed for him too.’ ”

  Zack winced. “Jesus. People are full of surprises, aren’t they? That line of Glenda’s would have made Charlie’s show front-page news.”

  “Maybe Charlie knows there’s more to life than ratings,” I said.

  “You think he identifies with Glenda?”

  “I know he does,” I said. “They’d both had painful childhoods. They were both in the process of making lives for themselves, and they were both betrayed and publicly humiliated.”

  Zack sipped his coffee meditatively. “Still, the decision to edit that line could have gone either way. Thank God, Charlie did the right thing.”

  “Thank Charlie’s mother too,” I said. “In all the years I knew her, Marnie never knowingly caused another person pain. She had a truly generous spirit – not a moralizing bone in her body.”

  “Glenda’s mother, Beverly, is cut from more rigid cloth,” Zack said dryly.

  “You’ve met her, then.”

  “Sure. She’s the one who hired me. I had to go to Calgary so she could check out the cut of my jib.”

  “She interviewed you?”

  Zack frowned at the memory. “Not exactly. She tried to convert me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told her my billable rate was $600 an hour, and she was on the clock. It didn’t stop her. She’s a True Believer.”

  “She believes in The Rapture,” I said. “I read about it when I was doing research for my book. Legions of the Antichrist on the march. A final showdown in Armageddon. The Second Coming. And of course, the grand finale when the True Believers ascend into heaven, sit on God’s right hand, and watch their enemies suffer the horrors of the damned.”

  “Nice précis,” Zack said. “Beverly was more discursive. She went on for about an hour and a half.”r />
  “And you charged her?”

  “You bet I did, and now that I’ve seen the way she treats Glenda, I wish I’d billed double.”

  “I still remember the Bev Parker of Sam and Bev,” I said. “Her hair was the colour of toffee, and her voice sounded the way good toffee tastes – melting and sweet with a little burn to give it edge.”

  “Well, now her hair is – what’s that really blonde blonde?”

  “Platinum,” I said.

  “Right,” Zack said. “And her voice is hard and very angry.” Zack fell silent, seemingly engrossed in the efforts of a squirrel trying to break into the squirrel-proof bird feeder the girls had put up during the summer. When the squirrel gave up and moved along, Zack turned to me. “You think he’ll find something to eat?” he said.

  “Sure. The girls left nine dollars’ worth of sunflower seeds on the ground by that tree where he has his nest.”

  “A lot of stuff goes on around here that I don’t know about,” Zack said.

  “I’ll start sending a daily update to your BlackBerry.” I picked up the coffee carafe and refilled our cups. “I wonder what happened to turn the Bev I remember into the Beverly you met.”

  Zack shrugged. “I’m no expert. The only time Sam and I discussed his wife was over a bottle of Scotch late one night. He is absolutely loyal to her. And he either can’t or won’t talk about what caused her to change. All he told me was that when Judgment Day rolls around, Beverly believes she’ll have a front-row seat to watch her enemies suffer.”

  “And it doesn’t trouble her that her only child will be among the sufferers.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be a matter of concern.”

  He stared at his empty bowl as if seeing it for the first time. “Is there more porridge? This was really good.”

  I stood up. “I’ll get it.”

  “I can get it,” Zack said. He balanced his bowl on his knees and wheeled towards the kitchen. When he took the pot from the stove, he peered at it with interest. “What’s in this anyway?”

  “Oatmeal, of course, but also poppy seeds and dried cranberries. There are supposed to be sunflower seeds in there too, but the girls gave them to your pal, the squirrel.”

  He wheeled back into the sunroom and started eating. “Do you think Charlie will be up yet?”

  “You want to talk to him?”

  “I need to know who he told about that sentence he edited from the tape.”

  “My guess is no one, but if you’re anxious, give him a few more hours of sack time before you pay him a visit. Charlie isn’t a morning person.”

  “Fair enough,” Zack said. “So what are you up to this morning?”

  “I promised Madeleine I’d teach her how to make pancakes. After that, Mieka and I are taking all the girls into Fort Qu’Appelle to the farmers’ market. It’s the last one till next summer.”

  Zack looked wistful. “Sounds like fun.”

  “You’re welcome to come,” I said.

  “I’ve got way too much work.” He covered my hand with his. “It’s not always going to be like this.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with this,” I said.

  The kitchen in the Hynd cottage caught the early light, and Lena had found a patch of sunshine on the floor in which to test out the bouncing properties of Tupperware. Madeleine was at the table with a whisk and a bowl and when she saw me she waved her whisk in the air. “I broke four eggs,” she said.

  “Without getting a single piece of shell in the bowl,” Mieka said approvingly.

  “Her mother’s daughter,” I said. “Let me wash my hands, and we’ll get started.”

  When I rolled up my sleeves, Mieka glanced at my fingers. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring,” she said quietly.

  “It was time to put it away,” I said.

  “You and Alex were together three years, and you always wore your ring. You’re with Zack three months and it’s gone.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  As she carried the canister of flour to the table, Mieka’s lips were a line.

  “You still don’t like Zack,” I said.

  “What’s not to like? He’s smart and he’s rich.” She shrugged. “Perfect.”

  “Maybe we should wait and talk about this later,” I said.

  We both glanced at the girls. Madeleine was raising and lowering her whisk from the bowl so she could watch the egg drip; Lena was still absorbed in the miracles of plastic. They seemed oblivious. Mieka lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to wait till later. You’re not wearing your wedding ring, and that means it’s serious. Mum, the people Zack defends are scum: murderers and bikers and bigots and rapists.”

  “Everyone’s entitled to a defence, Mieka.”

  “Especially if they’ve got a whack of cash. From what I hear, Zack charges top dollar.” She pointed at my wrist. “That bracelet he gave you for your birthday didn’t come from Wal-Mart.”

  “Wal-Mart didn’t have the bracelet I wanted. Nobody around here did. Charm bracelets with real charms are out of style. Zack went to a lot of trouble to find this.” I held out my wrist so Mieka could see the chunky link bracelet more closely. “Those little ladybug charms open up,” I said.

  Her interest piqued, Madeleine turned to us. “Can I see?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. I undid the tiny clasp on the red and black enamel ladybug. Inside was a picture of Madeleine.

  “That’s me,” she said.

  “Right,” I said. “And inside the green ladybug there’s a picture of your sister.” I knelt beside Lena and showed her “There you are,” I said. Lena reached out, snapped the bug shut, and went back to her Tupperware.

  I stood and slid an arm around my daughter’s shoulders. “There’s a lucky guy in Lena’s future. Tupperware’s cheaper than Tiffany’s.”

  Unexpectedly, Mieka’s eyes filled with tears. She fingered the remaining charm, a small gold disc. “What’s this?”

  “A Frisbee,” I said. “The first time Zack and I went out together, we went to one of Angus’s Ultimate Flying Disc games.”

  Mieka’s flipped the disc over and read the inscription: “Amor Fati,” she said.

  “It’s Latin,” I said. “It means ‘Love your Fate.’ ”

  “Am I supposed to love your fate too?”

  “No,” I said, “but you are supposed to live with it.” I handed the measuring cup to Madeleine. “See that line at the top. Start spooning flour in. When it gets to that line, you’ll have enough to begin the pancakes.”

  Madeleine got a chance to do a lot of measuring. Just as we’d settled in to eat, Greg and Peter showed up – fishless and hungry. Then Taylor and Isobel drifted in. And so Madeleine cracked eggs and measured; Lena crumpled paper napkins, and Mieka and I stirred, flipped, and dished out.

  There were many golden moments that weekend. The Thanksgiving farmers’ market was an extravagant display of beauty and bounty: tables overflowing with root vegetables, so recently ripped from the earth that the dirt still clung to them; jars of jams, pickles, and preserves glowing with the brilliance of jewels; boxes of apples, pears, peaches, and plums fragrant from the gentle summer of British Columbia; heavy breads flecked with seeds and dried fruits; pies with pastry so light that even the wrap covering had flaked it; turkey-shaped cookies iced in garish, child-riveting colours; gourds whose curved phallic shapes conjured thoughts of a God with carnal pleasure on Her mind.

  And pumpkins – hundreds of them – in every permutation and combination of size, shape, and colour. Halloween was three weeks away, and Taylor, Isobel, and Gracie Falconer were having a party. They had been scouring the Internet for ideas for a week, and their plans were elaborate. The party was going to be at our house, and the girls were going to turn our backyard into a haunted village of glowing jack-o’-lanterns. We needed a lot of pumpkins and so we cruised the stalls for possibilities: perusing, judging, and, finally, choosing. When we’d filled the trunks of both my car and Mi
eka’s, we headed back to the cottage.

  As I frequently did, I had left my cell at the house, and there was a message on it from Jill Oziowy. She was at the office, and when she picked up, she was curt. “Why do you bother having a cell if you never answer it?” she said.

  “And Happy Thanksgiving to you,” I said.

  “Sorry. It’s crazy around here.”

  “So go home,” I said. “It’s a holiday.”

  “Spoken like a woman in a relationship with a millionaire.”

  “I don’t think Zack’s a millionaire.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. I checked him out. Anyway, I didn’t call to talk about Daddy Warbucks. I just scored a live interview with Kathryn Morrissey. She’s going to be the lead segment on the weekend Canada Tonight.”

  “Does Sam Parker’s side get equal time?”

  “No, because this isn’t about the trial. It’s about journalistic ethics.”

  “So why not interview a person who knows something about journalistic ethics?”

  “Jo, you’re supposed to remain neutral.”

  “Neutral as in letting Kathryn Morrissey shred Sam’s reputation two nights before his trial begins?”

  “Kathryn will be discussing how journalists pursue truth. Period. It has nothing to do with Sam Parker.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “You know NationTV wouldn’t be letting Kathryn Morrissey deliver her Journalism 101 lecture in prime time if Sam Parker wasn’t going on trial.”

  Jill’s voice was icy. “The journalist’s obligation to truth is at the core of this trial.”

  “What about the journalist’s obligation to be ethical?”

  “You are such a fucking moralist, Jo.”