The Endless Knot

by Gail Bowen

  “Okay,” Ethan said. “I’d better get home.”

  “I’ll tell Taylor you stopped by,” I said.

  Ethan looked stricken. “No. Please. Don’t. She’ll think I’m insane.”

  And with that, he raced off into the dark.

  Zack stared at the door through which Ethan disappeared. “I’d forgotten how much being thirteen can hurt,” he said.

  “Was it a bad time for you?”

  “Apart from being friendless, hornier than hell, and convinced that the only person I’d ever have sex with was myself, it was a blast.”

  “Well you have me now. All your troubles are over.”

  “And believe me, I’m grateful. When I was thirteen, I never thought my troubles would be over. I’ll bet Ethan doesn’t think so either. What’s his home situation?”

  “His parents are divorced. He was living with his father, but his father’s new wife doesn’t want Ethan. He’s with his mother now. She doesn’t seem to want him either.”

  “So faced with a shitty world, Ethan spends his time with Gawain.”

  “And longs to spend time with Taylor,” I said. “And that is beginning to trouble Taylor, which means it’s beginning to trouble me.”

  As soon as the girls got back with their pumpkins, they began drawing up rules for the contest, an activity that was abandoned the moment Pete’s truck pulled up and Pantera unfolded himself from the back seat. Ungainly, enthusiastic, graceless, and boundlessly energetic, he was irresistible. The girls ran him around the backyard, then I brought Willie out and everybody bundled up and came out on the deck to watch Willie and Pantera get acquainted. The night was crisp and starry – perfect weather to sit on the deck and observe the meeting of the titans. But we had miscast our titans. After a few rips around the yard with Willie, Pantera spotted Zack, loped over, dropped his great maw on Zack’s lap, and refused to budge. Rejected, Willie slunk over to me. Pete offered wieners and praise in an effort to induce his new dog to play, but Pantera wasn’t buying. Finally, we accepted the inevitable. The girls drifted back inside to plan; the rest of us stayed outside and talked.

  For Charlie, only one topic mattered: the trial. “So what’s going to happen?” he asked Zack.

  Zack rubbed Pantera’s head. “Serge Kujawa used to say that speculating on what a jury is doing and why was a total waste of time, so he spent all his time speculating.”

  “So if you’re speculating, you must have some idea about the outcome.”

  “I’d say our chances are fifty-fifty,” Zack said. “If Linda Fritz had been there all along, the odds would have been different.”

  Charlie pounced. “But Linda Fritz wasn’t there.”

  “And the charge she decided on was. That was a break for us. With attempted murder, the Crown has to prove intention to kill and that’s difficult to prove. If the Crown had gone for a lesser charge, it would have been a slam-dunk for them – even with Garth.”

  “Then why didn’t they go for the slam-dunk?” Pete asked.

  Zack absently wiped Pantera drool off his slacks. “Why do people do anything? But Linda’s a person of principle, and I think she genuinely believed that when Sam pulled that gun he intended to kill Kathryn Morrissey. She also knew that Sam had the money to mount a strong defence.”

  “And that’s relevant?” Pete asked.

  “There’s an old saying, ‘The more evenly matched the lawyers, the better the chance of justice.’ Linda knew Sam had enough money to get a fair kick at the can. And truthfully, no matter what the jury decides, I think Sam had a good defence. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m going inside. It’s getting cold out here.”

  I stood back to watch how Pantera would react when Zack wheeled away. Pantera watched for a moment, then trotted off behind the chair as if he’d been doing it all his life. I felt the wisps of a challenge developing in our lives.

  The girls’ Halloween party was Zack’s introduction to pre-teen, pre-dating culture, and he was as captivated as Margaret Mead had been when she clapped eyes on Samoa. The ritual of boys and girls trying to impress one another while pretending not to be impressed by one another was intriguing, and the fact that these girls and boys were in costume gave the ceremony an extra fillip. As there had been every year since my kids were little, there was a solid contingent of Star Wars characters: Princess Leia with her light sabre; Queen Amidala with her royal pistol, Luke Skywalker and two Darth Vaders. Marge Simpson made an appearance with a swarm of bats and a half-dozen pacifiers nesting in her elaborate cone of hair; Grace, Isobel, and Taylor had dressed as triplets – a clever choice because they were inseparable, and a funny one because they were as physically different as it was possible for three girls to be. Zack had a lot of fun spotting and identifying costumes, but there was one that baffled him. “What’s that kid supposed to be?” he whispered, pointing to a boy with a plastic dagger and little boxes of cereal stapled to his track suit.

  “I thought you’d get that one,” I said.

  He frowned. “Well, I don’t.”

  “He’s a cereal killer.”

  Zack beamed. “Clever.”

  We’d doled out the chili and were just about to slip into the family room with Zack’s collection of The Simpsons’ Halloween episodes when Ethan arrived. He was late, breathless, and without a costume.

  “Am I too late?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. “There’s some food left if you’re hungry.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I don’t feel like eating. But Taylor mentioned something about carving pumpkins, and I’d kind of like to do that.”

  “Then you’re timing is perfect,” I said. “Because they’re just about to start.” I reached into my utensil drawer and pulled out my favourite paring knife. “Take this,” I said. “Good carving tools are in short supply tonight.”

  “Thanks,” Ethan said. “I’ve got my own knife.” He sounded as if he was close to tears. I touched his hand. “Is everything okay?”

  “Nothing’s ever okay for me,” he said bleakly, then he turned and walked into the party.

  Zack and I were just nicely into our third episode when my daughter popped in with the ballot boxes for the winning pumpkins. Taylor had shown me sketches of the design she was planning. It was of a phoenix, and as she described how the flames would flicker behind the bird rising in flames, I figured she was a lock for the coolest, but Ethan’s mystical heraldic coat of arms with its glowing pentangle surrounded by a ring of flaming hearts won hands down. His prize was three hours of Phantom bowling at the Golden Mile Lanes, and whether it was Taylor’s genuine delight at his win or the fact that the other kids had voted for him, Ethan was ecstatic.

  “Maybe it’ll work out for him, after all,” Zack said.

  “I hope so,” I said. “No kid should think his life is over at thirteen.”

  “No,” Zack said. “C’mon, enough gloom. Mr. Burns is just about to remove Homer’s brain.”

  We looked at each other and recited Mr. Burns’s trenchant line. “ ‘Dammit, Smithers. This isn’t rocket science. It’s brain surgery.’ ”

  Later, as he zipped his jacket and pulled out his car keys, Zack gave the pumpkins glowing in our living room a final glance. “Is it always this much fun around here?” he asked.

  “Stick around,” I said. “The best is yet to be.”

  The next morning when I walked into St. Paul’s Cathedral for the 10:30 service, Zack was at the back of the church waiting.

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I am pleased,” I said. “And surprised. You didn’t mention anything about this last night.”

  “It was an impulse,” he said. His eyes took in the stained glass, the vaulting arches, and the oak pews. “Nice,” he said. “Is this where we’re getting married?”

  “It’s my first choice,” I said.

  “Then it’s my first choice,” Zack said.

  The access
ible area was at the front to the left of the altar. By the time we took our places, many members of the congregation had a chance to see Zack and me together. Zack was oblivious, but I wasn’t, and as our dean came forward to give us communion, a lot of necks were craned. The recessional hymn was “Let Streams of Living Justice.” Zack had a sonorous bass and a musician’s ability to pick up tunes, and as he belted out the line “abolish ancient vengeance: proclaim your people’s hour” more than a few heads turned our way. I had spent my entire life going quietly about my business. Being married to a head-turner was going to take some getting used to. When we were leaving, our dean, a generous and open-minded man, seemed startled when Zack offered his hand, and he hesitated for a split second before taking it. I was going to have to get used to that too.

  As we walked to our car, Zack gazed towards the park. “Hey, look at that,” he said. “You can see my apartment from here. Want to see the view from my balcony?”

  “I’ve seen the view from your balcony,” I said.

  “I’ll throw in lunch. We can order in from Peking House. Think about it – almond prawns, those silky sheets you like, and me. Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  It was a fine afternoon. We ate, made love, napped, went down to the fitness centre in Zack’s building to work out, came back to the apartment, showered, and crawled back between the silky sheets. We were lying there, discussing how to spend the evening, when Glenda Parker called. In an instant, Zack’s mood shifted.

  The news was not good. After he’d rung off, Zack rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Glenda’s worried about Sam,” he said. “The tension’s getting to him. No surprise there. I’ve spent my share of time in hotel rooms when a jury was out. All you do is stare at the wall and imagine the worst.”

  I put my arms around him. “Anything we can do to help?”

  “Have you got a magic wand?”

  “No, but I do have a fireplace and a quiet house. Taylor’s having supper at Gracie’s. Why don’t you invite Sam and Glenda to come over for a couple of hours tonight? We could light a fire and have a drink. You said they like to play cribbage – it might be fun to play a few hands.”

  The Parkers arrived at a little after seven. They brought some very good wine and some very good chocolate. Thoughtful guests, but it wasn’t the gifts that made me glad I’d invited them. The trial had clearly taken its toll on them both and their relief at being in a private home was poignant. As strained as he was, Sam was gracious. “This means a great deal to us, Joanne. I know you and Zack don’t have much time together.”

  “We were together all today,” I said. “Besides, this is a treat for me. I’m a big Sam and Bev fan. I have all your records.”

  Sam was incredulous. “Still?”

  “You were one of the reasons I never threw out my record player.”

  “I haven’t heard those songs in years.”

  Glenda put her arm through her father’s. “It’d be fun to hear them again, wouldn’t it?”

  Sam and Glenda exchanged glances. “Yes,” Sam said. “It would be fun.”

  “It’s settled then,” I said. “Zack, why don’t you get everybody a drink, and I’ll bring down my record player.”

  Except for the fact that nobody was smoking dope, the next hour was like many hours I’d spent when I was in university and Sam and Bev were the coolest thing on the Canadian music scene. The Parkers and Zack and I sat around the fire listening – really listening – to Sam and Bev. I had forgotten what a perfect blend their voices were: his was pure and oddly vulnerable; hers, husky and filled with power. As the artists who’d covered their songs had learned, the music of Sam and Bev resonated powerfully with a wide range of audiences, but for those of us who remembered the passionate certainty of the era that had forged them as artists, there was a special pleasure. Sam and Bev had been a mirror of what we hoped we were: idealistic, smart, world-changing.

  Their eyes fixed on the fire, Sam and Glenda’s thoughts were their own, but after listening to her mother sing a particularly moving song about a child who gets lost at the fair, Glenda asked her father, “What happened to her?”

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that what was best in Beverly and me found a place in you.”

  After that, there didn’t seem to be much to say. We listened to the rest of the record, then we got out the cribbage board. The evening passed companionably – kibitzing about cards, making small talk, and laughing. More Ordinary Family Life, but the four of us were content. When they were leaving, Sam held out his hand to me, then, changing his mind, embraced me and leaned down and embraced Zack.

  As I watched their taxi pull away, the tears came.

  Zack shot me a worried look. “Hey, what’s that about?”

  I fished around in my pocket for a tissue. “Weltschmertz,” I said. “Sorrow for the sadness of this world.”

  Zack turned his chair back into the house. “Fair enough,” he said.

  Given our city’s early snowfall, it seemed we were destined for a chilly Halloween, but the benevolent weather that had arrived the second week of the trial was staying with us, and the kids in my neighbourhood were buoyant with hope that this year their costumes wouldn’t be hidden by ski-jackets and snow-pants. I was feeling buoyant too. Zack had called that morning to say that the house inspection had been completed. Our new house had passed with flying colours, and the realtor was certain the offer we put in would be accepted. If I was interested, we could go over and start measuring. I didn’t have to be asked twice. As soon as Taylor left for school, Willie and I walked across the bridge and along the levee to our new house.

  Zack was in the driveway when we got there. He handed me a jeweller’s box. Inside were two charms: one was a tiny castle; the other was a key. “The castle is supposed to be the Bessborough Hotel. There’s a date on there.”

  “The date we decided to get married,” I said.

  “The key is to everything – the house, the car, my heart, the place at the lake, the boat, the whole shebang.”

  “That’s quite a shebang,” I said.

  “Maybe, but I get you. Now let’s go in there and see what we need to do to turn this joint into our dream home.”

  As Willie scrutinized this potentially challenging environment, his toenails made a clacking sound on the hardwood. The clacking was a good sign. Hardwood made Zack’s passage through the house easier. In terms of accessibility, we had been lucky in our choice. The new house was generously proportioned with doorways and hallways already wide enough to accommodate a wheelchair and flush thresholds. But as Zack continued to make notes on his BlackBerry, I became aware of how much we would have to change: there were his and her bathrooms off our bedroom. The bottom cabinet beneath the sink in Zack’s bathroom had to be removed to accommodate his chair and the sink traps and pipes had to be padded to keep his legs, which had no feeling, from being burned. A grab-bar and a shower seat with non-skid legs would have to be added to the bathroom. In the kitchen, counters would have to be lowered, doors put on sliding rails, and rollout shelves and lazy-susans added for all the cupboards. The list seemed daunting to me, but Zack shrugged it off. “We’ll get a good contractor and it’s November – people in the trades are happy to have work. The realtor said we’d be smart to go with a whole new kitchen – what do you think?”

  “I’ve been wanting a whole new kitchen for twenty years.”

  “That’s settled then,” Zack said. He held out his arms to me. Our kiss was passionate but awkward, as it often was between a standing person and one bound to a wheelchair. As usual, we both ended up laughing. “You know what we need in here,” Zack said. “A bed.”

  “Let’s get one like the bed at the lake,” I said. “Lots of room and a good firm mattress. Where did you buy it?”

  “Beats me,” Zack said, “But Norine will know.” He flipped open his phone and dialed Norine’s number. His greeting was high-spirited, but within seconds the joy drained from his vo
ice. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll call Sam. Thanks.” I knew without asking that the verdict was in. It was soon – too soon. The consensus had been that there’d be no decision until at least the middle of the week.

  Zack was already calling Sam’s room at the hotel. “No answer,” he said. “They’re probably swimming. Jo, I’ve got to get downtown.”

  “Okay,” I said. I was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, but as luck would have it, I’d put on my best jacket, and Zack’s cashmere scarf had been in the jacket pocket. The camera would shoot me from the waist up. “Let’s drop Willie off, and I’ll come with you.” I read the anxiety in his face. “Is this necessarily bad news?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been through this more times than I want to remember, but it’s never easy. You get close to people during a trial, and Sam and Glenda were worth getting close to.”

  During our time together, I had never seen Zack park his car in the space reserved for the handicapped, but that day at the courthouse, he drove into it without comment. We were rushed, but we weren’t the only ones who’d been caught off guard.

  As Zack disappeared down the corridor to get ready for court, Garth Severight was right behind him, shrugging into his barrister’s robe. Not long afterwards, Sam and Glenda came through the front door. Sam was wearing a three-piece suit; Glenda was in slacks, a shirt, and a jacket. Both had damp hair. Zack had been right about the call catching them during their morning swim.

  I slipped into my place in the media section and waited. The air was tense, but the protocol that governed the delivery of the verdict was low-key. The jury filed in. Zack and Garth both turned towards them, then having seen enough, turned away.

  The court clerk’s voice was mechanical. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?”

  The jury foreperson stood. There were no flowers in her hair today. Her thick mane was braided and twisted into a neat chignon at her nape, and she had traded her granny gown for a sensible black wool dress. I tried to decide what her newly conservative clothes choice augured for Sam. I didn’t have long to ponder. There was no theatrical pause for effect. In a voice as flat as that of the court clerk, the fore-person stated that the jury had agreed upon a verdict.