The Endless Knot

by Gail Bowen

  “Good. She’s a smart broad.” Howard caught himself. “Make that a smart ‘woman.’ ”

  “Duly noted,” I said. I poured our tea. “Howard, what’s going on?”

  “I told you. I thought I needed a lawyer, and I was right. The cops were back this afternoon. They went through all the garbage cans at the condo. It seems someone dumped my garbage and Kathryn’s, hosed down the cans, then put the garbage back in. My garbage was all mixed up with hers. Probably a prank.”

  “No doubt,” I said. “The old dump-out-the-garbage/hose-down-the-cans/replace-the-garbage trick. We’ve all done it.”

  Howard had the grace to look chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have tried to snow you, but you did ask, and my lawyer has instructed me not to tell.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll do the talking. I saw Charlie this afternoon. I went to his house to convey your message.”

  Howard grunted, but he leaned forward, eager to hear news of his son. “And …?”

  “And,” I said. “Mieka and Peter were with him. I won’t lie to you, Howard. I’m not thrilled that Charlie is involving my kids. Last night, Mieka and Pete both walked away from their own lives to be with your son, and this isn’t kid stuff any more. There will be consequences – serious consequences.”

  My reference to the price my kids were paying for their loyalty to Charlie bounced right off Howard. His focus was narrow. “So why did Charlie want Mieka and Pete there?”

  “Make an educated guess,” I said.

  “Charlie needs an alibi,” Howard said.

  “Bingo,” I said. “And Mieka is prepared to say she spent the night with Charlie. In my opinion, it’s a stupid decision. If she’s lying, she’s opening herself to a charge of perjury. If she’s telling the truth, she’s jeopardizing her marriage.”

  “That’s not the point,” Howard said. “The question is – can she and Charlie make this story stick?” In a gesture I knew well from the old political days, each word of his question was separated by a pause and each pause was punctuated by a chop of his hand.

  I was livid. “Is that all that matters to you? You’ve known Mieka all her life. Don’t you care about her marriage or about the fact that she’s doing something unethical? Howard, Peter left his clinic today to help Charlie work out a story. You’re Pete’s godfather. Don’t you care about him?”

  “I’m sorry Mieka and Pete are involved, Jo. Really, I am. But your kids are strong enough to see this through. Through no fault of his own, Charlie isn’t.”

  “So we pay for the fact that you were a lousy parent,” I said.

  “Yes,” Howard said. “You do, because this is my last chance.” He reached up to rub his head and his hand encountered the toque. He ripped it off angrily. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me I was still wearing this?” He didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Do you know who gave me this? My daughters? Remember them?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Both medical doctors. Marnie was very proud of them. She was proud of all her children.”

  “She wouldn’t be proud of the way they’ve cut themselves off from me. I hear from them twice a year – on my birthday and at Christmas. This goddamn clown’s hat was last year’s gift – from both of them. That’s how little they know their father.”

  “How could they know you,” I said. “You were never there.”

  I regretted my words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Howard slumped. “Do you think I don’t know that? But I’m trying to make amends.”

  “By saving Charlie,” I said.

  “Did you know that today is All Saints’ Day?” Howard said. “Every year the good sisters who took care of Marnie send me a church calendar.”

  “They haven’t given up on your soul,” I said.

  “They’re the only ones,” Howard said grimly. “Anyway, today is the day the faithful light a votive candle and recite a rosary for the departed. This morning while I was shaving, I started thinking about who would say the rosary for me – couldn’t think of a goddamned person.”

  “What about me?” I said.

  Howard frowned. “You’re not even Catholic,” he said.

  “I could learn how to say a rosary,” I said.

  Howard stood up and pulled on his toque. “Well, get started,” he said. “Because I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  There was a cab idling in front of my house when Willie and I came back from our run the next morning. It was still dark, just before seven o’clock, but the streetlight’s beam was bright enough to outline the silhouettes of two figures in the taxi’s front seat. Unsettling, but not so troubling as the solitary figure on my front door step. The collar of his pea-jacket was turned up and his watch cap was pulled low to obscure his face, but even from the street, I had no trouble recognizing the slender figure of Ethan Thorpe. He was carrying a box about the size of a small city’s telephone book, and he seemed frozen, unsure of what to do next.

  I let Willie off his leash and he bounded up the walk towards Ethan. When Ethan turned to pat him, I called hello. Ethan was a handsome boy, but the unforgiving porch light revealed eyes that were swollen from crying and a face crushed by pain.

  He held up the box. “I wanted to give this to Taylor. I rang the doorbell, but nobody came.”

  “Taylor’s the Queen of the Sound Sleepers,” I said. “I can take the box if you like.”

  Ethan clutched it to his chest. “I wanted to give it to her personally,” he said.

  The cabbie honked his horn. Ethan darted a glance at the taxi. “I have to go,” he said. “We’re catching a plane.”

  “We?” I repeated.

  “My father and me,” he said.

  “So you’re moving to Ottawa,” I said.

  “No, Winnipeg – to a boarding school.” Ethan swallowed hard. “It’s supposed to be pretty good.”

  The cab driver hit the horn again. Ethan thrust the package into my hands.

  “Ethan, I’m sorry about everything that’s happened. I know how difficult this is for you.”

  His eyes met mine, and I hoped I would never again see such desolation. There had been no happy ending for Ethan. With a dead mother and an indifferent father, he was at the end of the line. I was all too familiar with the pattern. The private school at which I had been a boarder had been a fine one, but we all knew we were there because nobody else wanted us.

  “Stay in touch, Ethan,” I said. “I mean that. I want to know how you’re doing.”

  His laugh was harsh. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Could you tell Taylor …”

  “Tell her what?”

  The horn sounded for the third time. “Tell her I wish we could have been like Soul-fire and Chloe.” He ran down the path, jumped in the back seat of the cab, and slammed the door. I watched as the car sped away.

  In our family, we always left mail and messages on the kitchen table, but I took Ethan’s parcel up to my room and placed it on the top shelf of my cupboard. It was going to be tough enough for Taylor to deal with the rumours and gossip at school; she didn’t need to start her day with a fresh reminder of Ethan.

  I sat down on the bed and dialed Zack’s number. “I was just going to call you,” he said. “The contractor’s going to meet us at the new house in two hours.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Zack said.

  “I am enthusiastic,” I said. “Ethan Thorpe just left. He wanted to say goodbye.”

  Zack sighed. “You didn’t need that.”

  “Agreed. I would have felt better if Ethan and I’d had a chance to talk, but his father was in the cab waiting impatiently.”

  “So Dad’s going to step up to the plate after all.”

  “No,” I said. “Dad’s going to drop Ethan off at boarding school in Winnipeg.”

  “What a champ,” Zack said. “We should introduce him to Mrs. Parker. They appea
r to be birds of a feather. Last night, Glenda asked me if there was any legal way her mother could keep her from attending Sam’s funeral.”

  “Beverly’s trying to do that?”

  “Yes. She even tried to enlist me to smooth the process.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Take a guess.”

  I laughed. “My hero.”

  Zack’s car was already at the house, but the contractor and I arrived at the same time. He was a balding, affable man with a very shiny green truck. He walked over to me with his hand out. “Ms. Shreve?” he said.

  “Joanne Kilbourn,” I said. “But Zack and I are getting married.”

  “Congratulations,” he said. “Incidentally, my name’s McCudden.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Zack was in the living room, staring at his BlackBerry. He and Mr. McCudden introduced themselves and then we got down to business. There was a window seat in the living room, so Mr. McCudden and I sat there and Zack wheeled his chair over. I had come armed with a file folder full of clippings from magazines and printouts from the Internet. Zack had his own folder of notes. Mr. McCudden dropped both folders into his briefcase without opening them. “I’ll go through these tonight,” he said. “I’ve renovated about a dozen houses to make them accessible,” he said. “But you may have an idea I haven’t run into. Now, accessibility aside, tell me in one sentence what you want.”

  “We want a good solid family home,” I said.

  Mr. McCudden smiled. “Because you’re a good solid family.”

  “That’s exactly what we are,” Zack said.

  “In that case,” Mr. McCudden said. “I have some ideas you might like.”

  Mr. McCudden zipped his jacket. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow with some preliminary drawings. Same time?”

  When he left, I turned to Zack. “He doesn’t waste time, does he?”

  “No, and considering that we’ll be paying his crew a bundle to get the job done fast and well, that’s a virtue.”

  “How much is this going to cost us?”

  “We’ll find out tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “If you want something, go for it,” I said.

  Zack raised an eyebrow. “Are you mocking me?”

  “No. Just quoting. But let me know if I’m going to have to take in laundry to pay for this.”

  “I’ll let you know,” he said. “In the meantime, I have a favour to ask.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “You know, that doesn’t sound cheesy when you say it.”

  “It’s because I mean it.”

  “Good, because this is a biggie. It’s about Glenda Parker.”

  “How did your meeting with her go last night?”

  “Not great. Sam’s funeral is on Friday at Beverly’s place of worship in Calgary. It’s one of those big, evangelical, Family Values churches, and Beverly wants to put on a real show. She’s too savvy to hire goons to keep Glenda away, but she says if Glenda shows up, she’ll be shunned.”

  “Ostracized? Wow. Beverly plays hardball, doesn’t she?”

  “Glenda plays hardball too,” Zack said. “She’s determined to be at the funeral, and she is going to attend as a woman.”

  “To spite Beverly?”

  “No, to honour Sam. Glenda and I had a long talk last night. You know how she was during the trial – always there, but never drawing attention to herself. I figured that was just her style, but as it turns out she was afraid if she was overtly female she might jeopardize her father’s case. Do you know that every morning before she went to court she bound her breasts?”

  “Oh, Zack, that’s terrible. I didn’t realize …”

  “That Glenda has breasts. Well, she does. Her endocrinologist has her on female hormones. Apparently, Glenda has to live as a female for two full years before the specialists will do the surgery. Sam knew how important the surgery was to Glenda. He didn’t want her to lose any time, so he urged her to dress as a woman during the trial.”

  “But she wanted to protect him.”

  “Right. Anyway, now she wants to honour him by appearing in public as the person she really is.”

  “Good for her,” I said.

  Zack squeezed my hand. “I figured you’d say that. Jo, Sam’s funeral is going to be a tough day for Glenda. I told her you and I would go with her.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I said. “Is that the favour?”

  “No, Glenda wants to make sure she gets ‘the right look’ for the funeral. She wondered if you could help her pick something out.”

  I groaned. “Zack, you must have noticed that fashion isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

  “You always look great.”

  “And 90 per cent of the time I’m wearing jeans and a sweater. But I do know where the good shops are, and I’d be happy to take Glenda around. So what are you going to do while Glenda and I are bonding?”

  “Catch up on my files. I’ve been letting things slip lately.”

  “So the Statue of Liberty has returned to her place in New York Harbour,” I said.

  Zack held up an admonishing finger. “I’m going to cut back. You watch.”

  “I plan to,” I said. Then I kissed him hard.

  Knowing that the city’s centre wouldn’t be as busy as the malls, we drove downtown where there would be fewer heads to turn and eyes to stare. Money was not an issue, so I took Glenda to the most expensive store in town. I am a reluctant shopper, and the concept of retail therapy has always eluded me, but as Glenda stood in the muted light, holding a creamy silk blouse against the gentle curves of her new breasts, the tension left her body. After a lifetime of masquerade, she was at last going to be herself.

  The saleswoman who helped us was discreet and knowledgeable. She offered possibilities that flattered Glenda’s lithe, athletic body, and withdrew so that Glenda could make her own choices. In the end, Glenda chose a cool and cleanly cut oyster boucle suit that concealed and revealed in all the right places. When we left the shop, we were triumphant. Our only real problem came later when we tried to find women’s dress shoes that would fit Glenda’s long and very narrow feet. At the third store, we succeeded and Glenda’s relief was palpable. When she found a pair of runners in her size and, they were on sale, we decided to celebrate with a glass of wine at my house.

  After we carried in our booty and hung up our coats, it was reward time. “So what’ll it be, Glenda,” I asked. “White or red?”

  “Would you mind if we wait on the wine,” she said. “I’d like to try my outfit here where I can really look at it. I was a little rattled when we were at the shop.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said. “There’s a full-length mirror in my room upstairs. Take your time.”

  It was half an hour before Glenda returned, but when she came into the kitchen I saw that she hadn’t just been trying on clothes; she had been transforming herself. She had smoothed back the long bang that had partially hidden her face and for the first time since I’d met her, she was wearing makeup. Her blush and lipstick were subtly and flatteringly applied, and the startlingly blue eyes that were so like her father’s were now accented by shadow, liner, and mascara. It was clear she had spent more than a few evenings practising. She’d added a delicate gold chain and thin hoop earrings to her outfit, and the effect was stunning.

  She touched her necklace. “This belonged to my dad’s mother. Does it work – I don’t mean just the chain – the whole thing?”

  “It works,” I said. “You look beautiful.”

  Glenda’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear someone say that.”

  I handed her a tissue from the box on the counter. “Here’s a tip,” I said. “Don’t wear mascara if you’re in a situation where you think you might cry.”

  Glenda dabbed at her eyes. “It’s the hormones,” she said. “But thanks – I’ll skip the mascara when I go the funeral.”

  After she�
��d changed into her everyday clothes, Glenda came back downstairs. “I appreciate this, Joanne. It was good of you to give up your day.”

  “The day’s not over.”

  Glenda shook her head. “No,” she said. “It yawns before me. Would you mind if I listened to those old records of my dad’s again?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Indifferent housekeeper that I am, everything’s just as we left it.”

  She winced. “Not quite everything,” she said.

  After Glenda disappeared into the family room, I Googled the website of Beverly’s church and read her minister’s most recent sermon. He called upon the faithful to enter the battle for our nation’s soul by becoming politically involved. His version of Onward Christian Soldiers was scary stuff, but I knew this was a vein worth mining for my book, so I opened the link to past sermons and read on. I was engrossed in the complexities of his attack on the separation of church and state when Taylor came in.

  She pitched her backpack on a chair, poured herself a glass of milk, and sat down opposite me. “Who’s here?” she said.

  “Glenda Parker,” I said. “How did you know there was somebody here?”

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “Sweet yellow Volks beetle in the driveway. Bunch of boxes from Hall & Rae in the living room. Music playing in the family room. So where’s Glenda?”

  “She’s listening to those records her dad made.”

  Taylor nodded. “Ethan wasn’t in school today.”

  “I know,” I said. I took a breath. “Taylor, Ethan won’t be back at Lakeview. He came by this morning before you were up. He’s going to school in Winnipeg.”

  “But his father lives in Ottawa.”

  “It’s a boarding school. Ethan says it’s supposed to be pretty good.”

  “Did he seem okay?”

  “No,” I said. “But he’s dealing with some heavy stuff. He needs time.”

  Taylor picked up her milk then put it down without drinking. “I’m glad he’s gone,” she said quietly. The words tumbled out. “I’m sorry about Ethan’s mother, and I’m sorry that he couldn’t move to Ottawa with his dad, but I’m still glad I don’t have to see him every day.” She looked at me gloomily. “That was an awful thing to say, wasn’t it?”