by Tim McGregor
Pulling off her gloves, Maggie looked over the racks of dresses arrayed against the wall of hot pink with black shelving. “The shop looks different from what I remember. Did Jen redo the decor?”
“She’s always trying new things, tweaking stuff.” Billie pulled the toque off and shook out her hair.
Maggie lifted a dress from the rack. “This is lovely. She has such an eye for design, doesn’t she?” Holding the garment before Billie, she eyed the cut and colour against her niece. “This would look nice on you.”
“Not my colour,” Billie said.
“You know, there are colours on the chart besides black and grey.”
Here we go, thought Billie. Why did everyone push colour on her? You can never go wrong with basic black.
The customer sauntered out of the shop, the bell ringing again. Jen swung around the counter to give Aunt Maggie a warm hug.
“Maggie!” Jen exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” Maggie replied. “You look lovely, as always.”
“I’m sorry I missed you over the holidays. It got a bit hectic round here.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Maggie leaned back to take a better look at the young woman who was almost family. “Means the shop is doing well?”
“We had a good Christmas,” Jen replied. “I just hope it’s enough to carry us over the dregs of January.”
“Is it bad?” asked Billie.
“Everything slows down in January, but I hadn’t counted on so many damn returns.”
“What do you mean?” Maggie asked. “People changing their minds about what they bought?”
Jen crossed to the cash register where a dress lay draped over the counter. “No, it’s the sneaky rent-a-dress shoppers. Like this one. They buy an expensive dress, wear it on New Year’s Eve and then return it, saying they changed their mind.”
Maggie looked appalled. “That’s terrible.”
“People do it all the time,” Billie said.
“I expected a few of those,” Jen said, lifting up the dress that had just been returned. “But this is the ninth one so far. Smell it.”
Billie didn’t have to lean in to catch the stench riffling up from it. “Reeks of smoke.”
“And something’s been spilt on the hem,” Maggie said, pointing out a dark patch. “Of all the nerve. Can’t you refuse to take it back?”
Jen sighed. “I could but with the shop still so new, I’m worried I’ll get slammed with a bad name if I do.”
“The tyranny of the Yelp review,” Billie said.
“Whatever that means,” Maggie huffed. “This just isn’t fair. How many of these returns can you take before you start losing money?”
“That’s the million dollar question.” Jen laid the dress back on the counter. “How long are you in town for, Maggie?”
“Until tomorrow. That’s about all my patience can stand with this city.”
“But it’s changed so much.” Jen turned to Billie, said, “Haven’t you showed her?
“Endlessly,” said Billie.
The older woman remained unmoved. “It still has a long way to go as far as I’m concerned.”
“Do you have plans later?” asked Jen. “Maybe the three of us can get some dinner.”
“We’re having dinner with Ray,” Maggie said,” but you’re welcome to join us.”
Jen’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Mockler,” answered Billie.
“Sometimes I forget he has a first name.” Jen elbowed Maggie with a conspiratorial look. “Things are getting quite serious with these two, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it nice?” Maggie beamed.
“That’s enough tittering,” Billie groaned, tugging her aunt back toward the door. “Come on, Mags. Let’s hit the road.”
“Wait.” Jen reached over the counter and peeled a page from a small notepad. “Someone came in asking for you.”
“Oh? Who?”
Jen read the name on the paper. “Robin. She wanted to get a hold of you but I didn’t want to give out your number to a stranger. I said I’d pass on a message.”
Billie took the slip of paper from Jen. Robin. The name meant nothing to her, neither did the phone number underneath it. “Did she say what she wanted?”
“She said she needed help but didn’t elaborate.”
“Oh. One of those.” Billie stuffed the note into a pocket and tugged her toque back on. “Thanks, Jen. Let’s go, Mags.”
“One of what?” asked Maggie as they stepped back out into the wind. “What does this woman want?”
Billie turned her collar back up to shield her neck from the drifting snowfall. “She probably wants to contact a relative or something.”
“I see. Are you going to help her?”
“Nope,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Why not?”
“I’m not running a service. If she needs that kind of help, she can find someone who does.” The wind had changed direction, funnelling hard through the buildings, pushing against them. Billie slipped her arm around her aunt’s and leaned into the headwind. “Let’s pick up the pace before we freeze to death.”
The pub on Augusta Street was a safe bet for food since Maggie wasn’t one to stray too far out of her comfort zone. The three of them tucked into winter-fattening repast of heavy shepherd’s pie and roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. Mockler was funny around Billie’s aunt: all table manners and breezy charm. Winking at Billie, every so often, across the table.
“Did you have a good Christmas, Ray?” Maggie asked, ever curious about this new man in her niece’s life. “Do you have family in the city?”
“My dad’s out in Burlington,” Mockler said. “We had a short visit.”
Billie’s eyes shot up. That was news to her.
“Oh?” Maggie went on. “Do you not spend Christmas Eve with him?”
“We don’t really get along.”
“That’s a shame. I know it can be hard but family is important, especially at the holidays. It’s good to remember one’s roots and all.” Here, Maggie turned to her niece. “Have you met him? Ray’s father?”
“No,” Billie said, feeling unexpectedly embarrassed that she hadn’t. Her eyes met Mockler’s as she added, “Not yet.”
“I’m sure he’ll adore you,” Maggie said, patting Billie’s hand this time. “Truth be told, I didn’t see eye-to-eye with my dad for a long time, either. And he and your mother, well, it was all out war some days.”
Billie had heard the stories, but she had few memories of her grandfather. “Did they ever reconcile? Before, you know, mom passed?”
“Sadly, no. He died a year before Mary Agnes was gone.”
“That’s too bad,” Mockler said.
Billie pushed the food around on her plate, already full. She looked at her aunt. “Do you really think it’s good to remember one’s roots? Given your own history?”
“I do.” Maggie folded her napkin onto the table. “How else does one march into the future if they don’t where they came from? You’d end up going in circles if you didn’t.”
“Wise words,” remarked Mockler.
Maggie beamed. She looked at her niece and cocked a thumb at her date. “I think you should hang onto this one, Billie. He’s a keeper.”
“Yeah,” Billie said, pretending to be aloof about the whole thing. “He’s all right.”
Mockler gave Billie another wink and then looked over the clutter on the table. “Where did that desert menu go?”
As Mockler and Maggie discussed the possibilities for desert, Billie picked up her wine glass and chewed over a thought that had nagged her since her aunt arrived. Did Maggie need to know about Poor Tom? Not so much his awful history but the fact that he was a distant relation, an ancestor? Paramount to that was the terrible revelation that the family name of Culpepper was, in fact, bogus. A family of spurious frauds. She didn’t know how to carve the dilemma. Is she obliged to reveal the tr
uth? Maggie has a right to know, certainly, but, would that knowledge have anything but misery to add to her life? Would it really make a difference to her aunt now?
“Billie?”
“Hmm?” Billie answered, shaking off the wool-gathering to find both of her dinner companions staring at her.
“Where did you go just now?” Mockler asked.
“Sorry. My head was somewhere else.” She reached for the menu. “What are you having?”
“We’re both having the ginger cake,” Maggie said.
Billie laid the menu down. “Think I’ll try the chocolate bomb.”
As Mockler flagged down the waiter, Maggie leaned in toward her niece. “Were you seeing one of those things just now? A you-know-what?”
“No. Just thinking about something.” Smirking at the notion, Billie took up her wine glass and brought her gaze up to her aunt. “Maggie, do you keep in touch with any distant relatives?”
“Not really. A Christmas card here or there.”
“You once told me about your aunt Elsie.”
“She passed years ago.”
“No one else?”
The light in Maggie’s eyes dampened. “Not many. There was a fair amount of bad blood among my dad’s side of the family. The Culpepper side.”
Culpepper. The name seemed tainted now. False.
“It’s a different story on my mother’s side,” Maggie went on. “I’m still in touch with three of my cousins. They’re nice, if a bit aloof.”
“But going back to the Culpeppers, is there anyone who might know the family history?”
“Family history?” Mockler said, one eyebrow arching in Billie’s direction. “What for?”
“Just curious.” She could read the apprehension in his eyes at her enquiry. He had seen the name that the ghost of Katie Cleary had written on the old chalkboard. He wasn’t keen on the idea.
“There is Judith,” Maggie said. “Formerly a Culpepper. She lives up on the mountain. Or she used to. I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
Billie sat up a little straighter. “Do you have her number?”
“At home somewhere. I’ll dig it up when I get back.” Maggie reached for her wine glass. “But be warned, Judith was always a bit snooty, like she was above everyone. I’m sure she’s mellowed since then.”
“Snooty?”
Maggie laughed, her eyes sheened with a gaze into old memory. “She was an outright bitch, to be honest, when we were kids. Snooty to me, but downright nasty to your mom. I’m sure she’s changed but if you ring her up out of the blue and tell her your Mary Agnes’ daughter, you might get a chilly reception. So, forewarned is forearmed.”
“Fair enough,” Billie replied, but the idea of a possible reunion was already turning sour.
~
Returning to the small apartment on Barton Street, Billie put the kettle on and the evening continued until Maggie, unable to stop yawning, waved a white flag and said goodnight. When she had retired to the bedroom, Billie and Mockler settled back into the sofa and the strains of Low played softly on the stereo between the lulls in conversation.
Billie shifted uncomfortably, one hand over her stomach. “I really shouldn’t have had that desert.”
“Wasn’t it any good?”
“Too rich.” Billie tugged at the clasp of her belt. “Would it be totally crude if I undid my belt and just flopped here like a turtle?”
“I’d be mortified,” he said. When she made a face and undid the belt, he added, “You can lose the pants altogether, if you want.”
“You wish.”
Mockler grinned then glanced over at the closed bedroom door. “Will she be okay here?”
“It’s a bit crowded sharing the bed but we manage.”
“No, I mean with your friend here, too. The boy. What if she hears him rattling around the kitchen in the middle of the night?”
She leaned back into him, nestling her head onto his shoulder. “He minds his manners when Maggie’s here.”
“Because she’s family?”
“Because I asked him to.”
The music filled the empty space for a moment. He slid an arm around her. “Will you tell Maggie about him?”
“It’s too soon,” Billie sighed. “She’s just come around to accepting my so-called gift. Telling her about Tom would send her over the edge.”
Her stomach rumbled again, still upset but the press of his body nestled against hers felt perfect. With the snow falling against the window, the only thing missing was a fireplace glowing before them, warming their feet.
“Hey,” she said, bumping an elbow into his ribcage. “When did you go visit your dad over the holidays?”
“Christmas Eve. I stopped in after work. Duty bound.”
Billie turned to look at him. “Why didn’t you take me with you?”
“You were at Long Point, with Maggie, on Christmas Eve.”
“I know, but, why didn’t we go see him some other time.”
Mockler shrugged. “Thought I’d spare you the torment.”
“He can’t be that bad.” She pivoted around to see his face. “I want to meet him.”
He exhaled loudly, not pleased. “He’s not a nice man. He would go out of his way to be a dick to you. That’s just the way he is.”
“I’m not made of glass.” Billie gathered up the remote and toggled the music down. “ I won’t break.”
“Why do you want to meet him?”
“Because he’s your dad. And I want to know all about you.”
He shrugged. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“It’s not the same.” His resistance surprised her. She couldn’t think of a time when he’d refused her anything. Why now? “I want to see with my own eyes what he’s like. I want to see where your roots are.”
“They’re not with that man.” The look in his eyes sharpened as he spoke, heels digging in. “I’m sorry. It’s not going to happen.”
It was like a wall had sprang up out of thin air. The music played on and the moments ticked by and then Mockler got to his feet. “I’ll get out of your hair,” he said, reaching for his coat.
How had this gone off the rails so fast? Billie followed him to the door. “Hey. I didn’t mean to get pushy about it.”
“It’s okay. It’s… complicated. My issue, not yours.”
“I’m no stranger to complicated,” Billie said.
“I know.” He leaned down to kiss her. “In time. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Another kiss and he was gone. Billie leaned back against the closed door, hating this sour turn the night had taken. Unsure of how it had even happened.
Chapter 4
“BOO!” BILLIE SAID.
It was meant as more of a surprise than a scare, sneaking up on Kaitlin at work. What she hadn’t expected were the tears in her friend’s eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, mortified at her silly prank.
“It’s nothing,” Kaitlin said, quickly wiping her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by the office, thought I’d stop in.” The receptionist was a mutual friend who let Billie slip through for a surprise visit. She slid into the cubicle, lowering her voice. “What happened?”
Waving it away, Kaitlin peeled her coat from the back of her chair. “Let’s go get some coffee.”
Mulberry’s was around the corner from the marketing firm where Kaitlin worked. They small-talked it until they settled into the long bench at the back. Kaitlin had pulled herself together but Billie could sense a thin membrane dampening her emotions, like the skin on boiled milk.
“Is it Kyle?” she asked.
“No,” Kaitlin said. “I’m not sure what it was.”
“Must be something.”
Kaitlin shook her head and then blew on her coffee. “It’s been happening at work. I’m fine one minute, working away, and then out of the blue, I’m crying. I don’t even realize it’s happening until tears run down
my cheek.”
“It might be after shock. Post trauma and stuff.”
“That’s what I thought at first, too, but there’s usually a trigger. And it’s not the break-up, either. If anything, I feel more relieved about that each day. This is something else entirely.”
“Subconscious?”
Kaitlin shrugged. “Too Jungian.”
Billie wrapped her hands around her mug to warm them. “And it only happens at work?”
“So far.”
Billie chewed her lip. “Is there anyone in the office who’s upset?”
“What do you mean?”
“Anyone going through a tough time? A break-up or an illness? Trouble at home?”
The pupil’s in Kaitlin’s puffy eyes dilated. “You think it’s the empathic thing? Like, I’m picking up on someone else’s emotions?”
Billie nodded. “If someone at work is going through a really hard time, you’re soaking it up without even realizing it.”
Kaitlin all but slapped her forehead. “Dennis! My boss. His wife miscarried. Again. They’ve been trying for almost two years now. I overheard him talking about it the other day.”
“Is his office close to your desk?”
“Right next door.” Kaitlin’s shoulders drooped as if pushed down under awful the truth of it. “God. I had no idea. How am I supposed to deal with this? Being a magnet for emotional outbursts?”
“You’re not a magnet,” Billie suggested. “You’re more like an echo chamber, amplifying the signal.”
“That sounds even worse. All this time, I thought it was just spontaneous PMS.”
The slice of poppyseed cake they had decided to share sat untouched between them. Billie tore off a piece and pushed the plate across the table.
“Has it been happening a lot lately?”
Kaitlin nodded slowly. “Ever since that awful business at the punchbowl. I thought it was just PTSD or something, but it’s more than that.”
“The tap has been turned on all the way.”
A bubble of laughter popped, like a hiccup, but there was little mirth to it. “Funny. I wanted what you had for so long. I guess I got my wish.”
“It’s frightening at first, because it seems so random and chaotic. But you’ll learn to recognize it more.”