by Gail Bowen
“Do you want me to talk to them?”
“What would you say? Howard, you’re good at spin, but even you couldn’t spin Ian’s affair with Jill in a way that would make my kids feel less betrayed or make me feel less inadequate.”
Howard slapped his forehead. “Jesus, Jo, you don’t often misread a situation, but you’re way out in left field with this. It was Ian who felt inadequate. That’s why he turned to Jill. That’s why he stayed with her.”
“And what sent you leaping to that conclusion?”
“Ian did. I told you I talked to him a hundred times about ending it with Jill. In addition to everything else, he was jeopardizing his future. One night we had a few drinks together, and I revisited the subject. I told him that he had to choose: he could either end the affair with Jill or he could kiss his future political aspirations goodbye.”
“And he chose Jill.”
“He didn’t have to choose. He said that Jill loved you and the kids. She knew you and the children would always be part of Ian’s life and that’s the way she wanted it.”
“Howard, that is just bizarre.”
“Maybe so, but I’d worked myself into a corner where the bizarre was acceptable. I had a huge personal investment in Ian. I’d brought him along; I’d groomed him; I’d made him deputy premier and I’d made certain there was nobody else waiting in the wings. Ian was performing brilliantly. You and he were an extraordinary team: young, smart, and blessed with an appealing family. I knew that if we kept it together, Ian could become federal leader, and as federal leader, he could open up a whole new area of possibilities for us.”
“So where did Jill fit in?
“Ian said he couldn’t function without her. When I pressed him, he said he needed Jill because he needed someone who looked up to him.”
“And I didn’t look up to him.”
Howard’s voice was husky. “You remember how it was. Ian had shortcomings and you filled the gaps.”
“Isn’t that what people do in a healthy relationship? That’s the way it is for Zack and me.”
“Ian wasn’t Zack. Zack is comfortable in his own skin. He knows how good he is. The fact that you’re good at what you do isn’t a threat to him.”
“And it was to Ian?”
“Yeah. You were smarter than Ian was and that galled him. The speeches he gave that really inspired people were the ones you wrote. And you were better with people than he was. When Ian’s arrogance pissed people off, you smoothed the ruffled feathers. When he blew up at members of his staff, you talked them into staying with him.”
“Howard, I never made a big deal about anything I did.”
“I know you didn’t. But Ian knew how much he needed you, and he resented it.”
Suddenly I was livid. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Ian needed me to keep his political career on track. His need made him resentful, so he worked off his resentment by having sex with Jill.”
“I’m sorry, Jo.”
“So am I,” I said. “Give me a break, Howard. You’ve just destroyed whatever shreds of respect I had left for Ian.”
“Ian was a good man,” Howard said. “He simply made an error in judgment. Can’t you accept that?”
“Why should I accept that?” I said. “When a good man makes an error in judgment, he atones for it. Ian just kept right on banging Jill.”
“Jo, you’re breaking her heart.”
“I’m not a saint, Howard.”
“Agreed. But you are a woman who has a houseful of people who love her waiting to celebrate Thanksgiving with her. Jill doesn’t have that. She doesn’t have anybody but a bottom feeder who’s after her money and a future that sucks. You won, Jo. Do the right thing.”
When we got back from our walk, Zack met me at the door with a lapful of old beach towels. The beach had been muddy. Our hose was still hooked up, so I hosed Pantera and Willie down, gave them a preliminary rub, and sent them inside to shake off the excess water on Zack.
After the dogs had wandered into the sunroom, Zack poured us both a cup of coffee. “Jill called,” he said.
“Speak of the devil,” I said.
Zack’s head snapped up. “Whoa. Where did that come from?”
“Howard just finished explaining to me that Ian banged Jill because I made him feel inadequate.”
“I’m not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole,” Zack said.
“Very wise,” I said. “Did Jill say what she wanted?”
“She wanted you. She’s going to call back.”
“Swell.” Right on cue, my cell rang.
Jill’s tone was urgent. “I have to see you, Jo.”
“It’s Thanksgiving,” I said. “We’re at the lake.”
“I’m at the lake too. More accurately, I’m at the Dairy Queen at the turnoff to your place. Can you meet me here?”
“What’s this about, Jill?”
“You were right about Graham,” she said, and her voice was dead.
“I just got back from taking the dogs for a run,” I said. “I need to shower and change. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I was dressed and my hair was combed but still wet when I came out of our bedroom. Zack was waiting for me. “What’s up?”
“Jill wants to see me. I’m meeting her at the DQ on the highway.”
Zack wheeled over to the closet where we hung our jackets. He handed me mine and then took down his. “I’m coming with you. Whatever’s going on, you shouldn’t be alone.”
I kissed the top of Zack’s head. “I’m glad I have you,” I said.
“And I’m glad I have you,” he said. “Jo, do you ever have second thoughts about this mayoralty thing?”
“Constantly,” I said. “But we can’t turn back. That quote from Edmund Burke you’ve been using puts steel in my spine. Now we’d better make tracks. We’re eating at six, and there’s a lot to do before you sharpen your trusty Henckel and call us to the table.”
Jill was sitting by the window when we got to the Dairy Queen. The rain was falling steadily. It was a gloomy morning and somehow the fluorescent lights of the DQ only deepened the gloom. When we pulled into the parking lot, Zack opened the door on the passenger side and reached into the back seat for his chair. I didn’t move.
“Aren’t you coming?” Zack said.
“I am. I just need a minute. I’m still smarting from Howard’s insight.” I opened the car door and stepped out into the rain. “Okay. I’m ready, but let’s make it quick.”
When she saw us, Jill gave a brief wave. I joined her, and Zack took a place at a table across the room where he could keep me in view.
Like me, Jill hadn’t bothered with makeup, and the scattering of freckles on her pale skin brought back memories of the fresh-faced girl I’d once known.
“Thanks for coming,” she said. “Does Zack really believe he needs to protect you from me?”
“He doesn’t want me to be alone.”
“It’s probably just as well Zack came. He should hear this too.” When Jill reached into her bag and took out her phone, I motioned to Zack to join us. He and Jill exchanged greetings and then Jill turned her attention to her phone. “Slater called Graham early this morning. Graham thought I was still sleeping, so he took the call in the living room. I went over to the bedroom door and opened it a crack. I thought if Graham caught me, I’d just say I’d heard the phone and wondered if everything was all right.”
“But he didn’t catch you,” Zack said.
“I guess it was my lucky day,” Jill said. She tapped her phone and I heard Graham Meighen’s voice, loud and furious: “Slater, the media are going to be out in full force, to see if Ridgeway shows. He has to be at St. Joseph’s Hall by noon today. It’s a tradition. The mayor and city council always serve dinner to the homeless at Thanksgiving. Ridgeway doesn’t have to say a goddamned thing. All he has to do is show up, throw a slice of turkey on a fucking plate, and not look like a zombie.
“Put him on. I�
��ll tell him myself.” There was a pause, then Meighen said, “Scott, Slater tells me you’re not feeling well enough to go to dish out the turkey today. People are already asking questions about what the hell’s going on with you. If you don’t show up today, people are going to continue asking questions and sooner or later they’re going to stumble on things we don’t want them to stumble on. Then we’ll lose the election and the ground will open up and swallow us all.
“It’s up to you to keep that from happening. Scott, we’re in the clear. Cronus is out of the picture, so the four of us are the only ones who can connect us with that night, and none of us are going to talk.”
The tape clicked off. “Graham didn’t catch you?” I said.
Jill picked up her paper napkin and began pleating it into accordion folds. “No, he went to the bathroom. By the time he came back to bed I was there pretending to be asleep.”
“Do you have any idea about the night Graham was talking about?” Zack asked
“No,” Jill said. “But I’m going to find out. Graham and I are through, but he doesn’t know that.”
“What happened?”
Jill focused on pleating her napkin. “He was cheating on me. Jo, I realize the irony of me talking about betrayal with you, but if you can get past that, I’m in a position now to get my story and to help your campaign. Graham is flailing. He was counting on Liz’s money to get him out of the hole he’s dug himself, but recently Liz changed her will and left everything to the Beverly Levy Scholarship Fund.”
I whistled. “Whoa.”
Jill was cool. “Whoa, indeed. Anyway, Graham’s desperate, and desperate people make mistakes. Graham may not trust me completely, but he needs my money. Last night he asked me for $500,000.”
I touched her arm. “Be careful, Jill.”
Before we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked back at the restaurant. Jill was standing by the window. Backlit by the harsh fluorescent lights, she looked frail and alone. I had to swallow hard to keep the tears back.
Zack and I came back to a house warm with the promise of Thanksgiving. Angus greeted us at the door. I stood on the threshold for moment, overwhelmed by memories. In profile, Angus looked exactly as Ian had when I met him. I remembered how intensely I had loved Ian at the beginning, then Zack turned to me and grinned and the memory of Ian passed.
Angus pushed back his unruly forelock. “Glad you’re home. Mieka says French chefs say a turkey should rest for the same amount of time as it was cooked, so we have to get the birds in the oven. I’ve chopped the onions and the celery, but nobody knows your stuffing recipe.”
“There is no recipe,” I said. “But you can watch and learn if you want.”
“Actually, I do,” Angus said. “Leah’s moving back to Regina and one of her ‘concerns’ about me when we broke up was that I was immature.”
“And stuffing a turkey is proof of maturity?” I said.
“It’s a step,” Angus said.
Our rule for family dinners is simple: everybody who doesn’t bring a dish has to pitch in with the cooking. Most of us do both. Angus stuffed one of the turkeys and Mieka taught him a dynamite recipe for Brussels sprouts. Peter and Maisie brought a sweet potato casserole and made a fire. Zack played the piano, and the little kids played with the piano pedals. Taylor, Isobel, and Gracie set the table and exchanged whispered confidences. It was the kind of mellow day we’d shared dozens of times, but since Labour Day our lives had been short of mellow days and I treasured this one.
As the smell of turkey drifted through the house, I was content. Zack poured us both a martini. When he handed me my drink, he said, “You look more at peace than you have in a long time.”
“I am more at peace,” I said.
“One last job,” Zack said. “Mieka says she thinks that everything’s ready, but she wants you to check to see if anything’s missing.” I followed Zack into the sunroom. The old partners’ table was set for twenty. I’d invited Milo, but he’d declined, so there were four extra chairs pulled to the side. The pies and dessert plates were on the sideboard. Angus and I had each cooked a twenty-five-pound turkey and the birds were sitting on the kitchen workspace, wrapped in parchment paper and kitchen towels, waiting to be carved. The side dishes were being kept warm in the oven and the gravy was simmering.
“Perfect,” I said, and it was.
I couldn’t have asked for a better Thanksgiving, but my eyes kept being drawn to the four empty chairs that had been pulled aside. I found myself wishing that circumstances had been different and that Jill had been in one of them.
Finally, the last sliver of pumpkin pie was eaten, and we cleaned up and went our separate ways. Everybody seven and over and under the age of forty went to the guest cottage to watch movies. The rest of us stayed behind to play with Jacob and Lexi and chat. It was a perfect post-Thanksgiving evening, but Howard was in a brown study. Finally, he pushed himself out of his chair. “This has been great,” he said. “But I think I’ll drive back to town tonight.”
“Everything okay?” Zack said.
“Yeah, I thought I’d check on Jill, if you’re okay with that, Jo.”
“I’m okay with that,” I said. “Jill’s been on my mind too.”
“Can I tell her you’re thinking of her?”
“Yes,” I said. “Howard, I’m doing my best, but this is terra incognita for me. I’ve lost friends to death, but in some ways this situation with Jill is worse. When friends die, you mourn, but you know they’re not suffering and you have memories that make you smile. Everything’s jumbled for Jill and me. I know she’s suffering, but every memory I have of our time together is shadowed by what she and Ian did.”
Howard gave me an avuncular hug. “You’ll work it out, Jo. You always do.”
CHAPTER
15
The long weekend had been idyllic, but all good things come to an end. We’d driven back to the city after supper Monday night, and Tuesday-morning reality hit. Howard and Milo, the odd couple, arrived bright and early with the polling results. I topped off Zack’s coffee and poured Howard a cup. Milo unwrapped a fresh Crispy Crunch bar. Howard plopped his ancient briefcase on the table and waded right in. “Milo tells me our numbers aren’t good,” he said. “We’re still four points ahead, but the momentum we had before Thanksgiving has gone up in smoke.”
“The fucking perp ads are killing us,” Milo said. “Those clips of Zack on the courthouse steps yucking it up with his thug-clients are cutting us off at the knees. No offence, Zack.”
“None taken,” Zack said. “Okay. So Ridgeway’s ads are working. How do we make them stop working?”
“Jo told me about the recording you heard of Graham Meighen’s conversation with Slater Doyle,” Milo said. “That’s a starting point.”
The penny dropped. “It may be enough,” I said. “Ridgeway’s perp ads are fact-free. There’s nothing there but juxtaposition and innuendo, but they’re killing us. So lesson learned. We’ll use juxtaposition and innuendo. Jill’s determined to discover the truth about the Ridgeway campaign. If she can get us footage of Graham Meighen yucking it up with Scott Ridgeway and Slater, we can run it with a voice-over: ‘They have secrets – things they don’t want you to know.’ It’s ugly, but it should drive the snakes out from under the rocks.”
Milo jumped off his stool. “Welcome to the world of gutter politics, Jo,” he said. “And how about this lick – we can finish the ads with a set up like Crime Stoppers. ‘If you have information about why Lancaster Development is pulling the strings at City Hall, call us. We’ll follow through and we guarantee all callers anonymity.’ ”
Zack shot me a look of concern. “Are sure you’re okay with this, Jo?”
“I am. We know Ridgeway is in Graham Meighen’s pocket, but we don’t know why. It’s just a matter of time till we discover what Graham has on Scott Ridgeway. I don’t want to find the smoking gun the day after we’ve lost the election.”
Milo’s long fingers be
at a tattoo on the table. “Time to go for the gonads.” He glanced at me. “Last chance,” he said.
“It’s my fault we didn’t go negative sooner,” I said. “Let’s do what we have to do and deal with our consciences later. Zack, try to come home for lunch. We should have something concrete blocked out by then.”
After Zack left, we divvied up the tasks. Milo called the ad agency and ran the new idea past them. The conversation was lengthy – at least lengthy for Milo. When he broke the connection, he was upbeat. “Here’s where we are. The agency loves the ‘They’ve got secrets’ angle, but they think we should lawyer up.”
“We already have,” I said. “Zack’s a lawyer and when we ran this by him, he didn’t blink an eye. Why would he? The Ridgeway campaign does have secrets. If they want to take us to court, let them try.”
“That’s the spirit,” Milo said. “And the agency likes the Crime Stoppers shtick. I like it because it’s punchy, but the agency thinks it might actually cause an informant to step forth. And one last piece of good news. We’ve already bought a substantial number of thirty-second spots in the time leading up to E-Day, so we’ve got the air time.”
“And the bad news … ?” I said.
Milo started to unwrap a fresh Crispy Crunch bar and then stuck it back in his jeans pocket. He’d never mentioned it, but I had a sense he was trying to cut back. He patted his jeans pocket longingly and then soldiered on. “The bad news is that the agency says there’s no way they can get three new commercials in shape to air by the weekend.”