Enter, Night

by Michael Rowe

  They had come to the place where the gravel driveway met the edge of the portico steps a short distance away. “We’re here, Finn. Thanks for walking me home.”

  “No problem,” Finn said. “Man, it’s huge, isn’t it? I’d get lost in there, for sure.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty huge. Like I said, you’ll have to come in sometime and look around.”

  “Can I come in today?” Nothing ventured, Finn thought. The worst she can do is say no. “Or . . . I don’t know. Would that be OK?”

  “It’s only my second day living here, Finn,” Morgan said. “My grandmother is a little weird, especially when it comes to my mom and me and people in town. I don’t think she’d like it. I don’t know why, and I don’t really know what it’s about, but I promise—soon.”

  “She’s stuck-up,” Finn blurted out. “Everybody in town knows it. She thinks she’s better than everyone else because she’s so rich and the Parrs run everything in the Landing—” He stopped himself in mid-sentence, flushing dark red from the base of his throat to his hairline. If he’d been a cartoon character, he’d have slapped his own head and bellowed stoopid stoopid STOOPID! But all he could do was privately lament that the earth didn’t swallow him up immediately and take him down to the very bowels of Parr’s Landing. He knew he was going to be a virgin till his dying day. “I mean—God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  But Morgan surprised him by laughing delightedly. “Yeah, she is, a bit.” She began to laugh again, picturing Adeline’s face at the breakfast table that morning, her mouth as tight as if she’d been sipping raw lemon juice from her delicate porcelain cup instead of coffee. She steadied herself. “You sound like my uncle Jeremy. He thinks she’s stuck-up, too.” She began to laugh again in spite of herself.

  “I’m really sorry,” Finn said. He was still mortified, though awareness was dawning in him that this girl didn’t seem to imagine him quite the disaster he himself saw in his mental mirror. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Hey, don’t apologize, Finn,” Morgan said kindly. “It’s OK. Really. I appreciate you being so nice and friendly. Like I said, I don’t know anyone here, and nobody spoke to me today in school. It’s like I have leprosy or something.”

  She reached out and took his hand. Finn, who had never held a girl’s hand, or indeed ever had any female other than his mother or his grandmother touch him anywhere, including his hand, found it unutterably sweet, soft, and warm. He felt momentarily bedazzled, as though the late-afternoon sunlight had preternaturally brightened.

  “You don’t have leprosy,” Finn said softly. He pulled his hand away awkwardly.

  Morgan smiled and readjusted the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder. “Goodbye, Finn. Thanks for walking me home.” She looked at him questioningly. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Sure!” he said. “I mean—if you want? Do you . . . uh, do you want me to walk you home again tomorrow?

  “That’d be nice.” She raised one hand and half-waved. “See you later, Finn.”

  Morgan walked the rest of the way to the house, opened the front door, and went inside. Finn caught a brief glimpse of the black-and-white marble foyer of the entry hall, then the door closed. He stood for a moment staring at the closed door, thinking of Morgan, memorizing her face.

  Then, his chest full of stars, Finn turned and walked down the gravel drive to where the hill sloped downwards to the soft dirt road strewn with fallen yellow leaves leading to the town, and home. He half-walked, half-ran, half-skipped towards home. His hand thrilled where her fingers had been, and he whistled (something he never had done before) as he moved through the autumn-darkening streets of Parr’s Landing.

  Christina knocked on the door to Morgan’s room, then pushed it open. Her daughter was sitting at the spindly, delicate writing desk in the corner reading from what looked to Christina like the same Ontario history book she herself had in her own days at Matthew Browning.

  “Hi, Mom,” Morgan said. “What time’s dinner? I’m hungry.”

  “I think, in twenty minutes,” Christina said. “I passed Beatrice on the way up here and she said that it was almost dinner time.” She didn’t add that Beatrice had warned her to be on time “because Mrs. Parr likes things just so, and she’s peculiar about people being at the table on time, just so’s you know.”

  “What are you reading?” Christina asked nonchalantly. “Looks familiar.”

  Morgan held up the book, A History of Ontario by Margaret Avison. It was the same one, all right. Good Christ, Christina thought. My daughter is back in my hometown, attending my high school, and being taught from the same outdated textbooks as I was. It’s 1972, for God’s sake. Nothing changes here, nothing.

  “It’s really boring,” she said. “It’s from 1951.” Morgan closed the book and put it down in front of her. “It’s like we’re back in the olden days here. Even the high school looks like something from TV. It’s so old fashioned.”

  “How was your first day at school?”

  Morgan shrugged. “It was OK, I guess. Nobody was mean, but nobody talked to me, either. There was a nice lady in the front office, and the principal was OK, too.” She paused, unsure of how to say what she was about to say next. “Mom?”

  “Yes, honey? What is it?”

  “Mom, did grandmother tell everyone that I’m illegitimate? Because it was weird, but the principal kept talking about ‘lifestyle choices’ that you and Dad made back when I was born, and it was like everyone else was walking on eggshells with me because my last name is Parr. You were married when I was born, right?”

  Christina felt a wave of murderous fury towards Adeline pass through her, though she kept her face entirely neutral at that moment for Morgan’s sake. She forced her voice to a calm register that was entirely at odds with how she felt, and swore again that if it was the last thing she did, she would get away from this town—and Adeline— at the first available opportunity. “Did someone actually say something, sweetheart?”

  “No,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “Not in so many words. But everyone’s treating me like I’m some sort of case who needs all this special care and protection. Why are they doing that?”

  Christina felt as though shards of glass were exploding inside her, but she forced herself to smile. She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her daughter’s hand. Morgan looked desperately young to Christina just then, and her heart broke.

  “Morgan, first of all—yes, your father and I were married when we had you. We weren’t married when you were conceived. We told you all about that. But you weren’t a ‘mistake’ by any stretch of the imagination, either. Your father and I loved each other very much. He wanted to marry me very much, and I wanted to marry him very much. We were married as soon as we arrived in Toronto, before I was even showing with you. You have nothing—nothing, do you hear me—to be ashamed of. I don’t believe your grandmother told people that you were illegitimate,” she lied, “but I do think that small-town people have a hard time, sometimes, understanding things that go differently than they think things ought to. They may be confused about things. I know this town very well, and there’s a really good reason why I haven’t been back in fifteen years, aside from the fact that your dad never wanted to. Would you like me to speak to your teachers about it, sweetheart? Are you worried about getting flack from the kids?”

  That’ll be next, Christina thought, with a familiar sickening lurch in her stomach. That’ll be next. Just like it was for Jack and me—the townie whore getting above herself with the Crown Prince of Parr’s Landing. What does that make Morgan? A princess? A bastard? Or both?

  “No,” Morgan replied quickly. “I’m not worried. And you don’t need to talk to the teachers. It’ll be OK. I just wanted to . . . well, I just wanted to tell you about school. That’s all. It’s all fine. I’m sorry I even brought it up. You and Dad did tell me all this stuff before, I know. I just needed to hear it again.” She looked down. When she looked up again, Morgan’s
eyes were slick with tears. “Mom?”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “Mom, I miss Daddy something fierce.” Morgan’s shoulders began to shake. “I miss him so much . . .”

  Christina’s own eyes flooded. She stood up and took Morgan in her arms and rocked her as she had when she was a baby and they wept together, holding each other.

  “I miss him, too, sweetheart. I miss him more than I ever thought could be possible to miss someone. Your daddy was everything to me, and he loved both of us more than anything else in the world. And I love you more than anything else in the world. Nothing is more important to me than you, Morgan. Nothing. You know that, right?”

  Morgan sniffled. “Yes,” she said in a thick voice. “Yes, I believe you. I love you, too, Mommy.” Her face was buried in the hollow of her mother’s shoulder. When Christina reached up to caress Morgan’s hair, the wool of Morgan’s sweater was soaked with her tears, which seemed grafted to the soft skin of her clavicle.

  There was a knock on the door of the bedroom. Oh God, please, not her. Not Adeline. Not right now. Just a few more minutes, please. The knock came again, more gently this time, and Jeremy’s voice carried through the thick mahogany door.

  “Chris? Morgan? May I come in?”

  Christina and Morgan parted reluctantly. Christina squeezed Morgan’s hand once more, then smoothed her hair and said, “Come in, Jeremy.”

  “Come on in, Uncle Jeremy,” Morgan called out, as though determined to show her mother that she was in control again and that her mother wasn’t to worry about her any more than she already did.

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry,” Jeremy said when he saw their faces. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just that dinner is about to be served and Adeline is already down there. Just . . . well, do you want me to tell her you’re not coming, or that you’re sick or something?” He looked beseechingly from Christina to Morgan, then back to Christina again.

  Morgan said in a clear voice, “No, Uncle Jeremy. We’re all right. We’re coming right down. I’m just going to put some water on my face. I’ll only be a second.”

  She stood up and walked into the bathroom. Through the closed door, Christina and Jeremy heard the tap being turned on, then the sound of water hitting the porcelain sink.

  “Is she all right?” Jeremy whispered. “Did she have a bad day at school? Goddamn it, I knew we should have taken her ourselves. This is all too much for her and too fast. I should never have let Adeline steamroll over us like that this morning.”

  “She’s all right.” Christina sighed, massaging her eyes with her fingertips. “She just had a moment.”

  Jeremy looked worried. “You, too, huh? Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry. Again. I keep saying that, but I really am. I feel like crap for you, really I do.”

  “How do I look?” she said briskly, pushing his sympathy away, knowing that she couldn’t bear to feel anything at this exact moment if she was going to survive their dinner with Adeline. “I put mascara on this morning, but I think it’s all rubbed off by now.” She crossed to the mirror over Morgan’s vanity. She squinted, touching her eyelashes gingerly. “Not very bright in here, is it? I’m sure your mother looks immaculate, like she just fell out of Miss Chatelaine. Well, an old issue of Miss Chatelaine. A very old issue.”

  Jeremy laughed. “You look fine. Maybe some cold water when Morgan’s finished? Are you sure you want to go downstairs, you two? I’m serious, I can just tell her that you’re not feeling well after the long drive. I’m sure she’d send Beatrice up with a tray.”

  “Listen to us.” Christina laughed mirthlessly. “‘I’m sure she’d send Beatrice up with a tray.’ The fact that it would even be a question answers it. She might or she might not. No, better that we go downstairs and deal with her face to face. I’m sure Morgan will be all right. She doesn’t have the same problems with that old bitch that we do. And somehow I have to normalize life for her, and it has to start right now. God knows what Adeline has told people about us. Morgan said that everyone was treating her with kid gloves today. She doesn’t think it was for any good reason. She asked me if I thought her grandmother had told people she was illegitimate. I have no trouble seeing the hand of Adeline in that, and if she did, I’ll never forgive her.”

  Jeremy looked at this watch. “It’s six thirty-five,” he said. “We’d better get down there.”

  The bathroom door opened and Morgan stepped out. Her face was clean and her hair was combed. Christina noticed that Morgan had darkened her lips with a trace of the black raspberry Bonne Bell Lip Smacker she’d gotten for her last birthday from Christina after much pleading to be allowed to wear makeup. Morgan hadn’t worn lip gloss at all since Jack died, or indeed cared much about her appearance at all besides basic grooming and cleanliness, as though with her father gone, there was no one for whom to look particularly pretty. Jack had always told Morgan she was beautiful, so her disinterest in how she presented herself was an additional constant reminder to Christina of their bereavement. But now, Morgan looked at her mother with a lovingly critical eye and said, “Mom, you’d better clean up, too. You know how she is. Your mascara’s running. You look like a raccoon.”

  “You’re late,” Adeline said, raising her eyebrows. “All of you. It’s six forty-five. I told you I expected you downstairs, on time, at six-thirty for dinner.” She sat at one end of the dining table framed in candlelight from the silver candelabra that were placed on the sideboard and on the table itself. She wore a well-tailored black dress and a necklace of simple but consequential pearls. Not for the first time, Christina marvelled at how her mother-in-law managed, at whatever hour of the day or night, to look exactly like a lacquered mannequin that had just been placed in a dress shop window.

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother,” Morgan said, before either Christina or Jeremy could say anything. “It was my fault. I lost track of the time. It won’t happen again.” Christina looked gratefully at her daughter, knowing that Morgan had deliberately spoken first, intuiting correctly that if anyone would escape the wrath of Adeline Parr over the grave offence of being late for dinner, it was her granddaughter.

  For her part, Adeline’s smile was frosty, but there was an unmistakable sense of a storm having passed without actually touching down. “Punctuality is a very important virtue, Morgan,” she said. “It bespeaks a great deal about a person’s character. It’s very likely that you didn’t have much of a need for it in your old life, but when you are under my roof, you’ll learn to comport yourself responsibly as befitting a proper young lady. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Grandmother.”

  “Please sit down, dear.” She glanced at Christina and Jeremy and nodded curtly. “You two may sit, as well.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Jeremy said dryly. “It’s wonderful that we can all sit down as a family and enjoy each other’s company like this.”

  Jeremy sat down and unfolded his napkin, placing it in his lap. Morgan and Christina followed his lead and did the same. When they were seated, Beatrice began to serve. Dinner that night was to be poached fish and asparagus. It wasn’t until the silver lid of the monogrammed sterling silver chafing dishes were removed that Christina realized how hungry she was. The asparagus was fresh, a delicate green beneath a sliver of melting butter. She wondered where on earth Adeline Parr was able to get fresh asparagus in Parr’s Landing in October.

  “That smells wonderful, Beatrice,” Christina ventured. “Is it haddock?”

  “It’s perch,” Adeline snapped. “Haddock indeed. Does it look like haddock to you, Christina? Does it? Does it smell like haddock to you? Have you ever poached a fish in your life? For the Lord’s own sake.”

  “Adeline, I just wondered—”

  Jeremy laughed out loud, drawing Adeline’s fire away from Christina and onto himself. “How many fish have you poached in your life, Mother? Ever since I can remember, Beatrice has done the cooking around here. Like Christina, I didn’t know it was perch or haddo
ck, either. I guess the best way to tell what sort of fish is being served for dinner at Parr House is to ask the cook. By the way, Beatrice,” he said, deftly shifting the attention again, this time towards the housekeeper, “my sister-in-law is right. It does smell delicious. I have to tell you, all those years away in Toronto, the thing I missed most about Parr’s Landing was your cooking.”

  “Oh, Mr. Jeremy,” Beatrice said. “You were always the charmer. Have some of the veg. It’s a lovely bit of asparagus.”

  Adeline cleared her throat and shook her head almost imperceptibly at the housekeeper. Beatrice lowered her eyes and pressed her lips together. She went on with the dinner service in silence.

  “And how was your first day at Matthew Browning, Morgan? Did you have a useful and productive day?”

  “It was very nice, Grandmother,” Morgan said. “Thank you.”

  “Did you learn anything today that you’d like to share with us?”

  “Not really, Grandmother,” she said. “But I liked the school very much.”

  “Did you meet your principal? What was his name, Mr. Murphy?”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” Morgan said. “He was very nice to me. He made me feel very welcome.”

  “Did you make any new friends, honey?” Jeremy said gently, reaching for Morgan’s hand. “How did you like the kids? Did they treat you well?

  Morgan turned to her uncle, grateful for the warmth of the question after Adeline’s staccato interrogation. “Not at school, Uncle Jeremy. I mean,” she said, glancing at her mother, “they were very nice at school. But I met this kid after school. Well . . . he met me, really. I think he was waiting for me after school and we started to talk.”

  “He was waiting for you? How did he know who you were?”