by Keith Weaver
“I shouldn’t be saying this sir, but since her cellphone was found in that apartment we need to check for any physical evidence that she was also there.”
“What kind of phys –” Sanford began, then remembered the bed.
They had reached the car. Howell held the door for Sanford.
“I can’t say anything more, sir”, he said.
Howell took Sanford back to Helen’s condo via the morgue, where he identified Helen’s body. It took him fifteen minutes to stop shaking.
The next two days were a trying time.
He called Anne Ferguson, explained what had happened, felt his gratitude for her as her sharp intake of breath sounded over the telephone, and asked if she would see that Reggie was fed and looked after. She said yes, of course, she would do that, expressed her shock and sympathy through a voice that was already beginning to crack up, and made sure that she had Sanford’s cell number.
He called his boss and explained what had happened.
“Oh, my God, Jim! Oh, my God!”
Long pause.
“Okay! You’re off work for a month. Look after your daughter. Sort things out. Don’t worry about work.” There was another pause here. “And if you want to talk, Jim, call me any time.”
Sanford spoke to Helen’s parents, who had already been informed and were devastated, but even so their first concern was for Julia.
Then there were the details that had emerged on Helen’s death.
The police had determined that she had been in the apartment where her cellphone was found. They had found evidence that she had been in the bed there. Based on that evidence, the police said that a couple of theories were being pursued, but wouldn’t elaborate beyond that. They said there would be more details after the post-mortem results were released. Sanford wanted to know absolutely everything, but at the same time he absolutely didn’t want to know anything.
Inspector Meloni had summarized what he could for Sanford. It wasn’t much. Sanford stood there, a hundred questions fighting for priority in his head. Meloni evidently sensed his inner turmoil, and put a friendly hand on Sanford’s shoulder.
“Your ex-wife is dead, sir. We appreciate your assistance thus far, and I don’t expect we will have any follow-up questions, although it’s possible. Try to forget about all this. I know that’s a stupid suggestion, but I think it’s the best advice I can give. Look after your daughter. She needs you. Leave the rest to us.”
Helen’s funeral took place four days after her death. It was not a large gathering: Helen’s parents, a dozen friends, Anne Ferguson, Stephen Maxwell, Sergeant Howell, Inspector Meloni, and Ms. Bennett. Sanford chose not to say anything, either during the short service or at the graveside. But he did throw three roses onto the coffin once it was lowered, and then he began to break down.
There was a tug at his sleeve.
“It’s all right, Daddy. Mommy is happy now.”
Said in matter-of-factness and all sincerity. Out of the mouths …
I really do hope so, Sanford thought. I really do hope so.
They left the cemetery at about one o’clock. Sanford declined, with thanks, several requests to “come back to our place”. He and Julia drove to Sanford’s condo. The first thing they did was change into summer clothes, shorts and short-sleeved tops.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” Sanford asked, and Julia’s face brightened in response as she nodded yes. They spent two hours walking along the boardwalk on Ward’s Island talking about everything and nothing, stopped for ice cream, stopped again for chips, stopped a third time for soft drinks and watched the sailboats drift past on the lake. The summer sun shone onto Julia’s face, making her even more radiant than usual. She was a child goddess. The breeze caught her hair and flipped it whimsically around her shoulders.
Back at Sanford’s condo, he and Julia made a cake for dessert, and cooked spaghetti and meat sauce, which they ate listening to Julia’s favourite music, Peter Ustinov’s “Peter and the Wolf”.
It was clear, even before they had finished dinner, that the stress of the past days and weeks was bearing down heavily on Julia. She was dog-tired, and Sanford carried her few things to the spare room, made up the single bed for her, laid on top of the sheets the flowery quilted bedspread that he had retained after his divorce from Helen, plugged a pale night light into the socket to one side of the door, and helped Julia change into her pyjamas. Her eyelids drooped, and she was as limp as a shot rabbit, but she smiled as one arm repeatedly missed the armhole of her pyjama top. Once she was tucked in, Sanford began reading “Peter and the Wolf” to Julia doing his best imitation of Ustinov. He barely made it to the end of the first page. Looking down at her placid face, taking in the delicate, intoxicating scent of little girl, he thought of the rhyme “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod” that he used to recite to her, and realized that he and Julia had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of ground to cover; the little girl would very soon become someone altogether different. As a last thought, he laid Abner, the teddy bear, on the pillow next to her head.
Apart from making best use of every second with Julia, Sanford had chosen to have no plan at this point but to take it a day at a time for a little while. He sat at his computer, did a quick and successful search, then leaned back and realized that a more definite long-term plan for his time with Julia already was forming in his mind, of its own volition, and based on wisdom that he recognized instantly.
At a deeper level, another, very different plan was also emerging.
Thirteen
In spite of the previous day’s strains, Sanford slept well, waking just before six.
Within a second, his mind leapt to Julia who presumably was still asleep in the next room. Rising and peering into her room, he confirmed this, smiled at the sight of her and Abner, her teddy bear, cuddling in sleep, and returned to his own room to dress. Recalling Julia’s typical breakfasts, he went to check that he had everything needed for them to begin the day. Overnight his mind must have been solidly at work, because a list of all the things that needed doing, both short- and long-term, scrolled through his thoughts.
Today, however, was not the time to be slave to a plan. Sanford thought of several activities that they could undertake, and they would decide together which one should take priority. It was going to be another warm, sunny day; he busied himself on tasks in preparation for breakfast, but all the while his mind dwelled lovingly, and at length, on how he and Julia would spend their time.
“Daddy?” Sanford must have spent more time daydreaming than he realized. Julia came slowly along the hallway, her pyjama top and bottom askew, wiping the night from her eyes, and yawning.
“Hello sweetie”, he said. He walked toward her, picked her up, and brushed strands of hair from her face. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Mmmm”, she murmured, nodding.
“How about some breakfast? After you wash and get into some fresh clothes.”
“Can I have toast and jam?”
“Yes, toast and jam for two, I think. Do you want help washing and dressing?”
“No Daddy”, she said in mild reproach. “I can do that myself.”
It took her surprisingly little time to re-emerge from the bathroom, and she was well turned out for the day. She was wearing pink shorts and a plain white cotton top, but what impressed Sanford most was how neatly parted and brushed her hair was. The thought occurred to him immediately that she probably had had to learn a number of things fairly quickly herself, that her mother couldn’t be relied on to do the mother-daughter things that other mothers would reserve jealously for themselves. It was an uncharitable thought, especially coming so soon after Helen’s funeral, but it took up an immediate and stubborn residence in his mind.
“Let’s have breakfast outside, on the terrace”, Sanford suggested. “You bring the napkins and the jam.”
The terrace was large, about 200 square feet, it faced southeast, and was a principal reason for Sanford choosing this part
icular condo. The gentle power of a new day flooded in from the east. Five floors below, the city had already rumbled to life, the fresh morning breeze wafted enticing aromas from Sanford’s herb garden, and in their boxes, fastened to the terrace walls, a gossip of petunias nodded together, and whispered their plans for the new day. A rustic picnic table occupied the central portion of the terrace. The napkins were held in place against the morning breeze by the jar of raspberry jam, and soon plates of toast, spoons, knives, and large tumblers of juice gave the table an air of breakfast in the great outdoors.
Julia had two thick slices of toast, unusual for her as far as Sanford could remember, and she looked up regularly to smile across at him. Despite recent events, he had not felt this relaxed in months.
“I like this jam. The jam Mommy had was never this good.”
Sanford was a bit taken aback, looked at the jar, and realized that Helen probably would not spend the money needed to buy Greaves.
“Nothing but the best, Julia”, but an inner voice said to him sternly, You’re going to spoil this kid rotten. You know that, don’t you Sanford? He told the inner voice to go screw itself, and was about to ask Julia if she wanted more juice, but she got there first making an unrelated statement.
“I can’t find my blue shorts.”
“Blue shorts?”
“I have a pair of blue shorts somewhere. Mommy always wanted me to wear pink shorts, but I’m tired of pink shorts.”
Sanford couldn’t remember packing blue shorts, and Julia took the conversational initiative once again.
“Can we go and buy some blue shorts?”
“Yes, of course. I thought we would drive to Uncle Joe’s place today. We can stop on the way and buy some shorts. Would that be okay?”
It was evidently more than okay, because her face lit up immediately.
“Uncle Joe’s place! Yes!”
Sanford realized that he would need to explain about Joe, that this wouldn’t be easy coming so soon after Helen’s death, but his instinctive thought was to invoke the healing power of the country: trees, clouds, open skies, birds, sunsets, and the inexpressible comfort of being enfolded by quiet rural nights.
Once a trip to “Uncle” Joe’s had lodged itself in Julia’s mind, all else was crowded out, including, almost, the blue shorts. They carried the breakfast things back into the kitchen, locked the terrace door, washed up, had the requisite post-prandial pee, and packed a small bag for Julia. Sanford ran a hand over his unshaven face but decided that the corrective activity could wait until they were in Stanley Falls. As she climbed into Sanford’s car in the condo’s parking garage, Julia ran her hand over the upholstery and sniffed the air, and Sanford could easily imagine Julia comparing it to what might have been the chaotic state of the car she had been used to – Helen’s car. Sanford was supposed to have Julia for one week out of two, but this rarely worked out right. What had become Helen’s disorganized and impromptu approach to life meant that there was practically nothing systematic in what she did. Many times, Sanford contented himself in just having long telephone conversations with Julia, since more scenes and screaming from Helen was something Julia could do without.
After driving for about half an hour, Sanford pulled off the expressway, made his way to a large mall, parked, and they went off in search of the desired blue shorts. Three pairs of shorts later, in different shades of blue, they were back on the expressway, and a bit more than an hour later, Stanley rose.
Sanford drove slowly through the village, and it was clear that Julia both remembered some of what she was seeing, and was excited to be in Stanley Falls once again. He stopped at the small general store, picked up a selection of things that he thought should cover all reasonable whims on what to have for lunch, collected the mail – both Joe’s and Aileen’s – at the post office, and then drove the last kilometre to Joe’s place. They turned into the driveway, and Julia looked around happily.
“Can we see Grandma as well?” she asked.
Anger flared instantly within Sanford, and he did his best not to let any of it show.
She didn’t tell her, Sanford thought to himself, scarcely believing it could be true. Helen didn’t fucking well tell Julia about my mother.
It was bad enough that he had received a confused telephone message from Helen saying that she and Julia would be in Montreal and couldn’t make it to Grandma’s funeral. Dodging the need to see Sanford again? Flipped out on another of her binges? Who knew. But not telling Julia at all about her grandmother was unforgiveable.
“Let’s get our things inside first. And we have to say hello to Reggie.”
“Yes!” Julia said in sudden anticipation. “Reggie! Can we see Reggie right away?”
“Okay”, Sanford agreed through a lopsided smile. “Let’s go say hello to Reggie.”
Reggie had heard the car arrive and he was standing next to his kennel, waiting. Julia ran around the house to the back, Sanford walking quickly to keep up with her.
“Reggie!” she cried when she saw the dog standing there. Reggie’s tail rose and began wagging weakly in greeting, but Sanford got the definite impression that the dog was really thinking to himself Oh Christ! Here we go again! But soon they were both running around the backyard, Julia laughing and Reggie barking happily, until she threw her arms around the dog’s neck and they rolled in the grass like old friends.
After a few minutes of this, Sanford clapped his hands and said “Okay. Enough roughhousing with Reggie. Time to get our things inside.”
The next two hours were sombre, and Julia shed tears of shock and grief at hearing that Uncle Joe had died, and then also that Grandma had died. They talked for almost two hours, Julia breaking into tears every half-hour or so.
“Did you tell Mommy about Grandma?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“I don’t know Julia. But Mommy was not well.”
And there the discussion ground firmly onto the rocks.
“We should have a little something for lunch”, Sanford said after a longish pause.
“I’m not very hungry.”
“I know, but we shouldn’t skip lunch. How about a small grilled cheese sandwich?”
“Well, okay, but just a little.”
By the time Joe’s kitchen was filled by the tang of grilled cheese, Sanford knew that “just a little” would be nowhere near enough. They both chowed down on generous sandwiches, and in Julia’s case this included enough ketchup to drown a small cat. Cold water from Joe’s well, which was one of Julia’s pleasures at Joe’s place, washed down their lunch. As Sanford expected, it took only twenty minutes or so for Julia’s eyelids to begin drooping, and he led her off to one of the places she most liked to nap, the big sofa in Joe’s library. She was out almost instantly.
There was nothing urgent among Joe’s items of mail; a few of the letters required a response, and Sanford would do that later that night once Julia had gone to bed. The same was true of Aileen’s mail items. Almost.
One letter was from a Toronto legal firm, evidently the result of discussions with Cartwright at the bank. It requested that arrangements be made for the handover of a safe deposit box that was being held in trust by the Toronto firm and was to be transferred to Sanford on Aileen’s death. Sanford had no idea what this meant. A quick call to Cartwright confirmed that he was aware of this; he agreed that it was an unconventional, even odd, arrangement, but despite that it was all above board. Cartwright promised to set up an appointment for Sanford with the Toronto firm for 10 am the following Wednesday.
Sanford was taking a bit of a chance here, since he intended to drive to Toronto early that morning for the appointment and drive back the same afternoon, leaving Julia in Anne Ferguson’s care for the day. Anne had never met Julia, but was dying to do so, and Sanford expected they would get along just fine.
The visit to the legal firm in Toronto would wrap up the last loose end from Aileen’s will. One of the
things coming out of dealing with his mother’s estate was Sanford’s becoming aware of the fund that had been providing Aileen her modest income over many years. This was a fund that had been set up by her husband, Harold. Aileen had always said he was a first-rate salesman and that during all the time she knew him, he was always winning awards for best sales record of the month, quarter, year, and so on. These awards were often substantial monetary prizes, and Sanford assumed that it had been this money Harold had used to set up the fund he had established for Aileen. One of the things Sanford had realized only quite recently was that Harold had left Aileen just three years after they had been married. But even during those three years Harold had been home probably less than six months in total, the rest of the time purportedly being spent on the road, selling. Sanford didn’t buy it at all, but he had so little respect for Harold that he had no interest in pursuing whatever the truth might have been.
Working his way through the remaining papers linked to Joe’s will was a bigger job, and after making the arrangement via Cartwright, Sanford turned to that task. He managed to spend a little more than half an hour at it.
“Daddy? Can we go and watch the river?”
“Oh, hello Julia. Yes, of course we can. Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes. I like Uncle Joe’s books. It feels almost like he’s still here.”
“Watching the river” meant sitting on the dam, listening to the deep-throated roar as water flowed over the multiple weirs in thick curved slabs, watching the sea of bubbles this produced just below the dam, feeling the occasional eddy of mist brush their faces, cool and damp. But “watching the river” also meant then walking to the bakery, buying a butter tart each, strolling to the dock next to the bridge, and eating the tarts while dangling their bare feet in the water.
“Why is everybody dying, Daddy?”
“Well, not everybody is dying. Uncle Joe and Grandma were getting old. And Mommy died because of an accident. We’ve just been a bit unlucky the last little while, you and I.”
“You’re not going to die, are you Daddy?”