by Keith Weaver
Sanford smiled despite himself. “No Julia”, he said, putting his arm around her and giving her a strong hug. “You and I are going to be spending a lot more time together, and that’s a good thing. We have a lot to do, stuff we haven’t been able to do until now, good stuff, and some new stuff. Don’t you worry about today, or tomorrow, or next month.”
One of the items at the back of Sanford’s mind, but occupying him more and more, was Julia starting school. He had been surprised and alarmed to find that she had not been going to kindergarten, something that Helen had said was happening. Where Julia should attend school was another open question, and one that had to be decided soon.
Their butter tarts finished, they stood up, flapped their feet around to dry them off, pulled on socks and shoes, and began walking back to Joe’s place.
“When we get back, we’ll take Reggie out for a proper walk.”
“Okay.”
“And we’ll do some weeding in Uncle Joe’s garden.”
“Hmm.”
“And we’ll go to the bank so I can get some money. You’re an expensive young lady to have around.”
“No-oo!” she said through a giggle. “But okay.”
“Then we’ll meet Mrs. Ferguson.”
Here there was a nod.
“Then we’ll take a drive to get some special food for Reggie.”
“Yes! Reggie!”
“Then we’ll sit down and think about what to do for the rest of the summer.”
“Okay.”
There were plenty of things that Sanford wanted to do with Julia, and he had already begun writing a list in his head.
Fourteen
It was summer.
The days shimmered and billowed in an effortless and seamless continuum that reflected the remembrance of youthful summers, at once insubstantial and all-consuming, dreamlike but also firmly anchored in time and place. Sanford’s time revolved around Julia, and slowly formed a rich pastiche of images and sensations: breezes kissing bare skin and ruffling hair, wild flowers in meadows, fingers black from gardening, romping with Reggie, reading books in the evenings, cooking dinners on the barbecue, having long lunches in the sylvan glade, and Julia making pies, muffins, cakes, and cookies with Anne Ferguson.
Julia relaxed noticeably. She and Sanford still had discussions every few days about Helen, as Julia tried to deal with her great loss, but also with the confusions and disappointments she felt during her time alone with her mother, and Sanford tried to nudge Julia toward a kindly view. Both Sanford and Julia had made it a point to talk every week to Helen’s parents, who were having great difficulty coming to terms with what had happened and why. They had undertaken grief counselling and that seemed to be making a difference. And certainly their regular talks with Julia, while a sad reminder of their daughter’s terrible end, had the net effect of being a great tonic for them. Sanford recognized some features of both himself and Helen in Julia, but he saw also that there was emerging, even in her childhood, a distinct and independent individual who was aware, inquisitive, intelligent, and in a strangely mature way eager to grab life in both hands.
Sanford checked in with his boss every four or five days, not because there was anything Sanford needed to do, but because Maxwell was concerned, anxious for better news, news of healing that he hoped would be forthcoming, and playing the role of a solid professional friend. Sanford had a rough idea when he would return to work, but the one time he mentioned it to Maxwell had brought a strong response warning Sanford off that kind of talk. “Let the situation evolve”, he said. “You and your daughter have had a large disruption and new ties will take time to form”, he said. “Don’t fuss over coming back to work”, he said, “not even on a casual basis”.
But while Julia’s world relaxed, mellowed, and glowed in a kind of new-found happiness, Sanford’s world was developing a dark side. There was a relaxed togetherness, there was laughter, and there emerged aspects of their growing daughter-father bond that sometimes took Sanford’s breath away. But there were encroaching clouds, subliminal, below the horizon, more ominous for being all but invisible.
Sanford’s meeting with the Toronto legal firm went off as planned. His time away from the various urban veneers, interfaces that had been a central feature of his professional life, now made these trappings strike him as slightly comical and immodestly overblown. Was this the fantasy world that he recalled Joe speaking of more than once? Was Sanford having some of Joe’s success at merging the healthy unsophistication of the country and the unhealthy sophistication of the city? The bank draft that was being handed to Sanford on Aileen’s death came as a considerable surprise: a little more than $250,000 capital that had been managed in order to deliver to Aileen a regular $15,000 a year, while trying to keep the capital sum constant. Could this much money have come just from bonuses and money that Harold had saved? And why would Harold do this? Guilt? Had Sanford judged Harold unfairly? He had no idea, but the incentive to find out just was not there. At least there was no doubt as to where some of that money would go: an education fund for Julia.
The legal aspects of Joe’s will had been sorted out now, and the necessary paperwork all completed. What remained were the literary and personal aspects Joe had left in Sanford’s care. Sanford continued to work away at the literary material in odd hours, he had now assembled a volume of Joe’s poetry that would probably extend to about 180 pages, and that collection was almost ready to go to a professional editor for a first assessment. To Sanford, Joe’s work was brilliant, and raised images in his mind that were as clear and arresting as those Joe’s reading programme had provoked in the youthful Sanford decades ago. He was midway in the job of working through Joe’s essays, and these were every bit as exceptional as his poetry. But there was probably another thirty hours’ work to be done on that before he could even think about seeking a second opinion. And even his work on Joe’s essays was something Sanford undertook ambivalently, considering himself hardly in Joe’s league, but committed to the task by the last wishes of his best friend. Beyond all that, there still was work to do on Joe’s “Personal” material, but the surprises uncovered thus far gave Sanford pause, and the thought of dealing with the remaining material caused him some trepidation.
Julia soon made friends with three girls her age in the village, and while this changed her outlook a little, she seemed still to be most at home secluded with Sanford at King Arthur’s Rectangular Table. Sanford thought he could see, hoped that he was seeing, the same magical fascination, the same multi-level awakening in Julia that he had experienced in his own youth. Joe’s spirit floated above and around the place, but would that be enough? Would there be inspired in Julia the things Sanford had known as a child and as a youth? The urge to an unending refinement of subtlety, sensuality, connection to nature? A recognition of the delicate but irresistible power that beckoned from within the indefinite depths of the sylvan glade? The promise of both peace and complexity? Watching his daughter closely, Sanford was gravitating more and more toward having Julia enter school in Stanley Falls rather than in Toronto. It was clear that Julia felt some atavistic ties to Joe’s place, whereas there really were no connections for her in Toronto. Sanford would dearly have loved to know just what activities Julia had while she was under Helen’s care, but the only time he had raised this with Julia, she clearly didn’t want to talk or think about it, and the shutters closed firmly.
Sanford had taken to inviting Anne Ferguson over to Joe’s house once or twice a week for an evening meal, and it was clear to Sanford from the first of these occasions that Anne and Julia had fallen into a comfortable surrogate mother-daughter friendship. Anne revealed an educated palate, not only for food but also for wine, and the three of them had some rare evenings, Julia taking part oenologically by means of watered-down wine. At the third of these occasions, Anne proposed, and Julia and Sanford agreed readily, that they have a corn, hamburger, and sausage roast.
This was so much a summer act
ivity, so reminiscent for Sanford of unending sun and warm breezes, tree canopies saturated in birdsong, days having no schedules or deadlines, the bounty of high summer, and in general time’s thread unwound recklessly, luxuriantly, from its spool, that he threw himself into the project with gusto. Julia soon caught the gusto bug, and the three of them started developing lists of food and drink, and the people to be invited. They decided quickly enough to keep it small, since large parties create worries and organizational hassles that steal the very fun those parties are intended to generate, and they settled on a list of fourteen people, including the families of Julia’s three new friends. These people were all known to Anne, who soon rolled up her metaphorical management sleeves and took control of invitations. Several telephone calls indicated that the coming Saturday, two days hence, would be perfect. All schedules were clear and the weather promised to be summer-perfect. Sanford was assigned the role of chief provisioner, and Julia would give her rubber-stamp final approval to all the arrangements. There were earnest discussions about how big the hamburgers should be, how many hamburgers per person they should prepare, what kind of sausages they should buy, and at the last minute Julia suggested that they also barbecue chicken pieces. They discussed where all this would be eaten, where people would sit, how the corn would be cooked, how Reggie should take part, and then Anne said that they couldn’t have just meat and bread, and she and Julia began to plan a monster potato salad. There was some good-natured arguing, a lot of laughing, and both Sanford and Anne twinkled to see that Julia had become almost unbearably excited. Sanford went off to buy the meat, soft drinks, wine, napkins, paper plates, cups, potatoes, onions, and various other bits and pieces, sending over his shoulder an unbroken string of narrative on where to get the best local corn, that he would commission the sausages specially, and that Joe’s recipe for hamburg patties was a killer. He was still talking to the other two as he climbed into the car, and just then he needed no reminder that although recent losses were still fresh, their sharpness was receding and his life very quickly seemed to be turning toward more pleasant scenes.
He came out of the local general store bearing four large shopping bags, and a promise that the chicken pieces and sausage would be ready by the next day. Less than an hour later, he shook hands with Leslie Baxter, an old farmer whose farm had slowly transformed itself into one of the more successful market gardens in the area, and loaded five large bags of freshly picked ears of corn into the car. The entire exercise left him almost reeling under the flood of memories, surging up from his own youth, of hay, fresh tomatoes, peas in the pod, cucumbers, and a range of fruits and berries. Deciding to collect Joe’s, Aileen’s, and his own mail on the way back through the village, he bounded from the car into the post office, a newly acquired lilt animating his step, tossed the few items of mail onto the passenger seat, except for one addressed to him, which he opened right away, and then was hammered right back to Stone-Age oblivion by its contents.
Fifteen
Not able …
Not able to have …
Anderson, Howard, and Blanchard.
Dear Mr. Sanford,
Attached is correspondence recently brought to our attention by our banking partner, and related to our letter to you on July 3 concerning the monies transferred to you on instructions from Mr. Harold Sanford. This correspondence should have been included in the documentation we sent previously concerning the transferring of funds to you, but this was not done due to an oversight which the Bank acknowledges. On our own account, and on behalf of the Bank, I hope you will accept our sincere apologies. Please contact the undersigned should you have …
Not able to.
Sanford had read through the two-page attachment quickly.
Not.
Now he read it again, more deliberately.
Was this some kind of sick joke?
He let the letter fall onto his lap and gazed vacantly out the car windshield. He had an image before him of fabric unravelling, a sense of the ground falling away from beneath his feet, and no handholds to grasp.
Not able.
Everything was confusion. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
Pulling out his cellphone, Sanford dialled the number on the letterhead.
“Anderson Howard and Blanchard”, said the clipped professional voice of the receptionist.
“Albert Blanchard, please.”
“One moment, please.”
Short delay.
“Blanchard.”
“Mr. Blanchard, this is James Sanford speaking. I’ve just received the letter you sent me. I have a couple of questions.”
“Certainly, Mr. Sanford, but if we will be getting into details, I suggest you come to our offices.” As Blanchard spoke there was a shuffling of paper in the background.
“No need. This is straightforward. First, I want to confirm, to be absolutely sure, that the letter I’m holding is genuine. Did you send me a letter dated July 13 that begins ‘Attached is correspondence recently brought to our attention’?”
There was the sound of pages being turned, and more shuffling of papers at the other end. After a short delay, Blanchard said “Yes, Mr. Sanford, I confirm that.”
“And are you sure that there is no doubt about the authenticity of the attachment and the veracity of its content?”
“There is no doubt, sir. Something having this sort of implication we have double-checked and triple-checked.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blanchard. That’s all for now.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Sanford”, and the connection was broken.
Not able to have ch.
Sanford looked over the attachment again, more closely. It was dated July 5, about three weeks after Aileen’s death.
Dear Mr. Sanford,
At one time you knew me as your father, although I am not. I loved Aileen dearly, but I have always been morally weak. My weeks and months on the road as a salesman were extremely successful commercially, but they put me in the way of temptations that I was powerless to resist. Worst of all, however, I abandoned Aileen when it became evident that she was not able to have children. Money is a cold means for trying to amend being absent and unfaithful, but it’s all I have to give. I tried to provide adequate support to Aileen while she was alive. Please do what you will with the money being transferred to you now that she is gone.
Sanford’s old anger for Harold surged again, this time in seemingly implacable power. There was also hatred, and confusion, and loathing, and a desire for revenge, and.
Suddenly, Joe was beside him. “Calm down Jim. Work it out.”
“Easy for you to say!” Sanford shouted, and a woman passing looked at him suddenly and dubiously through the half-open passenger side window.
Sanford started the car and drove straight back to Joe’s place. Leaving the groceries in the car, he quickly entered the house, sat down at Joe’s desk, and began a conversation with Joe.
“What the fuck’s going on, Joe?”
“Why did it take all this time for me to find out? This is pretty fucking significant information, Joe.”
“Who am I, Joe? My mother was not my mother, and I have no idea who my father was. Who am I?”
There was a long pause here.
“Joe. You must have known something about this, Joe. All those years, Joe. If you did know, and I can’t believe that you didn’t, why the hell didn’t you say something?”
One of Joe’s frequently repeated statements came to Sanford: “Things are not always what they seem, Jim.”
“Shit, Joe! I don’t need your folk wisdom! Not now!”
But Joe’s calm voice was still there. “Work it out, Jim. The reasons people do things are complicated.”
Sanford sat there a while longer, stewing, but, to his own surprise, calming down just as Joe would have had him do.
Almost as though Joe had prodded him, Sanford realized he was in a present that included other people who mattered to him and who depended on him, that h
e simply had to swallow all this and get back into the nuts and bolts of everyday stuff, into the excitement of the corn and burger roast. Throwing any sort of damper over that event was simply not on the cards. He forced himself to smile, even if it felt fake and hollow. Neither Julia nor Anne could suspect that anything was wrong, that any major shift had occurred for him.
Fiercely suppressing the emotional confusion that roiled within him, Sanford rose decisively, went out through the back kitchen to a small shed behind the house, and retrieved the wagon that Joe had always used to drag grain to the barn and bring in vegetables harvested from the garden. Sanford loaded the wagon high in the bags he had collected during the past couple of hours, dragged it all triumphantly across to the home where he had spent his childhood, which he now cursed viciously and unfairly as being parentless, and forced a broad grin in response to Julia’s squeals of delight, and Anne’s smiling applause.
For another half-hour the three of them sealed pairs of corn ears into plastic bags to prevent the corn drying out, stowed the onions and potatoes in storage bins, placed the wrapped hamburger meat in plastic containers ready to be carried over to Joe’s large fridge, checked that the barbecue out behind the house was big enough to churn out food at the appropriate rate for fourteen people, confirmed that there was enough charcoal, and began imagining where seating would go, where they would put the condiments station, when they would get the ice and where the soft drinks and wine would be laid out, how many waste containers they would need, and how to prevent napkins from blowing all around the garden.
Having done all they could that day, Sanford and Anne laid out plans for a day of preparations the next day, Friday. Anne and Julia would spend much of the day making potato salad, and discussing all the things that go along with preparing food but have nothing to do with food.
Julia and Sanford dragged the wagon home, unloaded the few remaining items from the car, hauled them to the back of the house, and stored them in the back kitchen.