by Anne Emery
But first things first, and here was Dennis announcing his decision. I had to look at Sue to make sure I was not hallucinating. McTiernan stunned us all by ordering Brennan’s release. The conditions were similar to those imposed on him before his trial, except that the amount of the recognizance was $IOO,OOO. We were fortunate indeed that Rowan Stratton was able and willing to act as surety for his long-time friend. I immediately began to worry that Schenk would apply to the Chief Justice in an effort to have the decision overturned.
For now, though, Brennan was free. I drove him to my house. He sat in the car with his head back and his eyes closed as I spoke of the next few days: “I don’t think you need to deal with the rectory right now, and you certainly don’t need any attention from the press. Tell me what you want from your room. Clothing, books, music, wine, whiskey, your favourite soap, whatever you want, I’ll bring it to you here. I’ll get you some groceries. Then I’ll go back to work. So, sit out on the lawn and gaze at the water, go for a long walk, get tanked, or sleep all day. It’s up to you. The house and everything in it is yours. The key is on a hook under the eaves of the shed. It’s always there for the kids, just in case. I’ll stay out of your hair for a couple of days and let you unwind.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“I’ll be working long hours and going out afterwards. Getting out early and getting in late.”
What I didn’t tell him was that if I didn’t blow off steam in some way, I’d be the next one convicted of a violent crime. That night, Monday, was blues night at the home of Ed Johnson, lead vocalist for our band, Functus. If ever there was a time for singing the blues, this was it, and what I couldn’t say in words I would express through some fiery blues harp and slide guitar. I was interested to see, when I arrived, that Ed’s friend Bev was on hand, as she sometimes was, to hear the band. Bev was around my age, small, quick, and dark; very attractive in a jaded kind of way. She had made no secret of her interest in me, but I had always put her off. Tonight I was ready to take her up on her offer. There would be no Maura, no Brennan, no Declan, in my life this night.
We all wailed and swilled our way through the evening, and somebody passed around a veggie tray that contained nothing but cannabis derivatives. I stole the show with an over-the-top rendition of Bo Diddley’s ode to male prowess, “I’m a Man.” Shameless. Living it down would not be easy, but I’d worry about that later. Between numbers I made a point of pulling Bev onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her and generally being much more physical than I would normally ever be if there were more than two of us in the room. I cut back on the booze fairly early so I wouldn’t blow it. Bev and I began to get better acquainted in the back seat of a cab. I spent that night and the next at her place. I slumped over my desk during the days and had two long nights of mindless, loveless, heedless physical release. It was just what the doctor ordered.
I dragged myself to my house Wednesday evening, after another wasted day at the office. There was a light on so I knew Brennan was still my guest.
“Honey, I’m home!”
He came out to meet me. The improvement in him was astonishing. “It’s about time. I’ve been slaving over a hot stove all day and what thanks —” He peered at me. “You look like shit. Are those the same clothes you were wearing two days ago? Can’t you break down and leave a spare set of clothes over there?”
“Over where?” I said, bewildered.
“At your old place. With MacNeil.”
“I wasn’t at Maura’s.”
“You weren’t? Oh. I called over there last night and Tommy said: ‘They’re out till late.’ I assumed he meant she was out with you.”
“No.”
“Ah.”
Who was she out with, I wondered, late on a school night? “Did she call you back?”
“No. Well, not last night. She called this morning. Gabbed a lot, but she sounded like hell. Worn out. I figured that you —”
“I wasn’t anywhere near her. So. What did she say?”
“Nothing really.”
“Nothing? You just said she gabbed a lot. She doesn’t tend to prattle on about nothing. Especially if she’s worn out. It’s not her style.”
“Right. Where’s your gear?”
“Huh?”
“Your guitar, your harmonica. When you left here on Monday you were going to blues night, remember?”
“Oh, we had blues night, all right. Shit. I left my stuff at Ed’s. I hope.” I had picked up my car on Tuesday but I hadn’t gone in. Hadn’t even thought of it.
“That may have been the other call. Someone phoned last night, didn’t leave his name.”
I went to the phone. “Donna? This is Monty. Ed around? Very droll, Donna. Yeah, I was pretty wound up. Hey, Ed. Did you call here last night, about my guitar? Oh, him? No. Irish exchange student. Mature student. Listen, I’ll stop by and get my stuff tomorrow. No, no. Really. There’s no hurry. Well, if you’re coming this way, but otherwise — okay.” I hung up. “Shit. Now he’s coming over.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“Go get cleaned up. And put those clothes in the laundry, for Christ’s sake. I do have dinner for you.”
“Smells good. What is it?”
“Irish stew.”
“What’s in it?”
“Lamb. What else would it be?”
“Where did you find the lamb?”
“Are you well, Montague? What do you think I did, go out and slaughter one from your herd?”
“Flock, I believe the word is. While shepherds watched their flocks by night.”
“Right. I should know that. But no, you do have a supermarket out here.”
“It’s a good walk.”
“I’m a good walker. That’s all I did. Walk, eat, sleep. Just what the doctor ordered. I feel great.”
“You look great. Big improvement over what I saw out at the Correctional Centre.”
“You, on the other hand, look knackered. Now hurry up. Before my stew is ruined!’
I took a long, hot shower, brushed my teeth and stuffed my clothes in the hamper. Feeling considerably more chipper in fresh jeans and a comfy sweater, I sat down to a surprisingly delicious Irish stew. The doorbell rang. Ed. I nearly knocked my chair over, trying to head him off at the front door.
“Hey Bo Diddley,” Ed sang, loudly.
“Can it, Edward. I’m beat.”
“No wonder. Didn’t know you had it in you, Collins. You’re usually content to blow the harp and play guitar. But those vocals on ‘I’m a Man.’ Whoa! That’s your signature tune now, my friend. The girls sure lapped it up. Just like the old days, eh? Walked out with more than your harp in your hand after those gigs.”
“Just give me my gear and piss off.”
“Jesus. Something smells good in here. Is Bev so in love with you now that you’ve got her cooking for you? I would have taken her for a wing-nite kinda girl.”
“Bye, Ed. See you next time.”
“Can’t wait. For the blues and the social dynamics.”
Then I had to face Brennan who, I knew, had not missed a word. He was beaming, the last harrowing weeks momentarily forgotten. “B. O’Diddley. A Celtic musician, would he be?” I ignored him. But he was on a roll. “I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to this Bev. Why don’t you give her a call? This will be much better for her than the greasy chicken wings she’s used to gobbling between —”
“Father?”
“Mmm?”
“Fuck off.”
We resumed our meal in silence.
“This is good,” I had to concede. “I didn’t know you could cook.�
�
“I can do a lot of things you don’t know about.”
“All as wholesome as this, I’m sure.”
“Right.”
We moved into the living room after dinner. He took my easy chair and I sat on the chesterfield. The last thing I remember was Brennan lighting up a stogie and regarding me through the smoke, with the look of a man mightily amused. When I awoke, daylight was streaming in and I was lying on the chesterfield with a quilt over me, a glass of water on a little table beside me, and, tucked under my right arm, a black-and-white cat. Cat? I did a double take. It was one of Normie’s stuffed animals. Burke was up, showered and dressed. I could smell coffee.
“Brennan? I think I’ll keep you. I never got this kind of treatment from my last housemate.”
“Who was that?”
“Professor MacNeil.”
“Well, maybe if you weren’t forever getting up on other women, MacNeil would —”
“That’s not a very priestly remark. But then again, you’re a little more worldly than most of the saintly fathers I grew up with. As for me, being with another woman is hardly an everyday occurrence. Getting anything more than a dirty look these days is a rare treat. Maura told me I’d be riding a Zamboni in hell before I’d get near her again, so —”
He put his hand up. “Don’t be telling me that.”
“Where do you suppose she was Tuesday night?”
“How the hell would I know? Is she seeing anyone that you know of?” he asked offhandedly.
“I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
“Is that a fact? Maybe this Giacomo has ventured onto the scene again. I thought I had put the run to him.”
“Oh, Jesus. Don’t mention that.”
“Why not?”
“Never mind.”
“Monty. Get up off your arse, have some coffee, and drive me home.”
“You’re leaving?”
“What did you think? I’d moved in?”
“Never know with you.”
“You said a mouthful there.”
I dropped him off at the rectory, the portals of which he would now enter as a convicted murderer. I headed to the office. The party was over. And the investigation was on.
II
The day after Brennan returned to St. Bernadette’s, Maura and I were having a family dinner at the old house with the kids. The evening got off to a rocky start.
“How was blues night?” Maura asked.
“It was fine.”
“Did Burke go with you?”
“No. Why?”
“A night of music. Why not?”
“Because he was wasted after his spell in the clink. I dropped him off at my place for two days to sleep.”
“You dropped him off? What do you mean? You weren’t there?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I see.
“Do you? Well then Maura, how was Tuesday night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, did you go out and have a big bang-up time with somebody on Tuesday night?”
“Since when do you bother to keep track of my activities?”
“I just wondered if you’re seeing anyone these days.”
I had brought wine to the festivities and I fumbled around in the kitchen looking for a corkscrew. It was never in the same place twice. I spied it and snatched it up.
“If I went out with someone Tuesday night, what difference does it make to you? Somehow I suspect I didn’t cross your mind that night. And if I’d known you were going to dump Brennan off alone after his ordeal, I might have postponed my date with... postponed my date, and taken Brennan out to dinner somewhere private and relaxing. I owe him one anyway.”
“I’m sure he wanted to be alone, especially after being cooped up with a bunch of jailbirds. He was probably relieved to be ‘dumped off,’ as you put it. What do you mean, you owe him one?”
“He treated me to a night out, so —”
“You and Burke spent a night together? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Evening.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t know. Couple of months ago.”
“Funny it never came up in conversation. With you, or with him.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Yeah. I can imagine.” I drove the corkscrew like a dagger into the wine cork.
“It’s not what you think.” She sighed. “I never told you because Normie got hurt that day.”
“What? Hurt how? Did somebody hurt her? What the hell happened?” This revelation blotted out any concern I had about what Burke might have been up to with my wife.
What followed was a long story about Normie falling from a slide at a playground where Maura had let her go, after we had agreed she would not be allowed to go there; Normie going for a sleepover that night; Maura wanting her checked beforehand at the Children’s Hospital just to be sure; Tommy needing a ride to a friend’s camp half an hour away; Maura having to be two places at once; me incommunicado somewhere; nobody else around, Maura thinking of Brennan living a few blocks away; Brennan coming over to help her; Brennan taking her out for a late evening dinner at a restaurant on Spring Garden Road.
“So Brennan and I spent the evening eating, having a few drinks, and talking.”
“Right. So, is he a fun date?”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled. “Very gallant. And he can be very funny. We had lots of laughs.”
“And then what?”
“And then we came home and he left.”
“Well, did he come in with you?” Why couldn’t I stop myself from sounding like such a jerk? A sizeable portion of my criminal clientele were guys who just would not let their wives or girlfriends go. They would harass them, or follow them, or assault them. And I always asked: “Why would you want to be with a girl who doesn’t want you around? Leave her alone.” I had no desire to see myself in the same light, but I wasn’t ready to let the subject die. Maura was getting pissed off and, objectively speaking, I could hardly blame her. We weren’t living together, I had the occasional girlfriend, she had the occasional boyfriend, or so it seemed. And why not? I had no right to interrogate her. But, Burke? My mouth opened again. “How long were you two together that night?”
“I don’t know why I’m submitting to this barrage of questions. I guess I’m just too sweet and good-natured to tell you to get stuffed. We were at the restaurant for a long time, two or three hours. Then we came back here and he stayed for a while. I wasn’t looking at my watch.”
“You probably didn’t even have it on by then.”
“You should hear yourself! I’ll try to ignore what you’re insinuating about my character, that at the first opportunity I would be all over a man who’s a friend of yours, and a client, never mind that he happens to be a priest. But what does this say about the way you regard Burke? It’s not much of a stretch to picture him breaking his vows, but I cannot imagine him betraying you in that way. And yes, before you have a good laugh, it would be a betrayal from his point of view. The dear, sweet, deluded man is determined to believe, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary, that there is still something between you and me, and that our marriage can be salvaged. I could be the most gorgeous, most ravishing temptress on the planet, and I’m sure he would still have contented himself with a goodnight kiss —”
“Oh? And while this kiss was going on, just how much —”
“— because of his respect for you, and because of everything you’ve tried to do for him and his case, which has obviously taken its toll on you, Montague. This really is not like you. I thought you were burnt-o
ut when you were with Legal Aid, but this is pathetic.”
I was not through being pathetic. “And then what?”
“And then nothing. Well, he sent me flowers the next day.”
“Flowers! And just why —”
“When I came downstairs for dinner, he was eyeing a bouquet of pink roses on the mantelpiece. ‘Who sent you these?’ he asked me. I told him it was none of his business. And he said: ‘Well, they don’t suit you.’ I gave him a bit of a rough time. ‘So I suppose you, a lifelong bachelor, know all about what kind of flowers to send a woman.’ He said: ‘Wait and see.’ Off we went to the restaurant. The next afternoon, a delivery guy came to the door with a potted plant.”
“Oh? A flower that suited you?”
“You tell me. It was a snapdragon!”
She laughed, and I wanted to join her, but I couldn’t stop bickering: “Back to this —”
“Oh, stop being such a flaming arsehole!”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m being primitive. I’m stressed out and exhausted.”
“Mummy, I heard you! You said the R-word to Daddy!” Normie came in, and stood staring at her mother, wide-eyed.
“The R-word? What’s that, Normie?”
“Arsehole!”
The arsehole and his naughty wife looked at each other and tried to stifle their laughter. The tension was broken, for the time being. I reserved the right to brood later. We sat down to dinner when Tommy Douglas came in. He told us all about a girl he liked at school and Normie teased him. He teased her back. And so on. Although Maura was not by any stretch of the imagination a cordon bleu chef, we laid waste to her roast chicken, potatoes, ersatz-gravy, and bakery-made butterscotch pie. When there was nothing left, Tom excused himself, and Normie grabbed all the napkins from the table. She went into the living room and busied herself making doll clothes out of napkins and paper clips. MacNeil and I split the bottle of wine, and half of another, and sat in a post-dinner stupor, more mellow now, Deo gratias.