by Gail Bowen
“Beats me,” I said.
Gracie was deadpan. “I knew I could count on you for wise counsel,” she said, and we both laughed.
I walked to the backyard with Gracie and we stayed together as she wheeled her Trek WSD to the street. Before she mounted her bike, Gracie looked at me thoughtfully. “Our relationship is different now, isn’t it? We’re not just Taylor’s mum and her BFF.”
“We’re still that,” I said. “But now we’re also Gracie and Joanne, two women who are fortunate enough to be friends.”
—
The landline was ringing when I went back inside. It was Head to Toe with a reminder that I had booked a hair appointment and a mani-pedi for 1:30 p.m. and it was now 1:30 p.m. As Chantelle attacked my roots and began talking about the Latino heartthrob teaching the tango class she was taking, I felt myself relax. Nothing banished the spectres of imploding law firms and bad medicine like two hours held in the warm womb of female culture.
When I returned home, Zack was in the kitchen with a bottle of Corona, an open tin of bean dip, a bag of Fritos, and Margot’s presentation folder on the table in front of him.
“Hey, you’re home,” I said. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I’m rewarding myself,” Zack said. “I worked through lunch, took care of everything that needed taking care of, and realized I was hungry and I missed you, so here I am.” Zack gave me an approving look. “Incidentally, you look great.”
“Thank you. Chantelle worked her magic.” I opened a Corona and pulled up a chair across from Zack. “So I take it you’ve read Margot’s report,” I said.
“I have,” he said. “And it’s a solid piece of work. Margot’s argument is cogent, persuasive, and absolutely bulletproof. She enclosed a note telling me that Brock and she had worked on the proposal together and that if the partners agree, he’ll join Falconer Shreve to manage the firm.”
“And you’re all right with that?”
“I’m more than all right with it. I called Margot and told her full steam ahead. She’s going to talk to Blake and Kevin tomorrow, and I’m on deck with Delia as soon as she gets back from Saskatoon.” Before I could say anything, Zack had raised his hand in protest. “I know I promised I’d let it all go, Jo, but Margot convinced me that this is the best approach. Dee’s proud. It will be easier for her if the idea comes from me, and I promise, I won’t leave Delia’s office until she agrees – at least in substance – to the changes Margot proposes. When that happens, I’ll back away.”
“I’m sure Margot was relieved to hear you’ll help.”
“She was.” Zack took a handful of Fritos and then pushed the chip bag and the bean dip towards me. “By the way, Margot made some recommendations about personnel. Maisie is on the very short list of lawyers Margot has on her slate of potential equity partners.”
“Do you think that will happen?”
“Absolutely. Maisie is a terrific trial lawyer. She’s smart, and she’s combative and tenacious. Watching her tear a witness apart is a joy to behold.”
“Sounds like fun for the whole family,” I said. “We should take our new grandsons down to watch their mum in action.”
“You’re mocking me, but as soon as they’re old enough, I will take Colin and Charlie to see Maisie in court. Never too soon for them to learn that the law is a kickass profession.”
“That’s what Angus always says. Did he have a place on Margot’s list?”
Zack lowered his eyes. “He’s a second-year associate, Jo. He’s exactly where he should be.”
“When it comes time to decide whether to cut him loose or let him make partner, what are you going to do?”
Zack smiled. “He’s our son. He won’t be cut loose.”
“But he’s not really good enough to make partner,” I said.
“He will be,” Zack said. “He and I just have to figure out the right path for him.”
“He’s always dreamed of trial law.”
“Sometimes people have to find different dreams,” Zack said. “My dream was to be a major league baseball player. That didn’t work out, so I became a lawyer.”
I reached across the table and stroked my husband’s hand. “And the law’s been a good fit for you.”
“It has. The moment I wheeled into a courtroom, I knew I was where I belonged. Angus is a good lawyer, but in my opinion he’s pursuing the wrong branch of law. He and I have talked about this. I’ve seen him in court. He doesn’t have the temperament to be a trial lawyer.”
“Is Angus okay with the idea that he may have to change direction?”
“He is because he knows a change of direction will be no reflection on him. Good trial lawyers will do whatever it takes to get the outcome they want, and when they fail, it’s a body blow. There’ve been times after I lost a case when I barely made it to the men’s room before I threw up.”
“And Angus doesn’t care enough about winning.”
“He cares, but he’s a nice guy, and nice lawyers lose cases because they get squeamish about delivering the knockout punch. Instead of going in for the kill, they back off. If you want to see what I’m talking about, go watch Maisie. When it’s time to nail her case, she never hesitates. She moves in close and pounds away until she’s got her opponent on the ropes. That’s why Maisie’s on Margot’s list.”
“So what’s going to happen with Angus?”
Zack took my hand. “Kevin and Angus and I are going to sit down together during the holidays and figure out how to get our son where he wants to go. Jo, Angus is twenty-five years old. He has all the time in the world.”
—
Most nights before we turned in, Zack and I shared a mutual massage. We had busy lives and we both looked forward to the chance to simply relax and talk. But I had my own reason to press for the nightly ritual. Zack was prickly when he felt that I was overly attentive to his health, but the massage gave me a chance to watch for changes in the skin on the areas of his body that rested against his wheelchair sixteen hours a day. In addition to compromising the workings of the internal organs and the blood’s ability to flow without clotting, paraplegia interferes with the skin’s ability to heal. Zack was vulnerable to pressure ulcers that, if left unchecked, could be life-threatening. The massage gave me a chance to spot a pressure ulcer at an early stage so Zack could get medical attention before the condition became a problem. That night, there were no reddened areas on his skin, and I was able to exhale.
“Your turn now,” Zack said. “Unbutton that pyjama top.”
“With pleasure,” I said.
Zack and I always tried to pack up our troubles and bring light hearts to the time we spent together before we slipped into bed and turned out the lights. But the body does not lie, and as soon as Zack began massaging my shoulders he felt my tension.
“Your muscles are a little tight,” he said. “Problems?”
“Nothing major, but after Gracie and I put up the Christmas lights, she came in for lunch and we had a long talk about the wisdom of getting together on Halloween,” I said. “She’s torn, Zack. Rose is uneasy about the whole idea. So is Gracie, but Isobel is counting on the evening to bring her family together, and you saw at the lake how worried Gracie is about Blake.” I breathed deeply as Zack’s fingers began to work down my spine.
“Better?” he said finally.
“Much,” I said. “What do you think?”
“Well, something has to be done,” he said. “I’m just not certain that this particular get-together is the answer. When we made decisions about Racette-Hunter we consulted every step of the way with Ernest Beauvais and the other elders. You know how adamant Ernest was about us understanding and respecting First Nations customs and traditions before we did anything. I don’t know much about Día de los Muertos, but I know it has real spiritual significance for the people who celebrate it.”
“That’s exactly what Taylor’s exploring with her art project,” I said. “She’s showing how the sugar skulls, marigo
ld garlands, paper skeletons of Catrinas, calaveras, and all the rest help the living remember their loved ones.”
Zack frowned. “But Gracie, Isobel, and Taylor aren’t planning to use decorations for our gathering, are they?”
“No, the Day of the Dead decorations are strictly for Taylor’s art project. The project was the impetus for the evening the young women are planning, but I think their ideas have evolved. They were drawn to the Day of the Dead celebration because it offered a way of bringing those they had lost back into their lives. It was something Gracie and Isobel needed. Taylor understood that need, and she supported them. Gracie and Isobel have sacrificed a lot to keep their families together. That day at the lake, the idea seemed pretty straightforward. Now there are complications. Rose is worried that meddling with customs and beliefs we don’t understand will make us vulnerable. You’re concerned that we’re cherry-picking what we need from Día de los Muertos without giving serious thought to the belief system behind it. I still think we owe it to the young women to do what we can to help, but I’m concerned about the outcome.”
“So am I,” Zack said. “Jo, there’s so much history, and there’s been so much heartache and loss. I wonder if it’s possible to resolve all of that in a single night.”
“Maybe not, but it will be a beginning.” As Zack slid his knuckles down either side of my spine, I exhaled with pleasure.
“Is that helping?” he said.
“It is,” I said. “And it’s easier to be rational when my muscles are unknotted. Zack, maybe we’ve been worrying too much about this. The girls aren’t expecting any miracles. They just want to open some doors they feel have been closed too long.”
CHAPTER
6
On Friday, October 23, I awoke to the first snowfall of the season. Smug about already having our Christmas lights in place, I went to the front door and flicked the switch. The snow was the kind that falls in the romantic movies of the forties – fat, theatrical flakes that float slowly through the air and land on the heroine’s long lashes and the hero’s broad shoulders. For years, my idea of outdoor holiday lighting had been minimalist: all white bulbs, hung sparingly in select locations. Zack favoured a lavish display of coloured bulbs. I had agreed to his preference reluctantly, but as the lights flashed, pointillist daubs of red, green, blue, and gold against the darkness and the drifting snow, I applauded his choice.
Decades earlier, the city had built levees on both sides of the creek that runs behind our house and planted them with indigenous bushes to protect homeowners from floods during spring runoff. Two days after I put up the Christmas lights, we had had our first hard frost. Since then, the levee’s banks had been dun-coloured and soggy with dead leaves. Now a blanket of new snow covered the decaying foliage and revealed the stark beauty of the bushes’ bare branches. By March, like everyone else, I would be weary of trudging and shovelling, but on that October morning as I looked out at the fresh, radiant world I felt the familiar thrill that comes with the arrival of the first snow.
Pantera and Esme had joined me at the patio doors. This would be our first snow excursion since we’d moved back to the old house and they were as eager as I was to get going. When it came to running on the snow-covered bike path that hugged the creek, our mastiff was a veteran. He had been abandoned by his very young owners at our son Peter’s veterinary clinic because, in their words, Pantera had “stopped being cute and started getting big.” For Zack and Pantera it had been love at first sight, and when Zack and I married, Pantera was a sweet part of the package. Esme was a recent addition. We had taken her home with us the previous spring after Lee Crawford, Maisie’s twin, died tragically. My own bouvier had died of old age the winter before, so Esme and I needed each other.
That morning the snow and the solitude seemed to calm the dogs. They trotted along without straining at their leashes, freeing my mind to roam and remember. My life, the life of my late husband, Ian, and those of my children had been inextricably linked to Wascana Creek. In every season, the creek was an oasis of peace and beauty. When, as babies, my children were teething or just plain ornery, I had pushed their carriage along the levee to soothe them. Later, when they were toddlers exploding with energy and curiosity, I let them run along the banks with treasure bags collecting whatever caught their eye. Together, my children and I had skated on the creek’s ice, snapped photos of visiting pelicans and cormorants, and tobogganed down the creek’s banks. When Ian came home after a day of heated debate at the legislature, too filled with frustration and Scotch to sleep, we had walked along the creek together until his mind was calm and his body could rest. After Ian’s death I wandered along the creek for hours trying desperately to block painful memories and unanswerable questions.
As soon as Zack and I had agreed to marry, he scoured the real estate listings to come up with information on the houses he thought Taylor and I might like. When I saw that the first house on Zack’s list backed on to the creek, I knew it was kismet. And so our life together as a family began in the neighbourhood where, for the first time in my life, I had found a real home.
Zack and I had a quiet wedding; it was simply part of the normal 10:30 Holy Eucharist at the cathedral. The reception was at our new home, and as a wedding/housewarming gift my old friend Peggy Kreviazuk brought a framed needlepoint of Edith Sitwell’s words about the comforts of good food, good talk, and good friends in winter. I’d hung the needlepoint next to the bookcase where I kept cookbooks, and when the dogs and I, cold from our run, stepped into the warmth of our kitchen I felt the truth of Sitwell’s reflection that winter was the time for home.
Breakfast is Zack’s specialty and that morning the coffee was made, the juice was poured, the porridge was bubbling, and the rye bread was in the toaster. Taylor still had an hour to sleep, so after I fed the dogs, Zack and I sat at our kitchen table, eating and looking out at the creek. When he finished his breakfast, Zack stretched lazily. “This is so nice,” he said. “I’m tired of playing whack-a-mole, Jo. Just when the city’s business is finally humming along, these brushfires break out at the firm.”
“But your conversation yesterday morning with Delia went well,” I said.
“She was tired from the Saskatoon trial, but she’s optimistic about the outcome, so she was in a receptive mood. I’d asked Norine to incorporate the suggestions Blake, Kevin, and I had into Margot’s draft for the restructuring, and Norine merged our lists of possible candidates for equity partnership with Margot’s so Dee could get the full picture. She said she’d study it and let me know if she had any questions. Last night after you went to bed, Noah came by with Delia’s handwritten comments on the list of candidates.”
“Anything major?”
“There was one person who the rest of us felt was worth looking at who didn’t meet Delia’s approval, and she added the name of a possibility that we hadn’t suggested but is certainly fine.” Zack smiled. “And you’ll be happy to hear that all of us put forth Maisie’s name.”
“I am happy.”
“Good. Anyway, we obviously want this to be kept confidential so Norine’s going to draft the letters to the six people, including Katina in Calgary, to whom we’re offering equity partnerships. We’ll courier the letters next week and we’ll make the official announcement on November 2nd.”
“There’ll be some disgruntled lawyers in the halls of Falconer Shreve,” I said.
“This is just round one,” Zack said. “According to Margot’s plan, if they didn’t make it this time, they’ll have another chance, but that’s all in the future. What’s up for you today?”
“It’s a teacher in-service at St. Pius X, so Madeleine and Lena don’t have school. I’m going to take them to Value Village to scout out Halloween costume possibilities. Then we’re going to swing by Margot’s to pick up baby clothes that Margot’s kids have outgrown. Then we’re going to drive out to the farm to drop off the clothes and see Maisie, Peter, and the twins.”
“Sounds like a
great morning.”
“I’ll send pictures,” I said. “And don’t forget, we have the benefit at the Scarth Club tonight.”
Zack groaned. “When all I want is a night with you.”
“Since you’re the guest of honour, I guess we can’t duck out early,” I said. “But tomorrow’s Saturday and you don’t leave for Toronto until the afternoon. After I take the dogs for their run, I’ll jump back into bed with you. All you have to do is make sure there’s a warm place for me.”
—
As always, Value Village did not disappoint. Within ten minutes the girls had their costumes: matching black-and-white striped shirts, black watch caps, and hemp gunnysacks with drawstrings. Perfect getups for cartoon bank robbers, and the price was right: $12.75 for everything. As soon as we were back in the car, the girls pulled out their haul.
“We can print the word LOOT on the sacks in big letters, so people know we’re not real robbers,” Lena said.
Madeleine rolled her eyes. “We’re kids. It’s Halloween. People will get that these are costumes.”
Lena appealed to me. “Mimi, what do you think? Should we write LOOT on the bags, just to be safe?”
“I don’t think you need to, but I’ll bet if you write LOOT on your bags, people will give you more candy.”
“I’m writing LOOT on my bag,” Lena said.
“This is a really stupid conversation,” Madeleine said, and the discussion ended.
When we pulled up in front of the condo on Halifax Street, I called to tell Margot we were on our way up but wouldn’t be staying. She met the girls and me at the elevator with a dolly piled with boxes of baby clothes and four Halloween gift bags on top.
“Where are Lexi and Kai?” Lena asked.
“Having a nap,” Margot said. “Brock’s with them.” She gave the girls a hug and handed them each a bag. “Kai and Lexi wanted you to have these and give the other ones to your new cousins. You can open the ones with your names on them.”