The Winners' Circle

by Gail Bowen

  “That’s true of my dad. He’s an intelligent person, but his obsession with my mother has ruined his life.” Gracie looked resolutely out at the lake. “My dad deserves what you and Zack have,” she said. “He deserves to move on.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  During the last week of October, the weather continued to be unseasonably mild. High-school boys wearing shorts and high-school girls wearing far too little sipped slushies as they meandered home from school. People raked leaves, and when little kids jumped in the leaf piles, they smiled and raked again. Outdoor cafés were crowded. Pansies and marigolds continued to thrive. Every night at dinnertime, the piquant smoke of barbecues drifted through our neighbourhood. The snow we’d awakened to on the day of the dinner honouring Zack was only a memory. Our lives seemed suspended in the pleasant haze of an endless late summer, but I was on edge. I knew the succession of perfect days would end. I just didn’t know when.

  Zack once said that it’s the loose ends of our lives that hang us, and there were many loose ends. Emmett Keating had not reappeared. The police were looking into his whereabouts, but so far their investigation had yielded nothing. Keating’s credit and bank cards hadn’t been used, and it seemed his cellphone was off. Outside of a few acquaintances at Falconer Shreve, Emmett Keating apparently did not have personal connections. The police were being diligent in following every lead, but nothing had panned out. Debbie Haczkewicz and I both speculated that Emmett Keating had committed suicide, and it would be only a matter of time before his body was discovered, but as the minutes ticked by and nothing happened, tempers frayed.

  On the Saturday morning that he was to return, Zack called to say his plane had been delayed and he’d be arriving at around three that afternoon. Mieka was having a Halloween party at April’s Place, her café and play centre that was UpSlideDown’s twin in the city’s core. Taylor had volunteered to help out, but I had begged off, anticipating a romantic reunion with my husband. Suddenly, I was free. I looked dolefully at the black silk nightgown I’d draped across our freshly made bed and hit speed-dial on my phone. Mieka picked up on the first ring.

  “Synchronicity,” Mieka said. “I was just about to call you.”

  “You’ll be able to see me in about twenty minutes,” I said. “Zack’s plane was delayed so I can help with the party.”

  “Great. Two of my right-hand women are down with the flu and the joint will be jumping. Taylor suggested I call Angus to see if he could give me an hour or two of his time, and he and Patsy are coming to help. Maisie has a meeting with an old friend, so Pete’s bringing the twins. A Kilbourn family reunion – it’ll be terrific. And, Mum, if you have a Halloween costume hanging around, the kids would love it.”

  The Archie Goodwin suit I’d worn when Zack and I went to a costume party as Nero Wolfe and Archie a few Halloweens ago was at the back of my closet. As I zipped the fly of my slick vintage suit and adjusted the angle of my fedora, I took a last look at the black silk nightgown lying forlornly on the bed. An afternoon with a group of sugared-up kids wasn’t quite the diversion I’d had in mind, but a kids’ party was always an adventure, and I was smiling as I headed for the play centre.

  Even before I opened the door to April’s Place, I knew that, as Mieka had promised, the joint was jumping. My daughter believed in old-fashioned games, and from the squeals and laughter it was clear that pin the tail on the donkey and bobbing for apples hadn’t lost their appeal. Zack always loved seeing our kids and grandkids together, so I took plenty of pictures. Mieka had dressed as a Keystone Kop with an oversized plastic nightstick, a zany complement to her daughters’ old-time bank robbers’ outfits. Angus and Patsy wore the uniforms of the now-defeated but still-defiant Toronto Blue Jays, and Peter came as the exhausted but delighted father of twins. Charlie and Colin were dressed in the outfits Margot had given them, and they were two very lovable pumpkins. It was a happy afternoon, and when I finally checked my watch, I realized I’d lost track of the time and wouldn’t be able to get home to change before I picked Zack up at the airport.

  As soon as he spotted me in my fedora and suit, Zack beamed. “Archie Goodwin,” he said, “it’s been a long time, but I still remember our night together.” The line was smooth, but it was interrupted by a hacking cough.

  By the time we got home, I knew that Zack was headed for a serious cold. “I’m calling the Wainbergs to tell them we can’t make it tonight,” I said.

  Zack was adamant. “We have to be there, Jo. Delia’s not going. If we don’t show up, that just leaves Kevin, Blake, Noah, and the girls. I can’t let them down. I promise I’ll stay in bed all day tomorrow.”

  There was no point arguing. I showered, checked our supply of juice, chicken broth, and ASA, replaced the silk sheets on our bed with flannelette, and plugged in the humidifier. Then I dressed for an evening out and hoped for the best.

  —

  The Wainbergs, like the Falconers, lived in the Crescents. But in that neighbourhood of elegant old homes, the Wainberg house, with its stark asymmetrical lines, large expanses of glass, and open-concept floor plan, was an anomaly. The house had been designed by an architect as a gift for the man with whom he planned to spend the rest of his life. On the eve of the men’s commitment ceremony, the architect’s beloved found another beloved. The house was on the market the next day.

  The Wainbergs, a star-crossed couple themselves, purchased the property for a song. It was a house designed for entertaining, not family life, but from the first, Noah was determined to make the house a home, and he had succeeded. He painted walls in earth colours, arranged deep couches and welcoming chairs in clusters that encouraged intimate conversation, and filled the walls with folk art. Noah was a talented woodcarver, and his life-sized carvings of animals – sometimes beautiful, sometimes whimsical, always awe-inspiring – warmed the rooms in which they appeared like gifts from a fairy-tale kingdom.

  From the first time I visited the Wainbergs’ house, I’d been taken with the three oak bears, astonishingly realistic, grouped on the lawn beside the path leading to the entrance. The bear in front was a large male. Initially, he had been flanked by a smaller female bear and a cub. When Isobel grew to young womanhood, Noah replaced the cub with a young female bear. After Noah Wainberg learned that Abby, the daughter he didn’t know existed, had left instructions for Delia and him to raise her infant son, he carved two more oak bears: another adult female and a cub. The young cub had joined the group on the lawn, but Dee had refused to let Noah place the bear that represented their long-lost daughter with the others.

  When we started up the walk, I drew Zack’s attention to the carvings. The third female bear had joined the family. The cub was beside her. “Abby,” Zack said. “Noah’s given her a place in the family.”

  I rubbed his shoulder. “A good beginning?” I said.

  “Either that or a full-blown declaration of war,” Zack said. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Isobel had arranged my planters of marigolds on either side of the front door. When she’d picked up the flowers, Izzie told me that she, Gracie, and Taylor had decided that when it came to the evening’s decorations, the byword would be “less is more.” There would be no shrines with Día de los Muertos calacas and calaveras in the house. According to legend, the vibrant blooms of marigolds at the entrance to a dwelling would let the spirits of the dead know they were welcome. For tonight, the flowers would be enough.

  Zack and I were the last to arrive. Noah and Jacob met us at the door. Zack and his wheelchair fascinated Jacob, and as soon as he heard Zack’s voice, he ran to him. Most often, Jacob would climb on Zack’s lap and Zack would give him a ride, but when I saw Jacob headed for the wheelchair, I scooped him up and gave him a hug. “No rides today,” I said. “Uncle Zack has a cold.”

  Jacob’s small face pinched with concern. “I’m sorry you’re sick.”

  “So am I,” Zack said “But next time I come, I’ll bring my all-terrain wheelc
hair and we’ll go on the bike path.”

  I put Jacob down and Noah took his hand. “Why don’t you two head for the fireplace and let Jacob and me bring you some refreshments. Zack, I have a pitcher of martinis in the refrigerator waiting for you.”

  “Your martinis are stellar,” Zack said. “But they’ll have to wait. I’m feeling lousy and I have too much respect for Bombay Sapphire to waste it.”

  “Noah, why don’t I come with you to the kitchen and make Zack some tea?”

  “Good idea. Jake, I think it’s just about time for Bear in the Big Blue House. You know your big pal, Ryan, doesn’t like watching that show without you.”

  Jacob nodded solemnly. “I don’t like watching it without him either.”

  “Then why don’t you go upstairs and ask Ryan to please turn on the TV. I’ll be up with your supper before your show’s over.” Bear in the Big Blue House was apparently as much a hit with Jacob as it had been with Madeleine and Lena. He was gone in a flash. Noah grinned. “Note my grandson’s speed. Watching TV while he eats a meal is a treat.”

  Noah and I were often together with the girls, so the Wainberg kitchen was familiar territory. I picked up the kettle and filled it. “You seem to have lucked out with Jacob’s new ‘big pal, Ryan,’ ” I said.

  “The ‘big pal’ designation was Jacob’s idea,” Noah said. “He clouded up when we referred to Ryan as his babysitter. But by any name Ryan is a godsend. He’s terrific with Jacob, and he and I have arranged our schedules so Ryan can get to the university for his classes and when he’s back here, I can take care of whatever needs attention at Falconer Shreve.”

  “The evening seems to be off to a good start,” I said. “Any word from Delia?”

  “No, and I wasn’t expecting any. I’m certain that when Delia said she wouldn’t be part of the evening, she believed that would be the end of it, but Izzie stood her ground, and I supported her. I love Dee, but I love my daughter too, and she needs this evening. I’ve tried to heal the breach. I’ve called Dee. I’ve left messages saying her place tonight is here with us. She hasn’t responded.”

  “You’ve done your part,” I said. “How’s Isobel?”

  “Honestly? Better than she’s been in a long time. This afternoon I brought out the bear that represents our older daughter. While we chose a place on the lawn for the carving, we had a good talk. Jacob calls the new piece ‘the Abby bear.’ ”

  “Finding a place for the Abby bear was the right thing to do, Noah.”

  “It felt right,” he said. “And Isobel’s put together a few thoughts about her sister for tonight.”

  “That feels right too,” I said.

  “Agreed. Now I’d better get back to our guests.” Noah slapped his forehead with his palm. “Jo, I’m sorry. I totally forgot about getting you a drink.”

  “I’ll share Zack’s tea,” I said. I touched his arm. “Noah, this is going to work out.”

  The girls had planned the evening carefully. Concerned that we would be disturbed by trick-or-treaters, Isobel had placed jack-o’-lanterns along the front path, and shortly after we arrived, she, Gracie, and Taylor ran outside to light them and to position a washtub full of candy bars with a sign: Please leave something for the next person. As we sipped our drinks in front of the fireplace, we could watch the shadowy figures of kids in costumes dart up the front walk, stop, choose their treats, and take off for the next house, but we were undisturbed.

  Eight of us sat down to dinner in the dining room. Supper was a simple meal – homemade chicken soup, crusty bread, a platter of crudités with aioli, and a crisp, dry Chablis. The conversation was inconsequential and easy. We were people who knew each other well and were comfortable in one another’s company. Zack was tired from the trip and his incipient cold was taking its toll, but he was enjoying himself and he asked for a second helping of soup.

  The girls had just cleared away the dishes when Delia walked into the dining room. The effect was electric. As soon as he saw his wife, Noah sprang to his feet. Whatever the season, Dee always wore some combination of black, white, and grey. That night, she was wearing a closely fitted, lightweight grey coat, a black cloche, and black fashion boots. She was carrying a bottle of wine in a gift bag.

  “We’ve been through so much together,” she said. “I wanted to be here.”

  Noah enfolded her in his arms. “And we wanted you here,” he said.

  I glanced at Isobel. She had been radiant but, as was so often the case when her mother was around, Izzie’s features grew tense.

  Noah took his wife’s coat and carried a chair to the table for her. “There’s still soup and bread, Dee.”

  Delia had taken off her cloche. She ran her hands through her wiry salt-and-pepper hair and gave her husband a quick smile. “Thanks, I’ll just have coffee when it’s ready.”

  Delia’s arrival put an end to our gathering’s easy bonhomie. Kevin, ever the peacemaker, quickly made an effort to restore it. He excused himself and came back to the table with an old cassette player. “I was waiting for the right time to play this, and I believe the time has come,” he said.

  Kevin turned on the cassette player and the room was filled with the sounds of a bar – laughter, loud voices, and a lively band comprised of drums, an accordion, a flute, a fiddle, and what sounded like a large number of banjoes and guitars. The band was playing “Whiskey in the Jar” and the audience was singing along. When the music ended, I heard Zack’s voice, authoritative as always, but with the careful enunciation of a man determined not to sound drunk. “And now for some real music,” he said. Beside me, my husband shook his head when he heard his young self. He leaned towards me. “It was St. Patrick’s Day, and the beer was green and free.” Across from us, Dee, Kevin, and Blake were all smiling.

  On the tape, Zack continued to control the microphone. “My friend Kevin and I are about to sing you one of the saddest songs ever written. All Irish songs are sad – a lot of them are about rum, sodomy, and the lash; not much to laugh about there – but this song is not about that. This song is about a proud ship named The Irish Rover, which set sail from Cork to New York on July the 4th, 1806. Kevin and I will be assisted by our band, The Winners’ Circle. Delia Margolies on drums, Chris Altieri on flute, and Blake Falconer on guitar. He only knows three chords, but that’s all he needs.”

  Zack always managed to rise to the occasion, and on that long ago St. Patrick’s night, accompanied by drums, flute, guitar, and Kevin’s baritone, Zack’s sonorous bass cut through the fog of green beer and bar noise to bring real emotion to the tragic tale of the death of a noble ship that sailed the seas for seven years, till measles decimated the crew, a collision with a rock destroyed the ship and drowned the ship’s dog, and the only soul left was the sailor singing the song. By the time Zack’s voice rang out the final verse, he, Delia, Blake, and Kevin were wiping tears from their eyes. It was hard to tell whether they were tears of mirth or heartbreak. It didn’t seem to matter. Delia had picked up a table napkin to mop her eyes.

  Delia was ordinarily a woman of sharpness and angles, but in that moment, her expression grew tender and her features softened. “We did have fun, didn’t we?” she said. “So many bad things have happened. When Chris died, I lost a piece of myself. I thought it was irretrievable, but hearing his voice – hearing all our voices – reminds me of what it was like to feel hopeful.” She laughed sadly. “It was a good feeling.”

  Isobel seized the opening. “And we can hold on to that feeling, if we let the people we’ve lost come into our lives. Everybody in this room needs what Chris can give us, and our family needs what Abby can give us. Let me help you get to know how incredible she was.”

  Delia covered her eyes with a pale hand, pushed her chair away from the table, and stood. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready to do this,” she said.

  Isobel went to her mother, and in a moment as perfectly contained as a teardrop, the two women faced each other, their profiles as identical as their need for
each other. “You don’t have to do it alone,” Isobel said. “You have us. Please give us a chance.”

  When Delia didn’t respond, Noah joined his wife and daughter and draped an arm around the shoulder of each of the women. “Why don’t we all move into the living room,” he said. “I’m sure Gracie and Taylor will help me bring around the coffee and dessert.”

  —

  We arranged the chairs in a circle around a table I had long admired. Noah had found the top of an old oak dining table at an estate sale, refinished it, and built an oak foundation for it. The table was large enough for people to gather round it for coffee and desserts in the Scandinavian tradition. That night the dessert was honey cake.

  When Isobel chose to sit beside her mother, Delia moved her chair closer and took her daughter’s hand. After the coffee and dessert dishes were cleared away, Isobel left the room and came back with a cloth tote bag, which she placed in front of her on the table. She glanced around the circle. “I’ve known and loved most of you for my entire life,” she said. “Joanne and Taylor came later, but I can’t imagine my life without them either.” She reached into the tote bag and pulled out a framed photograph of a girl who could well have been Isobel herself: the same curly jet hair, the same pale skin, the same wary, intelligent eyes. “This is my sister, Abby, when she was eighteen,” Izzie said. “My age. She’d just finished her second year studying political science and economics at the University of Toronto.

  “By the time she was twenty-five, Abby had earned a doctorate in political science. I read her dissertation. I’m a science nerd, so it was pretty heavy going for me, but knowing that Abby had written it made me feel close to her. And that’s important, because I never knew her. I met her for perhaps thirty seconds when she came into our high-school Christmas concert and handed me Jacob. Since that night, I’ve been hungry to learn everything I can about her.