by Gail Bowen
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said.
Vale’s face was shining. “Think of Alice’s line after she’s gone down the rabbit hole. She says, ‘Who in the world am I? Ah, THAT’S the great puzzle.’ At the end, in order to find an answer, Alice has to put the pieces of herself back together in a new way.” Vale paused. “You gave me this book because you know that I have to do that too.”
I smiled. “I suspected you might be thinking along those lines.”
Vale nodded. “Joanne, when did you discover who you were?”
“I’ll be sixty-one on my next birthday,” I said. “That’s sort of my target date.”
Vale grinned. “So it’s not too late for me to work this out?”
I touched her arm. “It’s never too late,” I said. “At least that’s what I’m counting on.”
* * *
—
On January 30, Rosamond Burke boarded a plane for Toronto and a connecting flight to London. She would be home for her February 1st birthday. A day later, Taylor drove Vale Frazier to the airport to catch a flight to Vancouver, where Vale would begin work on her next film, a tender love story between exchange students from warring countries. She and Taylor had committed the schedules for flights between Regina and Vancouver to memory.
Principal photography, the middle phase of movie production, was finished. Sets had been struck; props and costumes were stored; actors, musicians, dancers, and production people had moved on to other jobs. The banner reading, “Welcome, The Happiest Girl!!!” had been removed from the entrance to the production studios. Rumour had it that a zombie movie would begin shooting there in March.
The Happiest Girl would now go to Vancouver for post-production. Because computer-generated imagery would be a significant part of the film, Tobi Lampard had scheduled six months for this final phase in the making of the movie. With luck, the movie would be in theatres the week before American Thanksgiving, an ideal release time for a film with high expectations for success.
By the end of the year, the movie that for three months in mid-winter had shaped our lives would be shown in thousands of theatres in scores of countries. People none of us would ever know would heap praise or scorn on it, be moved by or indifferent to it, argue about it or dismiss it out of hand. The Happiest Girl no longer belonged to us.
At the end of February, Taylor and I went to Saskatoon. Father Gary Ariano was teaching at St. Mike’s in Toronto for the semester, so our plan was to visit Ben Bendure and to see Sally’s old studio on the bank of the South Saskatchewan River. As Roy and I had, Taylor and I met Ben in Izaak Levin’s former home on 9th Street. I had been concerned about Taylor’s reaction to the shrine Izaak Levin had created to honour the woman he loved. After several futile attempts to explain the complexity of Izaak and Sally’s relationship to Taylor, I realized that I didn’t truly understand it myself and gave up. But from the moment we entered Izaak’s house, Taylor’s attention was not on his feelings for her birth mother but on the diversity and quality of the art he had gathered to honour her.
Taylor, too, had been intrigued by the rich textures and playful juxtaposition of elements in the collages Andrea D’Aquino created for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and she was immediately drawn to the collage of Sally that Izaak had given the place of honour on the wall facing his favourite armchair. I wanted Ben and Taylor to have some time alone, so while they explored the house, I sat in Izaak’s favourite armchair, marvelling at the skill with which the artist had captured Sally’s boldness and her vulnerability.
Ben had invited us to another picnic lunch at his condo, but when we were standing at the door with our coats on, Taylor returned to the living room for a final look at the collage of Sally.
When my daughter rejoined us, Ben said, “I’d like you to have that piece.”
Taylor beamed. “And I would love me to have that piece,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Ben said. “And it introduces a subject I was hoping we could talk about at lunch. Taylor, I’d like to know what you think I should do with the art in this house.”
It was a big decision, and over lunch, the three of us had a lot of fun floating ideas about how best to deal with Izaak’s extraordinary collection. When Taylor and I left, nothing had been decided but Taylor wanted Vale to be part of the discussion. Vale was coming to Regina for Easter, so we invited Ben to join us then. The process was underway.
* * *
—
The current artist-in-residence had arranged to spend the afternoon elsewhere so that Taylor and I could take our time looking at Sally’s old studio. It was one of those late-winter days when you can smell the earth warming and the promise of spring is in the air. As soon as we stepped out of the car, we heard the crack of ice breaking up on the river.
The studio was filled with the tools of a working artist, and Taylor was pensive as she moved carefully through the stacked canvases, tins of turpentine, canvas sleeves filled with paintbrushes, and tubes of paint laid out in an order Taylor recognized immediately. “Look, Jo. Whoever works here arranges their paints in the same order I use—reds and yellows on the left, white in the middle, and blues and greens on the right. Warm colours to cool colours,” she said.
“So you feel at home here,” I said.
Taylor smiled. “I feel at home anywhere there’s good light, space to work, and the supplies I need.” She walked over to the window, took out her phone, and made a video of the riverbank, still patched with snow, and of the rushing river.
“The woman I spoke to in the Fine Arts Department says the current artist-in-residence will be finished by July 1st. The university hasn’t committed to anyone else, so you could take possession then.”
“It really is perfect,” Taylor said. “The view, the space, the light, and it’s really kind of a thrill to think of Sally making art here…”
Like her birth mother, Taylor had a mouth so expressive that I could read her mood by studying it. That day, a glance at the line of her lips told me all I needed to know. “But this isn’t where you want to be,” I said.
Taylor shook her head. “Remember that story you used to read me about the dog in the manger?”
“I do. It’s in our book of Aesop’s fables.”
“I used to be so scared of the mean look on that dog’s face as he lay in the manger full of hay, taunting that poor hungry ox,” Taylor said. “The dog had no use for the hay, but whenever the ox tried to eat, the dog bit him.”
“You already have two studios—the one out back in Regina and the one at Lawyer’s Bay. You don’t want to be the biting dog,” I said.
“I don’t,” she said. “Jo, I knew the moment I walked into this place that whoever was working here loved it. Sally would want her studio used all the time by people who loved it.”
“You’re right,” I said. “She would.”
“And I don’t even know where I’m going to be. If my relationship with Vale develops the way we hope it will, she’ll be travelling for her work. Her film in Vancouver will wrap by the beginning of May. Ainsley is hoping to shoot some of the outdoor footage for Flying Blue Horses up north in the summer.”
“Roy asked me to suggest something here in Saskatchewan,” I said. “The Artists’ Colony at Emma Lake looks much as it did sixty years ago, and its beach is as pristine as the beach at MacLeod Lake was when I was growing up.”
“I can hardly wait to see it,” Taylor said. “Anyway, after they’re through filming up north, Ainsley’s planning to get as much as she can get done with Rosamond and Vale at the sound studios in Regina before they both have to leave on the publicity tour for The Happiest Girl at the end of October.”
“Roy says the tour will last till Christmas,” I said. “That’s pretty intense.”
“It is, but it’s part of Vale’s life, so it will be part of my life too. Most of what Vale will be doing till the end of November will be in the U.S. and Canada. I’ve already made lists
of the art I want to see and the galleries I want to go to. Then, two weeks before Christmas we’re going to Europe so Rosamond and Vale can do publicity where Rosamond is best known.”
“But you’ll be home for the holidays?” I said.
Taylor moved closer to me. “Rosamond says London is a fairyland at Christmas. Vale and I are hoping you and Dad will join us there.” Our daughter saw the fear in my eyes and misread it, at least partially. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to fly, Jo. There are some beautiful ships that will bring you safely across the ocean.”
I tried to keep my tone light. “I guess I just need some time to get used to the idea,” I said. “Actually, there are quite a few things I’m going to need time to adjust to.”
Taylor’s voice was anxious. “Is my being with Vale one of them?”
“Not at all. Your dad and I agree that you and Vale are good together. It’s just that all of a sudden you’ll be part of a world that I don’t know or understand.”
“I don’t understand it either,” Taylor said. “But I want to. I want to see what’s out there.” She took my hand. “If you and Dad come for Christmas, you could see what’s out there too.” She paused. “Promise me you’ll think about it?”
As Taylor faced me, her eyes shining with passion and anticipation for the adventures ahead, a memory of Sally flashed through my mind. We had just reconnected after our long separation and were having tea in my kitchen one evening, after my children had gone to bed. Sally was regaling me with stories about her travels. She had an eye for the telling detail and it was a pleasure to listen to her, but as the two of us were laughing, I felt a sudden stab of heartache. Sally must have felt it too, because she stopped mid-sentence and fell silent. As the silence between us lengthened, we looked into each other’s eyes. Finally, I said, “We should have been together, Sally.”
She reached across the table and put her hand on mine. “I know, and, Jo, I would give anything to have shared those years with you, but the distance between us was only physical. You’ve always been in my heart—and I was always in yours.” Her eyes were brimming, but the corner of her mouth curled towards a rueful smile. “After all, who else could have stood it in these battered hearts.”
That was Sally.
Being with Taylor in the studio where Sally had finally settled to make her life’s work, I felt the same sweet sadness I had felt fourteen years earlier when my sister and I had talked of the years together we had lost. Taylor had decided what her first steps away from us as an adult would be, and I was struck again by the painful truth of C.P. Snow’s observation that the love of a parent for a child is the only love that must grow towards separation. But as Sally had pointed out, the distance between Taylor and us would only be physical. Taylor’s family, including both her mothers, would be with her every step of the way.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to:
Kendra Ward, my editor for her quiet intelligence and her firm but gentle guidance;
Ashley Dunn, for being at her desk when I needed her most;
Kelly Joseph for her reassurance and unfailing kindness;
Heather Sangster for giving the manuscript that final, essential polish;
Jared Bland, for his commitment to the writers of M&S, a publishing house that has always put writers and readers first;
Naima Kazmi, MD, for being everything a family physician should be;
Wayne Chau, BSP, for his professionalism and his great sense of humour;
Kai Langen, Madeleine Bowen-Diaz, Lena Bowen-Diaz, Chesney Langen-Bell, Ben Bowen-Bell, Peyton Bowen, and Lexi Bowen, who introduce us to their brave new worlds with patient kindness;
Ted, my love of almost fifty years, for going the distance with me; and
Esme, my constant companion.
Several of the pieces of art made by or owned by my characters have been described in earlier novels in the Joanne Kilbourn Shreve series.
Sally Love’s Erotobiography
The fire scene at womanswork gallery
Sally Love’s Perfect Circles
The mural at St. Thomas More College
The artwork in Izaak Levin’s home Are described in Murder at the Mendel
First published by Douglas & McIntyre Ltd., 1991. First M&S paperback edition, 1992.
Taylor Love Shreve’s Two Painters Is described in The Gifted
Published simultaneously in the United States of America by McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada, 2013.