The Noon God

by Donna Carrick

  “Did you have a good rest?” she asked. She put her knife down beside a carrot.

  “Yes. How about you?”

  “I crashed.” She smiled. “I guess it’s true we won’t die from exhaustion because the symptom and the cure are the same – to fall asleep.”

  “That’s right. Sleep is the best thing for us right now anyway. By tonight Daddy’s death will be all over the news and the calls will start coming in. Let it go to answering machine if it gets to be too much.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “They all loved Daddy. I don’t mind them calling to say so. It’s just their way of being kind.”

  I rested my hand on my hungry tummy. I should take lessons in humanity from Lucy. There was so much she could teach me.

  “What are you cooking?” I asked.

  “Spaghetti Bolognese.” That explained the abundance of carrots and fresh stew beef.

  “What time are you aiming for?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  I looked at my watch. It was nearly six. There would be plenty of time.

  “I’m going to go through some of Daddy’s papers,” I said. “We’ll need to find the will and his financial stuff. On Monday we can empty the safe-deposit box.” I was Daddy’s executor. I wanted to get started on some of the practical matters while I still had the strength. Lucy and I could expect to inherit what many people would consider to be a fortune.

  Daddy had discussed his estate with me. I knew where he kept his papers and the key to his safety box. I was also more or less familiar with the terms of his will. On my insistence, Daddy had left just over half of his assets to Lucy. After all, she still had to get through University. He also left a small amount to his favourite charity for the arts and a much larger amount to The United Way.

  “Wealth has responsibilities, Desdemona,” he said. “Never forget to acknowledge your debt to society. That is one of the marks of greatness.”

  I will give Daddy credit for that. Throughout his life he gave freely to various charities, in particular to The United Way. He was not a miser. I was never sure, though, whether his philanthropy was due to generosity or whether he felt someone of his social standing had to set an example. Well, as Mom would say, give the devil his due. He contributed generously and that’s what mattered.

  I found a copy of the will easily enough. It was in a drawer in his study along with several current bank statements and investment portfolios. He had attached a note to the top of the will indicating the original was in his safety deposit box. The key was taped neatly to the note.

  Considering the size and complexity of Daddy’s estate his will was simple. It was as I had expected, with only a couple of small surprises. He had asked for a large amount of money to be distributed equally among a number of people, including his agent, Andy Rivard, our Uncle Willard Brown and Helen Descartes. I had never known Daddy to show much affection to my mother’s brother, and as far as I was aware he hadn’t seen Helen for fifteen years.

  I let my breath out as I studied the bank and investment statements. There was a lot of money involved, even more than I’d thought. It would come in handy. The future was less than certain.

  I packed the most important of the papers into my bag, which was becoming uncomfortably full. It was nearly seven when I rejoined Lucy in the kitchen.

  “Can I help with anything?” I asked.

  “You can throw some pasta into the pot.”

  “I found a copy of the will. There’s a lot of money.”

  “I figured that.”

  “Some goes to charity, some to various friends and relatives.”

  “Good.”

  “The rest goes to us. Fifty-five percent to you, and forty-five to me.”

  “Why the difference?”

  “You’ll need it,” I said. “You have to get through university. You’ll need an income.”

  “It won’t take that much more.”

  “You never know what might come up. Daddy gave me a lot of things when I was younger. I think he was trying to even things out for you.”

  “Oh.” She dipped the wooden spoon into the sauce, mixing it around as she thought. “He didn’t have to do that,” she finally said.

  “He wanted to,” I lied. The truth was I’d asked Daddy to arrange his estate that way. I’d always known his love favoured me in every way that mattered. My conscience wanted balance.

  “Ok,” she said.

  “He left thirty thousand to Helen Descartes,” I said, “and fifty to Uncle Willard.”

  “Who is Helen Descartes?”

  “She’s an old friend of Daddy’s. She helped him out when Mommy first died.”

  “Is she the one who stayed with us for awhile?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “I’m glad he remembered her. Have you called her yet?”

  “No. I’ll do it after supper.”

  “Good. And you’d better call Uncle Will, too.”

  “We’ll see him in the morning.”

  Daddy and Uncle Willard had never been close. Uncle Willard never said so, but I always got the feeling he blamed Daddy for Mom’s death. At least he seemed to feel Daddy could have done more to make her happy. I heard him tell Mom once if Daddy was a real man he would divorce her and let her get on with her life. Yes, he would have to pay support, but that wasn’t his reason for staying married. As I grew older I came to understand Daddy was one of those men who preferred to remain in a loveless marriage rather than leave it. And why not? Mommy was the perfect alibi. If any woman tried to make claims on Daddy, he would simply point to his pathetic wife and three children and say “How could I possibly leave them?” She made few demands on him, never interfered with his work and hardly hindered his social life.

  And even when Mommy was at her worst, the embarrassment she caused him was offset by the sympathy he earned for keeping such a wife. The general consensus among his friends and followers seemed to be he was better to her than she deserved.

  Maybe so, but Mom was Willard’s sister, and had been his only living relative. It would have been hard for Will to fault her under any circumstances. I think he felt Daddy made it too easy for Mom to slip back into depression and addictive behaviour. Maybe he was right. But he would never say so, would never risk offending Daddy in any serious way. Uncle Willard enjoyed a close relationship with Lucy and me and he didn’t want to lose it. He held his tongue.

  Uncle Willard would not be surprised by Daddy’s generosity. After all, it was in character for Daddy to take a parting shot at his brother-in-law. Fifty thousand was a drop in the bucket to Daddy, but a great deal of money to our uncle. The bequest was a veiled insult. No doubt Daddy thought Willard was too dull to see it.

  “Mona,” Lucy said as we were clearing the dishes, “do you think Daddy knew his killer?”

  “No. The police say it was a random attack.”

  “I got the feeling Detective Manor was hinting that someone had a grudge against Daddy.”

  “They have to look at all the possibilities.”

  “I was the last person to see Daddy. What if they think I killed him? We argued. I was angry at him when I went to bed. And I didn’t leave for Montreal first thing in the morning like I planned. I took a later train.”

  “Honey, don’t blame yourself for arguing with Daddy. It doesn’t mean anything. Anyone who knows you knows how much you loved him. Daddy knew it, too. Try not to worry.”

  I scraped the plates and Lucy loaded the dishwasher. Her face was white and drawn. I realised the past twenty-four hours had aged her. She no longer looked like the sixteen-year-old girl I’d seen only a week earlier.

  Was it possible the police might suspect her of murder? I knew she hadn’t done it, but could she have? Maybe we are all capable of dark deeds, given the right moment.

  ~~

  No one could say Lucy had ever had it easy. She lost her mother when she was barely old enough to walk. To an outside observer her father’s indifference was
hardly noticeable. The casual eye would see his concern, expressed through gentle criticisms most people would take for encouragement. Encouragement to lose weight, encouragement to get better grades, encouragement to somehow be a better person…. But Lucy would never be a better person. She was already a wonderful, loving girl. She didn’t need to be better.

  I knew Daddy had managed over the years to convince her she would never be good enough.

  As much as Daddy found fault with Lucy, Gail doted on her. It was Gail whom Lucy followed from room to room. It was Gail who offered the endless sweets that were frowned upon by Daddy. It was Gail who tried in vain to promote a rebellious streak in our little sister.

  And where did I fit into these daily dramas? I’m ashamed to say I was so wrapped up in my own world I watched my sisters from a distance. I knew something wasn’t right with the girls. But I could still feel the pang of grief over losing my mother and I wanted to escape from Daddy’s world. Mom had asked me to look after the girls, and I had, for eight years. It was time for me to start living my own life. I was in love. Ben and I had our whole future ahead of us. We were going to have children of our own, babies who would grow up to be happy people. I tried to distance myself from Gail and Lucy. Their sorrow surrounded them like a wall.

  Or maybe the wall was mine.

  Lucy never got angry, never lashed out. But did that mean she was blind? Did she see the same things I saw? We never discussed it.

  What I saw was that Gail was saying goodbye. I don’t think I knew it consciously at the time. If I had, I believe I would have stepped in. But in retrospect, that final year was a year of contrition, of making things right with the world before she left it.

  Gail had never forgotten our mother. She had held onto the impression for all those years Daddy was to blame for Mom’s death. He never reached out to Gail with the healing love that might have saved her. From the start, he saw his second daughter as a lost cause. He let her go.

  Gail lived for eight years with the pain of her own anger. And when she finally realised her rage was pointless – that it wouldn’t bring Mommy back, and it wouldn’t make Daddy love her – she just gave up.

  It was four in the morning when I got that terrible call from Lucy. Ben answered the phone. Lucy was incoherent. Ben whispered it was something to do with Gail.

  Somehow I got it out of Lucy there had been a fight at the house. Gail was shouting at Daddy and he was shouting back. He said she was just like Mommy and she said he’d be happier if she wasn’t around and so on…

  Gail had stormed out of the house at around nine pm. Lucy had pleaded with Daddy to look for her, but he refused. He said Gail was an adult and she was responsible for her own actions. She would have to come home on her own.

  Lucy had cried herself to sleep and when she awoke just before four am she crept into Gail’s room, hoping to find her in her bed. She wasn’t there. Not knowing what else to do, Lucy had called me.

  I have to admit, for one fleeting moment I sided with Daddy. This was just like Gail, to make a scene, to demand attention. Everyone else was supposed to drop what they were doing, to walk away from their own lives to go chasing after her and try to convince her to straighten up.

  For a moment, I felt like telling Lucy to go to sleep and forget about it. But only for a moment.

  My mother had asked me to look after my sisters. I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t ignore the panic in Lucy’s voice, any more than I could ignore Gail’s obvious cry for help. It cut too closely to my own buried state of despair.

  I dragged myself out of bed and started dressing. Ben got up and brushed his teeth. He wouldn’t let me go alone.

  I knew the way to Larry Knutt’s apartment. I was sure we’d find her there.

  I pulled into the dark parking lot of the fifteen-storey building in Etobicoke with the hair standing up on the back of my neck. I told myself my anxiety was due to the unpleasant anticipation of meeting with Gail’s old boyfriend. Larry was a jackass.

  Still, Ben was with me and I didn’t really believe I was in danger. But the feeling was heightened when we saw the police car at the far end of the lot.

  Two officers stood in the dirty lobby of the building. One leaned against the wall near the elevator. Ben held my arm and guided me past them as the doors opened.

  When we arrived at the twelfth floor I knew we were too late. I think Ben knew it, too. I felt him stiffen as a Constable approached us in the hall.

  “What happened?” I asked, or at least I think I asked. My voice was distant, like a whisper in the wind.

  “Is there a problem, Officer?” Ben asked.

  “An accident…” was all I heard the policeman say. I was vaguely aware of Ben’s arm around me, holding me on my feet. He got the details from the Constable. I already knew Gail was dead. It was just a matter of hearing it officially.

  Sometime between midnight and two am my sister, Abigail Fortune, had kicked out a screen from a window in an empty spare bedroom and followed it twelve storeys to the ground. It wasn’t clear whether she’d had any help getting through the window, but I doubted it. Gail was a very independent young woman. There had been an argument. An ashtray had been thrown. Drugs and alcohol had been consumed. Larry passed out before midnight. Another teenaged girl had crashed on the sofa in the living room. Neither of them heard Gail leave this world.

  A neighbour called it in at two o’clock.

  I was numb for days. I hardly remember speaking to anyone, though I must have. I hardly remember the service. Uncle Willard kept telling me it would be better to cry and let it out. I don’t remember answering him.

  I remember Daddy shaking his head in disbelief. His shock was genuine. He hadn’t expected Gail to kill herself. I couldn’t help but wonder what he did expect. Did he think she was just up to her old tricks? That she would slip back into her pre-rehab behaviour?

  I was barely aware of my own anger, but it was there. I could not have put it into words, but I know it was there, lurking under my own feelings of guilt. For that one moment as I held the phone against my sleepy ear I had been reluctant to help Gail. As it turned out, we’d been too late to save her anyway, Ben and me. But for one dark, secret moment I hadn’t even wanted to try. I doubted whether I would ever forgive myself for that.

  Given my own guilt, it was impossible for me to hand out recriminations. But I was angry nevertheless. I blamed Daddy. If he had tried… If he had even cared enough to call me when Gail left the house to ask if she might be on her way to my place… If she had mattered that much to him, I would have known what was happening. Ben and I would have found her before midnight. We could have saved her.

  I did not dare to give my anger flower. The taste of it would have strangled me. But it was there.

  Was it possible Lucy felt it, too? Did she blame Daddy for letting Gail go? Was her gentle, loving nature hiding a layer of hatred that would never be abolished?

  It was hard to imagine. In any event, I knew she had not killed Daddy. Her grief was genuine.

  NINE

  I called Helen after dinner to give her the news. She was surprised to hear from me after so many years. Her last memory of me was as a spoiled brat of a teenager. Her voice was kinder to me than I expected.

  She wept when I told her Daddy was dead. I waited for her to finish before telling her about his will. She was not surprised by the amount. Daddy must have kept in touch with her.

  “Can I do anything to help?” she asked.

  “We’d like it if you would come to the memorial. We’re holding a service on Thursday for family and friends. The public service will be on Friday.”

  “Of course I’ll come. Desdemona, thank you for calling. It was thoughtful of you.”

  “I couldn’t not,” I said. “And Helen, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you. I’m sorry about the way I behaved back then.”

  “I never blamed you, dear.” I believed her. Suddenly I understood – Helen had always known about Daddy.
She had always known what her role in his life was. Of course she hadn’t blamed me, an angry, confused teenager, for lashing out at her mother’s replacement. She had blamed Daddy for letting it all happen. She blamed him for not loving her enough, and most of all for loving me too much. That’s why she left us fifteen years ago. It wasn’t because of my tantrum. It was because of Daddy’s coldness.

  He could have stopped Helen from leaving. He chose not to. And I carried the guilt of her pain for fifteen years. It wasn’t my guilt. She was telling me to lay it down.

  I should have felt relieved by Helen’s kindness. Instead I felt like I had a lot to learn. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe Helen could teach me to be more gracious.

  But first there were more calls to make. I reached into my bag and pulled out Daddy’s contact list. There was no point putting off the inevitable task.

  It took awhile, but I finally worked my way through the names. Daddy’s friend Walter Jacobs was in shock. The news Daddy was missing had not spread to the Astronomy Department.

  Dean Phil McKenzie of the Math Department was not surprised. When Daddy didn’t show up for their weekly lunch date, he’d called the Faculty and the office had told him about Daddy’s disappearance.

  His voice was concerned. “How are you holding up, Desdemona?”

  “We’re still in shock.”

  “Of course. If there’s anything I can do, be sure to call me. Your father was a great man. He loved you very much… you and Lucinda.”

  “We don’t really need anything, but thank you. I hope we’ll see you at the Memorial Service.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up the phone, vaguely disturbed by his voice, his affection. It reminded me of something. I liked Phil. He was the same age as my father, but he wore a younger attitude. He always made time for Lucy and me.

  Phil had no children of his own. He had never married. As far as I could see, his friendship with Daddy was one of the central aspects of his life. He ate dinner with Daddy at least once a month, they had lunch together every week, and he was often at the house, playing chess with Daddy or offering him an ear for one of his tirades.