Ten Days in Summer

by Susan Calder

  “It turned out she was right about your gifts.”

  “We worked hard, especially me.”

  How much of that was modesty? No matter how gifted, skaters put in gruelling practice sessions to get as far as Cynthia and Johnny had.

  “How much do you think The House is worth?” Cynthia said.

  “The appraiser can give you an estimate. Are you thinking of selling?”

  “I’ll have to decide that with Johnny and Brendan, obviously. The market isn’t so hot now.”

  “Johnny said your mother worked in the family cleaning business,” Paula said. “Did she continue after she and your father separated?”

  “She didn’t have another job skill,” Cynthia said. “Are you sending someone to do an estimate for the damage to The House, or do I have to arrange all that?”

  “I’ll contact an appraiser.”

  “Do you make us repair it to what it was before? What if we want to upgrade?”

  “That’s a reasonable choice for an older building. You can take a cash settlement and pay for any improvements.”

  “Johnny, Brendan and I don’t have the money for them.” Cynthia carried her mug to the microwave. “Ma says she’ll consider coming in as a partner and paying for the upgrades, but she thinks it might be better to sell the place as is and let the new owner fix it up the way he wants.”

  “That would make sense.”

  “People make low-ball offers for damaged buildings.”

  “Your cash settlement would compensate for that.”

  “Not totally since you aren’t giving us replacement value.”

  Paula took a breath rather than point out that Caspar Becker had chosen the policy features. Or had Florence handled the insurance? “Your mother makes a valid point, that you’re unlikely to recoup the full value of any improvements on resale.”

  “I’ll work on Ma more. It’s a great investment for her. We might even keep it for the rent. We’d do pretty well with three fixed-up apartments near downtown.”

  “Wouldn’t your mother want to continue living there?”

  “I don’t know if she could afford it.”

  “Not afford to live in a place she’d, in effect, co-own?”

  “What I mean is: Ma wouldn’t want to pay the rent we’d have to charge, especially for the top floor with the best view. She doesn’t care about things like that. If she invested and we rented it out, she’d get her share of the rental income.”

  This wouldn’t necessarily be a bad deal for Florence if it was what she wanted. “Is there anything more you wanted to ask?”

  “About your building appraiser,” Cynthia said. “What if we disagree with the estimate? Can we get a second opinion?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, it’s common for claimants to do this. Shall I have him contact you, Johnny or Brendan?”

  “Me, natch. I always get stuck with these jobs.”

  Paula suspected Cynthia would want to be in charge of this task that would reap her a lot of money.

  “How soon do you think the appraiser will call me?” Cynthia asked. “I want to get on this right away.”

  “I’ll contact him Monday.”

  “Not sooner? The fire was over a week ago.”

  Paula wished Cynthia would temper her interest in her inheritance with a morsel of sympathy for her late uncle.

  A girl dressed in shorts and a halter top sauntered into the kitchen. Her protruding collarbones and sticklike arms and legs made Paula cringe. The girl was around Cynthia’s height and looked about twelve years old.

  “Mom, can I go to the mall for a Stampede breakfast?”

  If Cynthia’s daughter wasn’t anorexic, she was borderline.

  “After your ballet lesson,” Cynthia told her.

  “The breakfast will be finished by then.”

  “You can go to one tomorrow,” Cynthia said. “You can’t walk without tripping over a flapjack somewhere in town.”

  “My friends are going today.”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes at Paula and turned to her daughter. “If we drive straight from your class, we could catch the tail end of it.”

  “I’d miss all the fun.”

  “Why do you care? You don’t eat pancakes.”

  The girl affected an enormous sigh. “I’ll ask my friends to find one for tomorrow.” She glided from the room.

  “Kids,” Cynthia said to Paula. “They don’t appreciate all you do for them.”

  Commenting on the girl’s thinness would be less diplomatic than remarks about sports. “Is you son interested in figure skating?”

  “He doesn’t have the body for it and prefers hockey anyway,” Cynthia said. “I worry all the time about concussions. He dreams of making the National Hockey League.”

  A lot of boys did, but if he had inherited the Becker athletic talent and his grandmother’s drive, Cynthia’s son might have a chance. “I wanted to ask you about your uncle’s son, Adam.”

  Cynthia’s pale skin turned almost white in the sun now streaming through the patio door glass. “I try not to think of him.” Her voice softened.

  Tragic as the accident was, Paula was glad to know Cynthia was capable of grief.

  “You asked about Uncle Caspar’s wife,” Cynthia said. “They were divorced. Ma told me she died some ten years ago. Adam’s death was the worst for Auntie and Uncle Caspar, and my grandparents and Johnny.”

  “Why him more than you?”

  “He and Adam were closer in age, both of them boys and, well, you know, Johnny was there when it happened.”

  “On the train tracks?’ Last night, while mulling Mike’s interview with Johnny, it had crossed Paula’s mind that Johnny was the ‘friend’ who had been with Adam. How devastating to watch a close cousin being crushed by a train. “How old were they at the time?”

  “Johnny was eleven, Adam, ten. Now, I can’t stop picturing Adam’s curly blond hair. Johnny was old enough to know they shouldn’t have been playing in the train yards.”

  “Adam wasn’t much younger.”

  “A year makes a difference at that age.”

  “Did your family blame Johnny for the accident?”

  Cynthia’s fingertip created paths through the muffin crumbs on the table. “Not exactly. I remember Dad yelling at Johnny, ‘Are you sure Adam’s shoe was stuck?’ Ma shouted, ‘Shut up, Kurt.’ ‘Answer me, boy,’ Daddy shouted. ‘Tell the truth.’ Ma hollered at Daddy and hit him, the only time I ever saw her do that. I was terrified. Johnny stormed up to his room. He missed dinner.”

  “And afterward?”

  “We sort of went on as normal until Ma and Dad separated. I pinpointed the fight as the start of their problems, but it probably wasn’t.”

  “What did your father mean by—?”

  “I told my first husband what they said. He was our skating coach and knew Johnny and Adam. He didn’t think for one minute that Johnny pushed Adam into the path of the train, but he wondered if Johnny could have yanked Adam from the tracks but didn’t out of jealousy.”

  Paula sipped her cool coffee, willing Cynthia to elaborate.

  “Ma had got Adam into skating, and he turned out to be better than us. He had Johnny’s athleticism, my technique and a grace we lacked.”

  “You could see this in him when he was ten?”

  “The coaches told Ma this. After Johnny and I failed at the Nationals, my mother said, ‘If only Adam were still here. He’d have made it.’ That stung.”

  “I’m sure,” Paula said. All parents, including her, too often her, had said things to their children they wished they could take back. Florence’s remark was a bad one.

  “Who knows what really happened?” Cynthia’s tone lightened. “After all this time Johnny probably doesn’t even know. He made a kid’s decision in the space of seconds. Maybe Adam’s shoe was stuck, or Johnny thought it was. Even if he could have helped, letting someone go isn’t murder.”

  “It is,” Paula said. “You could be charged for murder i
f you reasonably could have saved someone and didn’t. Not that I’m suggesting—”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  * * *

  Letting someone go when you could have helped, Paula mused on her drive home. The fire had started in the middle of the night. What if someone had entered Caspar Becker’s flat while he was asleep? Even if Caspar had locked his outside door, a Becker might have had access to his key. Had Florence kept a spare in her apartment? Did she have one for the door to the interior staircase? Was it usually locked? Was Caspar a sound sleeper? Any Becker could have come down through the ‘hidden staircase’ and dropped a lit cigarette to start a fire beside Caspar’s bed, knowing the place was a firetrap. A clever arsonist would have quickened the fire spread by moving Caspar’s plastic-bag-and-clothing pillows closer to the burning embers. And in case Caspar woke up and tried to get out, the arsonist could shift junk in the living room. Caspar might know his way around his usual network of trails in the dark, but what if a few objects weren’t where he expected? There was a good chance he’d bang into them and fall down or knock a heavy object on top of himself and become trapped in the debris. As it happened, a mass of items blocked his exit to the hidden staircase. After setting up the scenario, the passive killer could tiptoe out, letting the fire happen.

  There was no evidence for any of this, but it was possible.

  Chapter Six

  While they waited for Leah to arrive at the bar, Paula remembered Caspar Becker’s neighbour, who had shown up at the house the evening before the parade.

  “He was close enough to Caspar to want to attend his funeral service,” she said to her mother seated across the table.

  What was the man’s name? Paula took her phone from her purse. Garner Weir. It wouldn’t hurt to find out what he knew about his friend.

  While Garner’s phone rang, Paula watched three young men enter the bar patio and snag the last table. Garner’s voice mail kicked in. She started to leave a message.

  A male voice interrupted. “You caught me as I was walking in,” Garner said. “I’ll be home for the rest of the day if you want to drop by.”

  Since he lived near the Beckers’, it would be handy to fit him in before or after a meeting with Florence. “How about tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be out at the sales.”

  “There’s Leah,” Paula’s mother said.

  From outside the patio railing Leah sauntered into the bar dressed in a white cowboy hat, boots and mini jean skirt. Oh, to be young and able to pull that off.

  “A few items I saw today caught my eye,” Garner continued. “Owners often slash prices at the end of the weekend. Before noon tomorrow would be fine.”

  “Garage sales?” Paula asked. “Is this an interest you shared with Caspar Becker?”

  “I blame myself for getting him into them.”

  Paula longed for a leisurely Sunday breakfast tomorrow with Sam. She had a few hours between this afternoon’s meeting with Brendan and dinner with Sam tonight. Who knew when and if Florence would return her call? She told Garner she could be by at four o’clock today and returned her phone to her purse.

  “I’m the only one here not wearing some cowboy costume,” her mother said.

  Even the inflatable football player sported a Stetson, neckerchief and fringed vest.

  Paula fingered her purple bandana. “We’ll have to buy you a hat, Mum.”

  Her mother looked around. “I wonder what’s keeping Leah.”

  The server brought their sparkling waters. Paula might have liked a beer but was reserving it to have with Brendan. At last, Leah emerged from the bar. Paula and her mother rose to hug her. Leah’s sheer blouse did little to conceal her Stampede work top of two large square scarves crossing her breasts and tied around her neck and back. Paula wondered how those oversized bandanas stayed on during long hours of carrying trays and serving customers.

  “It took ages to get my résumé to the barman,” Leah said. “He kept having to deal with this obnoxious jerk.” She sat down on the vacant chair facing the street and smoothed her skirt so that it covered her upper thighs. Her abdomen and her legs above her cowboy boots were bare.

  “That’s some uniform you have,” Paula’s mother said.

  Paula sensed her mother’s disapproval, but Leah gave no sign she caught the tone. The server brought them menus. Leah said she’d join her grandmother and Paula in a sparkling water since she had to work in a few hours. She and Paula ordered garden salads.

  “I can have salad at home,” Paula’s mother said and selected for chicken quesadillas. “Are you still a vegetarian, Leah?”

  “Try it, Gran. You’ll feel thirty years younger,” Leah said. “How was your flight?”

  “Flying takes more out of me the older I get.”

  “You aren’t old, Gran.” Leah wrapped her arm around her grandmother and squeezed her closer.

  Paula’s mother summarized her trip to date. Leah listened with such interest that Paula resolved to coax her mother to Calgary more often. Seeing the girls once or twice a year wasn’t enough for her to get to know them. Another upside to her mother’s move to a condominium would be the freedom for more trips west along with holidays such as cruises with her widowed friends. During a conversation lull Paula asked Leah if she was certain about leaving Bandanas Bar, where she had worked for five years.

  “I’ve totally had it with this new owner,” Leah said. “Yesterday he told me he’d pay for a boob job, and if I didn’t do it, I could look elsewhere for work.”

  Paula’s mother sat upright. “That’s unacceptable. Can’t you complain to a work ethics commission? It must be against the law to force an employee—”

  “He didn’t say it directly,” Leah said. “It was all subtle. He knows the angles.”

  For the past six months, since he took over Bandanas, the new owner had been pressuring the female servers to have breast implants. All of Leah’s colleagues had gone along or quit.

  “Tell him your God-given breasts are perfect,” Paula’s mother said.

  Paula smiled, not at all worried about Leah giving in after hearing her daughter’s numerous rants about breast augmentation being sexist, unnatural, unnecessary and, in her work case, job harassment. Leah was also concerned about scarring, potential health issues and loss of sensitivity to the enhanced breasts. Paula completely agreed and was glad, in this instance, that Leah had inherited her stubbornness. Her grandmother’s as well.

  “There are tons of other bars in Calgary,” Leah said. “The word is this place gets better tippers than Bandanas. The Lonestar has a sport, rather than boob, theme. I saw a server inside who’s practically flat chested.”

  Leah adjusted her sheer blouse over the yellow and red bandanas on her youthful B cups. Confident those breasts were safe, Paula hoped her daughter would limit her body art to the piercings on her eyebrow, nose and ears and her few choice small tattoos.

  “I’m tired of working for other people,” Leah said. “What I really want is to run my own bar.”

  “You could easily work your way up to manager of a place like the Lonestar,” Paula said.

  “I’d still be responsible to the owner.”

  The server brought Leah her water. His gaze lingered on her chest.

  “Twenty-five is young to own and operate a business,” Paula said.

  “Why wait when you can do it now?” Leah asked.

  “Can you? Do you have the money?”

  “Nowhere near.”

  “She could get a bank loan,” Paula’s mother said.

  Leah tilted her chair back. “After years of bar work, I have so many ideas.”

  “Like what?” Paula asked.

  “What does it matter, Mom, when I don’t have the cash?” Leah’s chair clunked to the floor. She scanned the patio. “Working at the Lonestar, or somewhere, wouldn’t be terrible, especially if I could get the odd day shift and be free in the evenings.”

  “To take business courses,” Paula suggest
ed.

  “Don’t get into that again, Mom. I’ve told you I’m finished with school.”

  “The courses would be a help when you eventually buy your bar.”

  “That’s what Jarrett says.”

  This was a first, Paula agreeing with Jarrett, Leah’s boyfriend, who had, by some miracle, got off his unemployed duff and registered for a university psychology program in the fall.

  “My brother was Leah’s age when he started his rope company,” Paula’s mother said. “It was a struggle for years, but he eventually succeeded. He didn’t go to university.”

  “Times have changed, Mum,” Paula said.

  Leah twirled the straw in her sparkling water. “Ever since Jarrett’s got into university, he thinks everyone should go. But who would support us?”

  “You and Jarrett could both work part-time through university,” Paula said, as though freeloading Jarrett would agree to this.

  “Jarrett says his program’s too heavy for him to take time away from his studies for work. He’s applying for scholarships and loans.”

  The server brought their salads and quesadilla plate. Outside the patio, the 17th Avenue sidewalk bustled with people strolling or skateboarding and a group hooting for no apparent reason. Leah asked her grandmother about her house sale and plans to buy a condominium. Paula contemplated Leah’s move to the Lonestar or a similar bar and concluded it would be a positive step. Leah’s current job paid well, but she wouldn’t advance as long as the new owner was there. A change could lead her to a bar management position or university or founding a business when she was ready.

  They finished eating and ordered tea, with Leah opting for a cheesecake and its calories to keep her going through an evening on her feet. Paula’s mother excused herself to go to the washroom. Paula offered to take her.

  “I’m not so feeble that I can’t find it,” her mother said.