“Excuse me?” he says. “Did you just say that the book is not going ahead?”
“Yes, you heard that. We’re so sorry to have to tell you that the budget monies we’d set aside have to be diverted into further flood recovery work. Our department considers that catering to the physical safety of our visitors has a higher priority.”
“I don’t believe it,” he says. “I just can’t believe it. All that work, our whole summer wasted. What happens now? Who owns the book now?”
“Well, technically we do,” the department manager says.
“Technically? What do you mean?” Brewster feels the deep body blow and fights to keep control of himself. He sits and looks around the boardroom table. Louise, who has been their point person throughout the summer, looks down and fiddles with her papers. She must have known about this.
She looks up, her face serious. “I’m sorry, Brewster. I know what you’re thinking: why didn’t I speak up sooner? But you see, I think we all figured that somehow the funds would be found somewhere. Sure, we knew the project was in jeopardy, yet we kept on working at it.”
The manager cuts in and explains that as the park requested the drawings and photographs for the publication, and that department staff had provided the scientific and botanical information, ownership of the work resides with the department.
“You mean to say you now own all of Clotilde’s artwork?” Keep calm, keep calm, he tells himself as he feels the heat rising. “I know I gave you my pictures in Melanie’s memory and love for the park; it was a voluntary donation. But Clotilde’s work …”
“We did have an arrangement with her,” the manager says. “She participated mainly for the exposure and a quantity of the books. Now, we’ll have to check. It may be that she retains copyright, in which case we’ll have to return them.”
“There’s one thing, Brewster,” Louise says. “At this stage, we have not lost hope that the book will yet be published. Possibly next year, and we’ll draft the new budget year accordingly. We may be able to find a grant for it. We want to see it done. As we have always said, this popular urban park needs it.”
“Thank you,” Brewster says. He has to leave. He picks up his briefcase. “I’ll make contact with Clotilde.”
He sits in his Jeep, fuming and feeling abandoned. Clever of them to call the meeting for the end of the day. He drives straight to his office.
“Joel, just had a bit of bad news. The park isn’t in a position to publish the book. They blame it on budget. What if we publish it, or at least provide the funds? I just can’t let it disappear into some bureaucratic filing system.”
“Off the top, it shouldn’t be problem,” Joel says. “Be just like the Blue Aster. We’ll form a division of BAM Inc. The only issue I see is the government and whether they will release it for private publication. But I think that will be a technicality that can be worked out.”
It’s Friday, and that means Shabbat begins at sunset for his Jewish friend.
“Okay, Joel. Get going home. That’s all I needed to know at this stage. I’m going to speak with Clotilde tonight. Love to Anna.”
Brewster sits at his office desk and sends a quick email.
Hi Louise,
You certainly gave me a jolt today. I need to meet with you at 9:00 a.m. on Monday at your office. I think I may have a solution.
Brewster
He sits back and contemplates putting the call to Clotilde through from his office or from home. I’m on a roll now—might as well try from here. Let’s see, Three hours’ time difference means it’s about 8:00 p.m. there. Should be good.
He reaches for his phone as his email dings.
Brewster,
Sounds good. Can we make it 9:30? I’m really sorry about things. I hope you’re not too mad at me.
L
Louise,
It’s a deal: 9:30 it is. I’m not mad—bit hurt, maybe. But I was totally blown away. More surprised, really. All good. Enjoy the weekend.
Brewster
He’s only made a TTY call once before, and he’s glad he kept a phone number for Clotilde. He feels new energy at the challenge as he speaks with the relay operator and explains his call. Technology that allows him to speak, the operator to type to the TTY, Clotilde to read and perhaps voice back to him. He hopes she will speak. He does want to hear her voice.
It takes a while for the connection and the explanation of the service from the operator. Brewster tells her about the sudden turn of events, in short and structured sentences. He listens to the operator’s keyboard, and to Clotilde’s quietly measured responses. The call is magic. His nervousness washes away when Clotilde finally says she’s glad he called.
With that encouragement, he fires ahead and outlines his growing idea to have a new division of his company publish the book in cooperation with the park department. “I’ll aim to have you and I hold the full copyright for the book. You retain your originals and all copyright for your artwork,” he says. “I think the park should undertake a major role in promotion.”
“It sounds like you have it under control, Brewster. I’m happy with that approach. Any chance we can have it by Christmas? I was hoping for Christmas presents, you know.”
“We’ve got a lot of work to get through.” He listens to the operator keying his words for Clotilde. “I’ll have my lawyer draft it up once I finalize these ideas with Louise on Monday. We’ll make it happen. How’s life in Cape Breton?”
“Interesting,” she says. “Different from what I imagined it would be. I’ve spent a lot of my time getting to know the various branches of the family and learning to lip-read their accents. Some of them have trouble realizing I can speak, so why can’t I hear? No signing. I’m not sure this was a good move, but I’ll get used to it. Nice people here, and my relatives are great.”
“I know you’ve only met the once, but Hannah, my daughter at Acadia University, might come visit you. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”
“Would she? That would be terrific. I’d really love that.”
#
He grabs a notebook, locks up the offices and heads to the elevator. No use going home to eat; a noisy restaurant might be the ticket. He doesn’t want to lose this fresh surge of energy that’s been slowly building since Lily first showed him the striped coralroot.
The Vietnamese place is good—not too busy and offering light food. Curry chicken and steamed rice are all Brewster needs as he makes notes for his talk with Louise on Monday. Gaillardia Press, a division of BAM Inc, has a nice ring to it. He’s pleased with this name suggestion from Clotilde. In a follow-up text after the phone call, she said the flower was dramatic, a survivor in the prairie dry seasons. Truly vibrant—like you, Clotilde, he thinks.
A plate of food and two pots of green tea later, he sits back, arching his back against the floral cushions backing his booth. He reads the outline he’s made to give to his lawyer.
“Is this worth an evening call?” he says to his server. She looks totally bewildered, smiles, collects the dishes, leaves the bill and walks away.
Brewster is eager to move on the book. With the time now nearing 9:00, he ponders briefly if it’s too late to call Horton. The phone barely has time to ring before it’s picked up.
“Hello, Brewster.” The ever-cheerful voice of Margaret. “I bet you want my husband. Hang on; I’ll get him. Horton, it’s Brewster.”
“Quite the PA system you have there, Horton.”
“Sure is,” the deep bass voice of his lawyer says. “Margaret is downstairs watching a movie, and I’m upstairs making a pot of tea. Not really my kind of movie, but it’s entertaining.”
Brewster outlines his plans for Gaillardia Press and the reasons behind the proposal. “I have a meeting with the park on Monday morning. Is there any chance I can send you my thoughts to see if there are any red flags?”
/> “No problem. This is a good weekend to do that because I have to be in the office tomorrow anyway, to get a couple of tough things out of the way. I’ll have Abby in, and she can take a look; I’ll review it.”
“Thank you, Horton. You’re a pal.”
“Yeah, yeah. How’re you making out? You sound a bit like the old Brewster tonight.”
“I seem to have a bit of energy around this venture,” he says. “I want to see it work, for Melanie and for the artist, Clotilde. I’ll leave you with your tea and a movie, and I will email you my notes tonight. Thanks.”
It takes Brewster another two hours to transcribe and expand on his notes, hammering out a basic proposal as he sees it. He reads it through, makes a couple of word changes and attaches it to his email with copies to Clotilde and Joel.
Satisfied he’s done all he can tonight, he closes the computer, sighs, turns out the lights and heads to the bedroom—always the worst part of his day. He hates going to bed alone and is reminded of the advice of a close friend. Tomorrow he’ll follow up on that idea and buy some new bedding to make the room comfortably his.
Will he ever get over feeling like just half a person?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Brewster picks up a box of Timbits on his way to the park office. “Morning break,” he says as he offers the box to Louise.
“Well, this is surprise,” she says. “You’re looking very upbeat on this dull morning. I was a little afraid you’d come in all agitated and ready to give us a going over. Come help me get the coffee. I alerted Tanya, and she would like to join us, if that’s okay with you.”
The three of them sit down in the boardroom and enjoy the donuts and coffee as Brewster runs through his proposal. He’s pleased with the work Horton did on his notes, tightening up and cutting out some of his wiffly-waffly expressions.
“We see that as there is nothing on paper between the three of us, Gaillardia Press would like to take the book on and publish it, in conjunction with the park by giving you full acknowledgement of your botanical contribution. We suggest the title as Underfoot: 100 Wildflowers. You’ve expressed a need for the book, and we really want to see it published. This is perhaps the best way to achieve both our objectives,” he says, getting up and walking over to Louise. He picks up the box in front of her, lifts the lid and takes out a couple of pages, a Clotilde drawing and one of his photos. “This is a brilliant work and just has to be done.”
Tanya, the senior education officer, wipes icing from her lips, smiles and nods. “This is an encouraging offer. I’m sure the department will go for it. We have much to gain from it, and the partnership you have outlined is very detailed. You’ve shown us all through the summer how we can work together. I’ll talk to Edmonton this afternoon, and hopefully they will agree with your approach. Gaillardia Press, eh? I like it.”
“How did you pull all this together over a weekend?” Louise asks. “It’s a very detailed proposal.”
Brewster is thrilled. “My undertaking to donate the photographs still stands,” he says. “You will be able to use them at will, and even decorate your walls. The one thing I do ask is that we work together to get the book edited, designed and printed in time for the Christmas market. I can take care of all of that, and of course you will get to review the final proofs.”
His feet barely touch the ground as he walks to his Jeep. He sends a brief text to Clotilde: “Success.”
He calls Horton. “The meeting went very well,” he says. “They understand the approach you helped me describe. I’m so glad you reviewed my proposal and made changes before I talked with them. Thank you. If all goes well, I expect to hear today. It’s a win-win for us all. Once I explained our financial position, they relaxed, knowing that we wouldn’t be coming along with cap in hand in a few weeks’ time.”
“You certainly have an interesting career, Brewster,” Horton says. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve gone from being a tradesman, entrepreneur, business owner, property developer and now a book publisher. Me, I’m still a lawyer.”
“And a brilliant one, my friend. You’ve been through everything with me; it’s just that you’re on one side of the paper, and I’m on the other. Thanks again for disrupting your weekend and making mine a turning point. When you draw up the legal papers, put Clotilde in as president, and Holly and Hannah as directors. I guess you, Joel, and I are in there ex officio through BAM Inc. Now I’ve gotta go tell Joel about all the excitement.”
Joel is talking with Jane in the front office as Brewster walks in, beaming.
“Well, look at you,” Joel says. “The most cheerful I’ve seen you looking for a long time. You even ironed your shirt.”
“Good meeting. Looks like Gaillardia Press lives. I’m hoping we’ll get approval in principle this afternoon. We are moving into the book publishing business.” The three of them high-five, and Jane pirouettes in her wheelchair.
Brewster spends a couple of hours working in his office, emailing back and forth with Clotilde. She’s elated that the book will get a wider exposure under Gaillardia with new retail opportunities. He sits back and thinks of Melanie and how much she would have liked to be part of this new venture, the realization of her concept and drive. The only way forward now is to get it done and share the beauty of the wildflowers with others. He relives the thrill she got each spring when they went out to find the wintergreens and check up on the variety of orchids. The flowers in the meadows, beside the streams, in the bogs and along pathways seemed to call out to her.
Not wanting to lose the momentum of the day, he drives to the mall for new bedding—something that’s him and not the past, something different from the constant reminder every evening and every morning. “Make your bedroom cosy and you,” is the advice he’s been given. But he’d always been so wrapped in his own misery that he’d denied himself that switch.
“Something masculine, maybe natural tones and cosy,” he tells the bewildered shop assistant. “You know, maybe bamboo colour? Yeah, maybe bamboo. A pattern is good.”
“My husband would like these ones,” she says. “He often says our sheets are too girlie.” She laughs. “How would your wife like these?”
“Um,” he hesitates. “Well, she died a year ago, and I’ve been told I should make my room different to make it easier to survive without her.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” she says. “I had a lady in here last week, I think, saying the same thing. I’m sad for you. Now, what about these? I think they go with you. These sateen sheets are really good quality, nice and soft. Queen or king?”
The afternoon draws on, and he hasn’t heard from Tanya or Louise. He goes home with his new bedding and before he can doubt himself. He puts the sheets, pillow slips and matching duvet cover into the washing machine. While that’s happening, he raids his freezer to see what it might yield. Mmm, not much. He picks out a small package of ground beef. Looks like a pasta night.
With one of Melanie’s ABBA CDs on her aging boom box, he makes up his new bed with warm, freshly laundered and dried sheets. He likes the look of it—now it’s his bed. He stuffs the old bedding into the washer to be cleaned for the OpShop.
Bing, bing, bing. His cellphone. Where? Oh, yes, still at the kitchen counter.
“Hello, Brewster here. Tanya? Yes, great afternoon.”
“I’ve made the pitch to Edmonton, and they like the idea—a definite win-win,” she says. “They have a couple of concerns on the legal side of things, such as liability. I suggest your lawyer and our legal dudes put their heads together and come up with an acceptable agreement.”
Brewster doesn’t know what to say. This is what he was waiting for, and he’s speechless. “Great,” he finally says. “I’ll speak with Horton tonight, and he can contact your people. Can you email me the contact there?”
“Will do, Brewster,” she says. She pauses and adds, “I’
m very glad about this. Will you drop down tomorrow and pick up the full manuscript? We’ve added and placed our contribution in both the hard copy and the digital file. I’m sure you’ll want to jump on this as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Lord, thank you,” Brewster says as he slips the phone into his pocket.
He texts this golden moment to Clotilde. How he wishes she was here in person. He calls Horton and tells him the good news, adding that he is now Gaillardia’s front man with the department legal beagles.
“It’s a pretty simple solution, really,” Horton says. “You mapped out your proposal very well, and with your financial ability, it makes it a no-brainer. We’ll make the park folks shine.”
Horton adds that he does not anticipate any issues in the agreement, which is aimed at safeguarding their participation in the book and resolving any question of liability.
Brewster chalks the successful day up to his changing view of grief. The gap will always be there, but he knows that he must plough on for Hannah and Harris—and perhaps one day, grandchildren. He knows now that Melanie will always be with him in the memories of their adventures and everything they accomplished together. He has to make the shift from then to now, otherwise he’ll be no good to anyone. The book will keep him busy.
The pasta works out okay. His meatballs fall to bits, but it’s not an issue tonight. Gourmet chef he is not, and that makes him think about the laugh he’d recently had trying to remember a password for one of his apps. He had to correctly answer security questions, the third and final of which was what was the first thing he’d learned to cook?
“An egg.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The dust hanger is still there. What did he expect? Of course the ceiling looks the same. Brewster moves his arm out of pure habit to the left side of the bed. No one there. It’s been a good night, and he slept right through for a change. New bedding? Surely not.
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