12 Rose Street (34 page)

“That should get you through,” Zack said. “How did the meeting between Debbie and Eli go?”

“All right, I think. Of course, I was just there to wish Eli luck, but he called me after he had talked to Debbie. Apparently, she was frank about needing their help to nail Cronus, and she seemed open to cutting a deal. Eli said he trusted Debbie, but he was glad Maisie Crawford had been with him.”

“We lawyers have our uses,” Zack said. “Anything else?”

“One more thing,” I said. “I gave Eli the name of the dermatologist Angus went to here in the city when he had acne. Eli said he’d been on the list for a while. Could we find a dermatologist out of province whom he could see immediately?”

Zack pulled out his phone and hit speed-dial. He talked for a minute, then broke the connection. “All will be well. Norine is on the case. Now, let’s get to the gym before all the courtside seats are taken.”

“Okay. Now remember, no gloating, and if Madeleine gets a bad call or is on the end of cheap shot, we’ll say nothing.”

“Not a word,” Zack said. “Madeleine herself has spoken to me about grandparental etiquette at games.”

Grades Three and Four basketball was apparently not a high-interest sport. Zack’s concern that there wouldn’t be room for us courtside proved to be groundless. There were only a scattering of parents and family members present.

There is no private time in politics, and a few people came over to ask Zack questions or to wish him well. Just as the game was about to begin, a man with a blond crewcut and a bristling attitude approached us. “I’m a friend of Graham Meighen’s and I wanted you to know you’re going to pay for what you did to him.”

Zack was sanguine. “And now I know. Let’s just enjoy the game.”

“I’m not through,” the man said.

“I think you are,” Zack said.

The man was quick. He reached down, grabbed the twin vertical tubes that attached the armrests to the side frame of Zack’s wheelchair, and flipped the chair backward. I heard Zack’s head hit the floor. The incident was over in seconds. Lena and I dropped to our knees and knelt beside Zack, and Madeleine ran across the court. The blond crewcut flashed a triumphant smile. “It is such a rush to see you helpless, Shreve,” he said. I was aware of someone behind me taking pictures, but when I turned, whoever it was had disappeared through the exit.

Mo St. Amand, the principal of Pius, appeared out of nowhere, spoke firmly but quietly to the blond crewcut, then escorted him out of the gym. We righted the wheelchair. Zack said his head was hard and he was none the worse for wear, so, heart pounding, I sat back to watch the game.

Zack and I had been at many Pius functions, and we knew and liked Mo St. Amand. When Mo came to check on Zack, his concern was palpable. Zack waved him off. “I’m fine. But did you know the guy?”

Mo cracked an odd smile. “Oh yeah. His name is Hank Brodner. He’s a pillar of the community, an ardent supporter of what he believes are all the right causes. Zack, if I’d seen him come in, I would have headed him off. Believe it or not, he can be a decent guy, but this election is making him crazy.”

Zack shook his head. “This election is making a lot of people crazy, Mo. Don’t give it a second thought.”

St. Pius X won by two points. Madeleine scored two points – not the winning two, but as Zack pointed out if it hadn’t been for Madeleine’s two points, the game would have been a tie. Persuaded by Zack’s argument, the four of us went to Dessart on 13th for celebratory ice-cream cones. A day in the life.

The front page of the next morning’s paper featured the photo of Zack sprawled on the gym floor with the granddaughters and me hovering. I was furious – at the fact that Zack had been made to look helpless and at the fact that the photographer had captured the children’s fear so completely. The kids at school would tease the girls. Madeleine would be stoic; Lena would be fiery, but they would both be wounded.

I showed Zack. “Why the hell would they do that?” he fumed.

“It’s the day before the election,” I said. “And that’s a dramatic photo.”

Zack drained his coffee, wheeled over to the hall closet, and took down his jacket.

“Where are you going?” I said.

“To Mieka’s – to talk to our granddaughters.”

When Mieka answered the door, she seemed harried, but she managed a smile. “Don’t waste your time here,” she said. “You already have my vote. But I think my next-door neighbours are wavering.”

“I’ll work on them after I talk to the girls,” Zack said.

“They’re upstairs getting ready for school,” Mieka said. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen the morning paper?”

Mieka smiled. “Zack, I haven’t subscribed to a newspaper in years. I get all my news online.”

Zack took out his iPad and fiddled with it till he had the front page of the
Leader-Post.

“How did that happen?” she said quietly.

“A guy who does not wish me well tipped my wheelchair,” Zack said. “The girls and your mother came running. One of the parents at the game must have decided to immortalize the moment.”

Mieka’s brow was furrowed. “But you’re okay?” she said.

“I’m fine,” Zack said. “I’m just worried that Madeleine and Lena will get hassled at school, so I’m here to apologize.”

“No need,” Mieka said. “The girls understand elections. They’ve had a few dustups at school already.”

I touched her arm. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I talked to Mo and he spoke to the kids involved. It’s all good now.”

“What happened when it wasn’t ‘all good’?” Zack said.

“Some kids made some nasty comments about you. Madeleine told them to stop, and things got out of hand.”

Zack continued to press. “How out of hand?” he said.

Mieka’s tone was resigned. “One of the girls shoved Madeleine. Maddy shoved back and they were going at it until the teacher separated them.”

“That doesn’t sound like Madeleine,” Zack said.

“It isn’t like Madeleine,” Mieka said. “But she loves you, Zack. She’s not going to stand by and let another kid say cruel things about you.”

“Were there any repercussions?”

“Madeleine was uninvited to a sleepover. The parents are Ridgeway supporters and friends of the parents of the girl who started the shoving. The mother called me and told me that it would be best if Maddy didn’t come to the party.”

Zack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’d do anything to keep those girls from being hurt,” he said. “I hope you know that, Mieka.”

“I do,” she said. “And it’s not as if the Kilbourns haven’t been down this road before. Elections were always tough for my brothers and me, but we survived. Madeleine and Lena will too.”

“What can I do to help?” Zack asked.

“Just do what Mum always did with Pete and Angus and me. Tell the girls you love them, you’re proud of them, and that they should hang on to what J.S. Woodsworth said. ‘What we desire for ourselves, we wish for all.’ ”

“You remember,” I said.

For the first time that morning, Mieka’s smile was unforced. “Mum, it’s not as if we didn’t hear it a million times. Plus we had Woodsworth’s ‘Prayer Before Meat’ on all those paper placemats that sweet lady at party office ordered before someone told her that paper placemats were not environmentally friendly.”

I laughed. “But our family used them. Three times a day for God knows how long, and we never even made a dent in the supply.”

“There are still boxes of them in my basement,” Mieka said. “Somehow it didn’t seem environmentally friendly to throw them out.”

“If they’re not mouldy, bring them along to the victory party tomorrow night,” I said. “They’ll be a nice souvenir.”

“More importantly, they’ll finally be out of my house,” Mieka said. My daughter was rarely physically demonstrative with Zack, but she could feel his misery about the girls and bent to embrace him. “The girls will be fine,” she said. “So will I. Everybody will be fine.”

When we left Mieka’s, Zack was quiet and clearly troubled.

I slid into the driver’s seat, but I didn’t put the keys into the ignition. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy,” I said.

“Yeah,” Zack said, “but I assumed the hits would be aimed at me. Knowing that our grandkids and our kids are being hurt by this makes me sick. Ridgeway’s people haven’t laid a hand on me. They’ve been content to go after the people around me. And all I can do is stand by and watch you take the blows.”

Zack’s face was grey and his eyes were deeply shadowed. “We have an hour before we start making the rounds to cheer on the volunteers,” I said. “Let’s take a walk along the levee and see if we can find our old pals the beavers. We both deserve time off.”

“Sold,” Zack said. He took his chair out of the back seat and began assembling it again. When he’d transferred his weight from the car to the chair, we moved towards the levee that the city built on both sides of the creek to protect us from floods during spring runoff.

For a body of water in a residential area ten minutes from downtown, Wascana Creek is large, about twenty-five metres across. As a further flood precaution, the banks have been planted with indigenous bushes. In spring and summer their leaves rustle musically in the wind, but on that late October morning only a few leaves clung to their branches. The morning sunshine was pale, and the creek was silent. As we walked down the levee towards our old house, Zack and I were silent too.

I found the flat rock I used to sit on in early mornings when the dogs and I had finished our run, and Zack moved his chair close to me. “It’s so peaceful here,” he said.

“Taylor says that at this time of year, the creek is like a Japanese etching. Earth, tree, and sky – the lines are simple, but every stroke is right.”

Zack’s voice was low. “Do you miss living close to the creek?”

“I do. For years, the creek was part of my life. When you
and I found our house and I realized it was just across the creek from where I’d lived with Ian and the kids, I felt as if I’d been predestined to live here. Kismet.”

“Do you wish we’d moved back into our house after we had it rebuilt?”

I picked up a shiny stone and examined it. “Too late now,” I said. “A nice doctor and her family are living there. I’ll bet the first thing they did was change that Lavendre de Provence paint you and Taylor and I spent so much time choosing.”

Zack didn’t smile. “Jo, do you regret marrying me?”

“God, no. Never. Not for a single second.”

He took my hand. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”

I leaned towards him. “Whatever made you think that I’ve had second thoughts about us?”

Zack gazed across the creek. “Our lives haven’t been exactly sunshine and lollipops lately.”

“But we’ve been together,” I said. “That’s all that matters to me.”

“That’s all that matters to me too,” Zack said. “My greatest fear is losing you.”

“It will never happen,” I said. “The day after Cronus died, I had a dream. I was at a lake and I was on one of those old inner tubes that kids used to inflate so they could lie on them and hang on to a rope attached to a motorboat. The motors were always outboards – with just enough horsepower to give kids a thrill. In my dream, I was being towed by a red speedboat that had real power. I could see people on the shoreline waving and shouting. I was moving so fast I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I knew they were telling me to let go. I ignored them. Then the driver of the red speedboat opened the motor full throttle and headed for the centre of the lake. The water there was
black, deep, and weedy. I knew the weeds could catch a swimmer’s legs and pull her under. I was terrified so I let go of the rope. I watched until the red speedboat disappeared. I was safe, but I was numb with grief. I knew I’d lost something I could never recover.” I took Zack’s hand. “That something was life with you.”

Zack’s voice was rough with emotion. “Do we have time to go home and make love?”

“We’ll make time,” I said.

A former client of Zack’s claimed that “a heavy-duty love sesh” cleansed the body, freed the mind, and increased efficiency. Zack’s and my lovemaking that morning cut into our time to visit poll captains and tweak our E-Day preparations, but later, as I roamed the Noodle House, reviewing lists, bucking up the discouraged, and checking the cartons of “Thank You, Regina” banners we planned to staple to our lawn signs if we won, I felt better than I had in weeks.

Zack came home and had dinner with Taylor and me but left for some last-minute meetings before dessert. Taylor and I were just cleaning up the dishes when the phone rang. It was Luke, letting me know that Jill had moved to Whitman Convalescent and she would welcome company.

“How’s she doing?” I said.

“The stitches are still giving her a lot of pain.”

“I remember that from the episiotomies I had when the kids were born.”

“At least you ended up with a child,” Luke said.

Remembering the onesies and the baby sweater with the pattern of ducks I’d seen in Jill’s dresser drawer, I was swept with a wave of sadness. “How are her spirits?” I asked.

“Not great,” Luke said. “She’s relieved to be out of the hospital, of course, but the rape and what comes next are weighing heavily on her mind.”

“Do you think I should come by?”

“Yes. So does Jill, but she was afraid to ask. Joanne, Jill told me that she and your first husband had an affair. She thought it was important for me to understand why you might not want to visit her.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” I said.

After Falconer Shreve outgrew the twin heritage houses in the city centre that had served as their offices, Whitman Convalescent purchased the buildings and renovated them to meet the needs of their clientele.

That October night, I was impressed by how faithfully the owners of Whitman had preserved the houses’ starchy charm. The lawns were raked and the round iron planters filled with jumbo gold and rust chrysanthemums were in place. The discreet brass plates on the front doors that once bore the firm’s name now read simply, South House or North House. Jill was in North House, reserved for patients who were fully ambulatory.