The Dead Letter (34 page)

85.

Mr. Ahmadi opened the door to his office at Schnelling Engineering. He was a tall, slender man, stooped in posture, and casually dressed in a tweed coat and an open-collared blue dress shirt. Ahmed and A'idah Kikovic preceded him from the office, and, with no sidelong, telling glance or expression, both of them and their daughter Rada passed through the anteroom and headed for the building's main entrance.

Anne and Jacqui squirmed in the contoured metal chairs and followed the course of their exit. Only Rada had made eye contact. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she remained wordless and looked ill at ease.

“Mrs. Brown… Jacqueline…if you please,” said Mr. Ahmadi with a gentle sweep of hand, and ushered them into his private office and toward even more comfortable chairs. Three of the seats faced a rather uninteresting windowless wall. The fourth, his chair, faced the others. Nothing stood between them.

“It must seem a bit odd to have me as a mediator,” he said. He smiled disarmingly. Anne produced what she hoped would be a pleasant, open expression, though she wasn't sure she had successfully pulled it off. Jacqui had done the same but sensed that she had already revealed an aura of guilt. Accusations and recriminations hung like stale odours in the still air of the room, and she licked her lips anxiously.

“It sometimes seems like that to me, too. A civil engineer playing the role of mediator. Is that not so? Or a child playing policeman. Both seem absurd, but let me explain. Like the Kikovics, I, too, am a newcomer to Canada. I have been here fifteen years, they just four. Since I came, I have learned that I must change many things I had grown accustomed to.” Ahmadi paused for a second in order to discern whether his words were penetrating their unresponsive eyes, and then he continued: “I also learned that many things need not change…nor should they change. But adjustment takes time and, when you know no one, and you understand little, you depend upon those who have gone before you. For me, it was Mohammed Attara. He was my guide to Western culture. For the Kikovics, it fell to me to acquaint them with local customs and guide them along a comfortable path in their new home. I look at this meeting as an extension of what the Kikovics and I have been working on. They trust me to listen to them and advise them.”

“So you represent their side,” said Anne. Anne's words were objective and unimpassioned but her eyes blinked concern. Jacqui swallowed and gazed at the closed door.

“I represent no one and no side. Today I listen to the Kikovics and I listen to the Browns. Tomorrow I explore what is custom and what is conviction, what is important and what is superficial, what is possible and what is not. In the end, there is no winner and no loser…just those who have found a path to move forward. Shall we begin?”

86.

It was nearing nine-thirty. The glow of evening had faded to a moonless black, and a canopy of trees hid the stars as Anne and Jacqui drove along the road.
So close to the city and so little light
, she thought. How was it possible? Their car's headlights illuminated a small break in the tree line. A sign marking the driveway read “Malone.” Anne turned. The driveway snaked through a grove of pines and, into the last half of the second curve, a blaze of light split the darkness.

It had been just a week, but it seemed like an eternity since Anne had last visited. Seeing it again brought back that old warm comfortable feeling, but it was fleeting. Tonight the structure was lit inside and out for Dit and Gwen's engagement party and get-together. A dozen cars lined the driveway. The flood of lights and the line-up of cars and the laughter from inside raised an inexplicable barrier in front of her. Anne felt a wave of dread. Her natural impulse was to circle and leave, but that would provoke the curiosity of Jacqui, and Anne couldn't conceive of an explanation or excuse that made sense enough to stand the scrutiny of her probing questions. So she parked, and mother and daughter made their way toward the front door.

Knocking had not been customary here but, as she reached for the knob, she froze. She felt a trembling inside of her. Perhaps the boisterous laughter on the other side of the door had stirred it up, but at that moment, cheer and joie de vivre struck her as offensive and unseemly, and she wanted to turn away lest it engulf her like a wave that topples and rolls and drags a person helplessly against a grinding sandy bottom.

“Mom, did you fall asleep or what? Open the door,” said Jacqui, impatiently moving ahead, grasping the handle and pushing the door open.

Anne felt a touch of nausea and faintness at the sight of the crowd before her, but she managed to drive it down.
Jacqui isn't the only one who can act,
thought Anne, and she forced a smile and strode into the crowd of people.

“You keep this up and you'll get honourable mention in
The Guardian's
society column,” said Mary Anne sidling up to her.

“They still have such things?”

“They're still popular on forties movies, but for the most part, they disappeared about the same time as gossip over a Monday morning clothesline. But you might generate a small trend on Twitter.”

Anne laughed. The laugh surprised her.

“Thanks. I needed that,” said Anne and took her first full breath since she'd entered the room.

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Anne. “I could use one of those,” she said pointing to Mary Anne's wine glass. Mary Anne walked her to a self-serve table of wines and whiskies. Anne filled her glass, drank half, topped it up, and surveyed the crowd.

“Who are all these people, anyway?”

“Kind of a
Who's Who on PEI
,” said Mary Anne. “I don't know them all…but that guy, the one staring at Gwen's ass… Jeff Porter, Minister of Technology and Innovation. Over there's the Premier.”

“Know him,” said Anne. Mary Anne's discreet finger continued to point out other guests.

“John Dunne of Eckles, Dunne and Fry. That clique in the corner…some of Gwen's colleagues from Halifax…Dashiell, Dit's brother, Dottie, his sister, Connie, Dashiell's wife, and isn't that your buddy chattin' them up? Doctor who?”

“Dr. Little. I don't see Dit. Is he here?”

Mary Anne quickly checked the crowd. “Was here. Don't see him now.”

“Anne,” said a voice from behind her. “I'm so glad you and Jacqui could make it.”

She turned quickly and saw Gwen Fowler. Gwen looked younger and even more beautiful than the last time they'd met. Gwen took Anne by her arm and began to lead her away.

“I've got to borrow Anne for a few minutes, Mary Anne. Promise to return her in mint condition.” Gwen escorted Anne across the crowded room and down a short hallway. “Someone you have to see,” she said to Anne.

Gwen escorted her about five steps down the corridor and into a room Dit used as his office. It was a quiet and cozy spot, dimly lit, the same room in which she and Dit had quarrelled about Gwen a week before.

Dit stood on his crutches at the far end of the room.

“Anne? What's going on, Gwen?” He had turned at the sound of someone entering. Even in the subdued lighting his surprise and confusion were evident.

“What's this about?” asked Anne, turning toward Gwen.

“Too much drama between you two. Sometimes I think I've wandered onto the set of a soap opera. I half-know what's going on…at least I think I do…but I can't resolve it. That's up to you two. Deal with it…tonight…now,” she said with an uncompromising finality and, as she left, closing the door behind her, she added, “Text me when you've reached a resolution.” Anne and Dit heard the turn of a key in the door.

“She locked us in,” said Dit. There was some alarm in his voice.

“Where's Mom?” asked Jacqui.

“Gwen spirited her off somewhere mysterious,” said Mary Anne. “And how are you doing? Your mom said that you had a rough time of it the other week. A babysitting gig that turned into party central…and about you losing your best bud.”

“Yeah…not a good couple of weeks for me or Mom, but the last few days have gotten better. Mom's work is done, and Rada and I have begun to work things out.”

“How did you manage that? I thought you were
persona non grata
.”

“We've been seeing a mediator. Me, Mom, Rada, her parents, everyone.”

“And?”

“She and her family are trying to adjust to a new culture. Rada wasn't quite fitting in socially at school. I thought I'd help, but I guess I blew it. Everything fell apart. Bottom line is I have to be more sensitive to what she wants to do…not what I think she should do.”

“And Rada?”

“She has to have patience and show more respect for her parents. Her parents and Mr. Ahmadi talked a lot about how Muslim traditions vary from region to region, and he explained that some traditions go beyond what the Qu'ran says. I didn't understand a lot of that, though it seemed like they may have been stricter than they needed to be.”

“I see,” said Mary Anne, “and how's your mom doing?”

“Oh she's doing fine,” said Jacqui. Mary Anne stared pointedly at her. Jacqui's eyes darted away and returned with embarrassment and guilt toward Mary Anne's. Jacqui had never been able to slip a half-truth by Mary Anne, and finally she gave up the truth. “She's not herself. She's quiet…kind of self-absorbed. A bit lost. Maybe a bit sad, too.”

“She's been through a terrible ordeal. It'll take time to get normal again.”

Anne had never seen Dit surprised and befuddled at the same time. He looked disarmingly boyish, guilty, and comical. An enormous quiet filled the room. Then Dit asked, “Brandy? I think I'll have one.”

Anne set her wine glass down. “Seems appropriate, given the circumstances.”

Dit puttered with the drinks, dropped an ice cube into Anne's glass, handed it to her, and sat down.

“I don't know what got into her. She's usually so self-assured and predictable.”

Men are always last to know
, thought Anne. She took a swallow of brandy, wrinkled her nose at the bite, and almost immediately felt a warm tingle steal through her limbs.

“She thinks I'm in love with you,” said Anne. The words popped out of her mouth. She couldn't decide if they were deliberate or a spontaneous subtext to her thoughts and feelings and confusions. “At least she's not sure one way or the other,” she added.

“That's ridiculous,” said Dit. He moved to the front of his desk, leaned against it, and parked his crutches to one side. He stared at Anne incredulously. “Isn't it?”

A queer, crinkled smile hung onto his face, and faded into the long oncoming silence between them.

“How do you know all this?” he asked with a clouding seriousness.

“She asked me…in my office…a couple weeks ago.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth. I said I didn't know.”

Dit grabbed his crutches and paced up the room as if he had lost a measure of clarity in some corner of it.

“I don't know what to say.”

“Well, this is the time you could say, ‘Anne, you're cute, but I'm in love with Gwen,' or ‘Now that you've brought the subject up, why don't we run away together,' or even something lame like ‘Those sports concussions in my youth have left me unable to focus.'”

Dit stared reflectively, this time directly into Anne's eyes. Anne felt a resurgence of embarrassment and humiliation.

“Why did you say ‘you didn't know'?”

“Because I didn't know,” said Anne defensively and with a bit more rancour than she had intended. She took another swallow of brandy, leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms across her chest.

“So what does Gwen want resolved here? I don't understand.”

“Duh,” she said mockingly. “On the verge of an imminent engagement announcement, she doesn't want to have to prepare for an end run around me or somebody like me. She wants a clear field. Get it?”

“So that's why we're here.” Dit looked relieved but a trace of awkwardness remained. “Do you still have feelings for me?” It seemed almost an afterthought. Still the words struggled to voice themselves.

“Of course I do. And you?”

Dit nodded hesitantly.

“But it's not the same as with Gwen, is it?” said Anne. Dit slowly shook his head.

Now it seemed that it was Anne's turn to stand and pace through Dit's study. She took a few uncertain steps. Then she made for his desk, grabbed his brandy, and added a splash to her tumbler.

“We haven't had a real heart-to-heart since the last time we were here,” she said.

“That was more tooth-and-fang, as I recall.”

Anne grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah, tooth and fang,” she said. “And I regretted that ever since. I was stressed out, impulsive. I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry.”

“Did you mean what you said then?”

“At the time I did. Later…later I got to know Gwen. I came to realize that I was wrong. She loves you, and she has your best interests at heart. I know that now. I have a lot of respect for her, but I was afraid that I was going to lose you…that you would slip out of my life. We've been through so much together the last few years. You're my friend. You're my best friend, and I didn't want that to disappear, but that's all I could see ahead of me. And I'm sorry… I really am.”

Anne's lip quivered as she spoke. Tears welled in her eyes. Her voice rose little above a hush as she stood in front of him.

Dit looked down at her, reached out, pulled her toward him. They held each other for a long time. Anne felt the warmth of his chest soothe her like a tonic. Tears streamed down her face. A few quiet, convulsive sobs shook her body.

“We'll always be best friends, Anne. I know that, you know that…and Gwen knows that, too. That's why she locked us up in here.”

Anne looked up, smiled, forced back a sniffle, reached around to his desk, and pulled a tissue from a carton.

“Is it time to text the warden?” she asked.

Dit grinned mischievously and pulled out his cell phone.