Verdict in Blood (15 page)

“No, the first thing he did was ask about you.”

Amazingly, I found myself blushing.

Greg was too diplomatic to comment on my embarrassment. “Jo, I told Keith you were coming up to Saskatoon today. He didn’t want to intrude the first night, but he said he hoped you wouldn’t leave town without seeing him.”

“I’ll give him a call before we leave.”

My son-in-law pulled out his cellphone. “No time like the present,” he said. “You’re not supposed to use these things in the hospital, so I’ll walk you to your car. You can call Keith from there.”

And so, an hour after I had seen my first grandchild, I was standing in the parking lot of the hospital where she’d been born, calling an old lover. It was a scene straight out of a telecommunications ad.

Keith answered on the first ring. Not that long ago, the sound of Keith’s voice on the other end of a telephone was enough to make my heart pound. He had been my first lover after my husband’s death, and our relationship had been good until geography separated us and Keith found someone else. The situation was hackneyed, but I had been wounded. It had taken Alex and the passage of time to put things in perspective. That day when I heard Keith’s voice, I felt the easy uncomplicated pleasure you feel when you’re reconnecting with an old friend.

“Jo, is that you? I made Greg promise, but I’ve been kicking myself ever since. Twenty-four hours isn’t much time to discover all the wonders of Madeleine.”

“I agree,” I said. “Have you seen her?”

“I thought I’d give Mieka a chance to take a deep breath
before she had to put up with the old bachelor uncle, but Greg says Madeleine’s a beauty.”

“And clever,” I said. “Taylor’s already read her her first story.”

He laughed. “How is Taylor?”

“Thriving,” I said. “So’s Angus. He’s in Grade 12 this year.”

“Almost a college man.” He paused. “And how is Jo?”

“Happy. Busy.”

“Is there any chance we can get together tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I want to spend as much time as I can at the hospital.”

“Visiting hours don’t start till eleven. I could buy you and the kids breakfast. If I remember correctly, you loved that decadent Sunday brunch at the Bessborough.”

“You remember correctly,” I said.

“Then it’s a go?”

I hesitated, but I couldn’t think of a single logical reason to refuse. “It’s a go,” I said. “We’ll meet you in the lobby at eight.”

I handed the phone back to Greg. “Satisfied?”

He grinned. “Absolutely. The rest of the day will be yours to do with as you please.”

When we got to Greg and Mieka’s, Taylor began to race up and down the stairs. I knew there would be tears before bedtime if she didn’t get rid of some of her energy. As she peeled by me, I grabbed her hand. “Let’s go check out the neighbourhood,” I said.

In five minutes, we were on our way. My daughter and son-in-law lived in an old two-storey clapboard house in the Nutana section of Saskatoon. It was a neighbourhood that, in the past few years, had surprised itself by becoming trendy. That night, as the kids and I walked along Broadway
Avenue, baskets of geraniums hung from replicas of turn-of-the-century lampposts, and upscale boutiques that sold imported cheese, antique clothing, and pricey toys stood cheek by jowl with shops that still bore the names of original owners and sold homely necessities like hardware and bread. We walked up to the intersection called the Five Corners, and I showed Taylor the school Madeleine would go to. All three of us agreed this was going to be a good neighbourhood for her to grow up in.

Later, as I settled into my unfamiliar bed, a jumble of images crowded my mind. The day just past had been amazing: beginning with a funeral and ending with a birth. I thought of Emily’s poignant line from
Our Town
when, on the day of her own funeral, she makes the mistake of revisiting a day in her life. “Do any human beings,” she asks, “ever realize life while they live it? – every every minute?” As I looked at the Polaroid photo of my new granddaughter and me, which I’d propped up against the light on the nightstand, I knew that I would hang on to this particular moment for a lifetime.

Keith Harris was waiting just inside the doors of the Bessborough Hotel when we arrived. He was wearing light tan slacks and a sea-green knit shirt that I’d once told him was my favourite. He had the look of well-being golfers have after a pleasant summer: tanned, fit, and at peace with the world. Greg and he shared a family resemblance. They were both men of medium build, with hazel eyes, substantial noses, easy smiles, and faces that were agreeable rather than handsome. Apart from age, the only significant difference between them was their hair. Greg’s was dark and thick; Keith’s had just about vanished.

When he spotted me, Keith took me in his arms. “It’s good to see you, Jo,” he said.

“It’s good to see you,” I said, and I meant it.

We all ate far too much. Once, the Bessborough buffets had featured butter sculptures and chefs in white hats carving hams that glistened with clove-studded fat. The menu had been scaled down and healthied up for the nineties, but the food was still good, and as we walked out of the hotel, Keith offered me his arm. “Care to undo the damage we just did to ourselves?”

It was a perfect early-fall day: cool enough for Angus to run along the jogging path that snakes beside the South Saskatchewan River, but mild enough for Taylor, bright as a butterfly in her red-and-orange sweater, to throw herself on the grass and roll down the hill towards the river. Keith and I sat on a bench near the fountain to watch, and as we watched, we talked about our lives.

Keith’s had recently undergone some fairly dramatic changes. After years in Ottawa, he’d come back to Saskatchewan to manage a high-powered investment company. He was a lawyer by profession, but he’d spent much of his working life in the backrooms of Tory politics. I’d spent enough time in the backrooms to know that the political world is parochial, fevered, exhausting, nasty, and addictive. Keith said he was delighted with the change, but I couldn’t imagine he would be happy away from the melee, and I said so.

He smiled ruefully. “You’re the only who’s seen through me. On paper, it’s a great decision: it’s secure; the money’s unbelievable; people won’t flee when they see me walk into a cocktail party. And I must admit, it will be nice not to have to listen to some snot-nosed neo-con explain the political process to me. All the same, I’m going to miss it.”

“You can still be involved,” I said.

“I’ve got too many enemies to be an é
minence grise;
besides I think my new company would prefer that I keep a
low profile.” He shrugged. “I’ll work it out. One good thing: it’s going to be great to be closer to you.”

I didn’t respond.

Keith touched my elbow. “Are you and Alex still together?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But it’s the truth.”

“Want me to change the subject?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I do.”

For a few minutes we sat in silence, enjoying the sunshine. When Keith turned to me, his smile was rueful. “We must be getting old, Jo: running out of conversational topics.”

“I’ve got one,” I said. “Justine Blackwell. Did you know her?”

Keith looked sombre. “That was a terrible thing.”

“And close to home for us,” I said. “Justine and Hilda McCourt were friends. Hilda was staying at our house the night Justine died. In fact, they were together just before she was killed.”

“That must have been a nasty shock for Hilda,” Keith said. “Is she handling it all right?”

“You know Hilda,” I said. “She’s rolled up her shirtsleeves and dug in to help sort out some problems with Justine’s estate.”

“Good,” Keith said. He frowned. “What’s that thing about being busy Hilda always says?”

“It’s a quotation from Catharine Parr Traill,” I said. “In cases of emergency, it’s folly to throw your hands in the air and wail in terror – better to be up and doing.”

Keith laughed. “Words to live by. Now, to answer your question. Over the years, Justine and I were at a lot of the same functions, but except for the usual pleasantries, I never
really talked to her. I did know her husband, though. Dick Blackwell was a big contributor to the party, and he was a great guy – the best. I always thought he deserved a better personal life than the one he ended up with.”

“ ‘Personal life’ meaning his marriage?”

Keith sighed. “Yeah, ‘personal life’ meaning his marriage. One should be charitable about the dead, but Justine wasn’t much of a wife. She was, however, one hell of a lawyer.” He shook his head and smiled. “I saw her in action once. She was amazing. She had exactly the right temperament for criminal law: combative but cool. She was passionate when it suited her purpose, but every display of emotion was calculated: just enough outrage or fervent belief or shining-eyed hope to do the job, and not one iota more.” Keith turned his head and glanced at me. “She never broke a sweat.”

“Not with her marriage either,” I said.

“No, not with her marriage, and not with her children. After Dick died, there was a rumour that Justine had been having an affair. I never believed it – not because she was such a dutiful wife, but because she didn’t have that kind of passion.”

“You didn’t like her much, did you?”

Keith sat up. “Actually, I did like her. She was smart, she was beautiful, and, on the occasions we were together, she was good company. I just think Dick Blackwell would have had a happier life if he’d married someone else. Given the circumstances, that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth – at least as I see it. If you want more details, you could talk to Dick’s old law partner.”

“No,” I said, “your opinion’s good enough for me.”

“Hearing that was worth the price of breakfast.”

His gaze was steady, and I was relieved when Taylor came peeling up the hill. She was sweaty and dirty and happy. “Is it time to see Madeleine yet?”

“After we scrub off six layers of dirt, it is. Let’s find your brother and go back to Greg and Mieka’s and hit the showers.”

Angus found us, or rather, he found Keith. They walked ahead of us on the path talking about their common passion, football. By the time we hit the Bessborough parking lot, they had decided to get tickets for the Huskies game that afternoon. After Taylor climbed into the back and Angus slid into the driver’s seat, Keith turned to me. “Should I get a ticket for Taylor? I don’t think I’ll have to twist Greg’s arm too hard to get him to come. You and Mieka might enjoy some time alone.”

“It’s worth a try,” I said. I bent down to the car window. “Taylor, Mr. Harris has an invitation for you …”

“I heard,” she said. “And I want to go.”

“Sounds like it’s settled,” Keith said.

When we said goodbye in the Bessborough parking lot, Keith held my hand a second longer than necessary, then he kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for the morning, Jo. I hope it’s the first of many.”

Greg was waiting with the Polaroid when we came into Mieka’s room. He wanted some pictures of the kids with Madeleine. Angus went first. He held her in one arm, tight against his body, the way his coach had made him hold a football for an entire weekend after a costly fumble. When he handed the baby off to Taylor, she was wildly enthusiastic. For ten minutes, she sat in the corner with Madeleine, crooning and chatting. When her eyes betrayed her restlessness, Greg said he’d buy the kids a burger before the game, and after a whirl of goodbyes, Mieka and I were left alone.

We pushed Madeleine’s bassinet in front of the window, pulled our own chairs close, and gave ourselves over to the singular pleasures of two women wholly absorbed by a new
baby. September sunshine pooled in a circle around us; air crisp with the smell of fall leaves and late gardens drifted through the open window, and my daughter and I swapped stories about childbirth and the primal pleasure of holding a child to the breast. In the larger world of the hospital, there was death and fear and pain and suffering, but in the safety of our small circle, there were only dreams and hopes and an unspoken thanksgiving that somehow the two of us had managed to navigate the risky shoals of the mother-daughter relationship and arrive at this moment together.

The drive back to Regina was pleasant and uneventful. All the way home, we saw farmers still out in the fields. It was an excellent crop, and nobody was taking any chances. In a little over a month it would be Thanksgiving. Maybe Greg and Mieka could bring Madeleine down. Keith could come too. If Alex and I could work things out, he and Eli could come. And, of course, Hilda and Leah. It was time for us to reap what we had sown, and it seemed the farmers weren’t the only ones who’d be harvesting a bumper crop that year.

It was a little after 9:00 when we pulled up in front of our house. Taylor was sound asleep. As soon as I got out of the car, I could hear Rose barking inside.

Angus got out of the back seat. “What’s up with Rose?” he asked.

“She’s just glad to see us,” I whispered. “Go in and let her out, would you? I’m going to try to carry Taylor up to bed without waking her.” I leaned into the back seat and picked up my daughter. When I started up the walk, Angus was still fiddling with the front door.

He turned around and mouthed the words, “It’s locked.”

“Where’s Hilda?”

He looked at me in exasperation. “Mum, I just got here too.”

I handed Taylor to Angus, took my key out of my purse, and opened the front door. As soon as I stepped into the hall, I knew something was wrong. The area by the door was covered in dog faeces and urine.

Angus was behind me in the door; Taylor was in his arms, mercifully still sleeping. A wave of panic hit. “Take Taylor down to the family room and put her on the couch,” I said.

My son stared at the mess in the front hall, but didn’t say a word. He walked towards the family room. I took a deep breath and started up the stairs. My legs were leaden. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that something had happened to Hilda. I felt a dozen emotions, but the overwhelming one was guilt. Hilda was eighty-three years old. Unwilling to face her mortality, I had stood by as she had undertaken a task too onerous for a woman decades younger than she was; then I had left her alone.