up the hall towards the hooks where their leashes hung.
I listened to the click of their nails on the hardwood, then went to the closet where I kept the heavy sweater, jacket, and snow pants that I used for winter running. When I was dressed, I turned and was met by Zack’s glare.
“You’re not going out in this.”
“The dogs are already at the door.”
“One of the reasons we bought this house is because it has a double lot – plenty of room for them to chase each other.”
“The dogs and I have an arrangement. I take them for a run, and they leave me alone for the rest of the morning.”
“So I should stick a sock in it?”
“Pretty much,” I said. I kissed him. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Carry your phone,” he said.
My run was miserable. The wind whipping off the creek froze my hair and the icy strands snapped at my face as I ran. Blowing snow made it impossible to distinguish between the path and the creek bank, and when I stumbled over a rock I hadn’t seen, only Willie’s broad back kept me from falling flat. It was time to admit defeat.
“Okay, boys,” I said. “We’re heading home.” Willie and Pantera didn’t balk. When we got back, Zack was still in bed, thumbing his BlackBerry. I’d left my parka, snow pants, and boots in the mudroom, but my hair was still frozen; my face was scarlet and chapped and my nose was running. Zack winced when he saw me. “You look like you could use a friend.”
“Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.’ ”
“Get out of those wet clothes and come in here with me where it’s warm.”
“Said the Wolf to Little Red Riding Hood.”
“You have nothing to fear from me, Little Red.”
I stripped off my clothing and slid in. Zack leaned over and touched the button on the sound system beside the bed. Suddenly the room was filled Kiz Harp’s soulful, smoky voice singing “Winter Warm” – a paean to making love while the winds whip.
“You planned this,” I said.
Zack’s smile was wicked. “You’re a clever one, Little Red. I was planning to greet you in my smoking jacket, but you got back early.”
“You don’t own a smoking jacket.”
“Then you must take me as I am,” he said. And I did.
When we were through making love, Zack kissed the top of my head. “Better now?” he asked. “You were so sad last night.”
“Just tired and worried,” I said. “But I am once again ready to lick my weight in wild cats.”
Zack gazed out the window. “You may be off the hook. Not a wild cat in sight. That’s one lousy day out there.”
I burrowed deeper. “Then let’s stay in here.”
“Fine with me. We can get started on
Zack was a skilful reader. Whenever our granddaughters, Madeleine and Lena, were with us overnight, he was always the storyteller of choice. He had an actor’s voice, rich and sonorous, and he had an actor’s ability to take his listeners to the heart of the tale.
The story was over five hundred years old, but it hadn’t lost its power, and as I lay with my back against Zack’s side and watched a snowdrift move incrementally up the glass patio door, I was content. The Green Knight had just challenged the gall, the gumption, and the guts of Arthur’s court, when Taylor knocked on the door and, without waiting for an invitation, came in. I was grateful she hadn’t wandered in fifteen minutes earlier. She was still in her pyjamas and, as she took in the scene, her mouth curled in a smile that was both affectionate and pitying. I had seen the smile a thousand times – it was her late mother’s smile, and during the years when Sally and I had been best friends, it had often been directed at me.
Taylor sat on the corner of the bed. “Were you guys reading to each other?”
“Zack was reading to me.”
“I’ll bet you’re the only parents in my entire school who do that,” she said. She hugged her knees to herself. “I came in to see if you’d heard anything about the baby.”
“Nothing yet,” I said. “Delia’s going to call Zack this morning.”
“So we don’t know why the baby’s mother gave him to Izzy?”
“No. For the time being, I guess we’ll just have be satisfied that the baby’s fine.”
“That’s good,” she said. “I woke up in the night wondering… ” Taylor swung her legs off the bed and went to peer out the patio doors. “So are we going to church in this?”
“I think we’ll stay put.”
Taylor yawned and stretched. “Good, then I’m going to grab a bagel and go out to my studio. I’ve started this new piece, and I’ve been having a problem. This morning I figured out that if I… ” She moved her hand in an arabesque of dismissal. “Well, never mind what I figured out.” She gave us her new Sally smile. “You two probably want to get back to your reading.”
After Taylor closed the door, Zack turned to me. “I sense that she no longer regards us as god-like.”
“She’s a teenager,” I said. “We’re starting to recede into the background.”
Zack scowled. “Forever?”
“Not forever – but Taylor’s trying to figure out who she is and what she wants out of life – those are pretty big questions.”
“That’s why she has us.”
I took his hand. “She also has Sally.”
“Sally’s been dead for ten years.”
“She still looms large for Taylor. The other day I went into her room and she was staring at a picture on her laptop. It was a self-portrait Sally had done when she was fourteen. Taylor said, ‘I’ll never be as good as she is,’ then burst into tears.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Badly. I gave her a hug and asked if she wanted to get two spoons and crack a carton of Haagen-Dazs Rocky Road with me.
“Sounds okay to me.”
“It wasn’t. I offered her comfort when she needed the truth.”
“So what is the truth?”
“When Sally made that painting of herself, she was in a sexual relationship with a forty-one-year-old man.”
“I thought you said she was fourteen.”
“I did. The sex started when she was thirteen.”
Zack placed
“According to Sally it was a fair exchange. The man was an art critic named Izaak Levin. She needed what he could teach her and he needed -”
“To have sex with a prepubescent. Even if she consented, it’s still statutory rape. But the law aside, what kind of prick would engage in sex with a kid?”
“An eminently respectable one – a trusted colleague of Sally’s father. When Desmond Love died, Sally was lost. Desmond wasn’t just Sally’s father; he was her protector. He was an artist himself. Sally was, like Taylor, a prodigy. When Des recognized the talent Sally had, he created the conditions that would make it possible for her to do her best work.”
“So her father was her teacher?”
I shook my head. “According to Sally, anyone could have taught her technique. She seemed to feel that Des’s real gift was that he let her find out who she was as a painter. Des gave her space and he protected her against the people who Sally believed would cut off her air by talking to her about what she was doing. Sally and her mother had never been close. When Des died, Sally’s mother withdrew into her own grief, and Sally was left alone.
“So Izaak took Des Love’s place but extended the role.” Zack’s lip curled with disdain.
