“We were together all today,” I said. “Besides, this is a treat for me. I’m a big Sam and Bev fan. I have all your records.”
Sam was incredulous. “Still?”
“You were one of the reasons I never threw out my record player.”
“I haven’t heard those songs in years.”
Glenda put her arm through her father’s. “It’d be fun to hear them again, wouldn’t it?”
Sam and Glenda exchanged glances. “Yes,” Sam said. “It would be fun.”
“It’s settled then,” I said. “Zack, why don’t you get everybody a drink, and I’ll bring down my record player.”
Except for the fact that nobody was smoking dope, the next hour was like many hours I’d spent when I was in university and Sam and Bev were the coolest thing on the Canadian music scene. The Parkers and Zack and I sat around the fire listening – really listening – to Sam and Bev. I had forgotten what a perfect blend their voices were: his was pure and oddly vulnerable; hers, husky and filled with power. As the artists who’d covered their songs had learned, the music of Sam and Bev resonated powerfully with a wide range of audiences, but for those of us who remembered the passionate certainty of the era that had forged them as artists, there was a special pleasure. Sam and Bev had been a mirror of what we hoped we were: idealistic, smart, world-changing.
Their eyes fixed on the fire, Sam and Glenda’s thoughts were their own, but after listening to her mother sing a particularly moving song about a child who gets lost at the fair, Glenda asked her father, “What happened to her?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that what was best in Beverly and me found a place in you.”
After that, there didn’t seem to be much to say. We listened to the rest of the record, then we got out the cribbage board. The evening passed companionably – kibitzing about cards, making small talk, and laughing. More Ordinary Family Life, but the four of us were content. When they were leaving, Sam held out his hand to me, then, changing his mind, embraced me and leaned down and embraced Zack.
As I watched their taxi pull away, the tears came.
Zack shot me a worried look. “Hey, what’s that about?”
I fished around in my pocket for a tissue. “Weltschmertz,” I said. “Sorrow for the sadness of this world.”
Zack turned his chair back into the house. “Fair enough,” he said.
Given our city’s early snowfall, it seemed we were destined for a chilly Halloween, but the benevolent weather that had arrived the second week of the trial was staying with us, and the kids in my neighbourhood were buoyant with hope that this year their costumes wouldn’t be hidden by ski-jackets and snow-pants. I was feeling buoyant too. Zack had called that morning to say that the house inspection had been completed. Our new house had passed with flying colours, and the realtor was certain the offer we put in would be accepted. If I was interested, we could go over and start measuring. I didn’t have to be asked twice. As soon as Taylor left for school, Willie and I walked across the bridge and along the levee to our new house.
Zack was in the driveway when we got there. He handed me a jeweller’s box. Inside were two charms: one was a tiny castle; the other was a key. “The castle is supposed to be the Bessborough Hotel. There’s a date on there.”
“The date we decided to get married,” I said.
“The key is to everything – the house, the car, my heart, the place at the lake, the boat, the whole shebang.”
“That’s quite a shebang,” I said.
“Maybe, but I get you. Now let’s go in there and see what we need to do to turn this joint into our dream home.”
As Willie scrutinized this potentially challenging environment, his toenails made a clacking sound on the hardwood. The clacking was a good sign. Hardwood made Zack’s passage through the house easier. In terms of accessibility, we had been lucky in our choice. The new house was generously proportioned with doorways and hallways already wide enough to accommodate a wheelchair and flush thresholds. But as Zack continued to make notes on his BlackBerry, I became aware of how much we would have to change: there were his and her bathrooms off our bedroom. The bottom cabinet beneath the sink in Zack’s bathroom had to be removed to accommodate his chair and the sink traps and pipes had to be padded to keep his legs, which had no feeling, from being burned. A grab-bar and a shower seat with non-skid legs would have to be added to the bathroom. In the kitchen, counters would have to be lowered, doors put on sliding rails, and rollout shelves and lazy-susans added for all the cupboards. The list seemed daunting to me, but Zack shrugged it off. “We’ll get a good contractor and it’s November – people in the trades are happy to have work. The realtor said we’d be smart to go with a whole new kitchen – what do you think?”
“I’ve been wanting a whole new kitchen for twenty years.”
“That’s settled then,” Zack said. He held out his arms to me. Our kiss was passionate but awkward, as it often was between a standing person and one bound to a wheelchair. As usual, we both ended up laughing. “You know what we need in here,” Zack said. “A bed.”
“Let’s get one like the bed at the lake,” I said. “Lots of room and a good firm mattress. Where did you buy it?”
“Beats me,” Zack said, “But Norine will know.” He flipped open his phone and dialed Norine’s number. His greeting was high-spirited, but within seconds the joy drained from his voice. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll call Sam. Thanks.” I knew without asking that the verdict was in. It was soon – too soon. The consensus had been that there’d be no decision until at least the middle of the week.
Zack was already calling Sam’s room at the hotel. “No answer,” he said. “They’re probably swimming. Jo, I’ve got to get downtown.”
“Okay,” I said. I was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, but as luck would have it, I’d put on my best jacket, and Zack’s cashmere scarf had been in the jacket pocket. The camera would shoot me from the waist up. “Let’s drop Willie off, and I’ll come with you.” I read the anxiety in his face. “Is this necessarily bad news?”
