I groaned. “Zack, you must have noticed that fashion isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
“You always look great.”
“And 90 per cent of the time I’m wearing jeans and a sweater. But I do know where the good shops are, and I’d be happy to take Glenda around. So what are you going to do while Glenda and I are bonding?”
“Catch up on my files. I’ve been letting things slip lately.”
“So the Statue of Liberty has returned to her place in New York Harbour,” I said.
Zack held up an admonishing finger. “I’m going to cut back. You watch.”
“I plan to,” I said. Then I kissed him hard.
Knowing that the city’s centre wouldn’t be as busy as the malls, we drove downtown where there would be fewer heads to turn and eyes to stare. Money was not an issue, so I took Glenda to the most expensive store in town. I am a reluctant shopper, and the concept of retail therapy has always eluded me, but as Glenda stood in the muted light, holding a creamy silk blouse against the gentle curves of her new breasts, the tension left her body. After a lifetime of masquerade, she was at last going to be herself.
The saleswoman who helped us was discreet and knowledgeable. She offered possibilities that flattered Glenda’s lithe, athletic body, and withdrew so that Glenda could make her own choices. In the end, Glenda chose a cool and cleanly cut oyster boucle suit that concealed and revealed in all the right places. When we left the shop, we were triumphant. Our only real problem came later when we tried to find women’s dress shoes that would fit Glenda’s long and very narrow feet. At the third store, we succeeded and Glenda’s relief was palpable. When she found a pair of runners in her size and, they were on sale, we decided to celebrate with a glass of wine at my house.
After we carried in our booty and hung up our coats, it was reward time. “So what’ll it be, Glenda,” I asked. “White or red?”
“Would you mind if we wait on the wine,” she said. “I’d like to try my outfit here where I can really look at it. I was a little rattled when we were at the shop.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. “There’s a full-length mirror in my room upstairs. Take your time.”
It was half an hour before Glenda returned, but when she came into the kitchen I saw that she hadn’t just been trying on clothes; she had been transforming herself. She had smoothed back the long bang that had partially hidden her face and for the first time since I’d met her, she was wearing makeup. Her blush and lipstick were subtly and flatteringly applied, and the startlingly blue eyes that were so like her father’s were now accented by shadow, liner, and mascara. It was clear she had spent more than a few evenings practising. She’d added a delicate gold chain and thin hoop earrings to her outfit, and the effect was stunning.
She touched her necklace. “This belonged to my dad’s mother. Does it work – I don’t mean just the chain – the whole thing?”
“It works,” I said. “You look beautiful.”
Glenda’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear someone say that.”
I handed her a tissue from the box on the counter. “Here’s a tip,” I said. “Don’t wear mascara if you’re in a situation where you think you might cry.”
Glenda dabbed at her eyes. “It’s the hormones,” she said. “But thanks – I’ll skip the mascara when I go the funeral.”
After she’d changed into her everyday clothes, Glenda came back downstairs. “I appreciate this, Joanne. It was good of you to give up your day.”
“The day’s not over.”
Glenda shook her head. “No,” she said. “It yawns before me. Would you mind if I listened to those old records of my dad’s again?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Indifferent housekeeper that I am, everything’s just as we left it.”
She winced. “Not quite everything,” she said.
After Glenda disappeared into the family room, I Googled the website of Beverly’s church and read her minister’s most recent sermon. He called upon the faithful to enter the battle for our nation’s soul by becoming politically involved. His version of Onward Christian Soldiers was scary stuff, but I knew this was a vein worth mining for my book, so I opened the link to past sermons and read on. I was engrossed in the complexities of his attack on the separation of church and state when Taylor came in.
She pitched her backpack on a chair, poured herself a glass of milk, and sat down opposite me. “Who’s here?” she said.
“Glenda Parker,” I said. “How did you know there was somebody here?”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Sweet yellow Volks beetle in the driveway. Bunch of boxes from Hall & Rae in the living room. Music playing in the family room. So where’s Glenda?”
“She’s listening to those records her dad made.”
Taylor nodded. “Ethan wasn’t in school today.”
“I know,” I said. I took a breath. “Taylor, Ethan won’t be back at Lakeview. He came by this morning before you were up. He’s going to school in Winnipeg.”
“But his father lives in Ottawa.”
“It’s a boarding school. Ethan says it’s supposed to be pretty good.”
“Did he seem okay?”
“No,” I said. “But he’s dealing with some heavy stuff. He needs time.”
Taylor picked up her milk then put it down without drinking. “I’m glad he’s gone,” she said quietly. The words
