“You sound kind of down.”
“Just fresh out of optimism,” I said.
“Then, let’s talk about something nice. What should I get Taylor for her birthday?”
“Well, let’s see, I think I covered the ‘A List’: a box of Kolonok Art Brushes that, Taylor tells me, are the best, a new journal, some frilly underwear, and a book about Diego Rivera. She did mention she’d like a mani-pedi at Head to Toe.”
“What’s a mani-pedi?”
“A manicure and a pedicure. The mani-pedi comes with an assortment of chocolate truffles – very decadent.”
“If that’s what Taylor wants, that’s what she shall have.”
“I hope it’s always like this for her,” I said.
“Me too,” Zack said. “She’s a great kid and I love that we’re going to be a family. Now, gotta go. Got to do something to pay for that mani-pedi.”
I spent the day working on my book. My visit to Beverly Parker’s church had given me fresh insight into the new values war, and raised provocative questions about how politically combative the conservative movement in our country might become. Zack was home at six to have dinner with Taylor and me. He was gone again by eight, and I worked on my book until bedtime. Life had a pattern, and I was grateful.
On the morning of Taylor’s birthday, I went in to give her a nuzzle before Willie and I took off on our run. She rolled over and smiled without opening her eyes. “Happy birthday,” I said. “You smell good. What is that perfume you’re wearing?”
“Gracie made it. It’s a mixture of patchouli oil, lavender, and something else I can’t remember.”
“Gracie makes perfume?”
“There a store on 13th Avenue that has all the stuff. You just give them the person’s perfume profile, and they help you pick out what you need.”
“What’s a perfume profile?”
Taylor propped her chin on her elbow and yawned. “Three words that describe the person. My words were ‘artistic,’ ‘independent,’ and ‘loving.’ Gracie and Isobel chose them.”
“Gracie and Isobel were right on the money,” I said. I started out of the room. Then obeying an impulse, I came back and put my arms around my daughter.
She yawned. “I had an idea for the mural in the new house.”
“Want to tell me?”
“It’s a secret – but I’ve made some little paintings – just trying things out.”
“Good. Willie and I are going for our run – be back in an hour.”
“Mmmm.” Taylor burrowed deeper into her covers and went back to sleep.
I took her gifts downstairs, put them on her breakfast plate, then hooked Willie’s leash to his collar. It was November 11, Remembrance Day, and the morning was cool, misty, and silent. Willie and I circled the lake. By the time we came to the legislature, the army trucks were bringing in the ancient cannons that would be fired at eleven o’clock, shots through history that froze the marrow.
Taylor’s gifts were still wrapped and on the table when I got back. She was sleeping in, and why not when it was her birthday and a holiday to boot? After I’d showered and dressed, I came downstairs, made myself a bowl of yogurt and blueberries, picked up the newspaper, and prepared myself for the rare adventure of breakfasting alone.
It was close to eight o’clock when Zack called, asking if there were last-minute guests to add to the reservation list for dinner. Taylor had decided she wanted to go out for ribs on her birthday, and Zack needed to know if we wanted a bigger table.
I called upstairs to Taylor, and when she didn’t answer, I ran up to her room. She wasn’t there. I checked her bathroom. It was empty.
I picked up the extension by Taylor’s bed. I had left the phone in the kitchen off the hook, and I could hear the chalk-screech dissonance of Hindemith’s
“Taylor just turned eleven,” Zack said. “She’s probably decided it’s time to see the world.”
“Not funny,” I said. “Also not like Taylor. She’s a homebody. I don’t think she’ll ever leave.”
“That’s okay with me. I like having her around,” Zack said. “Gotta go. I have a meeting downtown.”
“It’s Remembrance Day,” I said.
“The meeting is with some money guy from Vancouver. This was the only day his calendar wasn’t booked solid. Give Norine a call if we need a bigger table for dinner tonight. She’ll be at the office.”
“It’s a stat holiday in this province, remember?”
“Holiday, shmoliday,” Zack said. “There’s always work. Tell Taylor I’m looking forward to watching her blow out the candles.”
I stared at Taylor’s empty bed. It was unmade – not a surprise, but her pyjamas weren’t under her pillow, and if she’d gone out, that was unusual. Taylor was a creature of habit, and after she’d dressed, she always placed her pyjamas under her pillow. But lately, when she was working on a piece of art, she’d put on her boots, throw a jacket over her pyjamas, and work in her studio for an hour before school. It was possible our talk about the mural had ignited a spark and she was painting.
