Zack moved his chair so that our knees were touching. He leaned forward and placed his hands against my cheeks. “Then maybe you’ve had enough,” he said. “Falconer Shreve is in for some rough times, Joanne. If you want to walk away, now’s the time.”
I covered his hands with my own. “Isn’t there a song called ‘Too Late Now’?”
“Frank Loesser,” he said. “One of my favourites. Want me to play it for you?”
“I’d like that,” I said.
“Then let’s go inside.”
It was a little after ten when I got back to the house. Angus and Leah were in the living room watching a video. Angus tapped an imaginary watch on his wrist. “So what were you up to at this hour of the night?”
“I was with Zack Shreve,” I said.
Leah grinned, and raised her thumbs in a gesture of approbation.
Angus was less enthusiastic. “Come on, Mum. Zack Shreve? He is way too much for you to handle.”
“You may be right about that,” I said. I gave my son a friendly punch on the arm. “Then again, you may be wrong.”
CHAPTER
13
Shortly after two that morning, a violent storm began. One volley of thunder was so ear-splitting that I sat bolt upright in bed. Heart still pounding, I went down to check on Taylor. Despite flashes of lightning bright as daylight, Taylor continued to sleep the sleep of the just, and I wandered back to my room intent on catching a few more winks. I would have been more usefully employed trying to jam toothpaste back in the tube. No matter how diligently I pounded the pillows, smoothed the sheets, breathed deeply, sought my mental good place, assumed the shava-asana position, and willed my mind to free itself from thoughts of past and future, sleep eluded me. Finally, I gave up, took my blanket to the chair by the window, and sat back to watch the show and see if I could make sense of the revelations that had been coming like hammer blows, one after another.
It turned out to be a profitable night. By the time the worst of the storm was over and the bleak light of dawn seeped in my window, I hadn’t come up with any answers, but I was certain I knew what questions to ask. Eager to get started, I dug out my slicker and snapped on Willie’s leash. Like Maggie Muggins, I had places to go, people to see, and things to do.
It was a day to believe in the pathetic fallacy: a gunmetal sky, a driving, hostile rain that stung my face and legs, and a keening wind that tossed the gulls around like pieces of tissue. Oblivious to the warnings from the elements, Willie pounded through the sloppy gravel, barking happily as we rounded the road by the gazebo and he spotted the Inukshuk, a new friend. I would have turned back but there was something I needed to check. When I found what I was looking for, I felt the rush that comes when the pieces of a puzzle are beginning to fit together.
My exhilaration was short-lived. As we passed the Wainbergs’, a vehicle shot out of the driveway. Willie and I were right in its path. When I jerked him out of harm’s way, I lost my footing in the gumbo of the gravel road and fell. The car skidded to a stop and Delia jumped out. She was dressed for the city: a smart black suit with a very short skirt, black stockings, pumps with serious heels.
“God, are you all right?” she said.
I stood up and checked for damage. There didn’t seem to be any. “I’m fine,” I said.
“You and Willie look as if you’ve been mud-wrestling. Come on. Get in the car. I’ll take you home.”
“We’re an upholstery hazard,” I said. “We can walk. A little more rain’s not going to hurt us.”
Delia frowned. “I just about killed you. The least I can do is get you out of this monsoon.”
“Sold,” I said. I opened the back door of Delia’s car and turned to my dog with a command. “In, Willie.” He stood, riveted to the spot. “In,” I repeated. Willie cocked his head, perplexed but immobile. I lifted his bum and gave him a push. “In,” I said. Accepting the inevitable, he lumbered up, threw himself belly down on the upholstery, and pressed his nose against the window.
When I got into the passenger seat, Delia looked at me hard and shook her head. “All the women who’ve been after Zack, and you’re the one…”
“I’m not ‘the one,’ ” I said, “but I do clean up nicely.” We looked at one another and laughed.
“Hey,” Delia said, “a good start to what will no doubt end up being another crappy day.” She turned the key in the ignition. “Zack and Blake have decided the partners have to go through the trust ledgers together. More beating up on ourselves. It’s not as if we don’t know what we’re going to find. Zack filled us in last night.” She pulled a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. “At least we know now why Chris killed himself, but what the hell was up with Clare Mackey? Chris would have been the best father.”
“I guess Clare didn’t agree,” I said.
“Forgive me if I don’t lead the applause for Clare and her ethics,” Delia said icily. She pulled into my driveway. “Here you are,” she said. “Home sweet home.”
“Muddied but unbowed,” I said.
She gave me a faint smile. “Guess what? I’m still not smoking.”
“I’ll lead the applause for that,” I said. I had my hand on the handle of the car door, but I didn’t push it down. “Delia, did Noah build the gazebo?”
Her eyes widened. “Where did that come from? Anyway, the answer is no. He did the carving of the woman, but not the rest.” She reached over and gave my shoulder an affectionate pat. “Watch out for traffic. Now that I’m a non-smoker, maybe you and I can get up our own Ultimate team.”
Angus greeted me at the front door with a whoop of laughter. “You and Willie look like you’ve been mud- wrestling.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that,” I said. “That means you win the big prize – the opportunity to take Willie out back and hose him down. I’m going to hit the shower.”
The phone rang before I’d kicked off my runners. Angus answered it and handed it to me with a lascivious wink. “It’s the Man,” he said.
“I’m outside your house,” Zack said. “Have you got a minute to say goodbye?”
“As long as you don’t make any mud-wrestling jokes,” I said.
“I don’t get it.”
“You will.”
When he saw me, Zack raised an eyebrow. “Hop in.”
“I’ll wreck your upholstery.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He was dressed for work: white shirt, striped tie, and a suit that probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe. He put his arm around me. “What’s the punchline to that joke about how porcupines make love?”
“Very carefully,” I said. And for a few lovely minutes, we were very careful.
When I got out of the shower, Taylor was sitting on my bed, knitting. The hyacinth scarf was finished, and she was practising the moss stitch before she moved on. “Rose would like you to call her. She has a favour to ask. The something-or-other on her car is broken, but she wants to visit Betty because Betty gets blue when it rains. Gracie’s mum is still sick, so Rose wondered if you’d mind driving us over.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “You and the other girls are going too?”
“Rose says we’re as good as a tonic for Betty. Besides, we always have fun there.”
I called Rose and we agreed that, given the driving conditions, we should get an early start. As we set out, I was glad we were in my car. Rose’s Buick was a boat, and the road to Standing Buffalo was filled with turns that were hair-raising on a good day, and this was decidedly not a good day. In fact, the weather seemed to be growing uglier by the hour. Visibility was poor to non-existent, the roads were slick, and the ditches were filling. When we drove between the white-painted tractor tires that marked Betty’s driveway, my tires spun ominously and I wondered if I’d be able to make it out. We sent Rose inside, and the girls and I scurried between car and house, carrying Tupperware containers of food, a fresh supply of magazines, a case of pop, and pyjamas and a change of
