evenings, and I was beginning to rethink my theory that Sean was just a post-divorce crush. He brought me a bouquet of white tulips, some truly great champagne, and a box of truffles – ‘for afterwards,’ he said. We ate out on the deck, we watched the sunset, then we went into the house, fell onto the couch, and made out like people who were more than just friends. Everything was moving in the right direction and then it wasn’t. I’ve reconstructed this a few thousand times since Friday night: all I can think of is that everything went off track when we went up to my room and Sean saw that picture of the girls on my night table.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Yes. He said, ‘I can’t do this.’ Then he straightened his clothing, apologized, mumbled that he hoped we could still be friends, and beat a hasty retreat.”
“Do you think he felt guilty because of the girls?”
Mieka rolled her eyes. “This is the twenty-first century, Mum. People don’t feel guilty. I think maybe he just didn’t want to get involved with a woman who has children.”
“Well, it’s his loss,” I said “Are you okay?”
“My pride’s a little dented. I’m ticked that I spent all that money on new underwear, but I’ll survive.” She wiped the surface of an already-shining tabletop. “Mum, the ladies and I have a very good life. I don’t need a prince charming, even if he is a really good kisser and has the sexiest smile besides Val Kilmer’s.”
Election day dawned chilly and drizzly. Spring was withholding her favours, and those who took politics seriously were not surprised. No matter what the weather on E-Day, it was bad news. Sunshine and tree-riffling breezes sent voters to golf courses and picnic grounds; rainstorms kept them parked in front of their TVS; blizzards brought road closures. It was a universally acknowledged political truth: one way or another, the weather would screw you.
There was another truth: no matter when the writ was dropped, E-Day was always the longest day of the year. Suddenly, the campaign was whittled down to now or never. The time for strategizing was over; people had either made up their minds where to put their X or had decided to close their eyes, hold their nose, and let fate guide their hand. All the professionals could do was control their own voter turnout. That meant scrutineers in every polling station striking off names of party members as they voted, and runners who took the marked sheets to safe houses where other workers called to harangue supporters who hadn’t voted. Busy work, but at least it was work.
The candidates weren’t so lucky. Since the night they were nominated, the candidates had been putting in sixteen-hour days, in which every block of time was accounted for. Now they had nothing to do but be photographed before they stepped into the polling booth to vote for themselves, then go home to sweat it out.
Ginny’s polling station was at Lakeview, Taylor’s school, and Zack and I had already dropped Taylor off and voted when Ginny came in with Keith, Milo, and her daughters. The Friends of Ginny Monaghan were nowhere in sight. A week ago, people had been elbowing one another to get close to the woman who had a good shot at becoming the party’s new leader, but there’s truth in the axiom that, in politics, a week is a lifetime. Ginny had been in the game long enough to know that even when it’s over, you have to look as if you believe it’s not. She and her girls were dressed for victory: Ginny in a smart pantsuit in her party’s new eco-friendly team colours of teal and cloud white, and the twins in long skirts and shirts with button-down collars.
The girls came over to us as their mother disappeared behind the cardboard shield intended to keep her vote private.
“Good to see you,” Zack said. “You’re doing the right thing. Stay in their faces. Make them know you’re there.”
Em looked at him with interest. “Same as in basketball.”
“Same as in a courtroom. Same as in everything. Don’t let your opponents dominate the game.”
“We’ve adopted a new family motto,” Em said. “It was in that old song we heard at Magoo’s. Remember: ‘You can’t please everyone, so you’ve got to please yourself’?”
“Words to live by. So are you going back to the lake when this is over?”
“Our school is cool with us staying away till next week.” Em swallowed hard. “My dad was cremated today. That’s a weird thought.” She squared her shoulders and pasted on a smile as Ginny emerged from the polling booth, handed her folded ballot to the returning officer, and then, smile broader than ever, faced the photographers.
“It’s worse for her,” Chloe said thoughtfully. “She’s lost everything.”
I looked at the two fresh-faced young women. “No, she hasn’t,” I said.
When Ginny came over to us, I could see the tension in the set of her jaw. “So did I get your vote?” she asked.
“I always vote for our clients,” Zack said.
Ginny cocked her head at me. “And you, Joanne?” Her slate-grey eyes were measuring. “Were you prepared to throw away your vote?”
“I didn’t throw it away,” I said. “But I did vote for you. You were the best candidate.”
“Past tense,” Ginny said. “But thanks anyway. So, are you doing a stint for NationTV tonight?”
“I am. From the times the polls close here till we know who forms the next government.”
Ginny laughed. “Well, better you than me.” She turned to her daughters. “Let’s rent some movies and get you guys settled in back at the condo. I’ve got a day of visiting polling stations and a concession speech ahead, but if it’s all right with the Shreves, we can go back to the lake tonight.”
“It’s fine with the Shreves,” I said. “Stay as long as you want.”
The rain was coming down in sheets when Zack and I left the school. I opened our umbrella and held it over him. “I’ll walk you to your car,” I said. “And then I think I’ll just go home. I was planning to drive to Moose Jaw and trail after Ginny on her last day as a candidate, but that overpass near Belleplaine scares me when it’s raining.”
“Then stay put,” Zack said. “You’ve got a long evening, and you’ve been working hard. Take the day off and do your homework.”
“You always tell me exactly what I want to hear,” I said.
“That’s because I’m not stupid,” Zack said, then the two of us raced through the rain towards his car and whatever future election day would bring.
As soon as I got home I went to our room to change into my jeans.
Ed arrived carrying his tool-case and wearing a bright yellow slicker. As I took them from him in the front hall, water dripped onto the hardwood. Ed kicked off his shoes and scurried to the kitchen in search of a mop. “Sorry, Jo. Barry had that thing specially made because he worries that some driver might not spot me in the rain and plow into me, even though I’m not exactly a slip of a thing like him. I say, ‘Get over yourself, Mary,’ but Barry still makes me wear that football field of tarpaulin every time a drop descends from the heavens.”
I hung the slicker on the hall tree and slid one of the dogs’ towels under it to catch the drips. “Zack makes me carry my cellphone when I run Willie and Pantera,” I said, “in case I slip. I guess we should be grateful we’re loved.”
“I am grateful,” Ed said. “As the poet says, when we love, we give hostages to fortune.” He rubbed his hands together. “Enough of this. Take me to your prizes. I’m an ardent admirer of Plear. In my opinion, he’s one of the great contemporary colour field painters, and as for Taylor, well, Barry and I are very proud of our collection of her early works.”
“You were smart to get in on the ground floor,” I said. “This is Taylor’s first abstract. I think we’re all going to be glad we can say we knew her when.”
“That good?” Ed said.
“Come see for yourself.”
Ed followed me down the hall into the bedroom. When I flicked on the overhead lights, the large flat areas of colour on the two paintings roared to life. Ed was one of life’s great celebrators, and when it came to praise, he didn’t stint.
“Talk about a feast for the eyes,” he said as he approached
