“Want me to leave on the slip?”
“You bet.”
I went into my bathroom, creamed off the pancake makeup, brushed my teeth, and tried a smile. It wasn’t convincing. I got into bed and moved close to Zack. “So what’s wrong?” he asked.
“Keith’s dying,” I said.
Zack flinched. “Jesus. How long does he have?”
“A couple of months. Apparently, he could have surgery, but even his cardiologist says it’s not worth the agony.”
Zack kissed my hair. “I’m sorry, Jo. Really. Keith seems like a good guy.”
“He is,” I said. “And I’m grateful to him. He taught me a lot.”
Zack’s grip tightened. “Then I’m in his debt.”
“So am I,” I said. “Let’s make the most of it.”
When I turned on the radio the next morning, it was clear that much, including which party would govern us, remained undecided. There would be many, many recounts. For days, the air would be filled with talk of uncertainty and chaos. Hand-wringing economists would muse about financial repercussions, and earnest academics like me would fret over the long-term implications of political uncertainty. Once again, we were on the brink. But as the dogs and I started along the levee beside the creek, I knew that nothing essential had changed. The creek still flowed, the ducklings still swam behind their mothers, the birds still sang. My morning would unfold as all my mornings did – in a secure world with people I loved. Then I thought of Keith, waking up alone in a hotel room, catching his flight back to Ottawa and the chrome kitchen where he never had a meal, missing this glorious day, missing so much, and my throat tightened.
Zack was on the front porch taking the morning papers out of the mailbox when we got back. “The porridge and the coffee are ready, but you had a couple of calls you might want to return before we eat: Mieka called – everything’s fine, but she needs a favour – and Jill Oziowy called – nothing’s fine and she needs a favour.”
“Give me five minutes,” I said.
Zack undid the dogs’ leashes and looped them over the hook by the door. “How does Jill function with that level of anxiety?” he said.
“She works in network television. I think her level of anxiety is a requirement.”
I went into the kitchen, poured myself a mug of coffee, and dialed Mieka’s number. “How’s everything in your kingdom?” I asked.
“So far, so good,” Mieka said. “Madeleine found that hideous rapper hat that I hid at the back of her closet, so she’s happy. Lena invented a new kind of cinnamon toast, so she’s happy, and Sean invited me out for dinner at the Creek Bistro Friday night, so I’m happy.”
“I thought cinnamon toast had already been invented,” I said.
“Ah, but Lena used chili powder instead of cinnamon. She also used about a cup of organic brown sugar.”
“Sounds tasty,” I said. “And you’re giving Sean a second chance?”
“Why not? I like him, and he asked very nicely. He said this would be a dinner between friends to celebrate his junior partnership. Mum, he’s so excited. He just worships Zack.”
“Don’t we all? So you’d like us to stay with the girls Friday night?”
“If you can. Sean’s picking me up at seven.”
“We’ll be there,” I said.
Jill must have read my number on call display because she started in before I even said hello. “Okay, here’s the pitch. My boss wants Ginny Monaghan as the lead segment on this week’s Here and Now. Problem is Ginny’s not talking to the media. Can you get her to talk to us?”
“I won’t even try,” I said. “Ginny’s a friend, and she’s been through enough.”
“She’s also an adult,” Jill said testily. “Why don’t you let her decide for herself?”
“I’ll call her and give her your number. She can take it from there.”
“Tell her that I’m a terrific person and that we’re not planning to exploit her.”
“I’ll tell her that you’re a terrific person,” I said.
There was a long silence. “Or used to be,” Jill said. “Did I sound like a maniac just now?”
“You sounded like somebody who’s headed straight for the top at NationTV.”
“That bad?”
“That bad,” I said. “Jill, why don’t you quit? You don’t need the money. You hate your new boss. Bryn’s in university. The world’s your oyster.”
“I’m allergic to oysters,” she said. “By the way, your proposal for another instalment of Issues for Dummies has been green-lighted. How soon can you get something to me on your ‘Women in Politics’ piece? We have a listening with marketing Friday afternoon.”
“I take it that a listening is what we used to call a meeting.”
“You take it correctly.” Jill said. “So how soon can I have something to pitch?”
“Friday noon,” I said. “And it’s not going to be great. There’s been a lot going on.”
“Give that lady a cigar. Guess why you got green-lighted? We’ve got some dynamite footage of Ginny.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“But you’re okay with using Ginny because it’s your project?”
“No, I’m okay with using material about Ginny because she understood from the outset this program was going to be about how women in politics were treated differently from men.”
“Strike two,” Jill said.
“Actually, that was strike three,” I said. “When I called, you didn’t even bother to say hello.”
“So, are you counting me out?”
“Never,” I said. “Jill, remember what you used to say to servers who gave us lousy service in a restaurant?”
“ ‘Why don’t you try to find a job you actually enjoy?’ ”
“It’s still good advice,” I said. “I’ll have the story on Ginny to you by Friday noon.”
Zack and I had our breakfast on the deck alone. Taylor was on the decorating committee for the Farewell, and they were meeting that morning to scope out the gym. When I carried the breakfast tray out, the papers were stacked neatly by my plate. “Let’s ignore the news.” I said.
Zack reached over, took the three newspapers in hand, and dropped them on Taylor’s empty chair. “What news?” he said.
He chortled when I told him about Lena’s cinnamon toast but frowned when I mentioned the babysitting Friday night. “I’m in Saskatoon,” he said. “I’ve got that dinner for Morton Lamb, the judge who’s retiring from the bench at least ten years too late. I thought I told you.”
“You did,” I said. “I forgot. Anyway, it’s not a problem. I’m fine with the girls on my own.”
“I’m not fine,” Zack said. “I’d rather be with you and the kids than listening to poor old Mort bleat on about back in the day.”
“It’s only one night,” I said. “If you get back early enough Saturday morning, we can go to the lake.”
Zack poured us coffee. “I’ll get back early enough.”
“Hey, guess who Mieka’s going out with Friday night?”
“Jack the Ripper.”
“Sean.”
“I thought that was off.”
“This is just a friendly dinner to celebrate Sean’s junior partnership.”
Zack sipped his coffee. “I’m glad that didn’t end on a sour note. Delia and I were talking the other day about trying to get some of the fun back into Falconer Shreve.”
“You could start a bowling team. Join a league.”
Zack raised an eyebrow. “A bowling team of lawyers? Now that’s a scary thought. Wouldn’t you feel guilty putting me in a situation where Margot could aim a fourteen-pound bowling ball at me?”
“Not if I could watch,” I said. I poured cream on my porridge. “So how does your day look?”
“Not bad. I’m in court this morning, then I’m going to meet with my client, the gynecologist, who is suing her gynecologist over a tubal ligation that ended up with my client giving birth to the nastiest baby I’ve ever seen. I have three-quarters of an hour to scare the shit out of the fifteen-year-old son of the president of Peyben because
