“Nope. You forget I live in a hovel. The big TV here is nice. So is the indoor pool. Hey, Pantera did laps with me this afternoon.”
“There must be some sort of health regulation about that,” I said.
“I’m sure there is,” Pete said. “Say hi to Zack. See you Sunday night.”
When I hung up, Zack was looking at me quizzically. “There must be some sort of health regulation about what?” he said.
“Pantera doing laps in the pool with Peter.”
Zack made a gesture of dismissal. “When you’re not around, Pantera does laps in the pool with me all the time. He and I believe in the buddy system.”
As I hung up our clothes, Zack picked up the leather-bound folder explaining the Lantern Inn’s services and history. He was gloomy as he read aloud from the insert describing the town’s Olde Tyme Christmas. “We’ve already missed the Festival of Trees, the Jack and the Beanstalk Pantomime, the Candlelight Walk and Carol Singing, the Christmas Tree Lighting, the Santa Claus Parade, and the Kinette Christmas General Store.” He dropped the insert in the wastepaper basket, then glanced at the folder and brightened. “But listen to this. ‘The Great Farini, famous high-wire walker, world circus impresario, and native of Port Hope, made an exciting walk across the Ganaraska River from the roof of the Lantern Inn on May 16, 1861. He wore peach baskets on his feet in the day, and in the evening, he tossed fireworks high in the sky while crossing the river.’ We’re part of history, Ms. Shreve. Let’s go out on our balcony and look at the river.”
It was chilly outside, but it was also very lovely. Alwyn was right. Port Hope would have a green Christmas. The Ganaraska hadn’t frozen, and listening to the rush of the water and looking at the lights across the river was a quiet thrill.
“Just think,” Zack said, “the Great Farini walked across that river.”
“With peach baskets on his feet,” I said.
“I can’t do the peach basket thing,” Zack said. “But say the word and I’ll toss fireworks into the sky for you, Jo. I’m very glad you’re here.”
I put my arms around him. “So am I.”
We met Alwyn and Delia in the Lantern Inn’s dining room at seven that evening. With its wood-burning fireplace, period art and decor, and cherry furniture, the room couldn’t have been more welcoming, but five minutes into the evening, I knew it had been a mistake to invite both Alwyn and Delia for dinner. Zack often starts cases by asking clients the outcome for which they are hoping. Had Alwyn and Delia been asked that question, their answers would have signalled trouble ahead. Alwyn wanted to share a convivial dinner with an old friend and the old friend’s new husband; Delia wanted to unearth anything that would make her custody case invulnerable.
We ordered our food and a bottle of Ontario VQA Cabernet Sauvignon that Alwyn recommended. It was a pleasant choice to ease us into the evening, but as Zack and Alwyn and I chatted, Delia sizzled with impatience, drumming her fingers on the table, and answering every question with a monosyllabic response. Finally, Zack had enough. He glared at his law partner. “Dee, if you don’t smarten up, you’re paying for dinner.”
“I thought I
“Abby wasn’t good at small talk either,” Alwyn said quietly.
The words were clearly intended to comfort her, but their effect on Delia was devastating. She flinched as if from a blow, and when she spoke her voice was tentative. “Tell me about her,” she said.
Alwyn’s brow creased in concentration. “It’s difficult to distil twenty-seven years of impressions into a few sentences. At the moment, what strikes me most is simply how much she was like you. Physically, the resemblance is startling. And something else… unless I’m mistaken, Abby wore the same perfume you’re wearing tonight.”
Delia bit her lip. “Chanel No. 5,” she said. “It’s the only perfume I’ve ever worn.”
“That’s remarkable, isn’t it? That without ever knowing one another, you’d choose the same scent.” Alwyn shook her head as if to regain her focus. “Let’s see. Even as a child, Abby set goals for herself, and like you, she was impatient with anything that stood in the way of realizing them. Her parents – Peggy and Hugh – adored her, and they were wise enough to smooth her path, so Abby could achieve what she believed she had to achieve.”
Delia leaned closer to Alwyn. “They spoiled her?”
Alwyn shook her head. “No. It was impossible to spoil that child. She never wanted
Delia leaned forward. “Yet they never told her she was adopted.” Delia reached for her wineglass with trembling fingers. “Why would they do that?”
“I’m sure they thought they were protecting her, just as they’d protected her all her life. Abby was home- schooled until she was in Grade Five – that’s when students begin at Trinity. Of course, her father taught there and Abby knew all the other teachers, so she was protected there, too. The faculty was like an extended family for her.”
“And she did well?” The mother’s inevitable question.
“Brilliantly. She had extraordinarily high standards, and she drove herself hard.”
Delia placed her wine, untasted, back on the table. “Did she have friends?”
“Not many, but the friendships she had were intense. The year she started at TCS, she linked up with a group – both boys and girls – who were as bright as she was. Nadine Perrault was among them. The students in that group were inseparable till they graduated.”
It was the Winners’ Circle all over again. Zack’s eyes moved to Delia, but her attention was still on Alwyn. “Was Abby’s sexual orientation a problem?” Delia asked.
“It never appeared to be,” Alwyn said. “Everybody, including Hugh and Peggy, seemed to know, but nobody ever made a big deal about it.”
“Nadine was the only partner?” I said.
Alwyn shrugged. “She and Abby were seldom apart. The world isn’t always hospitable to same-sex couples, but perhaps because they’d always been inseparable, Abby and Nadine were lucky. One of the memories I’ve been cherishing lately is of Hugh and Peggy walking down Walton Street with their daughter and Nadine last Thanksgiving. Jacob was in Abby’s old pram. Hugh and Peggy had ordered it from Britain. They always made certain their daughter had the best.”
Delia lowered her head and stared at her lap at the reference to Abby as the Michaelses’ daughter; Alwyn noticed and hurried through the rest of her narrative. “My point,” she said, “is that they were happy – all of them. It was one of those scarlet and gold early October days, and seeing Hugh and Margaret with Abby, Nadine, and the child they all loved seemed to affirm that the world can be a fine place.” Alwyn’s voice broke. “The next day Margaret and Hugh were killed on the 401, and you know the rest.”
Delia stared at Alwyn wide-eyed. “But we don’t know ‘the rest.’ We don’t really know anything.” She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can take this tonight. You’ll have to excuse me.”
“Of course,” Alwyn said. She touched Delia’s arm. “One of Abby’s friends recorded the memorial service this morning. She’ll burn it to a DVD. I’ll get a copy to you before you go back to Regina.”
“Thank you.”
“Nadine thought you might like to spend the morning quietly and come out to the country after lunch and see where Abby grew up and the home they shared.”
“She wants me to know Abby better,” Delia said bleakly.
Alwyn was clearly taken aback. “Don’t you want to?”
“I don’t know. Sitting here tonight, listening to you talk about Abby, made me realize how much I’ve missed out on.” Then, her face pinched with misery, Delia turned and walked out of the dining room.
When our trout arrived, Zack ordered another bottle of wine, and the three of us tried to salvage the evening. By the time we were weighing the options on the dessert menu, we had covered all the conversational topics that mattered: books, movies, holiday plans, Pantera’s exploits, and the exceptional intelligence of Alwyn’s three-legged tuxedo cat, Wilson. Given the circumstances, the evening had been pleasant, and I welcomed Zack’s suggestion that we walk Alwyn home.
The night was mild and starry – perfect for sky-gazing or river-watching. Zack stopped in the middle of the walkway on the bridge over the Ganaraska, and I thought he was giving himself over to the pleasures of the evening, but his mind was on his case. “What’s Nadine Perrault like?” he said.
