The Opposite of Dark

Three

FOR AS LONG as Casey could remember, Rhonda Stubbs had played a major role in her life. Lord knows she’d been a more involved and empathic caregiver than Mother. She’d been the only female friend Mother had had, until Mother destroyed it all by sleeping with Rhonda’s husband. By the time Rhonda was engaged to Dad years later, Casey had learned to appreciate her as a trusted confidante and source of comfort when things were tough.

So, why hadn’t she told Rhonda about today? Was it because of what happened when she broke the news about Dad three years ago? Rhonda had responded by pouring a large pot of beef stew into the sink. “It was for Marcus,” she’d said. “No point now.” She’d then collapsed. Tonight, Casey had tiptoed upstairs and into her apartment unnoticed. She’d told herself she wanted scientific evidence before saying anything about Dad. Truth was, she didn’t know how to tell Rhonda without traumatizing her again.

Casey paced around the living room. She had to find a way. Rhonda needed to be told and she deserved to hear it from someone she thought of as family. After all, Rhonda had evicted a tenant in this big old house so Casey could move in after she walked out on Greg. Casey loved the large rooms and hardwood floors in this third-floor suite. She especially loved the comfy, cushioned seat in the bay window. It was a great refuge when she needed to make plans or to relax. But relaxing was impossible right now.

Casey bumped into her in-line skates propped against a stationary bike. She’d hardly used the bike since Rhonda bought her a yoga video. Tonight’s workout would require something more strenuous than the mountain pose, so she climbed on and started pedaling fast so her muscles would soon burn.

To cope with the day’s shocks, she’d kept busy by calling Dad’s friends, but no one claimed to know anything about his resurrection. One guy called her a pathetic practical joker. Two more implied she was nuts and cut the conversation short while others were so patronizing she’d wanted to smack them. The most infuriating call had been to Vincent Wilkes.

Casey wasn’t surprised that Lalonde had already contacted him or that Vincent was still an architect. The shock came when he told her that Dad had built a house in West Vancouver just before he died.

“Marcus planned to tell you about it when the final touches were done, which they pretty much were just before his death,” Vincent had said. “So, I assumed you knew.” And then the infuriating part, “Your mother didn’t mention the house?”

She’d wanted to know how Mother knew about the place. All Vincent would say was, “About two weeks after the funeral, Lillian came by to pick up those photos of you that Marcus kept on his desk. She said she wasn’t interested in either of his houses.”

Casey peddled harder. Mother hadn’t been at the funeral, hadn’t been invited. And Casey hadn’t noticed the missing photos. Vincent had packed Dad’s personal belongings and delivered them to the house. Eighteen months passed before she could bring herself to open the box.

Casey didn’t expect to hear from Mother. The last time they’d spoken was seventeen years ago, on Casey’s thirteenth birthday, about ten months after her parents split up. Casey had been stunned to find Mother waiting outside the school. Maybe it was wrong to refuse the gift Mother had brought with her, but she couldn’t let Mother think she’d been forgiven for wrecking so many marriages.

Casey’s muscles ached, but she kept going until she heard familiar taps on the door. “Come on in, Summer.” God, how would she handle the news? Summer was only eight when Dad died. She’d cried all through the funeral and wouldn’t go to school for a week.

Summer stepped inside, carrying a plate of half-finished chocolate cake and wearing her favorite night shirt and moose slippers with the floppy felt antlers. She really was growing fast. Every time Casey saw her, she looked a little more like Rhonda, thank god. The dark eyes and thick black hair made it easy for Rhonda to convince the world she’d given birth to her, a lie she intended to carry to her grave.

Grabbing a clean towel from the laundry pile she hadn’t got around to folding, Casey dabbed her brow. “Need a towel? Your hair still looks wet.”

“I’m fine.”

“How was your swim practice?”

“Good. Coach says I’ll do great at the meet, but I don’t know.” Summer prodded the cake with her fork. “Like, I don’t feel ready.”

“You said that last year, and you won a medal.”

“Only third place. Want some cake?”

“I wish, but chocolate brings on a crappy mood, remember?”

“I thought that was only chocolate bars.” She sat in Casey’s rocking chair. “How come you didn’t have supper with us?”

“Lousy day,” Casey rubbed the back of her neck and slumped onto the sofa. “I wouldn’t have been good company.”

“Sometimes I wish I could cook what I wanted. It’d be cool.”

“Sometimes it is, but your mom’s spoiled me too much. I need to do more on my own.”

Rhonda didn’t agree. Thought the new microwave was a waste of money.

“Can I borrow your bike for school tomorrow? Mine blew a tire.”

“Sure, and I’ll get you a new tire. A mechanic at work owes me a favor.”

Two quick knocks on the door told Casey who her visitor was. Trepidation quickened her heartbeat.

“Come on in, Rhonda.”

Oh lord, she had on her hideous, pea-green sweat pants and red flannel shirt again. Rhonda was a worse fashion disaster than Stan, but where Stan didn’t know any better, Rhonda simply didn’t care. Not in the last three years anyway. Her thick hair was pulled away from her face with plastic ladybug clips.

“Almost bedtime,” Rhonda said to Summer. “Finish up. And have you seen my pastry cutter?”

“You left it in the bag of flour again.” Summer shook her head as if the burden of having a forgetful mother was too much.

Rhonda turned to Casey. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.” She dabbed her face, hoping to hide the stress.

“Mom talked to some guy about renting the room.” Summer raised a forkful of cake to her mouth. “He lasted, like, two minutes before she got rid of him, which is good ’cause he smelled like stinky fish.”

“And I didn’t like the nasty grin on his face when I told him the vacant suite’s under your bedroom,” Rhonda added. “I won’t have him chasing you all over the house when I’m still hoping that you and Lou—”

“Rhonda, don’t go there. Not tonight.”

Rhonda watched her a moment, then turned to Summer. “Finish your cake in the kitchen, hon, and then brush your teeth. I’ll come say goodnight in a few minutes.”

Casey hugged Summer. “Sweet dreams.”

When she left, Rhonda said, “Lou would treat you a thousand times better than Greg did.”

“Until our last year together, Greg was one of the good guys, remember?”

The night he proposed, Greg had surprised her with a bottle of champagne and a rowboat ride, both handled awkwardly. In the middle of the lake, he’d given her a diamond chip on a thin gold band now abandoned in a safe- deposit box.

“Anyhow, I wasn’t completely blameless.”

Rhonda’s mouth fell open. “How is his adultery your fault?”

Casey couldn’t make Rhonda understand that she’d worked harder at her job than she had at her marriage. The depression after Dad’s funeral hadn’t helped. If she hadn’t been so self-absorbed she would have realized how far she and Greg had grown apart.

“What’s wrong?” Rhonda asked. “Did Greg say something nasty?”

“No, I didn’t even mention Greg. You did.”

Rhonda strolled to the kitchen table. “I see you’ve been trying health food again.”

“Just rice and beans.”

“You’ve been going through albums.” Rhonda turned a page. “Feeling nostalgic?”

“Sort of.”