“And she’s acting up?”
“Something like that,” I said.
As we watched, Molly opened her bag, took out a prescription bottle, removed a tablet and handed it to Solange. Meek as a child, Solange took the pill and put it under her tongue. Whether it was from exhaustion, medication, or the power of suggestion, she seemed to calm down. She whispered something to Molly, then walked over and joined Ann Vogel and Rae Colby, the director of the Women’s Centre.
Molly Warren looked as alone as anyone I had ever seen. She was not a person who invited physical contact, but I had no idea how to approach her except through an embrace. Her body was stiff and unresponsive, but she didn’t step away, so I held her, staring uncomprehendingly at the announcement of a lecture on the Eleusinian Mysteries the Hellenic Society was sponsoring and wondering what in the name of God to do next.
Finally, Molly took a step back. Her words surprised me. “I had a battle with myself about coming to this. It seemed wrong to be part of an event at which Ariel’s father wasn’t welcome.”
“Someone told you that?”
“Not in so many words, but Solange hinted that Drew might find the evening uncomfortable. I’m sure her warning was intended as a kindness.” Molly made a gesture of dismissal with her hand. “None of that matters now. I’m glad I came. Joanne, have you heard the rhetoric here tonight? It’s pretty virulently anti-male.”
I shook my head. “We were late.”
“Then you haven’t heard the rumours that are swirling around.”
“No,” I said, “but I can imagine they’re ugly.”
“They are,” she said. “And they’re irresponsible. Until we have the autopsy results, no one will know whether the crime was sexually motivated. But that’s the assumption made by almost everyone who’s talked to me. Suddenly all men are suspect.” Molly raised her fingers to her temples and rubbed in a circular motion. “Joanne, I don’t know what happened to my daughter in that archive room. At the moment, I lack the courage to imagine it. But there’s one thing I do know. I will not allow Ariel’s death to become an excuse for anybody to push a political agenda.”
“Should I talk to the organizers?”
“I already have,” she said. “I hoped I’d be able to say a few words to keep the evening in perspective, but I just can’t seem to form a coherent thought. That’s why I asked the organizing committee to find you. I know I’m putting you on the spot, but you and Solange are the only friends of Ariel’s from the university that I know. You’ve seen the state Solange is in. She’s promised she won’t do anything to make matters worse, but she can’t be counted on to do much beyond that.”
“You’d like me to say something to keep the focus on Ariel,” I said.
Molly gave me the physician’s assessing look. “If I’m asking too much, tell me.”
“You’re not asking too much,” I said.
She seemed to relax. When her eye rested on Taylor, she crouched down so that she could talk to her more easily. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” she said. “My name is Molly Warren, and…”
“And Ariel was your girl,” Taylor said softly.
Molly’s intake of breath was sharp, the reflex of a woman feeling the probe on an exposed nerve. “Yes,” she said. “Ariel was my girl.”
This time when I reached out to comfort her, she waved me off. “I’m okay,” she said. “I just want to freshen up. Is there a ladies’ room around here?”
I pointed. “Down that hall and to the left,” I said. “Would you like me to go with you?”
She shook her head. “All I need is a little time alone and I’ll be all right.”
As I watched her elegant figure disappear, I thought that it was the first time I’d heard Dr. Molly Warren give a prognosis so far off the mark. I was relieved when Rae Colby joined me.
Rae was a solid, pleasant woman who moved slowly, laughed often, and fought the good fight with a fervour undiminished by thirty years in the women’s movement. She was fond of bright colours and chunky ethnic jewellery, but that night she was in ankle-length black, her only jewellery a heavy silver labrys pendant.
She gave me a slow, sad smile. “I’ve come to ask your daughter a favour, Jo.”
“Ask,” I said. “Taylor makes up her own mind about most things.”
Rae’s broad face creased with pleasure. “A woman after my own heart,” she said. She turned to Taylor. “Here’s the drill. Everyone at the vigil is supposed to have a candle, and I need you to help me hand them out.”
“I can do that,” Taylor said.
“Good.” Rae turned back to me. “The program is pretty informal,” she said in her low, musical voice. “I thought maybe we could all just walk out there together.” She gestured towards a willowy brunette standing close to the door. “You know Kristy Stevenson.”
“We’re on the University Development Committee together,” I said.
“Then you know how proud she is of the work the library does. We’re all sick about Ariel’s death, but Kristy has a double burden. The archives are her responsibility. I think she feels a need to be part of the memorial tonight. Anyway, in her non-university life, Kristy has a trio called Womanswork.”
“I didn’t know she was a singer,” I said.
“She paid her way through university playing in a punk rock band. Hard to imagine, isn’t it? She’s so elegant.”
“People are full of surprises,” I said.
“Aren’t they just? At any rate, the plan is to have Livia speak, then Womanswork sing, and then I thought you could talk. Did you and Dr. Warren agree about what you were going to say?”
“We thought… just some personal memories,” I said.
Rae’s brown eyes misted. “Better you than me,” she said. “I don’t think I could get through anything personal. Anyway, after you’ve finished, Naama has a story she wants to tell. Then Solange wants a few moments to talk. I hope she’ll be okay. Molly Warren is her doctor, and apparently she gave her some kind of medication to bring her down.”
I looked over at Solange. She was gazing at the crowd in the library quadrangle, wholly absorbed in her private reverie. “She seems calm enough,” I said.
“Calm is good,” Rae said. “There’s a lot of emotion out there. We don’t need to add to it.” She fingered the silver labrys at her neck. “After Solange, I guess Womanswork will do another song, and Livia will announce the candle-lighting. Have I left out anything?”
“It sounds as if everything’s taken care of,” I said.
When Molly Warren returned, her lipstick was fresh and her jaw was set. “Let’s go,” she said, and she started for the door. The women in the doorway parted to let her pass; then they followed her outside.
Rae turned to Taylor. “Time to get moving, kiddo,” she said. “Those candles aren’t going to hand themselves around.”
In one of those cosmic ironies that twist the knife of grief, the night into which we stepped burned with beauty. The sun was low in the sky, and the horizon flamed, turning the water of Wascana Lake into molten gold. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Rae murmured. The sky might have glowed, but the concrete bulk of the library cast a shadow that plunged the mourners waiting for us into darkness.
Rae picked up a wicker basket of candles and handed it to Taylor. Her hand brushed the top of my daughter’s head in a lazy benediction. “It’s good to have someone from the next generation with us.”
Livia stepped to the microphone. We were long-time colleagues, but that night she surprised me. Even during the agonizing last months of her marriage, Livia had been much in demand by organizations wanting an expert on American politics who wouldn’t sabotage their pleasant lunch with dry history or legalisms. The day after her marriage ended, she had asked me to provide moral support at a lunch meeting she’d agreed to address months earlier. She was hungover and heartsick, but she still managed to sparkle her way through her set piece on the relationship between a leader’s character and his or her political policies. Wretched as she must have felt, Livia had come alive in front of the crowd. But the night of the vigil, as she adjusted the microphone, her hands were trembling so badly she had difficulty completing the manoeuvre. When she began to speak, she surprised me again. I was expecting another helping of New Age bilge, but she spoke from the heart.
Pulling her shawl around her, as if she were cold to the marrow, she began. “I would give everything I own not to be here tonight,” she said simply. “Ariel was my student, my colleague, my friend, my hope.” She looked
