“There goes Father of the Year,” I said.
“I’ll win her back,” he said. “She can’t resist my version of ‘Louie, Louie.’ ”
“Who can?” I tucked Madeleine’s shirt inside her shorts. “Greg, I’m glad Ariel and Mieka connected again.”
“Me too,” he said. “It seemed to mean a lot to both of them, especially after Ariel got pregnant.”
“After Ariel got pregnant?”
Greg flushed. “Maybe that wasn’t supposed to be general knowledge.”
“Everything about Ariel’s life will be general knowledge now,” I said grimly.
“It’s going to be a zoo, isn’t it?” Greg said.
Instinctively, I drew my granddaughter closer. “Yes,” I said, “it’s going to be a zoo.”
Dinner that first night at the lake was close to perfect. Semi-penitent about their forbidden swim, the kids threw themselves into dinner preparations. Taylor laid out the plates and cutlery, the boys cut up fresh vegetables, Peter made garlic bread, Greg poured the milk and opened the wine, and Mieka sugared the berries and whipped the cream for strawberry shortcake.
Finally, we gathered at the round oak table and, enclosed by the circle of light cast by the overhead lamp, we ate and laughed and ate some more. When Angus proposed a vote on the question of whether this chili was the best I had ever made, the ayes triumphed. By the time Willie was licking the last of the whipped cream off the strawberry-shortcake plate, Madeleine’s eyes had grown heavy. At Taylor’s insistence, we took Madeleine down to the bedroom she and I were sharing. Mieka positioned her daughter in the centre of the king-size bed, and Taylor crawled in beside her; then Mieka and I sat on the edge of the bed and took turns making up stories about the patches on the quilt that covered them until they were both asleep.
For a moment, Mieka and I stood looking down at the girls. “Taylor’s dream has come true,” I said. “All week, she’s been talking about having Madeleine bunk in with her.”
Mieka’s expression was impish. “Do you want to make my dream come true?”
“If I can.”
She lowered her voice. “Let me put up Maddy’s crib in here, so I can spend a night alone with her father.”
“It would be my pleasure,” I said.
We walked outside together to get the crib. Mieka opened the back gate on their Volvo wagon, then peered up at the sky. “Looks like it might clear off.”
I moved closer to her. “I feel very blessed tonight.”
My daughter’s face was uncharacteristically grave. “So do I.”
For a moment we were silent, then I said, “Greg told me that Ariel was pregnant.”
My daughter’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m glad she felt close enough to you to tell you.”
“And it was just a fluke we’d become friends again,” she said sadly. “I was ringing the bells after Maddy was born to make sure that everyone I’d ever known heard the good news.”
“Your dad and I did the same thing when you were born. Unfortunately, that was before e-mail. When I saw our long-distance bill the next month, I cried for an hour.”
Mieka laughed softly. “Poor Mum. Anyway, most people just e-mailed back, but Ariel sent a beautiful box of books: Madeline, of course, but also Goodnight Moon and The Runaway Bunny and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. She also sent Maddy a note. It was so poignant. Ariel said that these had been her favourite books when she was a little girl. She said she hoped Maddy would forgive her for reading them before she sent them, but she wanted to get back to a time when she was happy. Of course, as soon as I read the note, I called her. I was all raging hormones – Earth Mother, certain I could fix everything. Mum, Ariel was so different than I thought she would be.”
“How did you think she would be?”
My daughter shrugged. “Dismissive?”
“Why would she be dismissive?”
My daughter rolled her eyes. “Mum, Ariel had a Ph. D. before she was twenty-seven, and as you remember only too well, I dropped out of university halfway through my second year.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Most of the time, no, but Ariel was always so perfect.” Mieka pulled the portable crib out of the car and slammed down the gate. “Do you want to hear a nasty little admission? When I heard Ariel had a job in your department, I was jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“I had this image of you and her chatting away about world affairs and going to lectures together. You know, like the daughter you always wanted.”
I touched her arm. “Mieka, you’re the daughter I always wanted.”
Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, I know that most of the time, but sometimes I wonder if…”
“If what?”
“If nothing. I must be PMS -ing. Anyway, that first time I phoned her, Ariel didn’t talk much about herself at all, but she had a lot of questions about me. She wanted to know if I’d felt more connected to life since I’d had Maddy. And she wanted to know – and this is truly bizarre – how you reacted when I dropped out of school.”
“Why would she care about that?”
“I don’t know… She never mentioned it again. After that we mostly e-mailed each other. She had a bunch of theoretical questions about pregnancy – just girlfriend stuff – and then she phoned at Easter and made the big announcement. Two weekends ago, she came up to Saskatoon with an ultrasound photo of her baby. She’d brought Madeleine a gift – a German teddy bear. Ariel said the bear’s name was Serendipity, and she hoped it would always remind Maddy to pay attention to lucky interventions in her life.”
My daughter was fighting tears. So was I.
“This just keeps getting worse,” I said. “When Howard and I drove out to tell Charlie yesterday, I didn’t realize that he’d lost Ariel and their baby.”
Mieka didn’t respond, but even in the sepia light of early evening, I could read the truth in her face.
“Charlie wasn’t the father,” I said.
The shake of her head was almost indiscernible. “No,” she said. “The baby wasn’t Charlie’s.”
“Whose then?”
“I don’t know. But Mum, somehow I had the sense that the father was someone who just contributed. Ariel was so determined to have a child.”
“To take her back to the time when she was happy?”
Mieka bit her lip and nodded affirmation.
My daughter and I put up the portable crib beside the big bed and tucked the girls in. When we came back to the living room, there were muted cheers.
“Finally!” Angus groaned. “Listen up, you two, Greg has found something he swears is totally cool.”
I stopped in my tracks. “If it’s a board game, I’m going to go back there and crawl in next to Maddy.”
“Not a board game,” said Greg. “A game of exploration in which we test the limits of the human psyche to endure suspense.” His accent became plummy, with each vowel lovingly elongated. “We invite you to a weekend with the Master of the Macabre, Mr. Alfred Hitchcock. It appears our hosts here at Katepwa own the complete Hitchcock oeuvre.”
“I’m up for anything that doesn’t have a Teletubby in it,” said Mieka.
“I thought,” said my son-in-law, “that we would begin with that a paean to the virtues of voyeurism, Rear Window.”
“Never heard of it,” said Angus.
“I’ve never even heard of Alfred Hitchcock,” said Eli.
“Well, hold on to your popcorn,” said Greg, “because you’re in for an experience that will explode your kernels.”
In the first minutes after Greg slid Rear Window into the VCR, I had the sinking feeling that, like many of us who had been glorious in the fifties, the movie had aged badly. The sets were undeniably cheesy, Grace Kelly’s
