What's Past Is Prologue, page 6
Ed sipped the last of his Glenfiddich. “Over the years I’ve wondered about that,” he said. “I suspect that the publisher never even looked at the designs kids sent in. They just used their own artists.”
“No,” I said, “the designs in Katy Keene came from real kids.”
Libby straightened and looked at me with frank curiosity. “You seem very certain about that, Joanne.”
Zack was obviously enjoying the moment. “Jo will be too modest to tell you, but her design for a wedding dress appeared in an issue of Katy Keene, and Katy herself is wearing the gown.”
When he saw that Libby was now wholly engaged in the conversation, Zack zeroed in. “Next time you’re at our place, you can see the comic book yourself.”
Ed mock swooned. “Be still my beating heart. I have to see that dress.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Zack said. “It has doves.”
Ed nodded approvingly. “A pattern of doves in the fabric — how elegant. Joanne, you missed your calling.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “The doves were fake, and they were just kind of perched here and there on the dress. Two of them were perched on the bodice of Katy’s gown.”
“One on each breast,” Zack said, “and the doves were kissing.”
“With their beaks?” Libby said. She seemed quite moved by the idea, and as I looked at her expression, I thought about the threats that had been emailed to her. I had seen a hard woman during the Delio trial, but I could see there were many layers to Libby. It seemed unthinkable that someone would want to hurt her.
“Yes,” I said. “With their beaks.”
Libby’s eyes widened; the corners of her mouth twitched; and when it came, her laugh was deep and glad. The cloud that lingered over her had lifted, and the tension that gripped the rest of us unfurled. As she had so often in the comic books that bore her name, Katy Keene had saved the day.
Chapter Four
By her own admission Margot saw the kitchen as alien territory, but she knew how to create an inviting ambience, and that night the six of us gathered around a table that celebrated the promise of a new year. The linens and china were snowy; beeswax tapers flickered, casting a gentle light on the crystal glasses and silverware; and on the centrepiece, a vintage cut-glass pedestal bowl planted with wheat that was already ten centimetres high.
Brock appeared at Margot’s side, holding a bottle of chilled Pinot Gris. “This is just a guess, but I thought when you saw the table Margot set, you might wish to raise a glass to her and to the wheat she and our kids grew from seed.”
“I would gladly raise a glass to Margot,” Ed said. “I love the wretched excess of the holidays, but this is inspired — the palate cleanser we need to start a new year.”
“Ed’s right,” Libby said, gazing at him fondly. “This table is exactly what we need to remind us that the new year is a time for planting seeds and starting over.”
Brock had quietly poured each of us a glass of wine. “I’ll certainly drink a toast to that,” Zack said. “May the seeds we plant this year bring us all a bountiful harvest.”
After we raised our glasses, we took our places at the table, and Brock served the butternut squash soup. It was sublime, and as Margot saw that we were all content, she glowed with satisfaction.
“Having new-grown wheat at New Year’s has been a tradition in my family for as long as I can remember. The small seed companies, which my parents, and now my brother-in-law and my brothers, always order from, begin shipping in the dead of winter, so the cycle of risk and hope begins now.”
Margot’s silk shirt was the colour of champagne, and it matched her floor-length jersey trousers and strappy sandals. It was difficult to believe that Margot’s life had been shaped by the cycle of risk and hope, but growing up, she worked alongside her parents, her sister and her brothers during planting and harvest. Even now, if a family member needed someone to drive a split-row planter or combine, Margot was there.
Libby was fascinated by the fact that the cut-glass bowl made it possible to see the roots of the growing wheat. “When did you plant the seeds?” she asked.
“Christmas Eve,” Margot said.
Libby’s brow furrowed. “And the wheat is this tall already?”
Margot nodded. “That’s why it’s an ideal project for fans of immediate gratification. And I did not plant alone. Brock and our kids helped, and there are pots of wheat for each of you to take home, and for Lexi’s and Kai’s teachers, their school friends, their pals from martial arts and a slew for Kokum Bea to give the ladies she plays bingo with on Tuesday nights.”
Zack gave his law partner an assessing look. “You know, you and Brock are doing a great job with those kids.”
Margot’s smile was wicked. “And big man, you and Joanne are doing a great job with your kids and grandkids.”
Zack shrugged. “Okay, I deserved that, but ten years ago, neither of us could have imagined this moment.”
“True,” Margo said. “And it’s a nice moment. Now I have an announcement to make before Brock serves the braised bison. No talk of the Mellohawk Lecture or of any lecture-related subjects tonight. Libby needs a night off.”
“You read my mind,” Libby said. “Now, please bring on the bison.”
* * *
At first our conversation was limited to exclaiming over the first few bites of bison, but as we settled in and had a second glass of wine, the conversation drifted to the more personal subject of future plans.
Falconer Shreve was thinking of expanding its Calgary office and opening a Vancouver office, and on Monday Brock was flying to Vancouver and then on to Calgary to check out the feasibility of expansion. Margot was preparing for a case that would come to trial at the end of the month, and she and the children were taking Rosie to her first Smart Puppy class at the Dog’s Den Training School.
Ed’s husband, Barry, was coming home from Italy on Monday, and Ed said he’d be taking a few days off to get Barry settled in. “The first thing we always do after one of Barry’s many trips,” Ed said, “is sit down with a plate of cheese toast and binge watch The Golden Girls. That may not sound like much of a celebration, but it always makes Barry and me very happy.”
“Even just hearing about that makes me happy,” I said.
“In that case,” Zack said, “my first and only new year’s resolution is to get Ed to teach me how to make cheese toast.”
Ed leaned across the table and whispered, “The secret is in the cheese, Zack. You and I will shop together.”
“Zack’s taken care of,” Libby said. “How about you, Joanne? Any plans to move ahead with a sequel to Sisters and Strangers?” Her gaze was intense. “I hope the answer is yes. I was really drawn to the characters, and I’m certain that I’m not the only one who wants to know what comes next for them.”
Libby’s praise surprised me. She hadn’t struck me as someone who’d be enthusiastic about a six-part TV drama series. “Knowing that you found something worthwhile in Sisters and Strangers means a great deal to me,” I said. “Thank you. As Ed pointed out, many talented people were involved in the production, and we’re all proud of the result. MediaNation has, in fact, approached the other writer and me about a sequel, but the series ends with Sally Love’s death and me adopting her daughter. The story’s over.”
“You’ve lived a life since then,” Libby said.
“I have, and it’s been great, but there’s nothing much about it that would interest MediaNation’s viewers.”
The smile Libby gave me was unreadable. “So the world will never know what it’s like to be married to Zack Shreve?”
“No. The world will never know,” I said. “But I will.”
Zack chuckled. “She aced you, Libby.”
“She did indeed,” Libby said. “And I’m fine with that. In fact, I’m more than fine. This evening is exactly the tonic I needed.”
Seemingly, it was the tonic we all needed. Candlelight is kind to aging faces, and as I looked around the table we all looked, if not younger, at least less careworn and fresher, readier to take on what came next.
After Margot and Brock had cleared away the entree dishes, Ed stood. “I’m on champagne duty,” he said, and he excused himself and headed into the kitchen. He returned carrying a tray that held two bottles of Krug Grande Cuvée Brut and six tulip champagne glasses. After Ed popped the corks, and filled and distributed the glasses, Margot and Brock came in carrying a wedding cake, topped with a gingerbread groom in a wheelchair and his bride.
The cake was splendid, but what made the moment even more splendid was the joy on the faces of our friends as Brock tapped the bowl of his glass for attention. “I wanted this toast to be exactly right for Joanne and Zack, so I consulted Professor Google. This is an old Chinese proverb, and its words come close to the truth at the heart of Joanne and Zack’s extraordinary marriage.” Brock raised his glass. “‘Married people who love each other say a thousand things without talking.’ To Joanne and Zack.”
After we finished our champagne, praised the excellent red velvet cake and marvelled over Dickie Yuzicapi’s ability to make a gingerbread wheelchair, there was a pleasant lull in the conversation.
Libby was the first to speak. “This evening has been a joy, and I hate to break up the party, but I’ve had a long day and I’m flagging. Margot and Brock, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done to make this evening so memorable for all the right reasons.”
“Libby’s right,” Zack said. “It was a great evening. Great food. Great wine. Great company. Great gingerbread bride and groom. But it’s time for Jo and me to pack it in too. I’ll call our driver.”
Brock was incredulous. “Since when do you have a driver?”
“Since I married Joanne,” Zack said airily.
“Our driver is Angus, but if he’s busy, he has backup,” I said. “His fiancée, Leah Drache, and Angus’s best friend, Sawyer MacLeish, are also on deck. Libby, it’s great for me to have Sawyer around again. He’s always been like my third son.”
“Sawyer doesn’t let many people into his life,” Libby said, “but he’s told me more than once that he thinks of you as family, Joanne.”
* * *
After a round of goodbyes and promises to get together, Libby, Ed, Zack and I, pots of new wheat in hand, moved down the hall to the elevator together. The party was over.
Leah’s station wagon was waiting at the condo entrance. Zack slid into the passenger seat beside Angus, dismantled his wheelchair and handed it to Sawyer who placed the chair in the cargo area before joining me in the back seat.
“Leah has early appointments tomorrow, so she hit the sack an hour ago,” Angus said. “She asked me to say good night for her. Everybody buckled in?”
When we assured him we were, Angus drove through the security gates also topped with razor wire, and we rejoined the real world.
“How was your evening?” Sawyer said.
“Terrific,” Zack said. “In every way.”
“Mum once told me that her criterion for a successful birthday party was that no one cried,” Angus said.
“We cleared that hurdle,” Zack said. “We ate and drank well, and we talked and laughed a lot. How was your evening?”
“No one cried,” Sawyer said. “But the evening’s not over. Libby had left a message on her voicemail suggesting people call her tomorrow, but if the matter was urgent, they could call me. Not long after we dropped you off, Eden Sass was on the line.”
Zack sighed. “I take it Ms. Sass did not call because she’d had a change of heart about recanting?”
Sawyer’s voice was tight. “No. One way or another, Eden Sass is determined to see this through. Libby told me that she’d talked to you both about this, so you probably know as much about the situation as I do.”
“And what we know is that nothing adds up,” I said. “The obsessive Eden you talked to tonight is not the Eden I knew in my role as the second reader of her master’s thesis or as an academic who was present when Eden defended her thesis. When she left the room after her defence, there was no argument about awarding her the degree. Her thesis and her defence showed that she was intelligent, rational and capable of seeing that actions, whether personal or political, have consequences.”
Zack’s voice was gentle but I knew it was the voice he used with a witness who was not acknowledging the whole truth. “But Ms. Sass has been reckless about consequences before, Joanne. She knew that perjury is a crime and yet I think we all agree that she lied under oath. There must be more to this than we’re seeing.” Zack paused. “Sawyer, I’m guessing Libby’s firm has reams of material about Jared Delio’s background. Libby, Joanne and I believe that the letter he sent Eden could have been a suicide note. Is there anything in his past that suggests he might be suicidal?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Sawyer said. “Jared has certainly not lived a charmed life. He and his mother lived in a social housing project in Regent Park. It was designed as a stop-gap, a transitional community for people on social assistance because of an unlucky turn of the wheel.”
“But it wasn’t temporary for Jared and his mother,” I said.
“No, for them Regent Park was permanent. All that ever changed in the lives of Jared and his mother were the men, usually abusive, who shared Ms. Delio’s bed and paid a few bills until the beatings got noisy enough and frequent enough for the neighbours to call the police. At which point the men decided it was time to move along.
“And then Jared had a stroke of luck,” Sawyer said. “His voice changed. A teacher heard that dulcet baritone, realized Jared had potential and decided to salvage him. Delio’s mother was only too willing to get him out of her life.”
“Jared talked about that teacher on his show once,” I said. “Our son-in-law took over MediaNation’s ten to noon slot after Delio was fired. Charlie often says, ‘Words can lie, but voices can’t.’” I paused. “Sawyer, when Jared talked about his teacher recognizing what he referred to as his ‘walled-in talent,’ he was genuinely moved.”
“Libby knows that story,” Sawyer said, “and she agrees with your son-in-law about the depth of Jared’s feelings for Neil Govan. Whenever he mentions the role Govan played in his life, he chokes up.”
“The morning Jared talked about him on-air, he said Neil Govan led him from a small dark place into a world filled with possibilities.”
“That’s exactly what Neil Govan did,” Sawyer said. “Govan lived in Parkdale in the house that had been his home since he was born. It was a lovely old place in a good neighbourhood. Neil offered Jared the suite on the third floor and a decent wage to keep the old dowager of a house glowing. Neil not only gave Jared a home; he gave him a life. He took Jared to art galleries and lectures and the symphony, and he opened his library to him. Delio told Libby that Neil Govan taught him lessons about grace and kindness that should have lasted him a lifetime.”
“But the lessons didn’t last a lifetime,” I said. “What happened?”
“One night Neil died in his sleep. A year after Jared moved in, Neil had his lawyer draw up a will leaving everything to him. Jared knew nothing about the will. Enter the evil sister. She and Neil hadn’t spoken for years, but she’d kept in touch with the neighbour across the road from the house where she and Neil grew up. The neighbour alerted her to Neil’s death, and the sister came to Toronto, found herself a bottom feeder of a lawyer who challenged the will, told Jared that he was prepared to go public with an ugly interpretation of the nature of his relationship with Neil Govan and destroy Govan’s reputation unless Jared backed down. Jared believed Neil Govan had given him a life, and he wasn’t prepared to betray him. The sister got the house and the money, which was considerable.”
“And Jared got nothing,” I said.
“No, he came away with a load of venom and resentment that turned him into the sadistic creep those women at his trial testified to.”
“So where does Eden Sass fit into this?” Angus said.
“According to Libby, Jared believed Eden awoke everything that was best in him, including a capacity for love. He said when he met her, it was as if the ugliness fell away and he knew that with Eden he could become the man Neil Govan believed he could be.”
“Then what went wrong?” I asked.
“Nobody knows,” Sawyer said. “But Libby has a theory. She thinks Jared is the kind of person who is so fundamentally insecure about their worth that they can’t receive the love of others.”
“We’ve all known people like that,” I said.
Zack half turned towards us. “I certainly have. They have everything going for them, and they won’t stop till they’ve burned their bridges with everyone that could have kept them from destroying themselves.” He paused. “Sawyer, don’t tell Libby about this tonight. It can wait till morning; maybe by then Joanne and I will have figured out how to handle what now seems to be the inevitable recanting.”
Chapter Five
January days in Saskatchewan can be as drab and cheerless as a Victorian coffin pall, but our sunrises in mid-winter are exuberant explosions of colour and movement. The slogan “Land of the Living Skies” appears on every Saskatchewan licence plate, and at 8:58 the Sunday morning after the dinner party, Zack and I were sitting on a loveseat in front of the east-facing window in the family room watching a sunrise as light-filled and fluid as a Matisse painting. Esme and Pantera, exercised and fed, had flopped on the floor beside us.
“Watching these sunrises together never gets old, does it?” Zack said.
