Grave Concern, page 22
Adele shook her head. “Nathan and I never got equipped for that whole video thing,” she said. “TV was good enough for us, I guess. And the weekly Saturday movie at the old Strand. I’m so glad someone saw fit to start those up when the place threatened to close down. Although some of the movies were pretty dreadful. Better than nothing, I guess.”
Kate told Adele of the new Thursday night film society, started up by Leonard and other movie buffs, and offered to take Adele sometime.
“That would be nice, dear,” Adele said, but didn’t follow up, as though she hadn’t grasped the difference in movie fare. Perhaps she was just being polite — or getting too old to care.
“Anyway, all that was a long-winded way of saying I never got to know the Ho Lams when I was here. Though of course I knew the place. Newcomers.”
“Twenty-odd years now, more or less,” Kate said.
“Like I said, newcomers,” said Adele, and they both laughed.
There was another silence, and Adele’s half-spoken remark at the graveyard wormed its way back into Kate’s thoughts.
“So, Mrs. Niedmeyer …”
“Oh, please, we’re both well over the yardarm. Call me Adele.”
“Sorry, hard to break old habits. I never knew you that well when I was a kid. Why was that, anyway? Did you not hang out with my mom?”
“Hang out! Well, I’ll admit your mother and I weren’t close. I’m not sure why. Well, yes, I’m sure. We’d met our men and married. Then we were whooshed, just like that machine, simply whooshed into motherhood. Oh my dear, it was cloth diapers and glass bottles and sterilizing and the rest of it. Hanging up clothes to dry, oh my. I had four on my hands. Molly had you, and — well, we were absorbed, completely.” Adele laughed. “I believe they’d call it ‘total immersion,’ now.” Then she grew more thoughtful. “I s’pose if we’d been neighbours, it might have been different, but Molly and I, we lived at opposite ends of town. We didn’t see each other regular. It was so different then. You were at home with kids, you barely had a minute to call your own, and when you did, you hadn’t the oomph to wander far.”
“Even across town?”
“We didn’t generally pack up and run here and there like they do now. If we got in the car as a family, it would be on the weekend with the men home from work — an expedition. Berry picking or skating up on the reservoir. Beyond that, you’d see mothers at the grocery store and the post office and pass the time of day then. But the little ones hanging off you didn’t make for leisurely conversation. And then you got them off to school … I don’t know, Kate. To tell the truth, as the years went by, there seemed to be less and less to say. Your mother and I just drifted apart, as you do.”
The barista brought their sandwiches, and both women dove in.
“All this reminiscing makes a person hungry,” Adele said.
“It certainly does.”
“And I’m very glad to have all my own teeth.”
Kate’s laugh was genuine but cautious in anticipation of Adele’s response. But Adele joined in heartily, and soon the two of them were giggling like girls.
A year to go until graduation, but all Kate could think about was another place, any place but Pine Rapids, where the name J.P. Marcotte would never arise.
In a reversal of the previous year’s apathy, Kate threw herself into the life of town and school. She worked after school at the Metropolitan department store, precursor to the Pussy Cat Palace. She auditioned for the school’s production of Oliver! landing, to her great surprise, the part of Nancy, the heart-of-gold whore.
These relatively wholesome pastimes were, however, counterbalanced by another, darker life occasioned by the frequent weekend absences of Foxy Raymond’s parents. Ostensibly, Mr. Raymond was guest lecturing on applied hydroelectric facility management at Queen’s University, and Mrs. Raymond going along with him for a break in the daily routine. But, as everyone knew, the two were really visiting Foxy’s older sister, impregnated by an inebriated engineer during September’s Frosh Week and packed off to an “aunt” far from public view.
The Raymond household thus yielded a fortuitous supervisory vacuum — of which Foxy took full advantage by hosting, on irregular Saturday nights, something he called Chemistry Study Group.
CSG, as it became known, attracted an informal assemblage of a shifting subset of the class of ’79. Despite its earnest study of chemical reactivity, CSG bore scant resemblance to school. Smoking dope and dropping the occasional acid was, indeed, a balm for the broken heart. But the real reason Kate kept going was in the vain hope J.P. might turn up. If he was going to surface anywhere in town again, she figured CSG was a good bet. But he never did.
That winter, long and cold, prompted Kate to overcome what now seemed an obsolete fear and to break out J.P.’s old army coat from its hiding place in a never-used suitcase. Telling her mother she’d found it at the church rummage sale, she took to wearing it everywhere. The coat became for Kate a second skin, and she wore it so long into spring the group known as the “airlock smokers,” which one had to, by definition, pass by to get into the school, began to insist she had nothing else to wear. Literally. They offered to take her up on an invitation they deemed obvious.
“Fat chance!” Kate shot back, clutching the coat tighter.
On the drive back to Morning Manor, Kate worked up her nerve. She had never much spoken to anyone about her parents’ accident. Even at the funeral, it seemed there was little to say. Older friends of her parents had clasped her hands warmly, murmuring doleful words, but everyone was in shock still.
Now Kate said, “Adele, earlier, in the graveyard, you said everyone was devastated when they heard about the, you know, accident.”
“Oh yes, dear, it was dreadful. You could hear the police and ambulance wailing as they shot out of town. It was late, you know. Most everyone was in bed. The next day was back to work after a long weekend. Everything was so quiet — well, as it usually is.” Adele laughed. “I’m sure you find it far too quiet for your liking, coming from the city and all.”
But Kate was not to be knocked off topic. “What kinds of things did they say? The people in town.”
“Well, Kate, to be frank, there aren’t that many left of us who knew your mom and dad well — the ones who came up here when the dam was first getting built. A lot of the younger folks would only have known them as familiar faces on the street. But there are still enough of us originals left to make a kind of quorum, if you know what I mean.”
“A quorum of grief,” said Kate out loud, without meaning to.
“You do have a way with words, Kate. I remember your mother saying as much, oh, when you were quite young. Anyway, whether we saw each other from day to day or year to year (which, as I’ve said was more the case for your mother and me), we were all in a way family, you see. We’d looked after each other in the early days, when there wasn’t much here.”
“ ‘Bugs and bush,’ Mom said.”
“Ha! Bugs and bush, indeed. She was no slouch with words, either, your mother. In fact, Molly was no slouch most ways. I think I was always a little envious. She was beautiful, you know. The children rarely really see it, I’m afraid. Well, you show a likeness, of course. But, and no insult to you, dear, you’re a handsome woman, but Molly was, you know, in her way, stunning. She didn’t flaunt her beauty the way, well, the way nearly anyone with an ounce of looks does these days. I rarely saw her wear makeup, for instance. And she was clever, oh yes, far smarter than most. She could run circles around anyone at Scrabble or the crosswords; even playing bridge. I think you took after her that way, didn’t you? Well, I know you’ll be modest, but people said as much. Oh, and here I’m rattling on, just embarrassing you.”
“Not at all. I’ll take every compliment I can get.”
“Anyway, to finish what I was saying, Molly had something else, too, something I always admired. I don’t know what they’d say now but we used to call it grace.”
At this description of her mother, Kate felt herself tearing up. Instinctively, she turned on the windshield wipers, but of course that did no good.
“But here I go off again. You asked me what people were saying after the accident,” Adele went on. “Just the same things I just said, really. Everyone who knew Molly loved her in their way, and of course John — ” Adele stopped short, then continued, “Dean, well, he was the salt of the earth. Well respected, your father, loyal as they come. Well, you heard the eulogy, praising him to the skies.”
Adele was downright smooth, thought Kate. She’d caught her own mistake so you’d hardly notice. But notice Kate did. They were nearly back at Morning Manor, but this new twist made Kate unwilling to relinquish her companion quite yet. How could she stall? Pretending a smudge on the windshield was blocking her vision, Kate pulled into a gas station, where she spent considerable time rubbing and scraping the glass, deciding how to proceed.
Kate got back in the car. “I was wondering, Adele. Would you mind if we drove past the old telephone exchange? Just so I can see it? Then I’ll take you right home, I promise.”
“Surely, dear. Though I’m afraid the building itself is long gone. They tore it down ages ago and put up an apartment. But if you like, I can show you where it was.”
Kate turned right or left as Adele directed, and eventually they drove past an unremarkable set of apartments.
“That’s it,” Adele said. “The old Bell exchange. Where it stood, anyway. Hardly memorable now, though, is it?”
“I’d agree with you there,” said Kate. The brick building could have stood on any older, slightly rundown block in Valleyview. Nothing to spark nostalgia or even historical interest. Quite a contrast with the elaborate display down by the river of the squared timber rafts and an old pointer boat hoisted up on a steel beam. Historical photos of the men driving logs, riding the great cribs, heaving and ho-ing every which way.
“I believe there’s a plaque they put somewhere on the new building, saying what was there, but I don’t see it, do you?”
Kate did not. There was a profusion of greenery about the doorway. It could be hidden behind that.
“Did you want to stop and look around?” Adele said.
Suddenly tired, Kate shook her head. “No, I’ve got the drive home still. I’ll just take you home, if that’s okay.”
Adele smiled, her eyes warm and understanding. “I’d like that, dear. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty weary myself.”
It was only as she turned into the Morning Manor lot that Kate found the courage to ask. “Mrs. Niedmeyer,” she said. “Adele, I mean. Earlier, you mentioned a ‘John.’ Who was that?”
Adele looked perplexed. “John?” she said. “Did I?”
“Yes,” Kate said, irritated. “Remember, you forgot my dad’s name, and said ‘John’ instead?”
“So I did.” Adele laughed. “The brain not fully engaged. No surprise, I’m afraid, at my age.” By now they were parked in a stall. Kate waited for Adele to say more.
“Well, Kate, thank you. It’s been a lovely day.” Adele turned away and fumbled with the door latch. “Thank you again for your trouble. You’ll be well rewarded, rest assured. I’ll write you a cheque tonight and put it in tomorrow’s mail. They’re pretty good about the mail service at the home here, I’ll give them that.”
Kate got out, too, and went back to get the walker from the trunk. She placed it before Adele, then reached in the car for Adele’s purse.
“I’m fine from here, dear,” said Adele, holding out a hand for the purse. “Just slide it up on my shoulder, there’s a girl.”
Kate did as she was asked. “You sure you don’t need any help?”
Adele shook her head. “You’ve done more than enough already. I’ve had a lovely time. And so good talking to Nathan. We must do this again, if it’s not too much of an imposition.”
“No, not at all,” said Kate, suddenly desperate to leave. “Again. Yes. Soon.”
As she drove back down the driveway, Kate watched Adele in the rear-view mirror, making her slow way under the portico to the sartorian door of Morning Manor. Lift, place, step, step. Lift, place, step, step. The woman was an enigma. A dear little old lady, hiding something.
The sun’s hot gaze was beginning to stray as Kate, her car windows rolled down, cruised home along the highway. Kate became aware of a smell. Musk — yeccch. Skunk. It wasn’t long before she saw it, the source of the stink, by the side of the road. Not just it, but them. A mother skunk and three little ones. Creamed by a car or truck, guts everywhere. The fumes were suffocating. Several crows hopped among the carnage, pecking and pulling at the entrails. One, sitting high in a tree, shrieked its glee to the world. As she whizzed past, Kate saw a reddish streak at the edge of the woods. Red fur, low and lean. A fox, not quite rare, but uncommon in these parts, come to see what the commotion was about.
Bad smells aside, the day out had been satisfying, Kate thought, both for herself as contractor and Adele as client. Yes, satisfying. And yet … bittersweet. Kate couldn’t help contemplating Adele’s elisions. The further she drove, the more bitter the sweetness became.
Later, Kate sat in the screened porch at the back of the house with her feet up, enjoying a pre-dinner glass of Carmenère and watching the old black-and-white her dad had moved out here when they got the colour TV. It occurred to her that she should be Googling “Extraordinary Wayne” on her laptop at this very minute. But something held her back.
On TV, there was more trouble in Iran, this time to do with the so-called election. As always, Kate peered through the shouting crowds, looking for any sign of a woman. It was kind of a game she played, like in those Where’s Waldo? books. Often she saw none, but tonight she caught sight of two females, covered head to toe in their compulsory black garb, scurrying off-screen together in the distance. As Kate sat sweating in her shorts in the summer heat, she wondered how these women coped in those tent-dresses in such a hot land, especially during menopause. Did they ever collapse during a hot flash? On the bright side, a black bag would cover a multitude of figure flaws.
When the news was over, Kate turned off the TV. Normally, she would have taken huge pleasure in the sudden silence, the fact that nothing stirred in the hot summer evening. But a restlessness she had been denying since the Canada Day outing was quickening her system like a drug. She felt animated, keen, her nervous system one with the pulse of the world.
Until she realized. Aaagh! A motorbike. That’s all it was. The roar growing more insistent, setting her on edge. “What in God’s name — ” Kate muttered darkly.
She stormed out the screen door and across the lawn. Reaching the driveway, what should she see, spluttering and idling to wake the dead, but the coveted prize Harley, bestraddled by a grinning, helmeted Leonard, wearing a worn, purple T-shirt that read, I LISTEN TO BANDS THAT DON’T EVEN EXIST YET. Seeing Kate, Leonard turned off the Jurassic beast, and a palliative peace was restored at last.
“Don’t you need a licence for that thing?” Kate fumed.
“Hi, Kate, I’m fine, thanks. It has been a while, hasn’t it? And how are you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Kate. “Give me a break.”
“And you call me churlish.”
“I do?”
“Not in so many words. But I read your mind and got the major theme.”
“Listen, Buster,” said Kate. “You weren’t so chipper when I dropped into Ho Lam’s that time after the party. You barely spoke to me. In fact, let’s see, uh, churlish is the very word I’d use.”
“What did you expect — a welcoming party? Kate, I was still recovering from a sucker punch to the gut, plus passing out, plus I’d just spent a good part of my precious Sunday off in the hospital, feeling like a used dishrag and standing guard while your ditzy friend fake-bled to death. If that doesn’t make a guy churlish, I don’t know what would.”
“Okay, okay. Truce. You want to come in and have some Carmenère?” Kate led him through the house to the back porch. “Nice T-shirt, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
Kate poured him a glass of wine.
“Not to disparage your impeccable taste, but is this all you drink?”
“Pretty much. Good bang for the buck. So, what’s up? I guess you’re pretty pleased with the machine.”
“Oooooh, baby! Don’t tell Mary, but it’s a real beaut.”
“I’m serious, though — don’t you need a special licence?”
“I’ve had one for a while. Used to have a little Honda 150 cc. Gave it to my sister not long before I met you.”
“Sister! You have one of those? Where can I get one? No, wait, don’t answer.”
“Yes, I have a sister. You probably never saw her. She never worked in the shop, the little shit.” Leonard grinned. “She moved down to the city about the same time I moved back here.”
“So you mean you weren’t here all along?”
“Sorry to disappoint. Just came back three years ago. Why, you thought I was a boy-next-door type?”
Actually she had. But now she saw the error of her ways. Trying not to sound sour grapes, Kate said, “Just thought you’d stuck around.”
“No — I, too, went out into the wide world. Montreal. Melbourne, Australia. Toronto. Indianapolis, believe it or not. The usual bouncing around, looking for the perfect job.”
“Which was?”
“Promise not to laugh.”
“I promise.”
“Manager of a racetrack.”
Kate burst out laughing. “I never took you for the horsey type.”
“No, Kate, not horses, cars. You know, vroom vroom. ”
