Grave Concern, page 28
Kate was walking along the highway toward the cemetery when a truck in her rear-view mirror grew huge, bearing down. Kate started to run, but she rose and hovered above the ground, her steps slow and floating, like a moon-walking astronaut. She grew hot and frustrated, anxious for each footfall to arrive. She needed to push off, push off hard to escape her pursuer, not a truck at all, she saw now, but an enormous cat, a giant sabre-toothed tiger. The first touch of the claw felt almost gentle on her neck …
Kate woke in a state of shock, the dream as real as Leonard still fast asleep beside her. Still running, she lashed involuntarily out — and kicked Leonard hard with a cramped, toenail-forward foot.
“Ouch!” Leonard cried. “Am I dreaming, or am I being mauled by a man-eating tiger?”
Oh my God, Kate. Come to your senses. Kate gathered her wits as expeditiously as she could. Dream. Bed. Leonard.
“Well, I won’t guarantee that you weren’t.”
Kate had a flashback. In the dream, just before the claw on her neck, she had seen in the rear-view mirror a cat’s vicious, long-toothed grimace. Not a cat, but J.P. — wide-mouthed with rage.
Kate groaned dramatically and turned over, as though falling back to sleep. She had no desire to talk. She lay still, softly panting, sweat coating every surface of her skin. Only a dream, Kate. Only a dream. Deliberately, she set the dream aside. I’ll deal with you later.
“Deal with me later, huh? Is that how you talk to the poor guy you’ve lured into bed?” Leonard joked, and threw an arm across her.
Had she spoken aloud? Kate laughed it off. “Still dreaming, I guess.”
The previous night’s lovemaking began to return to her in video-like clips — in the throes of desire, they had fallen onto Kate’s old childhood single bed, set against the wall. What came next was a little drama, a little comedy, more than enough reality TV. But overall, it had felt right. She remembered thinking, thank God for menopause. No carcinogenic pills, no antiseptic-smelling potions or lotions, no awkward latex devices, no superhuman restraint had been necessary — she hoped, anyway. One was never, at this stage of life, absolutely sure about these things.
Kate was trapped on the wall side. Her bladder bulging, mere seconds from serious leakage, Kate whispered her need into her lover’s ear. Leonard — who claimed to have always wanted to know what “sweet nothings” were and now did — took her in a bear hug, rolled her over his body (Kate madly did Kegels, as taught in her “core fitness” class in the city, to keep from peeing) and placed her more or less gently on the carpet.
Kate sat on the toilet, her thick head in her hands, trying not to assess the situation. Trying not to think about the dream. Trying not to think about the whole sorry parade that marched endlessly through her head: the fire, the strongbox, Raw-Raw, the diggings, the cougar, J.P., Greta, and Foxy — and now, the dream.
That was her trouble. Too much thought, not enough gut. The ease of gut access was what she loved about Leonard. And envied. Well, they said opposites attract. The night had been wonderful, no doubt. There had been quirks and embarrassments, but overall Kate still felt as good about Leonard as when he’d arrived for dinner, which she took as a positive sign. It was the dream that had shaken her up.
Leonard called from the bedroom, “Kate, it’s only seven! Please tell me you’re not an early riser!”
Her mind still awhirl, Kate failed to reply.
“Kate, are you all right?”
“Fine. Be there in a second!”
“Not to worry. You were so quiet, I thought you’d been abducted by aliens.”
“Nothing on the lawn when I last checked,” Kate said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Good,” said Leonard, and closed his eyes.
When Kate returned to the bedroom, she found Leonard fast asleep. She watched his even breathing, the light twitches of his eyes beneath their lids. So innocent he looked. Like a child. What kind of a match would they make? Because it seemed certain they were heading for matrimony, in spirit, if not — or not yet — in law.
But she wouldn’t think of that now. Twenty years ago, Kate would have jumped back in with the guy and pestered him for more action. Now she pulled the covers up over his shoulders against the morning chill and padded downstairs, with an eye to a pot of strong coffee.
“Hille! I haven’t seen you for ages! Where’ve you been hiding?”
Hille blushed and squeezed her armload of groceries tighter. “Kate! How are you?”
“Oh, the usual. Confused.”
Hille responded with a look of more confusion than Kate in fact felt.
“Anyway,” said Kate, “enough about me. How’s it going with the — ”
Hille jumped in before Kate could go on. “Everything’s good. Good. Yeah. Just getting some groceries. You know, long weekend coming up.”
Of course. Kate had forgotten. Labour Day. The last kick at summer. Last chance for a blowout before winter’s imperatives — icy roads, hectares of shovel-ready snow, nasty ankle-twisting falls, frozen compost — would start to pile up like falling dominoes.
Kate spied a couple of bags of hamburger buns in Hille’s groceries. “Having a barbeque?”
Hille blushed again. “Yeah. As a matter of fact. How did you know? W — uh, would you like to come?”
Ugh. Kate hated being asked to a party when it was patently clear the invitation was extended out of guilt. If you went, you felt like a heel, just the same as if you didn’t. She deeply regretted the barbeque remark.
“Thanks. Uh, let me check my calendar. I think there might be something on, but I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay. So what’s new with you?” said Hille, whose red face had settled down to pink. “Grave-tending going good?”
“Not quite as well as hoped,” Kate said. “Got a notice the other day my office rent’s being upped. A lot. But keep that on the QT, okay?”
“Okay,” said Hille. “Uh, what’s ‘the QT,’ again?”
“Quiet,” Kate said, touching finger to lips. “We don’t want vultures circling.”
“Vultures?” Hille whispered, obviously mystified. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”
“Good. And how’re things with you and Ron?” said Kate in a normal voice, hinting they needn’t whisper. “How’s Neville? Has he made the big move yet?”
“Once or twice, but I’ve told him it won’t get him anywhere,” Hille said.
Kate laughed. “I meant the move to Pine Rapids. So I take it he is here.”
“Yeah, and it’s kind of a problem,” said Hille. “Maybe I could come and talk to you sometime? I don’t mind paying. You’re pretty cheap, considering. I mean — ”
“It’s okay, Hille. I know what you mean. Sure, come anytime. The more often the better. Speaking of which — how’s the boobs? Still perky?”
Slowly, Hille lowered the grocery bag. Kate gasped. “Hille, what happened?”
Hille grinned ear to ear. “I decided they weren’t really me. And I didn’t want the reminder right inside.”
“Reminder?”
“Of Neville. So I got them removed. What do you think?”
Kate didn’t know what to say. “I — I think it’s a big improvement. Really. But, uh, how — ”
“Told the doctor they hurt. Which they did. Kind of. Anyway, thanks for y’know,” said Hille, touching Kate’s arm. “See you Saturday? People are coming around five-thirty or six.”
The second invitation having sounded sincere, on Saturday night Kate informed Leonard, who had phoned with an invitation for ice cream at the dairy followed by some old-fashioned snogging in his car at River Park, of her previous commitment and dutifully made her way to Hille and Ron’s.
Hille opened the door. “Kate! You’re alone. You didn’t bring anyone?”
This flustered Kate a bit. Damned if you didn’t and damned if you did. “Didn’t know I should,” she said.
Hille winked. “I’ve heard rumours,” she said. “The Ho Lam guy at the video place?” Hille made a funny noise with her tongue.
Ah yes. Small town living would jump up and bite a person in the bum. Kate mumbled something as Hille ushered her in and through to the back deck. The group, thank goodness, looked relatively small.
“It’s mostly for Croker’s special clients,” Hille said. “Kind of a ‘thank you for the business’ kind of thing.” (Kate took note — perhaps this was what she had neglected: special client giveaways or get-togethers?) “But Ronnie said I could ask a few personal friends.”
The first person Kate’s gimlet eye cut from the herd was John Marcotte. Seeing him here had a disorienting effect: having associated the man mostly with the past, Kate had never considered his having a present life or any role, really, beyond Begetter of J.P. So much less had she considered his purchasing a vehicle. But so he must, and recently, to be here. Kate came over with something like fear, her heart pumping at warp speed. What the hell? she wondered. Fortunately, Hille chose the moment to introduce Kate to a niece, who had been staying with them over the summer to learn the ropes of car sales under Ron’s tutelage. The niece, Emma, whom Kate deemed to have aced her lessons, began battering Kate with chatty conversation, which had the salutary effect of stunning Kate’s anxiety into abeyance.
The evening progressed, and Kate believed things to be going well, particularly considering the last-minute nature of her invitation. She had enjoyed a well-marinated strip loin, some decent wine, and some good conversation both with strangers and casual friends. And she had successfully avoided John Marcotte. She had even managed to slip a business card to two new-to-town recent retirees, who inexplicably held in their hands a similar card from Krebs and Krebs.
Toward the end of the evening, in an enviable collection of Muskoka chairs on the raised deck, seven or eight guests lingered as the last light painted the treetops pink. John Marcotte was not among them, thank God, presumably having already left. Greta, however, was, having somehow materialized when Kate wasn’t looking. So, Krebs and Krebs reached even here.
Despite Kate’s strenuous effort, conversation inevitably turned toward the unique nature of Grave Concern. Being a mostly business bunch, everyone demonstrated at least an interest if not outright awe at the venture’s apparent success. Kate basked in the glow, being sure to mention small glitches and funny mistakes for the sake of good manners and humility. If only they knew, she thought. If only they knew how close to the bone Grave Concern really is.
Despite the unexpected presence of Greta, turned away talking to someone else, a warm glow of fellow-feeling was building inside Kate. Looking around, she could see the remaining guests were, for the most part, fellow small-town entrepreneurs, a role Kate had of late come to highly respect. And as for the boys’ club safari adventure — hadn’t it succeeded only in bagging poor Buck Miller’s testicle? Even her abhorrence of Ron, his cougar-stalking and other irritating habits, had dwindled markedly. Perhaps the Ron-and-Hille-gong-show groupies weren’t so bad. After all, Kate would have to live peaceably alongside these people for the rest of her natural — or unnatural — life. Why not forgive and forget human frailty and try to get along? Thus had three glasses of wine massaged Kate’s cramped heart.
The less-benevolent fourth now loosened her tongue. Talk had turned to newspaper obituaries. Greta quoted a verse of remembrance that had recently appeared in the Snooze. Misconstruing Greta’s purpose, and eager to make up for past bad blood, Kate burst out, “Oh yeah, wasn’t that awful? When I read that, I laughed my head off.” Greta’s subsequent stony silence revealed to Kate the terrible depths to which the proud could fall.
Ever the hostess, kind Hille at that very moment pointed out to Kate’s bereaved, doggerel-loving, ex-friend and business rival a star just then shooting through the sky.
“Hey Gret, I’ll bet that’s your sister right there,” she said.
“On that lovely note,” someone said, “I think it’s time for my pillow.”
“Mine, too,” said another, and everyone began to stand up and stretch, making their excuses.
Kate remained in her chair as though glued, her self-respect shrivelled, like a woollen sweater in the dryer, to a tiny version of itself. Fear of Krebsian reprisal began a terrible prowl in her heart.
7
The Fire
On Sunday morning, after a sleepless night, Kate phoned Mary. She got a recording, the same as always, in Mary’s broadest Newfie accent, “Whatever you’re proposin’ I’m not like ta be goin’ along with, but if I like the sounds o’ ya, I’d be tickled to call ye back.”
Kate hung up in disgust. Her finger hovered for some moments over the speed dial before she called Leonard.
“Leonard, I’m moving. I can’t stand it here anymore,” she said.
“Whooa. Whaaat?”
“I suck at business. I suck at social life. I just suck, period,” she said. “I don’t belong here.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Did something happen last night? As if I need to ask.”
Kate gave in to her fatigue. “And I haven’t slept a wink all night. I feel like crap. And I’m acting completely immature, calling you like this and wailing on about myself and not even asking how you are. I even suck at Kate-and-Leonard. I suck at, at — being adult!”
“Okay, Kate, calm down,” said Leonard. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right there.”
The Harley pulled in on a low purr. Leonard must have had the noisemaker de-installed. Kate couldn’t help but smile. If a guy’s willing to do that for a gal, well. Not only that, but strapped to Leonard’s back was a guitar! What, AND he could play the guitar? If she did blow this place, for sure he’d have to come with. Already she felt a smidgen better. She opened the door, and Leonard walked in, taking her by the hand as he headed for her dad’s old easy chair.
“Have a seat,” he said. Having settled himself on the couch, Leonard began to strum. His voice was good — another pleasant surprise.
How many clues must our Kate track down
Before she will ever give up?
How many graves must our Kate fix up
Before she finally settles down?
How many time zones must a guy fly across
Before he gets clearance to land?
The answer my friend is your friend Ho Lam
The answer is your friend Ho Lam
How many years can an old love exist
Before it washes back ashore?
How many years can a woman exist
Before she goes for something more?
How many times can a man turn his cheek
And pretend that it hasn’t felt her hand?
The answer my friend is your friend Ho Lam
The answer is your friend Ho Lam
How many times must a man get chatted up
Before he gets Call Display?
How many scams must one man slam down
Before the display says “Kate”?
How many years will it take till Smithers
Becomes Smithers Ho Lam?
The answer my friend is in Kate’s hands
The answer is in Kate’s hands
When Kate stopped laughing, she said, “Is that a proposal?”
“I didn’t write it that way, but maybe that’s how it came out.”
“I’m not so keen on that line about ‘settling down.’ What exactly are you getting at? Not me giving up work, or anything crazy like that.”
“Nothing nefarious. Honest! I just couldn’t think of any good rhymes, really. More of a psychological settling down, I guess.”
“Good,” said Kate. “ ’Cause otherwise I might have to think twice about your potential marriage-ability.”
The look on Leonard’s face was one of horror. “No, no! Please. In fact, I’ve got an idea to enhance the business.”
“Yeah? Well then, conjugal bliss is a remote possibility again. But my grave reservations stand.”
“Suits me,” said Leonard. “As long as it’s before my RRSPs turn over into RRIFs.”
But the mention of RRIFs and RRSPs just brought on Kate’s melancholia again. She got up and went over to the couch, plunking down beside Leonard. “My RRSPs are pretty much non-existent,” she said. “I don’t think they’re gonna take me much past sixty. At this rate, I’ll never see old age.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” Leonard said.
“Hey, wait a minute,” said Kate, perking up. “You’re saying it’s okay if I croak before my time for want of food and shelter?”
“I’m just saying it’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s the end of my world,” said Kate. She frowned and sat up. “Wouldn’t you mourn just a little bit?”
“It’s not the end of the world because by then you and I are going to have our own place, a nice little bungalow closer to the river, I’m thinking — not so hard to keep up as this place.”
“What’s hard?” said Kate, but at the same moment she shivered, remembering her first winter back in Pine Rapids when, reaching into the dark downstairs closet, thinking to use her mother’s nice old pile-lined winter boots, she’d plunged a hand blindly into the boot, only to retrieve it covered in sunflower seeds and mouse poop.
“We’re going to consolidate our assets,” Leonard continued. “You can fire Bill Chambers as your landlord and move Grave Concern into Ho Lam Video and Electronic. There’s way more space than I need, especially as I’m planning to go into computers. And they’re just getting smaller, right? Gonna ditch the other electronics; everyone just goes to Canadian Tire or The Source. We’ll combine our businesses somehow. It’ll be a win-win. Whaddya say?”
