Punishment (17 page)

“How’s the wine?”

“Lovely.”

I couldn’t see her face. I refilled her glass, poured one for myself.

Dinner conversation was mostly catching up with the lives of people we once knew: who was dead, who was happy, who was married and unmarried, brief references to the children of old acquaintances who were doing well, or badly. Sketchy details of our own lives.

“You and Jack met in Toronto,” I said.

“We knew each other there,” she said concentrating on her fork. “Then after I moved back home, he turned up here.” She smiled. Enough disclosure about Jack.

“And you. How did you meet up with—Anna, if I remember?”

“Yes, Anna,” I said, feeling awkward. “We met taking night courses at Queen’s. She was hoping to be a lawyer.”

“Wow,” she said, and daintily placed a slice of potato in her mouth, eyes interested and searching mine.

“She pulled it off,” I said. “Now in a practice. Successful criminal lawyer.” I fell silent, caught in a warp between the two of them.

“Funny about relationships,” I said. “One of the things that attracted me was that we didn’t seem to have much in common. It was kind of disappointing that we had more in common than I realized.”

“How so?”

“She more or less grew up in prisons. Her father was in the system, he’d worked his way up from guard to warden. He was running Warkworth when Strickland was there …”

She stopped chewing for a moment, then looked down at her plate, stuck her fork into a morsel of ham, looked up and met my eyes.

“I’m sorry to have mentioned him,” I said. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, no,” she said. “It’s okay. So Anna would have known Strickland too?”

“She took an interest in him, trying to help him through some university courses. We never really talked about how that worked. Things were kind of strained between us by that point.”

“Thank God I was spared all that,” she said. “I couldn’t imagine the grief of that kind of situation.”

And then there was a long silence.

“It’s funny, looking back,” she said eventually. “New Year’s Eve we always remember. A year ago I went to bed before midnight. Maymie was out with a gang of friends. There was
a big dance in the hall and they all went. Boys and girls together, no dates or anything like that. Not like when we were young and everybody would be paired off. Do you remember where you were?”

“In an empty house in Kingston. Just about everything cleared out but boxes of books and a big old bed. I went to bed early too.” But I couldn’t remember going to bed. Just that I woke up there, head and body throbbing from an alcohol-induced unconsciousness.

“I was just thinking,” she said, “how it’s kind of pathetic the way we indulge ourselves in hopeful expectations at times like this and, of course, on birthdays. I think you’re what, Tony, fifty-five?”

“Yes.”

“Two years older than I am,” she said.

“You’d never know to look at us,” I said. “You look twenty years younger than me.”

She laughed. “Now you’re just trying to get around me.” She looked away, face pink. “It’s kind of like a kid’s game, isn’t it. All the resolutions and predictions and expectations. Pretending that we can know one day to the next what’s going to happen, that we can actually have influence, somehow prevent the bad things by being optimistic. ‘Look on the bright side,’ they used to say.”

She sighed. I placed my hand on hers. She studied my face and hers softened and became the face of many years ago, eyes searching. I was afraid to make a sound. After what seemed to be a very long silence I said, “It took me years to stop thinking about you.”

She looked away but didn’t move her hand. “I can’t imagine what you thought. But believe me, I knew what you were going through. I must have written a hundred letters, then tore them all up.”

She shrugged, raised her eyes to mine. “I admired your silence,” she said. “The word I used to think of all the time when I thought of you was ‘dignified.’ ”

I laughed. “Dignified! I had lots of questions, lots of times I had to struggle to hold them back. I’d tell myself a day will come when I’ll have answers. Or maybe not. Maybe there will be a day when the questions and the answers don’t matter anymore.”

“And so?” she said. “The questions? Now?”

I hesitated, took a sip of wine. “For a while I thought it was me. I remember one night we were parked in the old truck. I think I got a bit carried away.”

She looked off as if at something above my head. “I remember that little truck,” she said at last. “It was red.”

“Is that all you remember about it?”

“It was a red Ford F-100. I’m thinking 1955.”

“My God,” I said, surprised. “I think you’re right.”

“For the longest time I’d see a little red Ford and I’d be wondering what became of you.”

I shrugged. “It’s one of the few great things about time passing. Everything diminishes. And then nothing matters anymore.”

“Oh stop,” she said. “Jee-zus.” She pulled her hand away from mine but she was laughing. “Let’s just do the dishes.”

“No,” I said. “Let’s sit in the living room and listen to the music. And wait for midnight. I promise, no predictions or resolutions.”

“But we’re allowed to hope,” she said.

“I can live with that.”

So we went to the living room and we sat side by side. “I didn’t ask if you enjoy classical music.”

“Actually, it isn’t classical,” she said. “It’s the Romantic period I think.”

“Wow,” I said. “An authority on music. So do you like Brahms?”

“I like all serious music,” she said. “But my personal taste runs more to the baroque. You know our local fiddle music is essentially baroque?”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. “And where did you pick up your expertise?”

“Maymie,” she said. “She could play anything. Piano, guitar, fiddle, you name it. She could step-dance like nobody’s business. There was a great music teacher at her school. I got interested in the music books she’d bring home, theory and history and all that.” She sighed, retreated briefly into silence then said: “Something else I miss.”

I took her hand and she moved closer. After a while she put her head on my shoulder and eventually we fell asleep like that.

It was shortly after midnight when I woke up. She was curled up beside me, head resting on my thigh. The dog was on the other side of me. I was afraid to move. But she popped up quickly, rubbing at her eyes.

“We missed all the hoopla,” I said.

“What time is it?”

I looked and said, “Twelve twenty-five.”

“Yikes.”

“Hey. I think that was the first time we ever slept together.” I squeezed her hand.

“Better late than never,” she said, sounding groggy. Then it seemed to register and she stood up.

“You don’t have to leave,” I said. “You can stay ’til the morning.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Not now.” She leaned down and kissed me swiftly, softly, on the forehead.

The dog was sitting up, watching us intently. She scratched between his ears. “I think I’d like to leave him here, if that’s okay with you. I think it’s better all around. I was hoping that his little holiday over here would change some things but the minute he got home it was back to his old spot, where the casket was.” She shook her head. “There are things I’m not ever going to get over as long as he keeps reminding me. So, would you mind?”

“Of course not,” I said. “He’s no trouble. Maybe another little spell here and he’ll be ready.”

“As long as I have visiting rights,” she said, smiling.

On January 2 the store was busy with people emerging from their privacies. Pulling up I noted Neil’s Lexus in its usual spot, close to the door. Inside I felt the unfamiliar warmth of inclusion as people greeted me. “All set for ’03 are you Tony?” Mary said from behind the counter. “Lots of big resolutions I bet.”

“I don’t believe in resolutions,” I said. “How about you, Neil?”

“Been making the same one for thirty years and sticking to it. No booze ’til Easter. Secret of my survival in the rest of the year, cleaning out the system in the winter.”

“That’s admirable,” I said. “And thanks again for Christmas.”

He nodded, then picked up a newspaper and scanned the headlines.

Mary said, “Maybe you should make one more resolution and start paying for the newspapers you mess up every frigging day.”

“Huh,” said Neil, perusing headlines over the top of his glasses. “What are you saying, sweetheart?”

“I’m saying buy the friggin’ paper if you want to read it, that’s all.”

“No need to buy the paper when I’ve got the satellite, honey. Two hundred channels, clickety click. Anything I want to know at my fingertips.”

“I have the satellite,” said Mary, “and it’s all crap that I see there.”

“You’re just not lookin’ in the right places. You’re lookin’ for amusement. Soap operas and sitcoms and the like. I’m lookin’ for information about the world. About the human condition. Right, Tony?”

“Whatever you say, Neil.” I winked at Mary.

“See, me and Tony here have been out in the wider world and we know the importance of keeping informed because the world is all connected now, folks. Everybody in the same boat, more or less.”

The older man I vaguely remembered—Donald something—said, “I wonder what resolutions old George WMD Bush made for the New Year.”

Neil snorted, dropped a section of the paper on the counter in front of Mary. “George WMD Bush. That’s a good one. Says right here, about fifteen thousand fresh troops from the
third infantry division heading for the Gulf. Now that’s a New Year’s resolution. And all this country can do is dither over doing the right thing,”

“And what do you think the right thing is, Neil?” asked John Robert, agitating.

“Everybody in the world seems to know what the right thing is,” said Neil, “except France and this fucking excuse for a country. Don’t get me goin’.”

After a nervous silence, which even Neil seemed to register, he said, “Time to change the subject. I was thinkin’ about the poor little girl who got murdered last summer. Mary Jane or whatever.”

“Murdered?” I said. “I think you’re jumping the gun a bit, Neil. And her name was Mary Alice.”

He raised a hand. “Whatever. Just hear me out. I was saying to the wife this morning that it would be a nice idea to hold a benefit of some kind in her memory. Something in the hall. Raise money for a memorial, a scholarship or something.”

“How do you think Caddy would feel about this?” I said carefully.

He shrugged. “I can’t see the downside.”

“There already is a scholarship fund.”

“So we’ll have two.”

“Maybe you should talk to Caddy.” I reached for the newspaper that was reserved for me.

“I was thinking
you
should talk to Caddy, Tony,” Neil said. “I think she’d like to hear it coming from yourself.”

I laughed. “You’re about forty years out of touch, Neil.”

“I’m just sayin’. It wouldn’t hurt to run it by her.”

“I think it’s a bad idea for half a dozen reasons. The timing for one. There’s going to be a preliminary hearing in a few weeks. Maybe a trial. The court might take a dim view.”

“The court’s got fuck all to do with it. This is about the community, Tony. The place hanging together, trying to get some good out of something wicked.”

John Robert asked, “So what were you thinking, Neil?”

“Nothing major. A social event, music, food, a liquor licence. Maybe Caddy could say a few words about the kid. Get the priest involved.”

“It could be fun,” John Robert said. “There isn’t much going on in January. What do you think, Tony?”

“I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

Silence then while everybody stared at me. Finally I said, “Caddy and the family are struggling to put what happened behind them. Going through the trial will be bad enough.”

“If there ever is a trial,” said Neil. “That’s another thing.”

“What’s the real agenda here, Neil?”

“Whoa, Tony. What are you talking about? It’s just an idea. Fuck me.”

I walked out with my newspaper, realizing outside that I’d forgotten to pay for it.

I became an obsessive television watcher, staying up late at night, surfing through the channels for discussions about Iraq. Maybe I was trying to prepare myself for a showdown with Neil.

Collie, from behind the counter, had commented, “You have
to admit, Neil makes a good point now and then.” I was shocked. Sensible Collie agrees with Neil?

“What good point?” I asked. “Name one.”

“Well, if they
have
managed to hide serious weapons in the desert somewhere, who knows …?”

“They haven’t been able to find any evidence of weapons. And the country is hardly functioning after all the years of sanctions.”

“Maybe. But you can’t be too careful dealing with those kinds of people.”

“Come on, Collie,” I said.

“I’m just sayin’.”

Around the middle of January Sullivan called to tell me Dwayne wanted to talk to me again.

I told the lawyer that I hadn’t changed my mind since the last time we talked.

“I think he understands your position,” Sullivan said. “I’m just passing on his request. Maybe he just wants a visitor. He’s pretty much alone in the world, as you know.”

I said I’d consider it. Sullivan told me they were expecting a firm date for the preliminary hearing any day, probably in early February.

“I think we’re in pretty good shape,” he said.

After he hung up I sat for a while in the silent house. Alone in the world? When all is said and done aren’t we all alone in the world?

But soon enough I decided I’d go to see Strickland. I would do it for Caddy and the community. Maybe learn something
useful. Perhaps he trusted me enough to disclose what really happened the night the girl called Maymie died.

The sky was dark and the air still as I stood at my kitchen window the next morning waiting for the coffee water to boil. And then large feathery flakes of snow began to float straight downward. I stood, hypnotized, and it was only when the first gust of wind sent the gentle snowfall into a swirling fury that I realized that I was witnessing the birth pangs of a snowstorm. You aren’t going anywhere, I said to myself. Not even to the store. I watched, with my coffee, as the rising wind wrapped the snow around the house, softly flinging it against the windowpanes.