The Noon God (11 page)

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked.

“We’d like it if you would come to the memorial. We’re holding a service on Thursday for family and friends. The public service will be on Friday.”

“Of course I’ll come. Desdemona, thank you for calling. It was thoughtful of you.”

“I couldn’t not,” I said. “And Helen, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you. I’m sorry about the way I behaved back then.”

“I never blamed you, dear.” I believed her. Suddenly I understood – Helen had always known about Daddy. She had always known what her role in his life was. Of course she hadn’t blamed me, an angry, confused teenager, for lashing out at her mother’s replacement. She had blamed Daddy for letting it all happen. She blamed him for not loving her enough, and most of all for loving me too much. That’s why she left us fifteen years ago. It wasn’t because of my tantrum. It was because of Daddy’s coldness.

He could have stopped Helen from leaving. He chose not to. And I carried the guilt of her pain for fifteen years. It wasn’t my guilt. She was telling me to lay it down.

I should have felt relieved by Helen’s kindness. Instead I felt like I had a lot to learn. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe Helen could teach me to be more gracious.

But first there were more calls to make. I reached into my bag and pulled out Daddy’s contact list. There was no point putting off the inevitable task.

It took awhile, but I finally worked my way through the names. Daddy’s friend Walter Jacobs was in shock. The news Daddy was missing had not spread to the Astronomy Department.

Dean Phil McKenzie of the Math Department was not surprised. When Daddy didn’t show up for their weekly lunch date, he’d called the Faculty and the office had told him about Daddy’s disappearance.

His voice was concerned. “How are you holding up, Desdemona?”

“We’re still in shock.”

“Of course. If there’s anything I can do, be sure to call me. Your father was a great man. He loved you very much… you and Lucinda.”

“We don’t really need anything, but thank you. I hope we’ll see you at the Memorial Service.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hung up the phone, vaguely disturbed by his voice, his affection. It reminded me of something. I liked Phil. He was the same age as my father, but he wore a younger attitude. He always made time for Lucy and me.

Phil had no children of his own. He had never married. As far as I could see, his friendship with Daddy was one of the central aspects of his life. He ate dinner with Daddy at least once a month, they had lunch together every week, and he was often at the house, playing chess with Daddy or offering him an ear for one of his tirades.

For as long as I could remember, Phil had been part of our lives. And we had been part of his.

A sudden memory sent me reeling. It was about two years before Mommy died. Daddy was having one of his book-launching parties at the house. There must have been at least a hundred people. I was fourteen.

I climbed the stairs to use the washroom. It was occupied. I leaned against the wall to wait my turn and heard Phil’s voice coming from – could it really be coming from my room? I couldn’t make out his words, but my mother’s higher voice carried to my ears.

“
Phil, forget it,” she said. “It isn’t going to happen.”

I listened more closely.

“
It’s already happened,” he said. “I’m not going to forget it.”

“
It was a mistake. He’ll ruin you if he finds out. You’re his friend.”

“
You’re his wife. I can’t stand to see you unhappy.”

“
Then don’t look. This is the way I am.” She laughed. “It’s a conundrum. I can’t stay and I can’t leave. If I leave, I go alone. He’d never let me take the girls.”

“Then let’s try to enjoy whatever happiness we can find.”

“There is no happiness, Phil. He loves you and that makes it worse. He’ll never forgive you. He’ll ruin you.”

My mother came out of my room and saw me standing there. My feelings must have shown on my face, because she smiled sheepishly and tousled my hair before hurrying down the stairs.

“Mona,” Phil said, looking at me from the doorway of my room. “It’s not what you think. Your mother was just unhappy. Sometimes adults get unhappy.”

“No shit,” I snapped, turning away.

“
Mona, come and talk to me for a moment.”

Something made me stop. I skulked into my room and stood with my arms folded across my chest, scowling at the floor.

“
Be careful, Mona, not to judge the world too harshly.”

“
I’m not judging anything.”

“
Sure you are. You’re judging me. You’re judging your mother. She loves you, you know.”

“
I know.” He had no idea. How could he? He didn’t know about the alcoholism, the hospitalization, my years of diligence. I was still on guard, would always be on guard. I didn’t know what to make of this private conversation I had walked in on. It worried me. It was a sign, but I didn’t know of what.

“
She tries hard to be happy,” he said.

I felt tears fill my eyes. I continued to glare at the floor, but they slid down my nose.

Suddenly I turned at the sound of a familiar footstep.

“
Desdemona,” Daddy said, looking with suspicion from Phil to me, “what’s going on here?”

“
Nothing. I was just waiting to use the bathroom.” I quickly sucked in my breath and pulled myself up. At fourteen I was already tall, though not nearly as tall as Daddy was. I smiled.

“
It’s free now,” he said.

“
Phil was here first,” I said, standing back to let him pass. He hesitated, then slipped past me to the washroom.

“
What’s going on here?” Daddy repeated when we were alone. I was surprised to see the worry on his face. Then I got it. Daddy thought Phil and I…

“
Nothing’s going on, silly,” I laughed. “Phil was waiting to use the washroom. I wanted to show him my math homework. We’re doing algebra.” I waved my hand toward my desk, where thankfully my math book lay open at the current assignment.

“
Desdemona, you don’t invite men into your room,” he said. I could tell he was relieved. “They may get the wrong idea.”

“
What do you mean?” I put on my most innocent teenager face.

“
Never mind. Just don’t do it again.”

“
Ok.” I heard Phil leave the bathroom and gave Daddy my best smile. “My turn!”

I locked the door behind me and ran the water, allowing my emotions to erupt at last. Was I losing my mother? Was she having an affair with Phil? In the end, each of us believes the world revolves around him. My chief concern was how my mother’s unhappiness would affect me. We are not noble beasts when it comes right down to it.

I made the last few calls and carried my bag over to Daddy’s chair. My second reading of Millennium Girl had to be finished before the service so I could send the manuscript back to New York with Andy.

I was struck yet again by the power of my father’s words. It was true what the critics said – he was a master of our time. More than any other living Canadian and maybe more than any international writer today, J. Caesar Fortune had a depth of global awareness that shone through every page. His understanding of the human condition was nothing short of profound.

But like so many who possess a mountain view, he was blind when it came to his immediate surroundings. His family mattered to him only in so far as we could bolster his ego.

That wasn’t entirely true – I mattered to him. I mattered because of his intense love for me. But more importantly, I mattered because he saw in me the potential to carry on his greatness.

Of all the people in my father’s world, I was the most like him.

I looked like him. I moved effortlessly among his peers. I shared his love of the written word and his understanding of its power to shape events.

Millennium Girl was a masterwork. Caesar would have known that. But on a more personal level, it was also a plea. It was my father’s way of asking me one last time to leave my mundane existence behind and to finally begin to actualise my destiny.

The world was waiting. Anything I produced would turn to gold. Andy Rivard would see to that.

I had the power, through my father’s name, to change my life. I had the potential to shape my world, or at least to contribute in some small way to our times.

Thanks to my father’s estate, I could retire from teaching comfortably. I would never miss the income.

I’d always wanted to write a book. My journals were filled with endless scribbles, bits of thought flying loose like down from an old blanket.

All they needed was direction. All I needed was focus to bring those thoughts together into something meaningful.

All I needed was a story.

I put the manuscript down. I was at the halfway point, where the daughter has fallen in love. She and her man are seeing Africa for the first time.

Dark faces drown them in a sea of desperation. Need is everywhere. It calls out for help like a dying nation.

But I had drifted off again. The dark faces lived only in my mind. I rubbed my eyes and lifted myself from my father’s chair.

There was one person I had not yet called.

Ben was still at his school. He answered his cell phone on the first ring.

I realised it was his voice I had always loved. It filled me with a sense of hope I didn’t find anywhere else. One word, ‘hello’, spoken with the slight inflection of a question, brought with it such warmth and welcome…

“
Ben.”

“
Hi, Mona.” He sounded weary. He was disappointed it was me. I knew he would be. He had a new life, a new wife, Adelle, and two young sons. Time stands still for no one.

For a moment I couldn’t speak. I had to call Ben. He would have been hurt if I hadn’t. After all, my father was his father-in-law. There was no way I could have avoided making the call.

But it smacked of reaching out to Ben, and that was wrong on so many levels.

I swallowed my pride – a huge pill.

“
Ben, I have some bad news.”

“
What is it, Mona?”

“
It’s Daddy.” The tears came. It didn’t matter that I had resolved to keep them inside. It didn’t matter Ben was no longer mine to lean on.

I’d lost too much. In that dark moment, the losses I’d suffered were too much to bear. My mother, my sister, my father, my husband. It was ironic. I was the one who understood the value of love, of family. I was the one who had tried to gather those pearls close to me. It seemed like I was meant to be alone. A swell of despair rose in me with such force that I almost put the receiver down.

“
What happened?” His voice was tender. He wasn’t angry. That, at least, was something.

I told him what I could.

“
I’ll be right there,” he said.

I’ll be right there!
Oh, the brutal power of those words. Be there for what purpose? To hold me? To love me? To tell me everything will be all right?

But first, I knew, Ben would call his wife, Adelle. He was an honest man. He would explain to her what had happened and they would both agree he needed to come to me. It was the right thing for him to do.

I wanted to die. How could I face him now, at my darkest moment?

How could I look into those eyes, see the soul I had loved, and deny the force of my need? How could I take only the measure of comfort he was free to offer and not ask for more?

How could I hold him, feel his strength cover me, then send him back to his wife and children?

I hadn’t wanted to call Ben. I had no choice.

I went to tell Lucy Ben was on his way. Thank God I still had Lucy. I would have to try my best not to screw that up.

Lucy was still in the tub. She had fallen asleep. I woke her and left her to dress before Ben arrived. I went to freshen up.

I was shocked to see my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t the woman Ben had married all those years ago. I wasn’t even the woman who had run into him two months earlier at the mall. Funny – we were both scouring the teachers’ supplies store during the June end-of-season sale. I laughed when I saw the selection in his cart. Almost to the item I had the same things in mine.

We made small talk as we paid the cashier, then he walked me to my car. I don’t remember how it came about, but we went back into the mall for lunch. Before the food came we had both fallen headfirst into the past like Alice down some crazy rabbit hole. I don’t think it was deliberate. I’m not even sure we could have stopped it. If we could have, we would have. Neither of us is that kind of person.

For me there had never been anyone but Ben. When I closed my eyes at night it was his grace, his power that lifted me into my dreams. Others had made the ritual noises, taken me out for dinner, or to a show. But none had ever broken through my memory of the love I held for Ben.

By the time we got to my place, I was convinced he still loved me, too. Oh, the deaf, dumb, blindness of desire! He did still love me. No one could fake the need I saw in his eyes. No man could pretend the love I felt that sweet, long afternoon.

But it was a mistake. The moment he rolled over, the naked regret clear in his eyes, I knew it. There was still Adelle. There were still his sons. I didn’t wait for him to say the words. I got out of bed.

“
You’d better go,” I said.

He nodded.

“
I’m sorry,” he said.

“
Don’t be. I’m not. I’ve waited a long time to let you know how I feel. Now you know.”