Finding Home (8 page)

I’d showered after my run and just left my
hair to dry. Now I could almost hear Vera Wemble saying, “Oh, but
it’s so untidy dear. It hides your pretty face.” At the lodge I
didn’t mind a wild, tousled look, but I knew that at dinner with
the perfectly groomed Kiera it wouldn’t feel right. So I pulled my
hair into a loose knot on top of my head. Not exactly glamorous,
but sort of cute, I hoped, and the best I could do.

I went downstairs feeling flustered. I hadn’t
fussed so much about how I looked in years. Not since high school,
in fact. I’d even been tempted to ask Kiera if I could borrow some
makeup. And I wished I hadn’t refused her offer of a pre-dinner
drink in the library. I could have used something to settle my
nerves.

Phoebe, who was waiting at the door of the
dining room, ushered me to my seat. She placed me to Nick’s left,
across from Kiera. Beyond the three of us the mahogany table
stretched under its creamy lace cloth almost to the other end of
the room. And it was a large room, brought into proportion by
wainscoting and built-in corner cupboards, a white marble
fireplace, a shimmering chandelier. Valences and jabots of deep
burgundy velvet crowned the deep-silled windows, which held a fine
collection of cranberry glass.

There seemed to be nothing more to say after
hello. I felt embarrassed, almost ashamed, as if I’d shown up
naked. But it wasn’t just the awkwardness of the situation that
made me feel disturbed. It was also because I was so stirred up to
see Nick. I had to concentrate on the engraved silverware at my
place to keep from staring at him.

The silence lingered.

I tried to remember which fork it is you use
first, but that only reminded me of Vera Wemble, which made me feel
worse. She had worked so patiently, teaching me proper table
manners. She would be absolutely appalled if she knew where I was,
and why.

Finally Kiera spoke. “Phoebe always sets a
formal table for Nick. My father used to insist on it when he was
alive, and despite what I tell her, she still thinks it should be
done when the head of the house, that’s Nick, in her books, is
here.”

“It’s not entirely wasted on me, though,”
Nick said. “I don’t mind dining in style.”

We all laughed too brightly.

“In that case,” Kiera said, “let’s have
candlelight too.”

“Of course!” Nick cried. On either side of
the centerpiece of feathery pink and purple asters stood tall
candles, the same wine color as the draperies, in ornate silver
holders. Nick dimmed the chandelier, then came and stood beside me
to light them. As he leaned forward his chest pressed close to my
face.

The candlelight transformed the room. At
first the walls above the wainscoting had appeared a muted shade of
grayish-pink, but now they seemed to glow with their own rosy
light. Nick flipped open my serviette and patted it into place on
my lap. Then he poured wine into one of the cut crystal glasses at
my place.

Our eyes met. But I didn’t return his smile.
I willed myself to be strong, and gave him a blank look, like I did
the hunters at the lodge.

“By the way, did you notice Lucienne’s eyes?”
Nick said to Kiera as he poured her wine.

“Well of course Nick. She has two of them.”
Kiera made a show of removing her serviette from its silver ring
and fluttering the plum-colored linen about.

Nick laughed as he set the bottle of wine
down. “I was referring to their color, Kiera.”

“It’s rather difficult to see her eyes in
this light, dear.” Kiera’s voice wasn’t as magnetic as it had been
the day before, and she looked strained. But of course this dinner
had to be as difficult for her as it was for me. Probably even more
so.

“Well, her eyes are amazing.” Nick flourished
his wine glass. “They’re the strangest color, sort of ocean gray.
And then the left one has a patch of brown just above the iris.
I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kiera flashed me an
aren’t-men-the-limit
look. “Actually, what I’ve noticed most
about Lucienne is her incredible energy. Do you know she runs three
to five miles a day?”

“Of course, that’s how we met up in Montreal,
I’m sure I must have told you. We’d both been out for a run on the
mountain.” Nick started eating his soup, which was cream of
pumpkin, another of Phoebe’s specialties. “That reminds me
Lucienne, have you discovered the trails in the forest behind the
house?”

“No, I’ve just been along the road to Airdrie
Bay so far.”

“That’s a good run too. But the trails are
even better. You won’t see a car or another person up there.”

“Really? I’ll have to try them then.” I
wanted to hear more, where exactly these trails were, what they
were like, but I knew how runners have a way of boring other
people, and I didn’t want to leave Kiera out. I felt so sorry for
her then. It couldn’t be easy to be eating dinner with your husband
and the woman who might have the baby you weren’t able to. So I
said, “Why don’t you tell us what’s new in Toronto Nick? Kiera and
I were just saying this morning how out of touch we feel. It’s been
such a long time since either of us has been to a big city.”

“Oh, spare me! Toronto’s the last thing I
want to think about.”

“Please? We’re starved for news.”

Nick put his elbows on the table and rested
his chin in his hands. “Well really, it’s the same old place. The
residents hate the developers, the cyclists hate the drivers, and
everybody hates the weather. Nobody talks about anything but the
price of real estate. And you can never find a bloody parking space
anywhere.”

Kiera gave a forced little laugh. “Oh, surely
there must be something more Nick. Don’t forget, absolutely nothing
ever happens here.”

“Well, let’s see. Two new restaurants opened,
but two old ones closed. The 401 westbound was jammed because of
some huge accident so it took hours to get to the airport.” He
refilled all our glasses. “And the Jays lost again last night.
Pathetic!” Then he launched into a play by play description of the
game. I couldn’t have cared less about baseball, and of course the
team’s name made me think of Jay, but I was happy to let Nick
continue just so I didn’t have to talk.

My mind drifted back to my high school days,
when I lived with the Wembles and for the first time in my life
really tried to fit in. I tried to forget Nick and started going
with the safe Gordon Clark. I became academic and religious. I
managed to repress my real self and fool everyone until Prom night,
when it all fell apart.

I was going to Prom with Gord, of course. But
because he was on student council and had to take tickets and sell
refreshments, he’d arranged for us to double with another dance
committee member, Liz Blake. The idea was that when Gordon and Liz
were busy, their dates would have someone to talk to and dance
with.

What Gord didn’t know was that Liz’s date,
Nick Talbot, was someone I shouldn’t be left alone with. I’d never
told anyone, especially not Gord, how Nick affected me. But what
could I do? In the end I just planned to get through the evening as
best I could. Maybe everything would be fine.

And maybe I was looking for trouble. Maybe I
was feeling restless, too controlled by the expectations of Gordon
Clark and the Wembles.

Vera had wanted to sew me a respectable
princess gown in pale peach crepe, like something she might have
worn. Like something I might have worn too, at the time. But
instead I’d chosen a long slinky black dress with the back scooped
low. Now I had to wonder if it was knowing I’d be with Nick that
made me want to wear it. Just as I’d wanted to impress him
tonight.

My earlier nervousness was evaporating at an
alarming rate. At the lodge I rarely drank. I’d forgotten how fast
alcohol can go to your head when you’re not used to it. After just
one glass of wine I couldn’t stop staring at Nick, who looked
casually elegant in a white shirt open at the neck. I couldn’t get
Prom night, and how I’d felt dancing with him, out of my mind.

Gord and Liz had been busy with their
committee duties most of the evening. Nick played the stand-in
escort perfectly, always at my side. But each time we danced, he
pulled me closer than necessary, too close for just friends. And I
had to keep removing his hand from my bare back. Where to put it
though?

The few dances I had with Gord, he placed his
hand at my waist, chaste and polite. But when I tried moving Nick’s
hand there, he acted as if I’d been suggesting he slide it even
lower. I pretended to be insulted, but I kept dancing with him. I
didn’t hide in the washroom to avoid him. I didn’t offer to help
Gord and Liz. Oh no. I danced with Nick every chance I got.

And then later, well, later was just too
painful to think about. For fourteen years I’d forced myself to
pretend
later
never happened. Which was what I must do now.
I must focus on the question at hand.

Could I have a baby for Nick and Kiera?

Yes!

But could I give that baby up?

I looked across at Kiera, who had wanted a
lot of children but wasn’t able to have any. Kiera whose lovely
face looked so heartbroken, so sad. Of course, I thought. No
problem. And Nick? Well, knowing his past, I had deep sympathy for
him. I understood how it felt to have no mother. To be abandoned.
If family was what he wanted, and I could help him have one, why
wouldn’t I? What would I do with a baby anyway?

The evening whirled by. Phoebe lit the fire,
and its radiance augmented the rosy spell of the candlelight. I was
reminded of hot eager blood rushing up under pale skin, and knew I
must look flushed in just that way myself.

I even caught myself drooling over the rare
roast beef Phoebe had cooked. I hadn’t eaten meat since I’d been at
the lodge. But now I wanted to I resisted, eating just the
Yorkshire pudding and vegetables. But my appetite disturbed me.

With each course a different wine was served,
and Nick never let my glass be even half empty. At one point I
covered the top to stop him refilling it again, but he lifted my
hand off and held it firmly while continuing to pour.

My stomach felt like I’d just dropped forty
floors in a fast elevator. Such an extreme reaction to his simple
gesture scared me. The last thing I wanted to do was fall in love
with him. But I knew there was a very real chance that I would.
Passionately. After all, I had once before. So what was to stop me
from losing my head again? Maybe I already had.

“We must have a toast,” Nick said, holding
his glass high. “To Lucienne. We’re glad you came to Malagash, and
we hope you’ll stay.”

Kiera giggled softly. Her hair had drifted
out of place and she reached up to smooth it back but she only
messed it up more. I thought she was probably quite drunk. “To the
future,” she said, and hiccupped. “We hope you ... we dream you ...
we dream you make our hopes ...” Stifling giddy laughter, she
buried her face in her hands. “Whoops! Not what I meant to say. We
hope you ... oh hell! Just please make our future come true!”

I looked from Nick to Kiera and back to Nick.
All the arguments for and against having their baby swirled around
in my mind. They taunted and teased me. Then they flickered as
softly as the candlelight and drifted off into the dark Nova Scotia
night.

My head felt perfectly clear.

I raised my glass.

I didn’t give a damn what anybody thought of
me. Not even Jay Williams. Not anymore.

“To my pregnancy!” I cried. “To our
baby!”

I woke the next morning not hungover but
elated. I felt full of raw energy and eager to begin what I’d
committed myself to. Why delay? The sooner the better, now that I’d
made up my mind. And also because, whether by luck or by fate, my
body was ready, too. I knew I was mid-cycle by the nagging band of
tightness ovulation always stretched around my abdomen. This
coincidence, that the time was right for conception, made me even
more certain I’d made the right decision.

I lay in bed awhile wondering what it would
be like to be artificially inseminated. Vulgar? Degrading?
Humiliating? Exciting? And how was it actually done? I’d heard of
people using a turkey baster, but surely a doctor would be more
professional? I went downstairs prepared for anything.

After breakfast Nick put on a big show making
coffee. He’d brought a special dark roast blend of beans from a
gourmet store in Toronto, which he ground and then prepared
Bodum-style with spring water. He served us out on the south patio,
a wide expanse of flagstone off the living room. We sat in white
wicker chairs with puffy chintz cushions which Phoebe had set out
in front of the French doors.

At any other time I would have been impatient
to explore the splendid gardens bordering the patio. But not that
morning. I didn’t want any new ideas for plantings. The only seeds
I could think of were the human kind.

Kiera, wearing oversized black sunglasses,
barely spoke. But Nick talked non-stop. Apparently he’d come
prepared, because he just happened to have in hand a contract he’d
already drawn up. But his arrogance didn’t even bother me. I sat
sipping the perfect coffee, relishing the salty sea breeze and
bright September sun.

“Lucienne?” Nick tapped at my head with his
gold Cross pen. “Hello? You with me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What did I just say?”

“Uh, sorry. No idea.”

“I was explaining how the adoption would
work.”

“Oh. Well, whatever you think. You probably
know best, being a lawyer and all.”

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?
You seem a little distant.”

I couldn’t help yawning. “Not at all. But if
we sit here all day discussing the boring details I just might. And
I should tell you I’m mid-cycle today, so let’s get on with
it.”