The Gifted (15 page)

Taylor had vacillated about how best to celebrate her birthday. At one point she wanted to invite twelve of her
closest friends for a sleepover at our condo, then she floated the idea of a dinner dance at the Hotel Saskatchewan. The dinner dance gave way to a plan for an evening of paint-balling and pizza at Prairie Paintball Storm. Finally, Taylor settled on a weekend at our cottage with Margot and Declan; her two best friends, Isobel Wainberg and Gracie Falconer; her family, including her brothers and their significant others; and a birthday dinner featuring all her favourite dishes.

Neither Zack nor I was really into paintball, so we applauded her choice. I was particularly glad that Isobel and Gracie were still front and centre in Taylor’s life. The three girls had always been anchors for one another, but that fall Taylor had been so busy with Julian and her art that she had drifted a little from her old friends.

I was, of course, relieved beyond measure that Taylor hadn’t asked that Julian be included on the guest list. We had been living with tension since the beginning of the month, and we all needed a break. Riel wouldn’t be joining us either. Zack had located him. He was living in the basement apartment of the home of a community worker in North Central. Zack had arranged to meet Riel at our condo. When he didn’t show up and didn’t offer an explanation for his absence, Mieka said that the next move would have to be Riel’s, and Zack and I didn’t argue the point.

We had all the ingredients for a good weekend. We would have a full house. The ice on the lake wasn’t safe to be on yet, but Isobel’s father, Noah, had been building a rink on the flat area between our cottages, so in addition to hiking, we could skate. The forecast called for snow, so if we were lucky, we’d get in some cross-country skiing.

Zack and I had busy lives, but from the start of our relationship we had carved out as much time as possible to be
at the lake. I loved Lawyers’ Bay at any time of year, but in November when the heraldic colours of autumn faded, trees dropped their leaves, and bare branches became brushstrokes of ink against the grey sky, I experienced a peace that was as rare as it was welcome.

That Friday when we pulled up in front of our cottage, the deep honking calls of Canada geese split the air. We let the dogs out of the car, and then Taylor, Zack, and I watched silently until the last skein of geese flew above us, heading south on their long migration.

Taylor released her cats from their travelling cage, and then we began carrying in the laundry hampers filled with groceries, wine, and sundries. When we’d taken in the last hamper, Zack inhaled deeply. “This is the life,” he said. At that moment, he looked five years younger than he had since the night Vince came to our condo to say he’d hit Lauren. I decided that Celeste’s revelations about Lauren’s romantic history and her future plans could wait till the weekend was over.

Mieka, Madeleine, and Lena were already at work in the cottage. Mieka was in the kitchen grating cheese to top the chili and the girls were setting the long partners’ table in the sun porch. Zack counted the places. “Could you ladies possibly squeeze in one more setting?”

Madeleine’s brow furrowed. “Did we count wrong?”

“Nope,” Zack said. “Your counting was perfect. I invited a friend to join us.”

“Will your friend mind if he has a different placemat?” Madeleine asked. “We’ve used all the orange ones.”

Lena sighed heavily. “If Granddad’s friend has a different placemat, he’ll feel like an outcast.”

“Where did you hear the word
outcast
?” I said.

“From Riel,” Lena said.

Mieka moved towards her daughters quickly. “Let’s use
some of the brown placemats, too. They’ll look pretty with the orange.”

Mieka and the girls began resetting the table. The brown placemats did indeed look pretty with the orange. “The situation appears to be in hand,” I said to Zack. “Come into the kitchen with me while I check on the chili.”

There were two very large pots on the stove. Mieka had brought the vegetarian chili that I favoured, and I brought the chili con carne that Mieka had liked since she was a child. I turned up the heat under both pots, picked up a spoon, and began stirring. “So who’s your friend?” I asked.

Zack’s expression was innocent. “Brock Poitras. His partner is going to a wedding or something in Calgary, and Brock didn’t have plans for the weekend.”

“And you thought some time at the lake would give you a chance to convince him that his move to Racette-Hunter should be permanent.”

“No flies on you, Ms. Shreve. Racette-Hunter is going to need a managing director. Especially now, with Riel out, we’ll need someone to provide leadership, decide on strategy, and make sure we achieve our objectives. If Brock comes on board at the beginning of the year, he’ll have time to put together the management team he wants and establish Racette-Hunter’s presence in the community by Labour Day when we open our doors.”

“Are you still planning on being out of R-H by August 1?” I said.

Zack nodded. “Yep, if Brock agrees, I’m sure the transition will be complete by then.”

“And we’ll have a month at the lake before you go back to Falconer Shreve.”

“We’ll have our month at the lake,” Zack said. “But I might not go directly back to Falconer Shreve.”

I stopped stirring. “Thinking of taking a gap year?” I said. “You and I could have a lot of fun backpacking across Tibet with Taylor, Willie, Pantera, and the cats.”

Zack chortled. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about running for mayor.”

I started to laugh and then something in Zack’s face stopped me. “You’re serious,” I said.

After a lifetime in politics, my expectations for public officials were minimal, but since he’d become involved in the start up of Racette-Hunter, Zack had taken the chicanery of our mayor and city council to heart. All week he’d been fulminating about the bait-and-switch land deal Howard Dowhanuik had told us about the night of the auction, but fulminating is one thing and running for office is another.

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Zack said. “Of course, I didn’t plan to do anything until you and I talked about it. It would be a three-year commitment for both of us, Jo, but if we got the right city council we could do a lot in those three years.”

“Agreed,” I said. “But first you’d have to get elected.”

“You don’t think I could win?”

“Truthfully? No. I don’t. Zack, you have several closets full of skeletons, and the opposition will make certain they all come tumbling out: the women, the drinking, the gambling, the times you crossed the line when you were practising law. We’re not going to be able to shoot all that down with a nice family photo.”

“I have committed many sins but no crimes,” Zack said.

“There’s a campaign slogan with traction,” I said. I turned down the heat under Mieka’s chili and handed Zack the spoon. “Give this a stir, would you? I should get started on the salad.”

Zack began stirring. “I’ve never stepped away from anything because the odds were against me,” he said.

“I know, and I know you’d be a terrific mayor. You’re always the smartest guy in the room, and you’re a quick study, but I understand politics, and I’m not sure political life is a good fit for you. You’re used to winning, and this city is filled with people who won’t want you to win. If you do win, they’ll link arms to block everything you try to do. And there will be more of them than there are of us. The ugly little secret of civic politics is that the only people with any sustained interest in what happens at city council are the people who can profit from the decisions the mayor and the council makes.”

“So what do we do?” Zack said. “Just stay out of it?”

“That’s my first impulse,” I said. “But I need time to think. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you could change this city for the better, but without breaking a sweat I could give you a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t run for mayor. The first one is me. Election campaigns are punishing and I want you around forever.”

Zack put his arms around me. “Okay,” he said. “That settles it. If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you to run. I just said I needed time to think.” I took the ingredients for the salad out of the refrigerator. Cherry tomatoes were Zack’s favourites, so I washed them first, put some in a bowl, and handed it to him.

He popped one in his mouth. “You make me very happy,” he said. “And that’s not just the tomatoes speaking.”

Mieka and I had been getting dinner on the table together for many years. We worked together smoothly, and that night we were both careful not to mention the fact that Lena had learned the word
outcast
from Riel.

Dinner was relaxed and filled with laughter. Both chilis were a hit, the cornbread didn’t crumble, and Zack urged everyone to help themselves to the cherry tomatoes. Brock
was an ideal guest – one who was both interested and interesting. And Maisie Crawford was always fun. She and Peter, our eldest son, had been together for three months and we were all hoping the relationship would last. When Maisie was in the room, Peter couldn’t stop smiling. That was good enough for me.

Zack had his own reasons for wanting the romance to continue. Maisie’s move from Falconer Shreve’s Calgary office to Regina was classified as temporary, but Zack was eager to have Maisie stay in Saskatchewan. She was a gifted trial lawyer whose passion for lacrosse meant that she often showed up in court with a split lip or a bruise. According to Zack, Maisie’s injuries melted hearts and proved she was tough. Juries loved her. And to put the cherry on the cheesecake, that night when the talk turned to music, Maisie said that her Uncle Roy taught her early that the Beach Boys’
Pet Sounds
was, bar none, the Greatest Album of All Time. Zack, the world’s most fervent Brian Wilson fan, looked as if he would spontaneously combust with joy.

When Zack and I went in to say goodnight to Taylor, we were both in high spirits. Zack wheeled close to Taylor’s bed. “You have to admit that was one terrific kickoff for your birthday weekend,” he said.

Taylor’s expression was distant. “It was really good,” she said. “I just wish Julian could have been here.” Her eyes travelled between Zack’s face and mine. “I asked him to come with us this weekend, you know.”

I hoped my relief wasn’t too apparent. “Did Julian have other plans?”

Taylor’s eyes were still watchful. “No. He wanted to be with me on my birthday, but he said it was a family party and he didn’t want to intrude.”

“That was very sensitive of him,” Zack said.

“Julian and I have been talking a lot lately,” Taylor said.
“I’m really getting to know him. He’s a very sensitive person.” Her voice was challenging.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Zack said. “Because you mean the world to us, Taylor. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Zack’s words seemed to disarm our daughter. “I won’t,” she said softly. “You and Jo mean the world to me, too.”

When I kissed Taylor goodnight, I held her close and wished I could hold her like that forever.

The weekend unfolded smoothly and happily. The promised snow never arrived, but the days were bright and cold enough to keep the rink in shape, and we made good use of it. Madeleine and Lena had both taken skating lessons so they were confident skaters. Zack had a Sit-Skate, a sled-skate invention for paraplegics that could be manoeuvred with the strength of the upper body. On ice, as on land, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Saturday morning Maisie got up a game of shinny. The traditional method of forming teams was followed. Everybody threw his or her hockey stick into a pile that Maisie divided into two smaller piles. Everyone picked up his or her stick and joined the others whose sticks had been in their pile. The two teams wound up evenly matched, and it was fun for the rest of us to sit, cheering them on and drinking hot chocolate.

Taylor’s family birthday dinner was planned for Saturday night. Zack had to meet with a potential Racette-Hunter donor on Monday morning, so we were celebrating early. Mieka and I made Taylor’s favourite dish, paella, and Margot, Declan, Brock, the Falconers, and the Wainbergs joined the rest of the family. The table was filled, and Taylor was beaming. After we’d cleared away the dishes from the main course, Angus turned to Mieka. “Time for the Pogues?”

“You bet,” Mieka said. “The candles are on the cake waiting to be lit.”

Brock raised his hand in a Halt sign. “Okay, roll it back,” he said. “What do the Pogues have to do with Taylor’s birthday?”

Angus pulled out his
MP3
player. “When Taylor came to live with us, she used to follow me everywhere.”

“I’d never had a brother,” Taylor explained.

“I was totally into the Pogues,” Angus said. “So, of course, Taylor was totally into them too. She was four years old. Her favourite Pogues’ song was ‘Fiesta.’ By the time her fifth birthday rolled around, she knew all the words to ‘Fiesta’ and she insisted that we sing it when we brought in her birthday cake.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, the Kilbourns being the Kilbourns, it is now a tradition.”

He turned on his
MP3
and the room exploded with the sounds of the Pogues singing “Fiesta,” their raucous celebration of the lusty joys that erupt when willing boys meet willing girls. Mieka brought in the cake, candles blazing. Those who knew the lyrics to “Fiesta” sang along, and those who didn’t, clapped.

After Taylor had blown out the candles, we went into the family room and sat in front of the fire while Zack played the piano. He played by ear. He wasn’t as good as he thought he was, but he was very good. One night we’d had guests, and a woman who had drunk well but not wisely asked Zack how he could be such a bastard in the courtroom and play piano so beautifully. Zack had drained his brandy snifter and given her his Cheshire cat grin. “You know what they say about Miles Davis. He played the way he’d have liked to be.”

As holiday weekends inevitably do, ours wound to a close. After the hockey players had one last game of shinny on
Sunday, we had soup and sandwiches, cleaned up, and said our goodbyes.