The Gifted (27 page)

My own throat closed. “Taylor, what can we do to make this better?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

For a couple of minutes, the three of us were silent, listening to the rain. Then Zack reached back for his satchel. “Taylor, there’s something I wanted to show you.”

Her brow furrowed. “If it’s something ugly about Julian, I don’t want to see it.”

“It’s nothing to do with Julian. It’s just something for you and for Joanne. It’s a surprise I put together after your birthday party at the lake.” Zack reached behind him for his satchel and pulled out his MacBook Air. “Why don’t you two get close, so we can all watch together?”

Zack balanced his MacBook on his lap and turned the sound up full blast. Suddenly, Taylor’s studio was filled with the voices of the Pogues singing their crazy, raucous, life-gulping song “Fiesta,” and we were watching a video called
Taylor Throughout the Years
, a rapid-fire retrospective of
photos of Taylor starting with one of her blowing out the candles on her fifteenth birthday and moving backwards at breakneck speed. As the Pogues sang, image piled upon image: Taylor in her condo studio; Taylor at the old house with her cats; Taylor at Christmas giving me an illustrated version of Pablo Neruda’s “Ode to Socks”; Taylor at the lake building the inuksuit with Gracie and Isobel; Taylor standing between Zack and me on the wintry day we were married; Taylor with the bishop, the dean, and the other kids in her class on the day she was confirmed; Taylor carving a pumpkin at Halloween; Taylor holding the newborn Lena, with Madeleine proudly by her side; Taylor at age four and a half going to a birthday party wearing a frilly dress and her pyjama bottoms because they were covered in stars.

As “Fiesta” wound down, the last picture appeared on the screen. It was of Taylor the day she came to live with my children and me. The shot brought back that day to me with aching clarity. She was a silent and painfully obedient child who wouldn’t let me out of her sight. I gave her a package of crayons and a sketchbook. Then I sat down on the floor beside her. As she began to draw a dazzlingly blue butterfly, she bit her lip in concentration; her small body relaxed and for the first time I could see the girl she was. It took her two hours to finish her drawing of the butterfly. When she finished, she turned to me, her dark eyes filled with questions she was afraid to ask.

“You’re going to live with us now,” I said.

“For how long?”

“As long as you want,” I’d said. Then I’d taken a Polaroid of her with the butterfly drawing and together we put the photo in our family album.

Zack turned off his laptop. The silence among us was electric, charged with unsaid words. Finally, Taylor moved
close to me and lay her head on my shoulder. “I want it to be over,” she said simply.

“It will be,” Zack said. “I can tell Julian.”

“No,” Taylor said. “He should hear it from me, but you’ll have to let me pick my own time.”

When we got back to Halifax Street, Taylor went straight to her room. After we heard her door close, I went to Zack. “What made you think of showing Taylor the video?”

“I was planning to give it to her for Christmas,” Zack said. “But tonight it hit me that what Taylor needed more than anything was a reminder of the girl she is.”

“That was brilliant,” I said.

He put his arm around my hips and squeezed. “No,” he said. “It was just damn lucky.”

CHAPTER
13

Our weekend was very quiet, and during the following days we all seemed to be in a holding pattern. Taylor went to school. Julian came over after school to pose. Taylor had dinner with us, did her homework, and went to bed. She was preoccupied and sad, but she was clearly steeling herself for the task of telling Julian, and true to our word, we had resolved to let her choose her own time.

Taylor spent most of the next Saturday in her studio, but Saturday night she went over to Margot’s to talk to Declan. When she came home, she kissed us both goodnight and said, “I’m ready. I’ll tell Julian tomorrow afternoon when he comes over to pose.”

Everyone in our province becomes a weather-watcher on Grey Cup Sunday. One of my thousand worries about Zack is that he’ll catch a cold that will develop into something more serious – sitting three and half hours in a freezing stadium being pelted by rain is the first step to pneumonia. Mosaic Stadium does not have a domed roof, but Saskatchewan has the most dedicated fans in the league,
and Zack is the most dedicated of the dedicated. He and I had braved the elements many times for Riders games, but when I checked the weather forecast that morning, it appeared we were in luck. The temperature was going to be a balmy plus ten. There would be no wind or precipitation and plenty of sunshine was headed our way. Zip-a-dee-doo-dah.

Before the Cathedral’s ten-thirty service, Taylor had talked to me about the least painful way of breaking off with Julian. We agreed that the best tack was simply to tell the truth – that Taylor was too young for the kind of relationship Julian hoped for.

The prospect of causing Julian pain was eating away at her. It was eating away at me, too. Julian might have been a hustler and a manipulator, but he was also a very troubled nineteen-year-old boy, and my heart went out to him. We were all quiet on the way to the service.

Everyone at the church, including our dean, Mike Sinclair, wore the green and white garb of the Riders fan. When we took our place beside Mieka and the girls, Zack whispered, “I bet a bundle on this game. Can I pray that the Riders win?”

“No,” I said. “But you can pray that if the Riders tank today, I never find out how much money you lost.”

Zack’s expression was cherubic. The music for the processional began. Madeleine and Lena were both altar girls that morning, and as they passed us, angelic in their white robes, Zack was in his glory. It was an auspicious start to the day.

The game started at 5:00 p.m. and except for Taylor, who was going to the Wainbergs’ Grey Cup party, the game would be a full-family affair. Peter, Angus, and their respective girlfriends would be joining us at Mosaic Stadium. I was looking forward to the game, but the spectre of Julian loomed.

He arrived at the condo just after lunch. Taylor’s sessions with him could last hours, but this one was over in about forty-five minutes. When he came downstairs, he walked past Zack and me like a man in a trance. I followed him to the door. “Take care of yourself, Julian,” I said. He just kept on walking.

Taylor came down soon afterwards. Her face was strained, but she seemed calm. “Well, it was awful, but I didn’t back down. I told Julian we could be friends, but it couldn’t be anything more. He offered to keep coming over until the painting was finished, but I told him it might be easier for both of us if I worked from photographs. He was really nice about letting me get all the shots I needed. I invited him to come over when the painting is finished.”

“Did that help?” I asked.

“I hope so,” Taylor said. “Julian was really upset. He said I was his only hope.”

“His only hope for what?” Zack said.

“Being someone who mattered in the art world,” Taylor said. She held out her hand. It was trembling. “I think I need to lie down for a while.”

After Taylor was out of earshot, Zack exhaled. “God, I’m glad that’s over.”

“I feel sorry for Julian.”

“So do I,” Zack said. “He has what my mother used to call ‘hurting eyes,’ but he’ll be okay. Julian’s a survivor.”

“I wish I was as sure of that as you are,” I said.

Two hours later Taylor came back downstairs dressed for the Grey Cup party: her hair was in a ponytail anchored by a green and white scrunchy, she was carrying pom-poms, and wearing a team sweater, a retro cheerleader’s skirt, bobby sox, and green and white runners. She looked the way a fifteen-year-old girl should look on her way to a football
party, except that she was pale and her eyes were swollen from crying.

Zack’s face mirrored my own concern. “You don’t look like you’re in a party mood, Taylor,” I said. “Why don’t I stay home with you? I could use a quiet evening.”

“No,” she said. “You’ve been looking forward to the game, and it’s not as if I won’t know everybody at the Wainbergs. I won’t have to pretend that I’m having a blast if I’m not.”

When Margot and Declan came over to pick Taylor up, Declan took me aside. “Did she tell him?” When I nodded, relief washed over his young face.

As always, Margot looked smashing. She had draped a Roughriders scarf around the neck of her white sweater, and her green pregnancy leggings showcased her gorgeous legs.

“That’s a great outfit,” I said. “You’re certainly not leaving it in the locker room.”

Margot grinned. “I came to play.”

“And you’re giving it 110 per cent,” Zack said. “Three football clichés in a row – nowhere near the world record. Sadly, it’s time for us to hit the road. Traffic to Mosaic is going to be murder.” He turned to Taylor. “Not too late to change your mind,” he said. “Just say the word, and your mum and I will stay home with you.”

Taylor kissed the top of his head. “Dad, you’ve been talking about this game for weeks. Go. Have a good time. I’ll be fine.”

Zack looked dubious. “Okay, but if you need us, you know where we are.”

It was a great afternoon. The Montreal Alouettes and the Riders were evenly matched. Both sides made spectacular plays; both made serious mental mistakes; and both took bone-headed penalties. The Riders won in the last twenty
seconds of the game, and, as they say, the crowd went wild. Stoked by popcorn and soft drinks, Madeleine and Lena had been remarkably patient, but as they joined in the high-fiving, I knew that they were celebrating both the Riders victory and the fact that the game was finally over.

Everybody was going back to Mieka’s for dinner, but Zack and I asked for a rain check. We were both worried about Taylor. We knew how deeply she had been wounded by the situation with Julian, and we wanted to be at home if she needed us.

It took us forever to get back to Halifax Street. On our way to the car, we ran into a dozen people we knew, all of whom wanted to talk about the game. When we got into the Volvo, Zack snapped his seatbelt and then fumbled around in his jacket. “Shit. I must have left my phone at home. Can I borrow yours?”

“I never take my bag to the game. Just one more thing to lose. Is it urgent?”

“No, I was just going to call a buddy of mine in Montreal and gloat.”

“Nice,” I said.

When we finally turned onto Halifax Street, an ambulance was just pulling away from our building, siren shrieking, lights flashing. My mind raced. “That can’t be for Margot,” I said. “If there was a problem, someone would have called us.”

“If we’d had our phones with us,” Zack said.

“Right,” I said. “If we’d had our phones with us.” I pulled into the twenty-minute zone at the front of the building. “What do you want to do?”

Zack was already reaching into the back seat for his wheel chair. “Go upstairs and see if there are any messages,” he said.

Zack’s mind was still on Margot. As the elevator doors closed, he turned to me. “If the baby’s born now, will she be all right?”

“Margot’s due on Christmas Day, so it will be an eight-month baby. The odds are certainly in her favour, but full-term is always preferable.”

Zack took my hand. “I’m glad we went to church this morning.”

“Me, too,” I said.

When we got off the elevator, the hall was quiet. I knocked on Margot’s door, but there was no answer.

As soon as I unlocked the door to our condo, the dogs were upon us. Willie and Pantera were always eager greeters, but that afternoon they were frantic. Zack bent to comfort Pantera and I stroked Willie. “Calm down,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

But even as I cooed reassurance, I knew nothing was fine. There were boot marks on the hardwood downstairs, a ficus on the landing had been knocked over, and the pot had broken, spilling soil and leaves on the stairs.

“What the hell?” Zack said.

I called Taylor’s name, but my voice echoed hollowly through the empty house. As I tore up the stairs, trying to sidestep dirt and shards of pottery, the dogs were at my heels. I called them off, but even to my own ears, my commands sounded thin and unconvincing. Zack positioned his wheelchair at the bottom of the stairs. When I reached the second floor, I smelled the blood before I saw it. At first, all I saw was a red smear in the hall. I was terrified, but I forced myself to continue towards Taylor’s studio. I stared through the open door and saw a pool of blood on the floor in front of Taylor’s easel. The room began to swim around me. I bent, put my hands on my knees, and tried to take deep breaths. The sickly-sweet smell I inhaled turned my stomach. Willie and Pantera pressed themselves against my legs.

I shouted at them to get out of the studio and slammed the door. I seldom raised my voice to the dogs and the shock sent them running towards Zack.

Zack had always had the power to soothe me, but when I got to the landing and saw the fear in his face, my knees turned to water. I clung to the banister, and finally I made my way to him. “Something’s happened,” I said. “There’s blood in Taylor’s studio, but she’s not there.”

“If she was in that ambulance, we have to get to the hospital,” Zack said, and his voice was authoritative.

“We don’t know which hospital they’ve taken her to,” I said.

Zack had already grabbed his cell from the table. It was obvious his call had gone to voicemail. “Vince, it’s Zack. Joanne and I just came home from the game. An ambulance was pulling away from our building, and we’re afraid Taylor’s been hurt. We don’t know what hospital she’d be taken to. If we call the hospitals, we’ll just get jacked around. Can you find out where she is?”

While we waited for Vince to call back, Zack and I held on to each other wordlessly. When the phone rang, we both froze. Zack’s face was grey when he picked up, but as he listened to Vince the colour seemed to flow back into his cheeks. “Thank God,” he said. “Okay, we’ll meet you in emergency at the General.”

He took my hand. “It’s not Taylor,” he said. “The injured person was male, but when he was admitted, there was a girl with him. That’s all Vince could tell me.”