The Gifted (31 page)

“Just like her mother,” I said.

“And her father,” Margot said.

“With genes like that, Lexi will be unbeatable,” I said. “Time for you to get to know each other.” I kissed Margot and Lexi. “Sleep well, Lexi,” I said. “You have a whole world to discover.”

When the elevator stopped at our floor, the owner of Crocus and Ivy, a local shop that sold high-end children’s wear, wheeled out an old-fashioned pram filled with cozy clothing, gifts for the winter solstice baby. A photographer followed close behind, ready to snap pictures of the event.

As Zack and I got into the elevator, we were joined by two nurses. One appeared to be in late middle age; the other was younger, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Both wore the cheerful teddy-bear print uniforms of the obstetrics nursing staff. The women were chatting with the weary intimacy of workers who’ve shared a long shift.

“Our winter solstice baby was certainly born under a lucky star,” the younger woman said. “Her mother is Margot Hunter. She owns some big international company.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem fair that her baby’s the one who gets that gorgeous carriage and all the goodies.”

The older nurse chuckled. “My grandma had a record that she played over and over again. All I can remember is the opening. ‘Them that’s got shall get and them that’s not shall lose.’ ” Truer words were never spoken.”

The younger nurse nodded. “I was on duty when last year’s winter solstice baby was born. He was fetal alcohol syndrome.”

Zack and I followed the two nurses out. The lighting on the floor of the Mother-Baby units had been muted, but the overheads on the main floor were pitilessly bright. When we reached the front doors, Zack looked at me and his brow furrowed. “You’ve lost your glow,” he said.

“So have you,” I said. “But it’s time to put on our game faces and head for home. We have a daughter waiting.”

When we got back to Halifax Street, Taylor was asleep on the couch, covered with a quilt. Declan was sitting beside her. He stood when he heard us come through the door. “How are Margot and Lexi?” he said.

We kept our voices low. “Perfect in every way,” I said. “You can see for yourself tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks for staying with Taylor,” Zack said.

“Margot said if I saw her giving birth it would freak us both out and she’d never have any grandchildren. Anyway, I’m always happy to be with Taylor.”

“How are you doing?” I said. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk lately.”

“I’m fine. And Taylor’s going to be fine, too.” His voice was filled with hope. “It’s going to take a while, but Taylor and I have plenty of time. This morning I figured out that Lexi will live to see the beginning of the twenty-second century. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

“Mega cool,” Zack said. He held out his hand. Declan shook it and held on. He had tears in his eyes. “I miss my dad,” he said.

“So do I,” Zack said.

After Declan left, I bent to smooth Taylor’s hair. “I’d better get our girl into bed. She was probably awake until dawn.”

“Why don’t we wait awhile?” Zack said. “Taylor’s comfortable where she is, and you’re still upset about that old Billie Holiday line.”

“ ‘Them that’s got shall get?’ ” I said. “I didn’t realize that was Billie Holiday.”

“ ‘God Bless the Child,’ ” Zack said. “I’ve got it on my playlist if you want to hear it.”

“I’m depressed enough,” I said.

“That’s when you’re supposed to listen to the blues,” Zack said. “Let’s give it a shot. We have a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator, we have a roof garden, and we still have our coats on. Let’s go up, check out the city, and listen to Billie.”

“Why not?” I said. I took down the champagne flutes, and Zack picked up his
MP3
player and the champagne. The dogs, sensing good times ahead, raced to the door.

The day we stepped into was cold and grey. The evergreens wintering on the roof garden had been decorated with red ribbon, and as we moved towards the edge of the garden Zack and I puffed little clouds of breath. Somewhere the safety alarm of a car blared, then stopped.

Zack loved dramatic moments, and few moments are more dramatic than popping the cork on a bottle of champagne. He opened the bottle and poured some into the flutes I was holding. The contents of one of the glasses overflowed onto my mitten.

“Hey, suck that mitten,” Zack said. “A client sent the champagne, and it’s the good stuff.”

“You’re such a classy guy,” I said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Zack said. “So what shall we drink to?”

“How about to those we’ve lost and those we’ve gained,” I said.

“That seems to cover it,” Zack said, and his voice was husky with emotion.

We touched glasses and took our first sip. Zack wheeled close to me. “Time to listen to Billie.” He touched Play and the quiet night was filled with Billie Holiday’s warm, intimate, and heartbreakingly wise voice. She was a storyteller, and as she sang about how the strong get more while the weak ones fade, my throat closed. By the time “God Bless the Child” finished, I’d come to a decision.

Zack peered at me carefully. “Still no glow,” he said. “Let’s take in the lights. That will cheer you up.” He pointed to the star the construction crew had hung on the scaffolding of the Racette-Hunter Centre. “I really like that star,” he said. “Let’s come up with some sort of snazzy lighting to mark the R-H Centre when it’s finished. We want to remind everyone – especially the people of North Central – that we’re there.”

“Snazzy lighting is always a crowd pleaser,” I said. “That can be your first official act as mayor.”

“Whoa,” Zack said. “What happened to the dozen reasons why I shouldn’t get into the race?”

“They’re still with us,” I said. “But they’re overridden by the one reason you should. We can’t have kids hurling rocks at strangers’ cars because they know that nothing good will ever happen to them, and we can’t have
FAS
babies whose lives are over before they’ve begun.”

“And you think we can change that?” Zack said.

“I don’t know. I just know we have to try.”

Zack turned his chair to face me. “You’re one helluva woman, Joanne.”

I leaned down and embraced my husband. “And you’re one helluva man.”

Zack’s lips were cold and so were mine, but a kiss is still a kiss.

When the kiss ended, I straightened. “Let’s listen to Billie Holiday again,” I said. And as Billie Holiday sang the final hopeful verse of “God Bless the Child,” Zack and I joined our gloved hands, looked down at the city together, and dreamed our separate dreams.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to:

Lara Hinchberger, my editor, and her associate Kendra Ward, for giving me the kind of collaborative editing experience writers dream about.

Heather Sangster for her eagle eye.

Ben Bowen-Bell, my seven-year-old grandson, for the cover concept, and Terri Nimmo for making Ben’s concept a reality.

Barbara Weller,
LICSW
, for reading the manuscript and for giving me expert advice about psychology.

Rick Mitchell, retired Staff Sergeant in Charge of Major Crimes Section, Regina Police Service, for his insights into the lives of the people of North Central.

Darrell Bell for great conversations about art.

Najma Kazmi, M.D., for her sensitivity and professionalism.

Hildy Bowen for sharing her knowledge about the many things I don’t know.

Ted Bowen, my love of forty-four years, for making all things possible.

Finally, thanks to the City of Regina, which has provided me with such rich material over the years. I have always tried to portray our city truthfully, but my novels are fiction
and in
The Gifted
I have envisioned a dream outcome for the un-played (at the time of writing) 2013 Grey Cup. As well, I invented out of whole cloth a mayor and city council who served my narrative purposes. My civic scoundrels bear no resemblance to our real mayor and city council, all of whom are dedicated public servants.