Gail Bowen - The Last Good Day

“Can’t have that,” Zack said. He held me close, caressing my breasts. “Except for the obvious, I don’t know where this is going, Joanne.”

“Neither do I,” I said. “But for tonight, I think the obvious will be enough.”

“You’ll come by my house after the kids get home?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll come by.”

After Zack left, I sprayed my ruined slacks with Spot Shot and stepped into the shower. My mind was racing. The number of sexual partners I had had during my life could be counted on three fingers: my husband, Ian; a man named Keith Harris, who had always been more friend than lover and who was still a friend; and Alex Kequahtooway. I had never been casual about sex, and yet here I was, getting ready to towel off, dress, and walk down the road to spend the night with a man I’d known for less than two weeks. Seemingly, at the age of fifty-five, I was becoming a risk-taker.

After I’d stepped out of the shower, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Thirty-three years ago, when I was certain Ian and I would become lovers, I had stood on a chair in my room in the dorm and examined my body in the mirror above my bureau. The sun was pouring through the window and my flesh glowed firm and ripe as a pear. As I looked at my body that September afternoon, I had known that Ian was a lucky man. Zack Shreve would be less lucky. Still, none of us is perfect, and he had asked.

When I heard the front door open, I felt a moment of panic. It wouldn’t be easy explaining to my son what I was about to do. As it turned out, the gods were smiling. Leah was alone in the kitchen.

“Where’s our boy?” I said.

“Probably already asleep,” she said. “There’s a truckload of meat coming in early tomorrow morning.” She sniffed the air. “You’re wearing your best perfume and mascara and your second-best summer outfit. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Actually, I have to ask a favour,” I said. “I wonder if you’d mind keeping an ear open for Taylor. I have to go out for a while.”

“Out as in out on a date?”

“I’m going over to Zack Shreve’s.”

The smallest of frowns crinkled her brow. “Jo, are you sure about this?”

“No,” I said, “I’m not sure at all, but I’m going anyway.”

Leah dimpled. “Well, good for you. My Aunt Slava always says that summer is for bad boys.”

The front door to Zack’s house was open a crack. I stepped inside.

“I’m here,” I said.

Zack came in from the living room. He was wearing a white terry-towel robe. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You left the door open, and you’re undressed.”

“I’m an optimistic guy.” He extended his hand. “Ready?”

The colours in Zack’s bedroom were the same as those in the rest of the house – rust, metallic grey, and white – and the furniture was just as sleek, but this room was personal, with books, papers, and photographs. The bed was large enough to get lost in. On one of the bedside tables there was a bowl of apples, on the other, a white orchid in a graceful crystal vase.

“We can share the apples,” Zack said. “But the orchid’s for you.”

“Where did you get an orchid at eleven at night?”

“I snipped it from the plant in the kitchen. Lights on or off?”

“Off,” I said. “And thanks for the flower.”

From the outset, we were surprisingly easy with one another. “This is going to involve a few adjustments,” he said. “Tell me how you feel about what I’m doing.” He slid his hand between my legs.

“I like that,” I said. “So what do I do?”

He took my hand and guided it to his nipple. “Start here.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

And so we discovered one another’s bodies. I had never been with anyone who understood a woman’s sexuality the way Zack did. What we did was different from what I was used to, but it was sublime. We fell asleep in one another’s arms, and I didn’t wake until the first light of morning. I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, washed my face and cursed the fact that I’d forgotten my toothbrush.

Zack was awake when I came back. “Were you just going to disappear without saying goodbye?”

“I was going to let you sleep,” I said.

“I don’t want to sleep,” he said. “Come here.”

I sat on the bed beside him, and he drew me to him. When he started to kiss me, I turned my head. “I didn’t bring my toothbrush.”

“Use mine.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

Zack looked amused. “We just spent several hours exchanging bodily fluids,” he said.

“That was different.”

“You’re a woman of contradictions, Ms. Kilbourn, but I’ll learn to live with them.” He stroked my head. “So what are you going to do today?”

“I’ll probably try to figure out what happened here tonight.”

“Regrets?”

“None. At this moment, I’m very happy.”

“Me too.”

“And what are you going to do today?”

“I have to be in court by nine o’clock.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m a lawyer. Appearing in court is part of the gig.”

“Are you prepared?”

“Always.” Zack pushed himself up so he was sitting. “Anything you want me to bring you from town?”

I kissed his forehead. “A toothbrush,” I said.

When I awoke for the second time that morning, my son was peering anxiously at me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said. “What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock,” Angus said. “You slept in.”

“But I woke up, so you can stop worrying.”

Angus was not reassured. “You always get up at five-thirty. Taylor said you were throwing the disc around last night. I thought you might have pulled something.”

I sat up and stretched. “Everything’s functioning,” I said.

But my son’s attention had wandered. Face down on the bed beside me was Harriet Hynd’s copy of To the Lighthouse. The light bulb over Angus’s head flashed on. “You were reading,” he announced triumphantly. “You stayed up late reading. That’s why you slept in.” Once again the universe was unfolding as it should. He gave my leg a patronizing pat. “Gotta get you a real life, Mum,” he said.

“I’ll work on it,” I said.

After Angus left, I showered, dressed, and realizing I couldn’t live on the afterglow of passion alone, headed for the kitchen. Taylor was at the breakfast table, drizzling honey on her toast. Her hair was smoothed into a smart French braid.

I touched her hair. “When did you learn to do this by yourself?”

“Rose taught me last week. She says the fewer things you have to rely on other people to do for you, the better off you are.”

“She’s right about that.” I peeled an orange and sat down opposite my daughter. “So what’s on the agenda today?”

“This morning we’re hauling rocks,” she said. “We’re going to build the Inukshuk out by the gazebo.”

“That’s quite a distance,” I said. “Want me to put the rocks in the trunk of the Volvo and drive them out there for you?”

“No, that’s okay. We’ll use the wheelbarrow. We kind of want to do this ourselves.” As she always did, Taylor cut her toast into the smallest of triangles. “I’m supposed to ask you if it’s okay if I go to Standing Buffalo later on. Rose wants to take her sister some lunch.”

“Fine with me,” I said. “How’s Betty doing?”

“She’s bored. I’d be bored if I had to sit around for six weeks with my leg in a cast.”

“Maybe I’ll come with you and visit.”

“That’d be good,” Taylor said. “But if Gracie’s mum comes back, we have to stay here so she won’t think we’re mad.”