Gail Bowen - The Endless Knot

She was sitting on the cobbler’s bench in the front hall. Her jacket and backpack were on the floor beside her. She was taking off her boots, and her face was pale.

“I wish I’d known she was Ethan’s mother,” Taylor said.

I remembered Kathryn’s phone call. It was possible she had just wanted to talk about the problem that was developing between our children. More coals heaped upon my head. “I wish I’d known too,” I said.

“It must have been hard for Ethan coming here,” Taylor said thoughtfully. “Remember how weird he was that day he found out Zack was your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” I said. “Sometimes people are a little taken aback when they meet Zack. I thought that’s all it was. And then when Ethan started going to the trial, I figured it was a case of hero worship.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “Why would anybody worship Zack?”

“Well, he’s pretty successful.”

“A lot of people are successful,” Taylor said. “That’s no big deal. Besides, Ethan said he was interested in justice.”

“Like Soul-fire,” I said.

Taylor’s face was suffused with sadness. “Do you suppose that’s why Ethan stopped wearing his pentangle – because he doesn’t believe in justice any more?”

“The timing makes sense,” I said. “The verdict came down Monday morning and you said Ethan wasn’t wearing his pentangle Monday night.”

Taylor picked up her coat and bookbag and hung them on the hall tree. “What will happen to Ethan now that his mum’s dead?”

“He’ll probably go to his dad’s.”

“But his dad’s new wife says Ethan doesn’t fit into their family.”

“I guess Ethan will have to find a way to fit in.”

“It’s not fair,” Taylor said.

I put my arm around her shoulder. “No,” I said. “It’s not fair, but that’s the way it is.”

At five o’clock, Zack, the Family Man, came by unannounced and asked what we wanted to do about supper. No one was hungry, but as he pointed out sensibly, we had to eat. We went to Earl’s, a restaurant we all liked, and the familiar ambience – the sounds of other people’s laughter, the taped music, the clink of cutlery against china – was balm to our raw nerve ends. So was the litre of Shiraz Zack and I split and the virgin Caesar with extra pepper that Taylor ordered.

As she sipped, my younger daughter was still deeply concerned about Ethan’s fate. Taylor was not a person who worried privately, so Ethan and his future dominated our conversation. It was a grim topic. By the time our entrees arrived, we were all in need of diversion. A large and noisy birthday party at the next table offered deliverance. Taylor’s eleventh birthday was less than two weeks away, and Zack made the connection.

“Looks like they’re having fun over there, Taylor,” he said. “What have you got planned for your birthday?”

Taylor’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No party,” she said. “We just had one. Besides, with Ethan and everything, it doesn’t seem right.”

Zack’s fork stopped in mid-air. “So November 11 will be just another day – no gifts, no cake, no nothing.”

“I didn’t say that,” Taylor said quickly. Then realizing she was being teased, her brown eyes shone. “I love presents, and Jo always makes a cake. Maybe we could just have the family and Gracie and Isobel.” She turned to me. “Would that be okay?”

“It’s your champagne birthday – you’re turning eleven on the eleventh day of the eleventh month. You get to do whatever you want – within reason of course.”

Taylor’s smile was mischievous. “And since it’s my champagne birthday, I’m the one who gets to decide what’s ‘within reason.’ ”

Given the circumstances, the evening was a success. When Zack dropped us off, Taylor ran ahead so she could go inside and call Gracie and Isobel. We watched as she unlocked the door and disappeared inside. “She’ll be okay,” Zack said.

“I think so,” I said. “She’s still upset about Ethan. So am I. Every time I think about what’s ahead for him, I want to cry. But to be honest, I’m grateful Taylor doesn’t have to deal with him any more. His feelings for her were just too intense. He confused her, and I think he frightened her.”

“Ethan frightens himself,” Zack said. “But kids survive some terrible things. Let’s hope Ethan’s one of the lucky ones who gets to cut his own direction in life.”

“Like you,” I said.

“And you,” he said. “One of the things I love about you is that you do what you want to do and to hell with what people think.”

“Do you really see me that way?” I said.

“Sure you wear that same black dress every time we go to something fancy, and you’re marrying me. I rest my case. Now come on, Ms. Kilbourn, we were having a pleasant evening, let’s keep the good vibe going.”

“Do you want to come in?”

Zack shook his head. “Yes, but I have to go back to the office. Glenda called while you and Taylor were in the bathroom at the restaurant. She needs to talk. I’m meeting her at eight.” He glanced at his watch. “By my reckoning, that gives you and me time for a short session of romance.”

I moved closer. “It’s always all about you, isn’t it?”

“You bet. I paid for dinner, and that chocolate mud pie you ordered didn’t come cheap.”

It was too early to go to bed, I was too restless to read, and there was nothing I wanted to watch on TV. Inspiration about how I could spend the evening came when I looked out my bedroom window and saw a lone figure dart into the front yard of a house two doors down from me, emerge with a pumpkin in its hands, and spike it on the pavement. The village of jack-o’-lanterns we had created in front of our house was ripe for the picking. It was time to give our pumpkins an honourable burial in the compost bin. I started to call Taylor to help, but the prospect of spending time alone in the fresh cold air, stretching my muscles in a totally mindless task was seductive, so I tiptoed past her door.

I’d made one trip to the compost pile with the wheelbarrow and was on the front lawn loading up again when a voice called to me from the darkness. “Need a hand with that?”

I turned and saw Howard Dowhanuik. I was struck by two things: no matter the weather, Howard’s bald head was bare, but tonight he was wearing a toque; equally significantly, he was still sober. “Be my guest,” I said. We worked silently but comfortably, and when the last jack-o’-lantern was broken and stirred into the dead leaves, I suggested we go inside for tea. Howard didn’t ask for anything stronger, and I took that as a good sign.

We sat at the kitchen table. Howard made no effort to remove his toque. For the first time in a long time, he seemed at peace with himself, and the toque, scarlet with a whimsical Nordic pattern of elves at play, made him look reassuringly avuncular.

“So how did you make out with Margot?” I asked.

“Good. She’s a smart broad.” Howard caught himself. “Make that a smart ‘woman.’ ”

“Duly noted,” I said. I poured our tea. “Howard, what’s going on?”

“I told you. I thought I needed a lawyer, and I was right. The cops were back this afternoon. They went through all the garbage cans at the condo. It seems someone dumped my garbage and Kathryn’s, hosed down the cans, then put the garbage back in. My garbage was all mixed up with hers. Probably a prank.”

“No doubt,” I said. “The old dump-out-the-garbage/hose-down-the-cans/replace-the-garbage trick. We’ve all done it.”

Howard had the grace to look chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have tried to snow you, but you did ask, and my lawyer has instructed me not to tell.”