Gail Bowen - The Endless Knot

“Joanne Kilbourn,” I said. “But Zack and I are getting married.”

“Congratulations,” he said. “Incidentally, my name’s McCudden.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.”

Zack was in the living room, staring at his BlackBerry. He and Mr. McCudden introduced themselves and then we got down to business. There was a window seat in the living room, so Mr. McCudden and I sat there and Zack wheeled his chair over. I had come armed with a file folder full of clippings from magazines and printouts from the Internet. Zack had his own folder of notes. Mr. McCudden dropped both folders into his briefcase without opening them. “I’ll go through these tonight,” he said. “I’ve renovated about a dozen houses to make them accessible,” he said. “But you may have an idea I haven’t run into. Now, accessibility aside, tell me in one sentence what you want.”

“We want a good solid family home,” I said.

Mr. McCudden smiled. “Because you’re a good solid family.”

“That’s exactly what we are,” Zack said.

“In that case,” Mr. McCudden said. “I have some ideas you might like.”

Mr. McCudden zipped his jacket. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow with some preliminary drawings. Same time?”

When he left, I turned to Zack. “He doesn’t waste time, does he?”

“No, and considering that we’ll be paying his crew a bundle to get the job done fast and well, that’s a virtue.”

“How much is this going to cost us?”

“We’ll find out tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter.”

“If you want something, go for it,” I said.

Zack raised an eyebrow. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. Just quoting. But let me know if I’m going to have to take in laundry to pay for this.”

“I’ll let you know,” he said. “In the meantime, I have a favour to ask.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“You know, that doesn’t sound cheesy when you say it.”

“It’s because I mean it.”

“Good, because this is a biggie. It’s about Glenda Parker.”

“How did your meeting with her go last night?”

“Not great. Sam’s funeral is on Friday at Beverly’s place of worship in Calgary. It’s one of those big, evangelical, Family Values churches, and Beverly wants to put on a real show. She’s too savvy to hire goons to keep Glenda away, but she says if Glenda shows up, she’ll be shunned.”

“Ostracized? Wow. Beverly plays hardball, doesn’t she?”

“Glenda plays hardball too,” Zack said. “She’s determined to be at the funeral, and she is going to attend as a woman.”

“To spite Beverly?”

“No, to honour Sam. Glenda and I had a long talk last night. You know how she was during the trial – always there, but never drawing attention to herself. I figured that was just her style, but as it turns out she was afraid if she was overtly female she might jeopardize her father’s case. Do you know that every morning before she went to court she bound her breasts?”

“Oh, Zack, that’s terrible. I didn’t realize …”

“That Glenda has breasts. Well, she does. Her endocrinologist has her on female hormones. Apparently, Glenda has to live as a female for two full years before the specialists will do the surgery. Sam knew how important the surgery was to Glenda. He didn’t want her to lose any time, so he urged her to dress as a woman during the trial.”

“But she wanted to protect him.”

“Right. Anyway, now she wants to honour him by appearing in public as the person she really is.”

“Good for her,” I said.

Zack squeezed my hand. “I figured you’d say that. Jo, Sam’s funeral is going to be a tough day for Glenda. I told her you and I would go with her.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said. “Is that the favour?”

“No, Glenda wants to make sure she gets ‘the right look’ for the funeral. She wondered if you could help her pick something out.”

I groaned. “Zack, you must have noticed that fashion isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

“You always look great.”

“And 90 per cent of the time I’m wearing jeans and a sweater. But I do know where the good shops are, and I’d be happy to take Glenda around. So what are you going to do while Glenda and I are bonding?”

“Catch up on my files. I’ve been letting things slip lately.”

“So the Statue of Liberty has returned to her place in New York Harbour,” I said.

Zack held up an admonishing finger. “I’m going to cut back. You watch.”

“I plan to,” I said. Then I kissed him hard.

Knowing that the city’s centre wouldn’t be as busy as the malls, we drove downtown where there would be fewer heads to turn and eyes to stare. Money was not an issue, so I took Glenda to the most expensive store in town. I am a reluctant shopper, and the concept of retail therapy has always eluded me, but as Glenda stood in the muted light, holding a creamy silk blouse against the gentle curves of her new breasts, the tension left her body. After a lifetime of masquerade, she was at last going to be herself.

The saleswoman who helped us was discreet and knowledgeable. She offered possibilities that flattered Glenda’s lithe, athletic body, and withdrew so that Glenda could make her own choices. In the end, Glenda chose a cool and cleanly cut oyster boucle suit that concealed and revealed in all the right places. When we left the shop, we were triumphant. Our only real problem came later when we tried to find women’s dress shoes that would fit Glenda’s long and very narrow feet. At the third store, we succeeded and Glenda’s relief was palpable. When she found a pair of runners in her size and, they were on sale, we decided to celebrate with a glass of wine at my house.

After we carried in our booty and hung up our coats, it was reward time. “So what’ll it be, Glenda,” I asked. “White or red?”

“Would you mind if we wait on the wine,” she said. “I’d like to try my outfit here where I can really look at it. I was a little rattled when we were at the shop.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “There’s a full-length mirror in my room upstairs. Take your time.”

It was half an hour before Glenda returned, but when she came into the kitchen I saw that she hadn’t just been trying on clothes; she had been transforming herself. She had smoothed back the long bang that had partially hidden her face and for the first time since I’d met her, she was wearing makeup. Her blush and lipstick were subtly and flatteringly applied, and the startlingly blue eyes that were so like her father’s were now accented by shadow, liner, and mascara. It was clear she had spent more than a few evenings practising. She’d added a delicate gold chain and thin hoop earrings to her outfit, and the effect was stunning.

She touched her necklace. “This belonged to my dad’s mother. Does it work – I don’t mean just the chain – the whole thing?”

“It works,” I said. “You look beautiful.”

Glenda’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear someone say that.”

I handed her a tissue from the box on the counter. “Here’s a tip,” I said. “Don’t wear mascara if you’re in a situation where you think you might cry.”

Glenda dabbed at her eyes. “It’s the hormones,” she said. “But thanks – I’ll skip the mascara when I go the funeral.”

After she’d changed into her everyday clothes, Glenda came back downstairs. “I appreciate this, Joanne. It was good of you to give up your day.”

“The day’s not over.”

Glenda shook her head. “No,” she said. “It yawns before me. Would you mind if I listened to those old records of my dad’s again?”

“Not at all,” I said. “Indifferent housekeeper that I am, everything’s just as we left it.”