Gail Bowen - The Endless Knot

Taylor’s eyes widened. “Nobody got hurt, did they?”

“No,” I said, turning on the radio. “Zack seems to think it wasn’t anything to worry about.”

Ethan had been sliding the last of his comics into a protective plastic envelope. He stopped and turned to me. “Zachary Shreve is a friend of yours?” he asked, his voice rising.

“He’s Jo’s boyfriend,” Taylor said.

Ethan looked hard at Taylor. “Is he a good person?”

“Well, he’s nice,” Taylor said. The gaze she levelled at me indicated she needed help steering the conversation.

I winked at her. “Maybe Ethan would like to meet Zack some time,” I said.

“I would,” he said fervently. “All I know is what I’ve heard.”

“Well, keep an open mind,” I said.

The news came on. The bombing was the lead item, but the report was short and vague. A bomb had exploded at a downtown office. There were no injuries and the Major Crimes Division of the Regina Police Force was investigating. Falconer Shreve was not identified by name, and there was no reference to the outcome of the police investigations.

I flicked off the radio. “Not much information there,” I said. “I guess we’ll have to wait till Zack comes tonight to find out what happened.”

Ethan’s blue eyes met mine. “You’re going to see Zachary Shreve tonight?” he said.

Taylor scrunched her nose. “How come you’re so interested in Zack?”

Ethan shrugged. “No reason. Just he’s famous. That’s all.”

Taylor twinkled at me. “He’s not just famous. He’s Jo’s big sparkly top banana.”

Ethan stood up so suddenly he knocked his chair over. He righted it. “Sorry,” he said. “I’d better get going.” He started towards the back door, then stopped and came back. I assumed he wanted to talk to Taylor, but he came to me. “Thanks for looking at my book,” he said. His fingers touched the pentangle. “A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.”

“I’d like to read the others. Could we keep them for a while?”

“Sure,” he said. “I mean, that would be great. Keep them as long as you want. Thanks.” And then he was gone, leaving my daughter and me waiting to see who would make the first move.

“Wow,” I said.

Taylor ran her fingers through the new, very cool haircut that had replaced her braids the week before school started. “Wow, what?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Wow, Ethan,” I said. “I’ve never even heard you mention him.”

“He’s new this year, and he enrolled late. He just started at Lakeview a couple of weeks ago.”

“That’s always tough. Any other kids from his family go to your school?”

“No, there’s just Ethan. He used to live in Ottawa with his father, but his dad got remarried, and Ethan didn’t fit into the new family, so now he’s with his mother.”

“Is that working out?”

Taylor shook her head. “I don’t know. He just told me about his dad and the new wife with the two little kids. It’s kind of sad.”

“At least he has his drawing,” I said. “He really does have talent.”

“I think Ethan would rather have friends,” Taylor said.

“And he doesn’t have any friends except you.”

“I’m not even sure about me,” Taylor said. “Ethan’s kind of different.”

“Different how?”

“He reads all the time.”

“I’m glad you didn’t hold that against him.”

Taylor gave me a bleak smile. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” I said. “I do. So how come you invited him over?”

Taylor bit her lower lip. “After school, everybody was talking about what they were doing on the long weekend and Ethan was just kind of standing there.”

I went to her and kissed the top of her fashionably chopped and moussed hair. “Come on. Give me a hand with packing the food, and I’ll tell you about my career as an artist.”

“You never had a career as an artist.”

“Oh yes I did. My design for a wedding gown was in Katy Keene.”

“What’s Katy Keene?” Taylor asked.

“Bring me down a couple of laundry hampers for the food and I’ll tell you.”

Inspired, Taylor moved quickly. In a flash she was back with the hampers.

“Put the fruit and vegetables in that one,” I said, “and I’ll load up the stuff from the freezer.”

“Okay, but now you have to tell me about Katy Keene.”

“It was a comic book when I was a kid,” I said. “Katy Keene was a model, and readers could send in designs for outfits Katy might wear. If the designs were good, the illustrator used them in the next comic.”

“And they used yours,” Taylor said with unnerving reverence.

“Yes,” I said. “They did.”

“Do you still have the comic?”

“Somewhere, but I’m not going to dig for it right now.”

“At least tell me about the dress.”

“Oh, Taylor, it was awful.”

“How awful?”

“Well it was covered in doves.”

“Real doves!”

“No. Fake doves and they had pink ribbons in their beaks.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Holeeee,” she said. “That is bizarre.”

“Thank you for vote of confidence,” I said.

She was giggling. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No.”

“I really want to see the drawing of that dress,” she said.

“Enough to help me clean out the basement when we get back from the cottage?”

Taylor grinned. “Let me think about it.”

Our car was full for the drive to the lake. On the seat beside me was a hamper of groceries that there was no room for in the trunk. Our Bouvier, Willie, had a window seat in the back; Taylor was beside him and Isobel Wainberg, the twelve-year-old daughter of one of Zack’s partners, Delia, was beside Taylor. Both of Isobel’s parents had come down with the flu that was making the rounds that fall, so she was spending Thanksgiving with us.

She was a happy addition. Isobel and Taylor were close and I was very fond of her. She was her mother in miniature: small-boned, smart, burdened with worries, but blessed with a quick wit and a smile that was as dazzling as it was rare. That afternoon, as she and Taylor settled into the back seat with Willie, it was clear that Isobel had something on her mind. She waited until we were on the highway to broach the subject.

“We’ve been wondering about Glenda Parker,” she said. “We’ve seen the pictures on TV when Glenda was still a boy. And he was a boy,” she said in a tone that it made it clear that particular point was off the table. “In the pictures where Glenda’s wearing a bathing suit you can see that.”

“Because Glenda had male genitals,” I said.

Taylor was triumphant. “I told you Jo would talk about it,” she said.

“There’s no reason not to,” I said. “What do you want to know?”

“We want to know why Glenda’s a woman now,” Isobel said. “When you’re born, you’re either a girl or a boy, right?”

“Most of the time, yes.” I said. “Sometimes, it’s hard to tell. When my elder son, Peter, was born, the woman I shared a room with gave birth to a little boy too, but there were some physical anomalies. Do you know what that means?”

“I do,” Isobel said. “It means something abnormal, like a dog that can’t bark.”

“Right,” I said. “Well, when the doctors examined my roommate’s baby, they found anomalies. His parents and the doctors had to make a decision about whether the baby should be raised as a girl or a boy.”

“What did they decide?” Taylor asked.

“The doctors did some tests and told the parents the baby could be raised successfully as a boy, so that’s what they did.”

Determined not to miss a word coming from the front seat, Isobel was pushing against her seat belt. “Did it work?” she asked.