A Brother's Duty

“So, little brother, have you lined up a date for Saturday?” Irene said in anticipation of a negative answer.

  John winced. “I’ve been busy this week, Reenie.”

  “I know. I’ve tried to get you at home every night this week. So I thought I’d try calling at supper. It’s Thursday already. If you’re going to ask someone it should be tonight, just in case they need to find a dress or get one dry cleaned.” She waited a second and said, “I’m sure that one of the older widows at church would love to go to a concert with you. Maybe Phyllis Plunkett is free. Or Lily Duncan.” John could tell that Irene was teasing.

  “Lily is a dear. Maybe I should ask her out.” He tried to sound like he was serious.

  “Oh, you… Be like that, then. But seriously, John, you do need to get out more. I worry about you rattling around that big old house by yourself. You’re almost thirty-two, you know.”

  “Really? I should look at my driver’s license. Wow, you’re right. I was born in October 1980, at least according to my driver’s license and this is 2012 so I must be… wait… let me get a calculator…”

  “John Allan MacLeish.” John could picture Irene stomping her foot.

  “Yes, Irene Mabel vanVliet?” He could feel the dagger stare from sixty kilometers away.

  “You are the most annoying little brother imaginable.”

  “But I’m also the least annoying little brother.”

  “John…” Irene’s tone softened.

  “Yes, Irene. I know. And I love that you worry about me. But I have to go soon.”

  “Another job?”

  “Not really. I’m helping a friend tonight.” There was anticipation in his tone.

  “This wouldn’t be Rob’s problem friend from Edmonton?”

  John suppressed his mild annoyance. “Yes, actually. I finally convinced her to let me help her out. At least a little bit. She’s living in a twenty-three foot travel trailer that is really a cottage substitute on the old family homestead near Rideau Ferry. There’s a bunch of small things that need fixing.”

  “How is she doing?”

  John smiled. “Independent as all get out but she’s complaining about the usual pregnancy things like odd cravings, swollen feet and tiny bladder. She really liked the cheese cannelloni I brought yesterday. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  “You’re welcome.” There was a pause. “You know she’s welcome to visit with us, if she wants to.”

  “You know that she’s not carrying Rob’s child?”

  “Yes. Rob said it was his buddy Nick’s.”

  “Lucy confirmed that when we spoke.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “She’s different. She’s a scientist so she looks at the world a bit differently but, yeah, I think she’s nice. Even with all her tattoos and piercings.”

  Irene tried to sound casual as she suggested, “Why don’t you ask her to go to the concert with you?”

  John thought of appearing in public with Lucy and suffered a sense of shame as he realized he hadn’t fully suppressed his distaste regarding her piercings. Then he told himself that it was his problem, not Lucy’s and considered Irene’s statement. Last evening had been one of the more interesting and relaxing evenings he’d had despite the awkward start.

  “Are you still there, John?”

  “Yes, Mrs. V. I’m still here. I was just thinking about yesterday evening. Lucy’s good company, so I’ll ask. But if she turns me down, I’ll just go solo.”

  “The festival runs a few more weeks, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then if it doesn’t work out you can still ask someone for next week.”

  John sighed loudly. “No more blind dates, Reenie.”

  Irene sighed in return. “Okay, John. But Cathy will be disappointed.” Then her voice brightened. “Have fun tonight.”

  “I will. Give Ernie a punch on the arm from me and kiss the twins, okay?”

  John heard a loud “Ow, what was that for?” in the background, with Irene’s sunny tones saying, “That’s hello from John.” Then Irene’s voice came clear again. “The kids are next.” A bit louder she said, “Don’t worry, Ernie. They get kisses from John.”

  John heard Ernie’s muted voice asking “Do I get a kiss, too?”

  “Sure, but it won’t be from John.”

  John said, “You like getting me into trouble, don’t you?”

  “Yep. Bye, John. See you week after next.”

  “Bye, Reenie.”

  Shaking his head, he grabbed his clipboard and headed to the truck to make sure he had everything on his list.

  Lucy was muttering about her sanity as she picked up her dress from the cleaners. She was lucky that she still fit into a size 12 dress, even if it was tight in the bust for a change. She’d told John that she would give him an answer on Friday when he’d asked her out on Thursday. Her first reaction was to say no but doing things on instinct had gotten her into trouble too many times and the hormones from the pregnancy seemed to interfere with rational thought.

  Then again, John MacLeish seemed to interfere with her rational thought, too. Mother would not approve of her dating a tradesman but Jessica had encouraged her to accept John’s invitation. Besides, he wasn’t an ordinary tradesman, not if his preferred music was Vivaldi.

  She pulled the car over to the side of the road as she felt tears start to blur her vision. Why did she still care what her mother would think? She’d spent twenty-nine years of her life trying to find something, anything, that would make her mother care more about her than her work. But there wasn’t anything.

  Maybe she reminded her mother too much of her father. Grandfather had hinted that Mother had married under duress and always resented that she’d been forced to have a baby. After all, reputation was everything to her. A forty-four year old successful doctor and unwed single mother was not something she would have been able to live down very well. A divorce was more acceptable.

  A suppressed memory of one of the fights between her grandfather and her mother came back with the force of a tsunami. She remembered herself at six heading toward her mother’s home office, happy that the door was open and that she could maybe get a hug because she was sad that her Daddy was dead. Her mother was on the phone and she could remember it clearly now, as if she was hearing it for the first time. In a way, maybe she was.

  Her mother was angry and bitter sounding. “And what was I supposed to do, Dad? The nuns at the hospital in Kigali told me that if I got an abortion I was fired and if I didn’t at least get engaged to that self-centered bastard I’d be forced to resign. And he refused to give me any child support if we didn’t get married because he wanted his daughter to have his name. Mother wouldn’t pay for me to come home early and by the time I got home to Canada I was too far gone and no one would let me abort. His Lordship was supposed to come for her after that stupid contract in Somalia was over. And now I’m stuck with his brat forever because he got his noble self killed trying to prove he was caring and compassionate. Like anyone ever gave a damn about Somalia. You have to take her.”

  There was a pause. “Yes, I know all about Mother’s issues with depression but you still have to take Lucinda. I certainly don’t want her. She’s stopping me from getting that promotion to head of obstetrics. They need someone who can drop everything at a moment’s notice and I can’t do that with Lord Wilkie’s brat hanging like a millstone around my neck.” There was another pause and a terse “Bye, Dad.” Then her mother slammed the phone down and cursed while Lucy snuck back up to her room.

  She blotted her eyes. Funny that she’d never remembered that conversation before. Her mother truly didn’t want her – had never wanted her – so nothing she could do or be would ever make a difference. No wonder she was so desperate for approval. Thank God for grandfather and his support.

  Lucy felt the tears run down her face in stricken shock. She knew very little about her father other than that he’d been a doctor and that there was a survivor’s pensio
n from Médecins sans frontières which had had paid for her living expenses during her undergrad.

  According to one of the doctors he’d served with overseas, Peter Wilkinson had one more contracted tour in Somalia before taking up a general medicine post at a large hospital in England somewhere. He got caught in a firefight and was killed instantly.

  After sobbing for a while she felt the pressure release. It wasn’t her problem, it was her mother’s. She’d tried her hardest to be a good, lovable daughter but the failure wasn’t hers. It was her mother who failed to love her, to give her the support and caring that should have been hers. The nannies Mother had hired hadn’t been permitted to get close to her. The one who’d tried had been fired when she dared question Mother’s attitude. She stroked her belly and vowed that her child would be loved and cherished, even if she didn’t quite know how to do it right.

  She flipped down the visor and examined her eyes in the small mirror. Not bloodshot from the crying. That was good although there was some puffiness. She caught the glint from the eyebrow ring and tried to see it from the point of view of John and other so-called normal people.

  It didn’t look funky anymore. It looked… lame. The lip ring was obviously a statement of defiance. The nose ring was sort of okay, she had a long nose and it kind of added something, but a stud would be better. She reached up and removed all of the jewellery from her face and then examined her ears.

  She smiled at the row of nine small gold rings in her right ear and the complementary row of nine zirconium studs in her left. Those were fun. Her ears had always been on the large side and she’d endured years of teasing about them. The jewellery there was more of a statement of pride in her big ears sort of like, “Yeah I’ve got big ears but so what?” But the rest was all an attempt to get her mother to react. She put her arm out the window of the car and threw that part of her life away. It felt good.

  She blotted her tears and pulled back onto the road. A smile came to her face as she remembered the last two evenings. John had moved the Muskoka chair onto the driveway so they could talk while he began work on the porch deck after he’d restored the varnish on the wicker rocking chair. The sight of him with a hammer reaching high to nail in the temporary cross bracing or bending down with the crowbar was very entertaining. He had a tiny amount of padding at the waist but his shoulders were broad and the muscles in his legs left no room in his jeans for anything else.

  By the time dusk was settling in on Thursday, he’d replaced the soft joist and the single step up to the porch. And on Friday, he’d come over at five with a homemade macaroni and cheese casserole with ham and broccoli that tasted heavenly and finished replacing the rotted decking before moving her new chairs to their refinished resting place. He’d found a small cast iron café table in his attic that would fit nicely between the two chairs, so they lit a big citronella candle and sat there with a pot of mint tea and talked about everything and nothing until the half-moon set just after midnight.

  With some shame about the kind of observations she and Zara used to share about the men at the bars, she tried to remember the last time she’d been privileged to witness a real man working. Most of the men she ended up with had been the same kind of nerdy pretty boy that her mother preferred, something she didn’t want to examine too closely, but John put them all to shame. She’d taken far too much pleasure from watching his muscles move under his sweat damp tee shirts, so much so that she almost asked him to stay with her Friday night.

  But she knew that their tentative and fragile friendship would not survive if she tried to seduce him. And she knew that she needed his friendship more than his body. The last couple of times she’d invited someone to stay the night she’d ended up feeling lonelier with a man in her bed than if she’d slept alone. And she was so tired of being lonely.

  She thought of her baby and the changes in her life because of her pregnancy. Maybe God was trying to give her a wakeup call, telling her to stop wasting her life. Since she’d moved out of the city, where she had one actual friend, as flighty as Zara was, she had made several new friends – John, Jessica, Alec, and surprisingly, old Mrs. Munroe, who had decided that she wasn’t old enough to stay cooped up in her tiny apartment all week.

  Just after ten on Tuesday morning she’d seen the old lady wave through the window for help while leaning on her walker. And she’d been back on Thursday for another late breakfast and asked Lucy to sit while she reminisced about what a fine looking group of boys the Eldritch family had had after she found out the family connection.

  Lucy smiled. She was not going to question her motives. Her mother had had too much control over her life to this point. Whether her mother would approve of John or Jessica or Sally Munroe wasn’t relevant anymore. She wanted their company because she liked them and needed to be with people who liked her. While there was still a bit of guilty pleasure that her mother wouldn’t approve, it was not the main reason to accept their friendship.

  She’d never been real friends with any of her colleagues at the university. Zara was a sociologist who studied urban planning and development so they were never in competition with each other. But every other biology or science Ph.D. she knew was her competition, other than tenured professors. So there was always some reserve, some posturing, to the point that she was never certain if they liked her or her work or were angling for a favour or a future favour.

  She snorted. Or if they just wanted to take her to bed. That had been part of the equation all along and she hadn’t had the sense to see it for what it was.

  “Well God. I think I got the message. At least the first part.”

  She heard the rustle of the dry cleaner’s plastic in the breeze as she allowed herself to enjoy the scenery. A smile came to unbidden to her face as she thought about spending an evening listening to good music with her new friend.

  John was anxious as he waited for Lucy to arrive. They had decided to meet at his house then have dinner in Ottawa before the concert at eight. He’d tried to convince her to let him pick her up but she correctly pointed out that it was really out of his way.

  Smudge sat in a sunny patch on the wide windowsill of the parlour calmly surveying her domain. She caught John watching her and decided she needed some human attention. She stretched then hopped down and began to stalk toward him.

  “Sorry, Smudge. No cuddles. I’m wearing a good suit and I’m not letting you shed on it.” He picked her up carefully in one big hand and deposited her back on her perch. She turned her back on him with an annoyed meow, the tip of her tail twitching, then sprawled in the emerging sunlight.

  John retreated to the kitchen to check on Smudge’s water and food. He tried to stop pacing, realizing that he was nervous. Anxious, really. He’d told Lucy last night that he was wearing evening dress, not a tux but almost that formal. She’d looked at him as if trying to imagine what that would look like on him then said that she had a couple of nice formal cocktail dresses that should still fit.

  He was still somewhat worried about being seen with someone as obviously different as she was. Talking to himself, he said, “She is a nice, well-educated woman. She just has a different style, that’s all.”

  He returned to the parlour to pace and caught a flash of faded red paint near the giant maple that shaded the parking area behind the house. He walked through the French doors from the parlour onto the wrap-around porch to greet her.

  “Good afternoon, Lucy,” he called as her head appeared above the roof of the car.

  “Good afternoon, John.” She began to walk carefully over the gravel toward the house. “This is a lovely place.”

  John was transfixed as Lucy walked toward the house. She was wearing a soft looking silky calf length moss green dress with elbow length sleeves and a high waist. Her wavy brown hair was carefully up in a braided bun and the sun made the row of studs in her left ear sparkle. The emerald green patent leather low heeled pumps and clutch seemed to match her personality perfectly.

/>   He felt guilty at his relief that her tattoos, except the knotwork ring around her ankle, were covered by the dress. But he felt a surge of pride, too, that he would be accompanied by such a striking woman this evening.

  Lucy finished her examination of the beautifully restored stone house with the wraparound porch and ornate bright yellow gabling. The roof appeared to be either the original tin roof or a good modern reproduction. It was no wonder he could afford to be driving that honking big pickup if this was the usual quality of his work.

  Then it was her turn to be transfixed as he emerged from behind the half wall of the porch. She stopped and looked admiringly at her date in his custom tailored black summer weight suit with a white shirt, black brocade vest and ivory and green striped school tie. His gold cufflinks glinted in the sun as he approached her.

  Neither spoke for a second. Then Lucy, suddenly dry mouthed, asked, “Is this all your work?”

  The question shook John out of his reverie. He’d noted the absence of the lip and eyebrow rings and the almost discreet jadeite stud in her nose. His pleasure in her newly revealed face overshadowed the guilt at his relief. He thought that she had a very striking angular face, a kind of beauty that suited her perfectly. He heard her question as if from a distant hill and smiled. “Yes, it’s all mine.”

  She looked at the house again. “So which part is the addition you did? It was your test for your master mason, right?”

  John turned to the house. “Would you like a tour? We have time and you can tell me your guess.” He held out his hand.

  Lucy looked at it for an instant but decided to take it. John tucked the hand into his arm and led her up the porch steps to the kitchen patio and around to the parlour closing the French doors behind them. “The biggest outlay for me was the doors and windows. Finding a manufacturer who would make modern triple glazed windows that looked right with a late Georgian house was a challenge.”

  Lucy looked around the formal parlour with its replica period sofas, armchairs and mahogany bookcases with the ornate parlour stove. “It’s like a showcase in here.”

  John smirked. “It is, actually. I meet clients in here when I’m trying to convince them I can restore their old house to its former glory. That’s about half of my company’s work. I have eight crews on the go right now and we’re booked for the next four years or so. Four renovations, a heritage restoration job, well two with the church, a new house with a lot of custom stonework and a couple of new modern brick houses. I can’t really take on much more work than that and do it justice. I have to turn away more work every year.” He looked sad as he added, “Rob was supposed to join me after he left the Forces. We could have taken on a few more projects.”

  Lucy gave him a sympathetic look but decided silence was better than platitudes.

  Smudge came to the archway leading to the main entrance and stopped to sniff the air. “You have a cat?” Lucy sounded amused. “I would have taken you for a dog person.”

  John shook his head. “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. Smudge adopted me while I was working on the house. And up until this summer I’ve been too busy making sure I had good crew chiefs to really take care of a dog in the way it deserves. But I miss having a dog around.” He led Lucy to the room on the other side of the large foyer. “This is the main floor living room. It’s really a second parlour but this one is more for comfort than show.” There was a stack of Bibles on a side table. “I host a Bible study here every week. You’d be welcome to attend if you’re interested. We’re working through Philippians at the moment.”

  Lucy made a non-committal noise then said, “This does look comfortable.” There was enough room for a four place sofa, a love seat between two tall windows with cushions on the deep sills, an easy chair and a glider rocker. A flat screen television was installed above the fireplace on the interior wall. A video player sat on the mantel with a small stack of DVDs. John commented, “Some of the studies have a video component.”

  He led her back to the foyer with its wide staircase leading up. “There are six bedrooms, a sitting room and two full bathrooms upstairs and a walk up attic that I recently insulated.”

  Lucy said, “I’ll take your word for that.” John was looking far too delicious to be heading anywhere close to a bedroom with him. Then she tried to suppress that thought. That kind of behaviour was another reaction to her mother’s coldness. And besides, she was pregnant. With another man’s baby.

  John led her down the hall. He pointed at the door behind the stairs, “That leads to the cellar. I don’t use it for much but there are three well-built cold rooms for vegetables where I store my apples and the produce my neighbours trade me for my extra apples. It’s got a pretty low ceiling, though.” The door on the left led to what was obviously John’s office and the one on the right was a large airy dining room with a table for sixteen. The dining set was made of blond oak and there were matching buffets on either side of the fireplace in the long wall.

  Lucy commented, “You must be doing pretty well for yourself.”

  John shrugged. “I really like what I do and people pay me very well to do it. And I get finder’s fees when I refer people who really don’t need a master mason to good general contractors. About half my time is spent training and supervising, which I enjoy and about half of the rest I get to play with stone, which I love.” He looked at the neatly arranged piles of paper on the office desk and shrugged. “But there is paperwork.”

  Lucy laughed but not very sympathetically, John thought.

  He led her through a set of double doors into an enormous kitchen that was at least thirty feet wide and forty long. There was a table for twelve in the middle of the right hand wall that looked out onto a wide screened-in section of the covered porch that had a pair of long picnic tables and a major league barbeque. Smudge came running in from the dining room, chattering up a storm.

  “Excuse me, Lucy. I think Smudge wants an early supper.” He walked to the cupboards and picked up the cat gingerly to avoid getting hair on his suit. “Stay there,” he said to the cat, pointing at a spot on the counter.

  “Will she?” Lucy asked in an amused tone as she sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

  “Most of the time,” John replied as he brought a chipped bowl down from the cupboard. Smudge kept up her chatter until the tin was dumped into the bowl.

  John put down the food and refilled the water. “There, that should keep you until I get home, Miss Cat.” Smudge looked back over her shoulder but turned her attention to delicately licking the sauce off the meat.

  “She’s a lovely cat.” A flash of John in this house with a wife and a small horde of children was followed by a wave of sadness and longing.

  “That’s the other staircase to the upstairs.” He pointed toward the corner where a set of steps was next to a set of floor to ceiling cupboards. “Two more things on the tour then we should get ready to go.” Lucy took his proffered hand and allowed him to help her up.

  There was a short hall leading to another door to the back porch. Through the window she could see across an industrial sized parking lot with a dozen parked trailers to a barn that had pallets of rough cut building stone neatly arranged outside the door. On each side of the hall there was a door. He pointed at the one on the right. “That’s the main floor bathroom, mud room and laundry. I keep a few changes of clothes there because I sometimes need to shower off before I get any further into the house.” He opened the door on the left and led her down a long wide set of carpeted stairs with a wide landing before turning left and continuing down. “And this is my man cave,” he said with a smirk. Then, more sadly, “This was Rob’s favourite room when he stayed with me.”

  She got to the bottom and looked around. The room was the same size as the enormous kitchen upstairs. There was an open door to a half-bath in the corner under the laundry room. In one half there was a pool table in the otherwise empty space and the other half had a home theatre setup with comfortable sofa
s and recliners. Lucy spotted a small bar in the corner that sported a microwave and a big open box of microwave popcorn and a set of shelves with some dusty liquor bottles. To the left of the bar there was a three-quarter height door at the top of a set of stairs that obviously led to the cellar.

  Then she began to notice the details. There were framed quilts on the polished pink granite walls. The four stone pillars down the center were polished black granite fluted Corinthian columns up to the eight foot mark and she let her eyes follow the graceful lines up to the vaulted stone fourteen foot ceiling with arched windows in the outside walls. No wonder the kitchen floor hadn’t squeaked.

  “I think I can guess, Mr. Master Mason. You replaced the old summer kitchen wing. They’d have a hard time not accepting work this good.”

  “The restoration of the main house was just as difficult, but this basement was the difference, I think, because it’s flashy. A couple of the older masters were envious because they never got a chance to build anything like this from scratch.”

  “So how many masters are there around here?”

  “Seven I think, but only four of us are active. There are a couple more on the Quebec side but we don’t see them very often.”

  “And you’re the youngest?”

  “By about thirty years and the youngest master ever in Canada. The next youngest was a Scottish immigrant back in the 1800s who was thirty when his masterpiece was accepted. I beat him by about four months. We have two journeymen in the area who’ve applied to present their masterpieces later this year. I’m hoping that at least one of them is good enough. Most jobs don’t need a master mason but we still have more work than we can handle comfortably. The older guys are mostly doing heritage consulting these days to make certain that the engineers are aware of all the difficulties with old limestone buildings.”

  She looked up again to the intricately carved boss at the center of the vault she was standing under. “I recognize you, I think.”

  “It’s a mason’s conceit to do a self-portrait somewhere in a project. I carved Irene and Rob’s likenesses, too. I’ll add my wife to the set when I finally find someone who’ll have me.”

  Lucy again felt the hollow feeling in her stomach and wondered what kind of woman he’d be interested in. She looked up and around again. “It’s beautiful work, John.”

  “Thank you. I have a set of before and after pictures if you’re interested. And a black and white photo from 1877 that I used as a baseline. The house was a mess when I bought it. But you need to freshen up and I need to make a quick call to my sister before we go.”

  Lucy immediately felt the need to hurry at the mention of freshening up. She rushed past him toward the small half-bath. “I’ll meet you upstairs. Your office?”

  John called, “Yes!” as the door closed. Shaking his head he went upstairs to call his sister and leave a message to let her know that she could stop teasing him.

  The drive into Ottawa was quick but they had to stop in Manotick so Lucy could freshen up again. John wisely held off from making any remarks about it but patiently waited until she returned.

  Supper was enjoyable and the conversation was light. Lucy had noticed that John’s taste in movies was very close to hers, an eclectic mix of thrillers, action-adventure and animated comedies. They discussed some of their favourites and then the conversation bounced around music, politics, camping trips and oddball friends.

  The concert was exactly what John had hoped for. The orchestra had a slightly changed lineup from their previous visit to Ottawa and included a very fine mezzo-soprano who performed two arias and a hymn for the appreciative audience.

  Lucy tried to find a good position in the pew so that she could listen comfortably to the music but there was no real back support. John gave her a sympathetic look but there wasn’t much more he could do. While the musicians were playing it was easy to ignore the discomfort but at each pause she was reminded. She thought about complaining but the look on John’s face when the music touched him made her feel petty. So she sat back to enjoy the pieces but she was glad there was a break between the sets.

  John took her arm as they left the church. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I should have remembered a cushion for you.”

  She felt her irritation disappear. “You would have looked very strange carrying a cushion. It wouldn’t go with the suit, I don’t think.”

  John laughed. “Probably not. The only one I know I could find is in Kemptville 73’s colours. It’s a pretty bright red. I went to see an NHL old-timers charity game and bought it so I wouldn’t freeze to the bleachers.”

  Lucy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Then I’m really glad you didn’t bring it. It would clash terribly with my dress.”

  John asked, “Do you have enough energy left to get a coffee? There’s a good place near where we parked.”

  Lucy squeezed John’s arm. “A decaf latte would be lovely.”

  They reviewed the concert as they walked down Elgin toward the coffee shop. As it was a warm summer night there were a large variety of people on the street. John thought that he and Lucy were probably the best dressed couple taking a stroll. He was convinced of it when he saw their reflection in the mirrored face of an office building.

  They had settled in for a chat in a pair of armchairs when Lucy suddenly stiffened. John, who had his back to the door asked quietly, “What’s the matter, Lucy?”

  Lucy looked over his shoulder to the line waiting to be served. Dr. Gillian Drake was chatting with her companion.

  “It’s my old thesis advisor and her new boy toy.” Lucy sounded upset. She set her coffee cup down. “This doesn’t taste right any more. We should go.”

  John started to protest but couldn’t think of a good argument. “Then we will.” He offered his hand to help her up.

  As the headed for the door, Dr. Drake said, in a dismissive tone, “Well, if it isn’t Luce Wilkinson.”

  With as much politeness as she could muster, she acknowledged her old professor. “Dr. Drake,” she said in a tone well below freezing.

  Dr. Drake gave John a frank examination. “Well, he’s certainly a step up from your usual dates, Luce. Perhaps you could let me have him when you’re finished with him.” They could smell the alcohol on her breath.

  John’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he drew Lucy closer and replied, “Maybe she could.” Dr. Drake started to smile then John said, “If you’re willing to wait sixty years or so. I don’t intend to be finished with her for a very long time.”

  Dr. Drake spluttered. “But…”

  “I can understand your confusion, Dr. Drake. I can’t wear rings because of my job and she hasn’t been able to for a while.”

  Lucy recovered and decided to play along. “I’m expecting a baby in November.”

  Dr. Drake tried to recover from her faux pas. “Well, congratulations, then.” She tried to turn away.

  John fixed her in his gaze. “Lucy’s been a bit busy recently, but we will be talking to you about those longitudinal studies you published last year. We’ve been comparing the data tables to the original notes and there are some errors you might want to be aware of.”

  Dr. Drake blanched. “Well, I’d certainly like to have your comments.”

  Lucy tugged at John’s arm to get him to lead her away. Over her shoulder she said, “Count on it, Gillian.”

  Lucy was quiet on the short walk back to the Volvo. As he pulled away from the curb, John asked, quietly, “Are you okay?”

  Lucy thought for a second. “I am now.” Then she started to giggle. “You were perfect, you know.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You played her like a fiddle, John.” Lucy put her head down. “The section of the department under Gillian has a reputation for very hard partying. Lots of booze and pot and lots of casual sex. Sometimes harder drugs, too, but not for me.” Her voice got very small. “I’m not going to hide that I used to be like that, John. I was pretty easy, loose, in fact, like the nic
kname Gillian uses for me. I’ve been taking stock of my life since I got pregnant and I don’t think I like who I was very much anymore but it’s a fact that I was, well… promiscuous. Gillian apparently still is. She’s one of the younger professors – she might be forty - and the talk is that she got where she is by sleeping with anyone who could do her a favour.”

  John pondered her admission for a moment. But such were some of you… “The past can’t be changed, Lucy. I’ve got a more than a few things I like a mulligan on.”

  Lucy patted his arm in acknowledgement. “Anyway, when she saw us together she assumed that I hadn’t changed and that you were one of the men who enjoy that kind of lifestyle. She was always jealous of me for some reason.”

  “Well, if I was going to try my luck, I’d rather try with you than her.”

  “Even with the piercings?”

  John paused before he answered. “Even with the piercings.” His tone got serious. “You have integrity. That’s much more attractive than the sight of a surgically enhanced bust.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I could fail to notice.”

  Lucy laughed. “No, I suppose not. She’s always been pretty blatant, and she always went after the same kind of guys I did. She is getting a bit old to dress like that.” She made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Anyway, I loved that you hinted that we were happily married. She always sneered at people who put their families first. She’s like my mother that way.” John detected a bitter note with that last.

  “But the way that you spoke of inaccuracies in the data tables was priceless. She’s been claiming that she has custody of Grandfather’s original notes since I was booted from the program. But all she could possibly have are my computerized transcriptions and the scribbled notes that were stolen from my carrel. I know there have to be some errors because Grandfather had awful handwriting. And I was reviewing my data summaries a couple of weeks ago and I found a transcription error in one of the estimation formulae that I used. Anyway, the idea that her stolen data could be wrong – with no way to confirm it either way? She’s probably shaking in her boots right now.”

  John looked at her briefly. “Would you want her to be proved wrong?”

  Lucy folded her hands in her lap and went silent for a while. “Only from the science aspect because the data has to be as accurate as possible. But formal academia can be a nasty bitter game and I am much better off out of it.”

  She paused to gather her thoughts. “I wouldn’t mind keeping up the longitudinal study that Grandfather started. I spent part of this morning doing this year’s tree census in one of our study areas. Part of it is to honour his commitment to the work and part of it is that I truly enjoy doing it. But I don’t think that Gillian deserves to profit from her theft of my analytical work. If she had wanted the raw data I’d have been happy to make copies available to her but I was too devastated to think straight when they let me go.” She waved a hand at her belly. “And I have a baby coming to prove that my head wasn’t on quite right afterwards. But now that I’m thinking better I’d like to challenge her.”

  “Where are the original notebooks?”

  “In two locked trunks in Zara’s apartment. I’ll have to retrieve them soon, though.”

  “Before she moves to Brisbane.”

  “Exactly.”

  John remarked, “I have plenty of extra room at the house. I could store them in the attic for you until you get your own place.”

  Lucy thought about the big stone house with only John rattling around in it. She made some humming noises then surprised John by saying, “Yes. I think I would like you to do that for me. I can trust that you’d keep them safe.” Then she thought I can trust you to keep me safe and was suddenly glad that it was dark and he couldn’t see her blush.

  “It would be my pleasure, Miss Wilkinson.”

  They continued in companionable silence for a while then Lucy asked, “Do you think the Tim’s in Manotick is still open?”

  John thought about Irene complaining about tiny bladder syndrome and rolled his eyes.

  Chapter 9