A Darkness of the Heart Page 7
Maisie had asked Taylor to paint portraits of the heritage birds her late sister had cherished, and the nursery walls were vibrant with the stately beauty of pink-billed Aylesbury ducks, Blue Andalusians, Ridley Bronze turkeys, Swedish Flower hens, and scarlet-combed Langshans. Charlie and Colin were already able to say “duck,” “turkey,” and “hen” and point to the appropriate pictures. That day, after Maisie and I had readied the boys for their naps, we carried them around the room so they could name the birds. The familiar litany lulled them, and by the time we placed Colin and Charlie in their cribs, they were both half asleep.
For a few minutes Maisie and I simply basked in the moment. “This room is so tranquil,” I said.
My daughter-in-law nodded agreement. “Sometimes when I get home from work, I come in here just to watch them sleep. Pete and I have our schedule down to a science. I drop Colin and Charlie off by eight in the morning at Falconer Shreve Childcare, and then Pete picks them up after lunch. Except for that crazy hour when Pete and I are trying to get Colin and Charlie cleaned up, dressed, and into their car seats so I can drive into the city, there are days when I don’t spend any time at all with them.”
“Zack’s mentioned seeing you at the firm’s daycare,” I said.
“It’s a rare sight,” Maisie said. “Zack goes down to see the boys almost every morning. By the time I think about dropping by to visit, Colin and Charlie are usually on their way home.”
“It’s been a difficult year for all the lawyers at Falconer Shreve,” I said. “According to Zack, you’ve worked harder than anybody. He believes that the firm is getting back on an even keel. You never took your maternity leave. I’m sure the other partners would understand if you worked part-time for a while.”
Maisie’s gaze shifted away from me to Charlie, who was murmuring in his sleep. “Here’s the thing, Jo,” she said. “I don’t want to work part-time. I love what I do, and I wasn’t cut out to be a stay-at-home mum.” She turned back to me. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
“No,” I said. “Charlie and Colin are thriving. Pete is as happy as I’ve ever seen him, and you’re doing what you love.”
“You were always there for your kids.”
“Different time. Different circumstances,” I said. “When it comes to parenting, one size does not fit all. As long as what you and Pete have chosen for your family works, carry on. If problems crop up, take stock.”
Maisie gave me a one-armed hug. “I really lucked out when I got you and Zack for in-laws.”
“We lucked out too,” I said. “And don’t forget to give me that recipe for the steamed broccoli you made for the boys. Zack couldn’t get enough of it.”
* * *
—
By the time Maisie and I left the twins, the table was clear, the dishwasher was chugging, and everybody had moved into the family room. When I joined them, Zack caught my eye and motioned to the chair next to him. Wordlessly, Taylor moved to my side. My husband never had a problem commanding a room. He took my hand. “Jo has news,” he said. “Nothing terrible, just something you all need to know. Your mum has already talked to Angus.”
Madeleine and Lena had pulled up hassocks inches from my knees. Pete, Maisie, and Mieka were seated on the couch facing me. For a long moment, I looked at my children and my granddaughters, searching for a trace of Des in them. There was none. Peter and Lena had the Kilbourn good looks: thick, dark, unruly hair, milk-pale skin, and finely chiselled features. Like me, Mieka and Madeleine were ash-blonds with green eyes and full lips. There was nothing in the appearance of my children or grandchildren that would suggest the connection with Des Love.
For the first time, it occurred to me how my parents must have felt about me bearing such a striking resemblance to my mother. People who saw me with her often remarked that I was “certainly Caroline’s daughter.” I had found the assessment chilling, but it must have been a relief to them.
I kept the explanation of how exactly Desmond Love had become my biological father to a minimum. When I’d finished, the room was silent. Finally, Lena piped up. “So what does that make Madeleine and me?”
“That’s pretty much the same question I asked about myself when I heard the news,” I said. “And the answer is that nothing has changed. We’re still a family. We’re still us.”
The ice had been broken. There were questions. Peter was interested in the genetic factor, but no one seemed rocked by the revelation, and finally Mieka closed the discussion. “I think what we all feel that as long as you and Taylor are happy, Mum, we’re fine.” I shot Taylor a look and we both smiled.
Madeleine was pensive as she looked over at her mother. “This means that you and Peter and Angus and Taylor all have the same grandfather. And Charlie and Colin and Lena and me have the same great-grandfather. And if Angus ever gets married…”
Pete grinned at her. “Enough, already,” he said. “Let’s go get us some Christmas trees.”
When the rest of started making motions to go, Maisie turned to Peter. “Babe, I know you were counting on getting some pictures of us all out being lumberjacks, but Colin and Charlie are still sleeping.”
“I’ll stay with the boys,” I said. “Zack will want a tree that’s far too big, but Taylor is always able to talk him down.”
Maisie touched my arm. “Thanks, Jo, but I’ll stay. I need some time with our sons.” She brushed Pete’s cheek with a kiss. “Be careful.”
Pete grinned. “You do realize that Bobby Stevens is the only one allowed to actually turn on the chainsaw,” he said. “The rest of us just get to hold it for the pictures.”
* * *
—
Maisie’s admonition to Pete to be careful was loving but unnecessary. The tree farm that was their neighbour Bobby Stevens’s seasonal hobby was ten minutes away from Maisie and Peter’s. Bobby had grown up with the Crawford twins. He was like a brother to Maisie and now to Peter. When he met us outside the lot to explain the process of selecting a tree, I knew we were in good hands.
It’s hard to beat the good-to-be-alive vibe of walking through bracingly chilly air, breathing in the fragrance of several hundred evergreens, and marvelling at their beauty. We had a lot of fun. As always, there were moments that were less than Hallmark perfect. When Zack’s trusty Renegade wheelchair found a trail it could not blaze, he muttered words that would have made the Grinch cheer. Lena, Master of the Impossible, managed to lose one of her UGGs in a snowbank, and it took us ten minutes to find the boot because she couldn’t remember the exact snowbank where it went missing.
Mishaps aside, we finally all managed to make our choices. It was time for Bobby to fire up his chainsaw and explain the importance of making sure the cut is straight.
Pete and Mieka had just secured the last of the trees that would be returning to the city with us when Lena’s eyes widened. “Here come the twins,” she said and peeled down the driveway to greet them. Maisie was walking towards us, pulling the boys in their sled. Rowdy, the malamute-husky cross who’d wandered in off the road not long after Pete and Maisie moved to the farm, ran ahead. “This day just became perfect,” Pete said, and to make certain there would be permanent proof that he was right, we all pulled out our phones and took pictures.
* * *
—
Taylor was riding back to Regina with Mieka and the girls. As Zack and I were leaving, Mieka took us aside and said that when she dropped Taylor off, she needed to talk to us about a problem at April’s Place.
April’s Place was important to Zack and me. Before Mieka’s marriage ended, she owned and ran a successful catering business in Saskatoon. When she and her daughters moved back to Regina, Mieka had two priorities: spending time with Madeleine and Lena and continuing to share her love of good food with others. UpSlideDown, the combination café and play centre she opened in the Cathedral area of our city, met both criteria, and when it turned out to be a goldmine, Mieka decided to open a sister café and play centre in North Cen
tral Regina.
Zack and I shared Mieka’s belief that North Central, characterized by a national magazine as Canada’s worst neighbourhood because of its high rate of violence, addiction, prostitution, and abuse, was in need of a clean, well-lighted place where children and parents could gather. We were prepared to finance the undertaking, and Mieka and I spent days searching for a safe and appealing venue. We finally settled on a deconsecrated synagogue. The old building needed work, but it had good energy and was in the middle of a quiet block, so we went for it.
As soon as we were on the road, Zack raised the subject. “Have you heard anything about troubles at April’s Place?” he said.
“As far as I know everything’s running smoothly,” I said. “Angela’s a great manager.”
“Maybe too great,” Zack said. “I wonder if she’s been offered a better job.”
“If she were, I doubt she’d take it,” I said. “She’s committed to April’s Place. She grew up in North Central, and she and her children still live there. She understands what the neighbourhood needs, and she’s determined to provide it. There’s no way she’d leave—especially not now. Tomorrow’s the kickoff for 21 Days of Christmas, and she’s been working on that event for weeks.”
Zack sighed. “Well, we’ll know soon enough,” he said. “Until then, no use wasting our time together with ‘what ifs.’ ” He leaned forward, pressed the CD button, and Bill Evans’s evocative and soothing “Peace Piece” drifted from the speakers. “Good choice?” he said.
I leaned back and closed my eyes. “As our youngest daughter would say, ‘transcendent.’ ”
* * *
—
The tree we chose for the family room was a gorgeous Scotch pine that had looked smaller in the field than it turned out to be, and I was grateful there were extra hands to get it into the house and fix it firmly in the tree stand.
Mieka had obviously spoken to Taylor about spiriting the girls away from our discussion. After the tree was in place, Mieka made hot chocolate, and without a nudge, Taylor and the girls picked up their mugs and headed for our daughter’s room to assess some gifts with purchase Taylor had received with cosmetics.
Zack got straight to the point. “So what’s up at April’s Place?” he said. “I thought Angela had everything running smoothly.”
“She does,” Mieka said, checking to make sure the girls were out of earshot. “This is a new problem. Actually, it’s an old problem—pedophiles. Wherever there are children, there are people who prey on them.”
My blood pressure spiked. “Has there been an incident?”
Mieka bit her lower lip, a mark of tension that she’d had since she was a child. “Two weeks ago, when that cold snap started, unaccompanied kids began showing up at April’s Place which sadly is not an uncommon event in this kind of weather. The kids get home from school and there’s no one there to let them in. When it’s cold, they either sit on their doorsteps, come to us, or wander the streets until someone gets home. We usually don’t take kids in without an adult accompanying them, but in these cases Angela doesn’t turn them away.”
Zack’s gaze was steady. “Sometimes rules have to be bent,” he said.
“I agree,” Mieka said. “The problem is that pedophiles have a way of sniffing out vulnerability, and they’re trolling the area. A sex worker Angela knows from the old days told her that her boyfriend promised she could score big-time if she arranged to set up her nine-year-old daughter with a customer. Angela’s friend said that she and some of the other sex workers are making sure parents in the neighourhood know to keep a close eye on their kids because the streets aren’t safe.”
“I assume Angela has talked to the police about this,” Zack said.
“She has,” Mieka said. “She asked for increased surveillance in the area. The police are cooperative, but they won’t do much without any solid evidence or an incident. They say hot-spot policing ties up personnel and creates antagonism in the community.”
Zack nodded. “As mayor, I was part of that discussion, and I get what the police are saying. Hot-spot policing is a last-ditch effort, and obviously, they feel the area isn’t there yet.”
“Meanwhile,” Mieka said, “the parents Angela hoped would bring their kids to the 21 Days of Christmas have been turned off bringing them out at all.”
For the next ten minutes, we floated ideas about how to deal with children’s safety and the fear in the community, but there was little time to put anything meaningful into effect.
We ended up with a strategy based on something that was already in place. MediaNation’s local station had agreed to broadcast the event’s kickoff from April’s Place live, starting at ten. The number of citizens watching the local station at that time on a Sunday morning rarely made it past three digits, but UpSlideDown and April’s Place had a following on social media, and Mieka and Angela would urge followers from both centres to support the kickoff by coming to April’s Place on Sunday at ten in the morning.
It was a start.
CHAPTER
5
Taylor, Zack, and I had an early dinner, and after a brief discussion about whether it was too early in the season to watch Love Actually, we strung the lights on the big tree in the family room, lit the fire, and settled in to watch that most romantic of holiday movies. As she always did, Taylor groaned at the flash mob wedding scene, and as he always did, Zack drew me close in the scene where Mark knocks on Julie’s door and flips his homemade signs that read, “Without hope or agenda / just because it’s Christmas— / (and at Christmas you tell the truth) / to me, you are perfect…”
The evening had been a gentle one, and despite the uncertainty about the event the next day, I slept well that night, and when Pantera and Esme and I returned from our morning run, I felt at peace and ready for what came next. Church was at 10:30, but we were able to watch the beginning of MediaNation’s coverage of 21 Days of Christmas, and it seemed the last-minute social media push had worked. April’s Place was filling up with parents and children with happy faces.
December 3 was the first Sunday in Advent. At the cathedral, we would light the candle for hope, and the Service of Lessons and Carols, one of Zack’s favourites, would begin. What my husband believed was a mystery to me. Then again, there was mystery in the fact that of all the women Zack had been with, the one he had been determined to marry was an Anglican widow five years older than him, with four kids, two dogs, a Ph.D. in political science, and leftist political leanings.
We had been seeing each other for a month when, one bright cool September morning, Zack showed up for the 10:30 service at our family’s church, St. Paul’s Cathedral. Until we were married five months later, Zack met with the dean of the cathedral once a week. I never found out what they discussed, but my husband had been a faithful congregant ever since.
Mieka and the girls were in our usual pew when we arrived. Mieka handed me her phone. There was a text from Angela Greyeyes that read, “So far, so good.”
“Can’t ask for more than that,” I said.
Mieka raised an eyebrow. “No, but I’m leaving my phone on vibrate in case something goes amok.”
Zack’s voice was a booming bass and Madeleine and Lena’s singing was spirited if unpredictable. As the girls and their grandfather sang “O Come O Come Emmanuel,” the pleasure they took in their closeness and in the blending of their voices was a tonic. When the last verse of the recessional began, I noticed that, like me, Mieka had stopped singing and was simply appreciating the sight of her two young daughters sharing a hymnal with their grandfather.
As soon as church was over, our two families drove to April’s Place. It was tough finding a parking place on Winnipeg Street—welcome news because that meant there was a crowd at the café/play centre. When we stepped into the warmth of April’s Place and were met by the familiar mingled scent of coffee percolating and muffins baking, I felt my nerves completely unknot.
The place was festive. On Boxing Day t
he year before, Mieka had asked local businesses that sold artificial trees to donate their strays. The ten trees that had been donated were placed artfully around the space, waiting for kids to decorate them. Garlands of snowflakes made from paper doilies floated from the ceiling, and red and green patterned vinyl tablecloths covered the café tables.
When Angela Greyeyes came out from the kitchen to greet us, I felt the thrill of pleasure I always experienced these days when I saw her. She was wearing bright green overalls, a very white long-sleeved shirt, and green and white high tops. Her shiny black hair was braided, her face was innocent of makeup, and her smile was broad.
When I met Angela, she was a nineteen-year-old sex worker and addict with three children and an abusive boyfriend. Now, three years later, the boyfriend was long gone. Angela was clean and sober, and she and her children lived in safe, decent, affordable housing. The children were thriving in a cooperative daycare, and after two and a half years of upgrading her schooling and working at UpSlideDown, Angela was managing April’s Place. The changes in her life were nothing short of miraculous, and their effect was far-reaching. For every person who stepped through the doors of the play centre, Angela was a reminder that there are second chances.
“We’re having a busy day,” Angela said, gesturing to the tables filled with neighbourhood kids and parents, mostly First Nations, bent over projects. “I was just going to put out more supplies for crafts.” Plastic storage boxes of craft materials, markers, glitter glue, and kids’ safety scissors lined the wall of the quiet-play area.
“We can help with that,” I said.
“I’ll take kitchen duty,” Mieka said.
“Just in time,” Angela said. “The oven just pinged—the muffins are ready.”