Friday, October 9:
As a rule, I don't think of myself as a person who has a hard time saying no. Some might describe me as assertive to a fault, but on this particular early autumn morning, my words kept sticking in my throat, as though they were afraid to emerge into the brilliant sunshine pouring in through the south-facing windows. And when at last I was able to push them out, I wished I hadn't. Not that I wanted what Greg was offering me, but I wanted to be able to want it, if you know what I mean.
I slouched in a buttery-soft leather armchair enduring the disgruntlement of Greg Chisholm, my former mentor and current friend. At least, I hoped he was still my friend.
"Greg, please. Try to see this from my point of view. Don't be mad," I said, drumming my fingers on his polished mahogany desk. "It's nothing about you, but I just can't work here again. I appreciate your asking me, really. I do. But when I left the hospital, it was for good. I thought you knew that."
Greg said nothing, but swivelled his chair to face the plate glass window that overlooked carefully groomed lawns and spreading maples. He adjusted his glasses on his long, thin nose, and even in quarter-profile, I could tell he was frowning.
The coffee mug I'd balanced on the arm of the maroon chair was empty, but I picked it up as though to sip from it anyway, a reflex born of long habit. I put it down again, feeling stupid. The silence prolonged itself, until it grew too heavy to bear.
"Come on, Greg, talk to me. I told you when you asked last winter that I couldn't promise you anything. You knew that, right? It's not like I made you any promises."
He let out his breath slowly, not a sigh but a long, resigned acknowledgment. "Yeah, you told me. I guess I should have believed you then, huh? But Katy, it's so perfect for you. You wouldn't have to have an office here - you could keep your astrology practice downtown, just come in for short consultations. I need a qualified consulting psychologist, and you know you've said you could use the income. Plus, I trained you myself. Where else am I going to find someone who knows so much?" Here, he gave a short grin, which I didn't return. The smile died on his lips. "I can't understand why you have to be so damn stubborn about this."
I shook my head. "I can't deal with any more psychos, Greg. No more nutcases, no more sociopaths. I don't want to talk to guys who think it's nothing to blow their girlfriends away, or to beat their kids till they die, or rape them, or - or any of that other stuff. I just can't hack it any more. I'm past burned out."
"You've had a rough year."
I laughed, but it came out more like a bark. "Quite possibly the understatement of the century, old friend. Things are quieting down some now, you know? I don't want to mess around with that. Working here would seriously compromise what little sanity I've got left."
"How's Dawn?" Greg turned back to face me. I was relieved to note his face had relaxed just a bit. Maybe we could get through this with our friendship intact.
"Getting better, I think. She's still a bit annoyed with me about Benjamin, you know - they got off on the wrong foot, summer before last, and she can be really stubborn. I don't know where she gets it."
It was Greg's turn to snort with laughter. "She's your daughter, Katy. Where do you think she gets it? Besides, even I have a hard time imagining you dating a cop. Especially that cop."
Greg was right, on the surface of it. Benjamin and I had met in what you might call inauspicious circumstances - he'd called me in as a witness in a murder case more than a year ago, and then got his knickers all in a twist when I got more involved than he wanted me to be. Then, last winter, through a series of bizarre coincidences, we'd met again. I can't say there was electricity in the air between us, but Benjamin and I got along. I wish I could say the same for Benjamin and my daughter - Dawn still glared fiercely at him every time he came to call for me, and I think she'd "lost" his phone messages for me more than once. I figured the two of them just needed a bit of time to come to terms with one another. I hoped.
"Benjamin's all right. And we're not dating, at least not seriously. We have dinner once in a while, he takes me bowling. We went on a camping trip over the summer. We have fun, and I don't have to think about...what happened. You know - last winter. " I made a gesture with my hand, as though sweeping away the memories...blood splattering into the snow, the sun setting low over a farmer's field and scrub forest. I shook my head, a sharp nervous gesture that had crept up on me in recent months.
"Katy, have you thought about talking to someone?" Greg leaned forward, reaching across the broad expanse of desk to touch the icy tips of my fingers.
"About what? Some people died. Some of them I knew, some I didn't. Some of them were my fault, some weren't. I can't make them alive again, so what the hell? I can take care of myself. There's life in the old girl yet." I tried for a jaunty grin. But I could see by the look in his eye that Greg wasn't buying.
"You ever hear of a little thing called post-traumatic stress disorder? Well, you've been through enough to qualify, Dr. Klein. And whenever we talk about this, you get all spooked and start shaking. You need help. Look, I can find you someone...."
"No thanks," I snapped, withdrawing my hands from his. "I'm fine, Greg. I don't need to see anyone. I'll be okay. Look, can we talk about something else?"
I was the one who turned away this time. I felt chilled, despite the warmth of the autumn sun spilling into the room.
There was another silence. I could feel him looking at me, but I didn't meet his eyes.
Finally, he spoke. "Sure. Whatever. You're fine. You're a grown-up. You don't need the job I offer you, even though you're up to your eyeballs in debt. You don't need to talk to anyone, even though I see you suffering. You know best, Katy. I can't seem to offer you much, can I?"
"Greg..." A lump choked off my words.
"Never mind. Listen, I've got work to do. We'll go out for coffee sometime, okay?"
I nodded. "Sure. I'll call you."
Pushing my chair back, I hunted around for my purse.
"It's on the back of your chair," Greg said, though I'd have sworn he was looking past me, to the Mondrian print on the far wall of his office. "Katy, you know I care about you..."
"I know." I slung my overstuffed bag onto my shoulder. "And I appreciate it. It's just - no, never mind. Look, why don't we meet next week, okay? It's my turn to buy you lunch."
A small smile played at the corners of my old friend's mouth. "Sure, what the hell. You choose where. Leave a message for me, and I'll be there."
At the door of his office, I paused and looked back at Greg. He met my eyes, and then he seemed to make a decision. Sighing, he stood up and folded his reading glasses up, placing them in his shirt pocket.
"Come on," he said. "No one's died of food poisoning at the coffee shop lately. I'll buy you a cup of sludge."
"Now there's an offer I can't refuse," I said, holding out my arm. He took it, and we walked down the hall toward the elevators.
If no one had yet expired from the soggy sandwiches and tepid, day-old coffee in the coffee shop, it was purely coincidental. I stood in front of the salad bar, trying to choose slightly less-wilted looking veggies to top my greyish cottage cheese. Greg picked through the cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, but eventually gave it up in favour of a bowl of unidentifiable soup and some soda crackers.
We carried our trays to a corner table, hoping for a bit of privacy. Fortunately for us, it was past one o'clock, so most of the patients were already upstairs, attending groups or doing occupational therapy. Greg and I chatted amiably enough, ice-skating over our recent discomfort.
"Now I remember why we usually meet outside the hospital," I remarked, sweeping crumbs and a used straw off the table. "There's just something about the ambience here..."
Greg chuckled. "Hey, don't knock it. This place is the Ritz, compared to the cafÈ in the basement. So...where are you off to this weekend?"
"Don't laugh."
"Katy, would I laugh at you? Come on, tell."
"Okay. You remember I told you about my e-mail friend? Flavia?" He nodded. "Well, she got invited to this retreat. For astrologers and stuff, you know. It's on this island, Balsam or Sycamore or something, and there'll be about 10 of us, dancing in the spirit or some damn thing. I just hope they don't expect me to take my clothes off."
Greg nodded solemnly, but he couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye. "But I thought you hated things like that. New Agey things, I mean. Auras and spirit guides and angels and stuff..."
"I do." I made a sour face. "But Flavia convinced me. She's a real fast talker, and she says it'll be pretty low-key. I know, I'm a complete snob about everything except astrology - but she says there's only going to be astrologers there, so at least I won't have to deal with anyone channelling Elvis. I'm supposed to help her teach the advanced group, apparently. Besides, we've never met, so this will be the ideal opportunity..."
"You've never met this woman, and you're going to a retreat with her? For a whole weekend?" Greg's eyebrows shot up, and I had to laugh.
"I'm pretty sure she's not a psycho killer, Greg. We have talked on the phone, you know. And besides, I'll be the one driving us there, so if it gets weird, I can just leave."
Greg snorted. "Yeah, right, that would be just like you. If it gets weird, you'll be the first one in line to find out why. I can see it now. I'm going to get a panicked phone call, telling me Madame X has killed Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick, and could I please don my superhero outfit and come out to give you a hand. You're becoming the Jessica Fletcher of Ottawa, Katy."
I shook my head vigorously. Unfortunate timing, because I had just placed a forkful of raw broccoli in my mouth, and some of it sprayed across the table. Discreetly, I wiped it up with a paper napkin.
"You forget, Greg. I'm reformed. I'm a new woman. I've learned my lesson. No more butting in for me. And what could happen on an island full of astrologers? We're notoriously non-violent. Besides, I'm sure whoever is putting this show on must have chosen an auspicious date - I think it's supposed to start at some weird time like 2:13 p.m., to avoid a void-of-course Moon. Don't worry, everything will be fine."
Greg pushed his empty soup bowl away, and rested his elbows on the table.
"You're right. I should be more trusting. Actually, I'm glad you're going. After all you've been through this year, you need the break. Have a good time."
"I intend to," I said.
There was a long silence, during which we both cast around for something to say - something non-controversial, something that wouldn't further strain our friendship.
"So...how's Peter doing? I haven't seen his by-line as much lately. Everything okay?"
Peter is my ex-husband, a journalist with the local cat-box liner.
"Fine, I think," I said. "His editor got all excited about that big piece he did last winter, you know - the five-part exposÈ about the religious nuts. So they've had him doing some top-secret investigative piece for the last few weeks. I don't see much of him, and he's always saying things like, 'The walls have ears, you know.' It's getting a bit old, but he seems pretty pleased with himself, so I'm assuming he's been getting the goods on whoever he's exposing at the moment."
Greg nodded. "Good for him. Sounds like his career's on the move."
"Unlike mine," I muttered.
"I never said that!" Greg put his hands up in a defensive gesture, palms out.
"You didn't need to," I said. "I already know it. You were right, back there. I'm just being stubborn. But I can't jump into anything, Greg, can you understand that? I'll think about your offer some more, but I can't promise anything. Okay?"
"Okay," he said, putting a hand on top of mine. "You're the boss."
*****
It was early fall, and the days had just begun to turn crisp. The leaves on the maples that lined my street in Centretown were what my daughter, Dawn, used to call "fire trees" - brilliant yellows and oranges that caught and flickered in the sunlight. The weather was about as good as it gets in Ottawa, warm enough to go without a jacket, but cool enough to be refreshing. And inside our small apartment, Dawn, home from school for lunch, was on a rampage.
"Mom, it's just bloody ridiculous!" She slammed her book bag down on the kitchen table, almost knocking over the fruit bowl, which currently contained everything but fruit - elastic bands, a screwdriver, several pens missing their lids, three keys that unlocked unknown doors, and two scraps of paper with indecipherable notes scribbled on them. I grabbed the bowl before it fell, opened my mouth to protest my daughter's cavalier behaviour, but Dawn wasn't about to be slowed down.
"Why should we be the ones who suffer, just because Mr. Acres has decided to vanish into thin air?"
This was a rhetorical question. I should have known better than to answer.
"I know, honey, it doesn't seem fair, but - "
Dawn cut me off in midsentence, slapping the table in outrage. "Dammit, Mom! We planned this trip for an entire year. I froze my butt off last winter, selling goddamn stupid chocolate bars door to door. I nearly got frostbite, and for what? And Sylvie spent hours doing the paperwork - and now, goddamn Acres just up and decides he doesn't want to be a teacher any more, and it's like, Oh, sorry, too bad, kids, the goddamn trip to Paris is toast - '"
"Dawn, please, watch your language," I started again.
"Yeah, I know. I know. Sorry. But this just makes me so damn mad!" She slammed her fist onto the table again, and a couple of books slid out of her open book bag onto the floor. She ignored them, blinking tears out of her eyes. She grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the counter and blew her nose loudly. I took advantage of her momentary pause.
"And you have every right to be mad, Dawn. It's not fair. Have they given you any explanation yet? Like, where Acres went, or why?"
She shook her head. "Nada. He just walked out in the middle of class last Monday. I think he might have had a phone call or something. We sat there and waited for him, but the bell rang, so we all went to our next class. He never came back, and yesterday, we had a supply teacher. Now they say he's quit, and we can't go - oh, shit!" Dawn threw herself into a kitchen chair, leaned on the table with her head in her arms, and sobbed her frustration. I rubbed her shoulders sympathetically.
"Honey, what if I were to call the principal? Maybe they could assign you guys another teacher for the trip?"
Dawn shook her head, and kept crying. It was times like this when I had to remind myself that she was only fifteen years old. Well, fifteen and a half, technically. But still, just a teenager. I'd probably be pretty wound up myself, if my favourite teacher had suddenly dropped out of sight, forcing the school to abandon plans for a long-awaited two-week field trip to Paris. Mr. Acres was a history teacher, and one of the best, according to Dawn.
"He really makes you feel like you're there, Mom," she'd say. "You know, you feel like you're in that crowd, just about to storm the Bastille. Or cheering Napoleon as he returns from some battle or another - it's so cool. And he has all these great ideas for places to take us - it's going to be the best trip of my life!"
Now, Acres was gone, the trip was history, and I had a sobbing adolescent on my hands. "I'm going to call," I said, with a firmness that brooked no opposition. "What harm can it do?"
Dawn quieted some as I dialled the school office - she wouldn't want to miss a word. A secretary put me through to Anne North, Lisgar's vice-principal. She sounded too young to be a teacher, let alone a senior school official, but I let it pass. I've recently begun to realize that I may have a somewhat skewed perspective in the matter of other people's perceived youth.
"I'm afraid there's not much more I can tell you, Ms. Klein." Anne North sounded harried, and I suspected I wasn't the first outraged parent to call this morning.
"Well, why can't the school simply assign another teacher to supervise the trip?"
There was a long, awkward pause. "I don't think that would be appropriate."
"Why not? The kids have all paid their money, the reservations have been made. I'm sure any teacher would jump at the opportunity for a free trip to Europe."
Another pause. "Ms. Klein, there are circumstances that prevent us..."
"Wait a second." Call me slow, but I was starting to catch on. "What about the money? The kids are going to get their money back, aren't they?"
"Well...it's a very unusual circumstance..."
"You're saying this guy took off with the funds, aren't you?"
Dawn's head popped up like a jack-in-the-box, her eyes wide.
Anne North coughed. "Ah, well..." She cleared her throat again. "I'm afraid..."
"Do the police know about this? Are they looking for Acres?"
"We've been in touch with all the correct authorities, Ms. Klein. Believe me, the school is dealing with this to the best of our ability. Nothing like this has ever happened at Lisgar before."
No, I guess it probably hadn't. "So what do we do now?" A wave of helpless anger washed over me, and I sat down heavily.
"We'll be calling a meeting for all the families whose children were involved in the trip," Anne said. "Some time in the next couple of weeks. Until then, we'd appreciate your discretion..."
Ah. "You mean, you don't want us talking to the press?"
"Well, yes. This is a very difficult situation, as I'm sure you can understand. It wouldn't help the students to have it splashed around the media. We're doing our best, but we need the co-operation of all the families."
I reassured her that I wasn't about to call an immediate press conference, and hung up, rubbing the side of my nose thoughtfully.
"He took our money? Acres took off with all our money?" Dawn looked disbelieving.
"Looks like it. There's going to be some kind of a meeting. For all the good that'll do."
We lapsed into a depressed silence, and munched on the cheese sandwiches I'd prepared for our lunch. I'd have preferred tuna, but Dawn showed no signs of relenting on her "meat is murder" rule. She'd decided a couple of years back that we had to eschew all flesh in our diet, and she patrolled our cupboards with the enthusiasm of a bloodhound sniffing out contraband. I'd given up trying to hide tins of Spam or tuna or salmon - she always found it, and then I got The Lecture about cholesterol and murdering innocent animals and the inhumane treatment of animals destined for our tables. Now I just went along with her dictates, and did my meat-eating when I was out of the house.
"So. You're still going away on Saturday, huh?" Dawn didn't look at me as she spoke.
"Yep. I'm picking Flavia up at the airport at nine in the morning, and we're going to drive directly to the island. As I've explained to you several times, Dawn."
"Well, I just thought..." The sentence trailed off, and she lapsed into silence again. I got up to pour myself a coffee, and waited for her to find her words. Which she inevitably would. Dawn has a knack for finding words.
She spoke softly, her head turned from me. "It's just that I'm so bummed out by this whole thing, Mom. I thought maybe you'd reconsider..."
"And let you come with me?" I put the coffee cup down on the counter with a sigh. "Dawn, I know you're disappointed about your trip, but how is coming to some astrology festival with a bunch of middle-aged women going to..." I stopped myself in mid-sentence, suddenly unable to think of a single reason why my daughter couldn't accompany me and Flavia to the island. "Oh, what the hell. Heck, I mean. Sure, Dawn, you can come. Now, get going. You're going to be late for school."
A weak smile, the first I'd seen from her all day. "Thanks, Mom. I just didn't feel like hanging around here moping all weekend. I won't get in your way, I promise."
"Don't worry about it. Now, get!"
As she wolfed down the last of her sandwich, gulped some soy milk that looked and smelled like old dishwater, and dashed out the door, I smiled to myself. For some reason, having Dawn come along for the weekend made the Astrofest seem a bit less silly. Maybe things were beginning to look up, after all.
