Grave Concern (47 page)

Now Mary's brow looked pinched. “Hadn't thought of that. From J.P.'s point of view — that is, if he
didn't
know — Guy was just plain being mean.”

“Either way it must have been awful for J.P.,” Kate said quietly. “Not to mention puzzling — if he didn't know, I mean.”

“I'd say so,” Mary agreed.

“Poor J.P.” It was if these two words and the two lumpish creatures that had gnawed a good long while at the lining of Kate's stomach were one and the same. And now they'd been dislodged and were running amok.

She thought back to the night in the cabin.
Had
J.P. known? Would that explain his sudden reticence — and disappearance? A pang of conscience, then, even though,
technically
, they hadn't completed the act. Is that why, afterward, he'd treated her like the plague? How much of J.P.'s life — and hers — could his knowing her parentage explain?

“On the other hand,” said Mary, pouring herself another titch of Scotch, “look on the bright side. You didn't get knocked up by your own half-brother. Wouldn't that have just been better than a slap on the belly with a dead fish!”

“Mare, you certainly have a way of putting things.”

“Obliged,” Mary said. “Now, enough about you. Let's talk about me.”

Kate actually smiled, just a teeny bit. She decided Mary herself, despite the sometimes bitter taste, was the best medicine she knew.

“Remember Neville, Hille's lover-boy?” Mary said.

“Yeah, though I'd rather not. Oh, no, Mary, you're not hooking up with that jerk!”

“No, no, dear, settle down. Ex-client of his, new in town, name of Baskins. Retiree. We've had a coffee date or two. Whoopdedoo. Not like the old days, eh?”

“Baskins! I met him at Hille's and Ron's. He's got some connection — ”

“Aged aunt,” filled in Mary. “Patient of mine.”

“ — here. Yeah. Handsome old bugger.” At the look on Mary's face, she quickly backtracked. “But young at heart. I gave him my card.”

“Nuh-uh, I got there first.”

“My Grave Concern card, dummy. Leonard's more than I can handle, believe you me. Oh, Mary, I'm happy for you.”

“Me, too. I don't know if I'm ready, or willing, or even able. But it's a start, dear, wouldn't you say?”

By way of reply, Kate lifted her glass. “A toast,” she said, “to successfully rounding the upwind buoy and coming about on a screaming reach.”

“And to you and I never drifting apart on the downwind run,” Mary finished up.

“Amen.” And Kate, who detested Scotch, knocked back a mouthful for the sake of her friendship with Mary.

“And by the way,” Mary said. “About earlier. I
do
care, whatever you might think.”

That smartened Kate up. Chastened, she hoisted her glass of Scotch.

Seeing Kate finally take a swig, Mary cleared her throat. “There's something else I've been meaning to tell you. Been waiting for the right time, but that time never seemed to come.”

“Whatever, lay it on me,” said Kate, confident things couldn't get worse.

“It's not good news, I'm afraid, Kate.”

The glass grew heavy in Kate's hand.

“Got wind of it through Dr. Lyon,” Mary said. “You know, Mrs. Niedmeyer was his patient for many years.”

Kate's stomach dropped.

“I'm afraid she died, Kate, in her sleep. Night before last. Nothing acute. Heart was weak, and it just wore out. Died of ‘old age,' as they say, in her bed, at Morning Manor. I'm assured it was peaceful. As ways to go, it was pretty much the most you could ask for.”

The most you could ask for, eh? Was that what a life came down to? To escape the obvious conclusion, Kate's brain beamed its spotlight elsewhere, on a tweet she'd received just yesterday from Gladys: “So if you're not coming here, I'm coming there. Watch for me in your mailbox soon.” Kate had to smile, imagining tiny Gladys folded up in the Smithers's heirloom metal box at the post office, much coveted these days by newer townsfolk who had to make do with standing in line at the counter to pick up their mail. Kate pictured Gladys sticking her head out after Kate inserted the tiny key. “Next time,” she'd say in her soft, little girl voice, “I think I'll look into a berth.”

“I know bad news seems to roll in on a swarm of gales,” Mary said. “Just couldn't keep it to myself any longer. Best be done with it all at once. I'm so sorry, Kate.”

Kate said nothing. Stared at nothing for a long, long while. Then she lifted the glass full of golden liquid, prized and revolting, and took another long swig.

“To Adele and Molly, then,” she said. “And renewed friendship in a parallel universe!”

Epilogue

Though she felt she should, Kate couldn't imagine sitting down with Leonard and telling him her whole sorry tale. For one thing, he would be hurt and confused. For another, it would be just plain painful to live it all over again in the telling. Still, as they packed up the Grave Concern office on the last Saturday of October, she slipped in a few details. They were carrying boxes out to her car, driving them the block and a half over to Ho Lam's. Kate kept her patter light, cracking jokes about the misunderstandings and misalignments of her life, making it all into a kind of British farce.

But Leonard was not to be fooled. After the bulk of the moving was done, he took her arm and steered her into The Beanery. Without asking what she wanted, he ordered her a large, full-fat latte and sat her down at the table behind the potted plant in the corner.

“Hey!” Kate said, taking a sip. “This is good. I can't believe I ever drank those chai non-fat, decaf soy things. Why did I do that, Leonard?”

“I have no idea,” Leonard said. “A woman of such taste.”

Kate made a face.

And Leonard asked Kate to please tell all, from first to last, and held her hands across the table the whole time. At the places where Kate's breath would catch, and she felt it might stop altogether, he would squeeze tighter and tell her it was all right.

“I, I can't help still loving him, Leonard. I'm sorry to have to say it. But it's how I feel. I always will. Do you see? Now he's my brother, along with everything else.”

Leonard loosened his grip and Kate's hands fell on the cold, granite-topped table. “I can handle the brother bit. Half-brother. But
everything else
? Ouch, Kate. You have to know that hurts.”

“Just want to be absolutely honest. Don't you want that, too?”

Leonard sat back and looked away at nothing in particular. Kate found herself suddenly terrified, more terrified than ever in her life. Was he about to call it quits? Had she just blown the best thing to come along in years?

Leonard turned back to her and said, “Okay, that's it. I've heard it, heard you, and I don't want to hear it again.”

Kate was paralyzed with fear. Was it the end, then? Is that what he meant — the end of Leonard-and-Kate? She watched his eyes, more beautiful than she'd ever realized. Black and soft and heavy-lashed. That sexy, slow blink he hadn't even been aware of until Kate pointed it out on their first real “date.”

“You can write it down, or send me a letter,” Leonard said. “Write a book, make a movie. Talk to a counsellor. Or maybe a medium. Whatever. It's just too hard to hear. I'm sorry. I've got my needs and quirks, too. Deal?”

They sat for a long while in silence, Leonard sipping his water, Kate licking her trembling parched lips.
A
deal. You didn't make a deal with someone you'd never see again — did you? That must mean he wanted the relationship, in some form, to continue.

Kate nodded and nodded, up and down, until Leonard said, “Okay, you can stop nodding now.” He smiled, and Kate smiled, and then they both laughed and Leonard picked up her hands again.

Kate retrieved one of them and picked up her coffee cup. She clinked it against his glass. “Here's to the future,” she said.

“To the future,” Leonard responded.

“Leonard, about that. I've been thinking. About us. In the future. Remember in the canoe, we talked about adopting?”

Leonard gulped down his water and turned, Kate thought, a little pale.

“Uh, yeh?”

“I want to. Adopt.”

“Ooo-kaaay.”

“I've already picked her out.”

“Her?”

“She's cute, Leonard. Very dark. Black, really — ”

“Not a problem.” But Leonard's face sported more lines than the old Etch-a-Sketch Kate was using as a doorstop at home.

Kate went on. “Language skills good. Wicked fingernails. A bit tattered — her plumage, I mean. Definitely seen better days.”

At the word “plumage,” Leonard visibly relaxed. He began his trademark laugh, in silence, slim shoulders jouncing up and down. Kate thought back to Groundhog Day, when he had done much the same, quietly cracking up in the entrance of Flower Power. It was the first time Kate had really taken much notice of the man who worked two doors down.

“Oh, and by the way, she gave me something the other day.” Kate pulled the bubble-gum ring from her pocket and tried to fit it on Leonard's pinkie. “Looks like we'll have to get it sized. But seriously, I think the little gal's in desperate need of some parenting.”

“Fine with me,” Leonard said. “As long as she stays outside.”

“What about winter?” Kate said.

“Hasn't she lived outdoors all her life? Aren't they built for that?”

“Yeah, but she's getting on. What about when it's thirty below?”

“Okay, okay, I'll make her a heated pen.”

“But not to fence her in. More like a retreat.”

“Right,” said Leonard. “A retreat fit for a slightly deranged raven.”

“Excellent,” said Kate. “We'll make it together. I'm pretty good with a hammer and nail.”

“I don't doubt it,” Leonard grinned.

“I'd like to rename her. For an old friend,” said Kate. “ ‘Link.' Whaddya say?”

“Sounds fine,” Leonard smiled. The look on his face said,
Who cares — I'm smitten.

Kate smiled weakly back, still fearful from their near-miss. “Good. Oh. And something else I should mention.”

“Mmmm-hmmm?” said Leonard lazily, as though nothing she mentioned ever, from here to eternity (well, except perhaps a
certain subject)
could remove one iota of contentment from his face.

“When I was up at the graveyard last week, I found a note taped to my parents' grave. At first I thought it was from you and I left it closed, you know, didn't look, drew it out, kind of like good foreplay.”

Leonard's expression froze for a nanosecond, like faces sometimes did on the back porch TV. He reddened, then paled, then laughed. “Ah, Kate. Don't be anyone but you, ever. Promise?”

“Promise. But I have to show you this.” Kate pulled out the crumpled note, which Leonard read with increasing gravity.

“Oh my God,” he said.

“What ‘oh my God'? It's just Grinning Greta, trying to scare me off so Krebs and Krebs can grab the few remaining bits of market share they haven't already. Doesn't bother me a bit.”

“I'm glad,” said Leonard. But he didn't sound glad in the least.

“You make it sound so ominous. Greta's just an overgrown schoolyard bully.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” said Leonard. “I don't mean to scare you. Just forget I said anything. I'm sure you're right, Kate. It's just stupid. Stupid stupidity. Burn it and move on.”

“I intend to,” said Kate, her brow furrowing despite her best efforts, thereby more deeply entrenching her fleshy forehead's hated corduroy. “A gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do, right?”

“Exactly what I was thinking. You've been reading my mail,” said Leonard lightly, but Kate sensed a berm of worry behind the words. She forced a laugh anyway, and held out her cup. With a genuine, if slightly strained smile, Leonard clinked it with his water glass.

“Correction,” she said. “You've been reading mine.”