The Birthday Lunch (2 page)

By the time she reached her fifties, Laverne concluded that it was more rewarding to fall in love with a painting than with
a man, and after Lucas showed her de Hooch’s masterpiece, she made subsequent, solitary visits to the Rijksmuseum. It was there that she decided to renovate the servants’ quarters to replicate the painting. She had already told Lily she would co-sign the mortgage agreement only if it stipulated that renovation expenses would be shared between them. After years of living in a trailer and scrimping and saving for annual trips to Europe, she deserved to live within the walls of beauty. And she deserved to live close to Lily.

When Lily was a girl, she was given to making dreamy pronouncements out of the blue and not long after their mother died, she took her sister’s hand and said, “When we are grown up, Laverne, you and I will live in a little white house by the sea. There will be lupines and wild roses and a white fence.” For years Laverne held on to that dream until Hal entered the picture and the prospect of living in the little white house vanished.

Although she hadn’t been unhappy with her solitary life in the trailer, Laverne was excited by the prospect of living in rooms very like those Pieter de Hooch painted, rooms that were functional, spare and welcomed the light. The next two summers were spent travelling to Holland and directing carpenters to renovate the apartment the way she wanted. Of course there were grumbles and whispered asides by the workmen when she insisted two small windows be installed just so in the U-shaped space between her apartment and the house. Laverne was reassured by the grumbles because it meant the carpenters had no idea they were helping her create an illusion. But the illusion will not be complete until she finds the blue pillow she wants for the kitchen chair, and the Friesland
baseboard tiles for the wall between the kitchen and pantry, items she expects to find later this summer in the country she has adopted as her favourite. Holland, not Canada, is now her favourite. For a time Quebec—which Laverne has always thought of as a separate country—was her favourite but after a succession of summer schools in the province, her enthusiasm waned and she moved on to France where she spent summers at the Sorbonne until she became disillusioned by the arrogance of the French who winced if a word was mispronounced or the subjunctive mistakenly used.

Although the summer holidays begin the day after tomorrow, Laverne has chosen to spend the day at home and earlier this morning she called in sick, which she rarely does. She is not sick, she is fed up. Every year the principal, Walter Coombs, assumes Laverne will be the events timer for Sports Day and she has finally put her foot down. She is tired of being taken for granted, of being expected to take on jobs other staff members refuse to do. As the hardest-working teacher on the staff, Laverne has done more than her share of recess and lunchroom duty, not to mention after-school remedial work. It is the same for her colleagues Jessie and Ivy, who are also single and therefore expected to carry a heavier load than married teachers who are often excused from extracurricular activities due to family responsibilities. Well, Lily is family, her only family, and Laverne is determined that nothing will prevent her and her sister from having a special birthday lunch.

Of course Laverne will return to school tomorrow to pass out report cards and instruct students to clear out desks before they head for home. And next week she will invigilate
matriculation exams. By then desks will be stacked in hallways, blackboards wiped clean, floors swept with Dustbane. Except for the matriculating students, the school will be empty, the more fortunate children in town having been whisked away to beaches and lakeside cottages while the less fortunate children will have to make do with the Kiwanis swimming pool and makeshift tents pitched in backyards.

By the time Hal returns to the bedroom, a mug of coffee in either hand, Lily is leaning against the pillows, her long dark hair covering her breasts, a book propped against her knees. Hal guesses a novel but does not ask the title or what the story is about. He does not know how to talk about a novel, cannot think what to say that will not make him look foolish or slow witted. He places his wife’s mug on the bedside table, his own on the dresser while he puts on trousers, open-necked shirt and shoes. Later, when he returns from making the Waterford delivery, he will put on the dress shirt and the tie hanging in the closet.

When he finishes dressing, Hal fetches the parcel from the back of the closet and holds it up. “This is from Claudia. Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” he says and lays the gift on the bed. Lily abandons the novel, placing it face down on the sheets and picks up the parcel. “What have we here,” she says, playing the game she used to play with their children. Never one to unwrap a parcel carefully, she rips off the paper. “Oh my,” she says, lifting a blue silk blouse and skirt from the box, “a summer suit, and look …” there is no mistaking her delight, “a
necklace to match.” Resisting the urge to spill the beans and tell his wife about his birthday surprise, Hal settles for a compliment. “The suit is a perfect match for your eyes,” he says. “Why don’t you wear it today?”

“I might,” Lily says, which is encouraging because sometimes she will mistake a good intention for unwanted advice. Hal finishes his coffee and pockets the car keys. Mindful of how easily time slips by when Lily has her nose in a book, he tells her that he will pick her up at twelve-thirty. “We’ll have lunch at Adair’s and afterwards there will be your birthday surprise.”

“But Laverne has already asked me for lunch.”

“Your sister isn’t calling the shots today. After you went to bed, I telephoned her and told her I would be taking you to lunch at Adair’s.”

“She won’t like it.”

“But it isn’t her birthday—it’s yours. Do you want to have lunch with her or with me?” There is no question of the three of them having lunch together.

“With you, of course.”

“Then it’s settled. I will pick you up at twelve-thirty.”

“You’ll be at the store?”

“Not today. I have a delivery in Waterford this morning. The young couple I told you about, the Huntleys, have built a country inn out there.”

“Oh yes, the Huntleys,” Lily says vaguely. It is only when Hal is halfway down the stairs that she calls, “By the way, I have a two o’clock appointment at the hospital.”

“On your birthday?”

“A routine X-ray. After the last bout of pneumonia, Squank insisted I have a lung X-ray twice a year. Remember?”

“I remember, but I didn’t know the appointment was today.”

“It won’t take long,” Lily says and returns to
The Book of Eve
.

Shackled by the heat, the maples hunch over the driveway as Hal walks beneath them on his way to the garage. Laverne parks her Volkswagen in the driveway. Not Hal. Unwilling to have the Chev Impala sullied by seed pods and bird droppings, he parks his car inside the garage. Lily teases him about the pride he takes in the Chev Impala. Your secret lover, Clarissa Imogene, she says. Lily has always named his cars: the turquoise Nash he drove when they were courting was Natasha; the Dodge Challenger Hal drove when he was on the road selling for Merck Pharmaceuticals, was Delores Christobel. Apart from naming them, Lily has never expressed any interest in the cars or in learning to drive and to be honest, because of the expense of buying and maintaining a second car, Hal has never encouraged her to learn.

Hal will often do small finishing jobs inside the garage and it is here at the workbench that he sanded and oiled the commode and the rocking chair he is delivering today. He runs a practised hand over the wood, checking for a splinter or a burr he might have missed. Satisfied the surfaces are smooth he wraps the furniture in flannel sheets and lifts them into the trunk, banking them with pillows to prevent scratching during the drive to Waterford.

Laverne waits ten minutes after Hal has driven away before telephoning upstairs. Her sister may have overheard the nasty argument between Hal and herself last night and she does not want to be seen as taking advantage of the fact that he is out of the way. As usual the telephone rings and rings before Lily decides to answer.

“Happy Birthday, Sis,” Laverne says. “What time will we have your birthday lunch?”

“Could we have it tomorrow? Hal and I are having lunch at Adair’s today. He is picking me up at twelve-thirty.”

“But we agreed you were having lunch with me.”

“I did not agree, Laverne—you took it for granted that you and I would be having lunch together today. Since it’s my birthday, you might have considered including Hal. In case you’ve forgotten, he
is
my husband.” Strong words for Lily and she might have gone on if she had not reminded herself for the umpteenth time that it was her idea that she and Laverne pool their father’s inheritance in order to buy the Old Steadman House. Tired of living in rented apartments and houses, seven altogether, Lily wanted a place of her own, wanted it badly enough to overlook the fact that her husband and sister barely tolerated one another, a situation Lily had hoped would eventually change.

Laverne says, “Hal wouldn’t like the food I’ve prepared: asparagus and Stilton soup, Coquille St. Jacques.”

“You’ve already made lunch?”

“I have, and it won’t keep in this heat.”

“You have a fridge.”

“But the fridge is tiny. I also have a good bottle of wine.”

Lily concedes. “All right then,” she says, “I’ll be there at eleven-thirty wearing the blue silk pant suit Claudia gave me for my birthday.”

“Have you heard from Matthew?”

“It’s six o’clock in the morning in Alberta. Matt won’t call me until later this afternoon.”

Laverne is well aware of the time difference, but rarely does she miss an opportunity to mention Matthew’s name. She has always preferred her nephew to her niece. Although she is careful to avoid having favourites in the classroom, the fact is Laverne prefers boys. In her opinion, boys are usually honest and direct whereas girls are inclined to be sneaky and underhanded.

Morning imbues Hal with unbridled optimism, with the conviction that a new day offers unforeseen prospects and ventures. Why would he believe otherwise? What is the point of getting out of bed in the morning if you don’t expect life to meet you partway? While cruising past the Scotiabank and the Dominion grocery store, Northrup’s Garage and the Creamery at twenty miles an hour, Hal entertains the notion that his situation is improving and he will not always be scrambling to keep up with overdue bills. Crossing the stone bridge, he glances at the Kiwanis swimming pool where youngsters are already splashing about at the shallow end under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Four houses past the Anglican Church, Hal slows the Impala to a crawl and allows himself a moment to admire the modest beauty of his store, Better Old Than New: the slate grey clapboard, the white shutters and
gingerbread trim, the oval window beneath the eaves. Behind him, a black car with a Vermont licence plate looms into view and when Hal pulls over to let it pass, the Impala shudders, but the shudder is momentary and the car resumes cruising speed. But it happens again at the Sussex Corner intersection. Again the shudder is momentary and soon Hal is on the road named after the Dutch Empire Loyalists who cleared and farmed this valley.

The Dutch Valley is a model of neatness and order: the tidy division of land and carefully mown fields, the plain, well-kept houses. Even the cattle grazing the hillsides look neat and clean as do the rows of corn that even in the heat stand tall. Leaving the sweep of open farmland, Hal enters the Waterford Valley where the road curls around the elbows of a meandering creek and wooded hills crowd the road, giving the valley a closed, secretive look. Hal cruises past an assortment of modest houses, a church, a community hall.

Hal and Lily first saw the village of Waterford twenty years ago when their children were willing to go on Sunday drives. They were driving through the village when Claudia pointed to a tiny house with a grass roof tucked into a hillside. “Frodo lives in that house,” she said, and was immediately corrected by her brother. “A hobbit would never live near a church,” Matthew told her. “Hobbits believe in wizards, not God.” Hal had never heard of hobbits and Lily explained that hobbits were hairy-footed little creatures who were much nicer than people.

Huntley’s Inn is at the top of a steep hill, reached by a dirt road that passes the graveyard of St. John the Evangelist
Anglican Church. At the top of the hill the Impala shudders again but as soon as Hal hits the accelerator the car leaps onto the gravel parking lot and he sees Sharon Huntley painting the veranda with a long-handled roller. He backs the car close to the veranda steps and opening the door, he steps into the heat. “You sure picked a hot day for painting,” he says.

“I didn’t pick it,” Sharon says. “It picked me.”

After Hal has lifted the furniture from the trunk, Sharon asks if he wants help carrying it inside. “From a squirt like you?” he says in the teasing way he employs with young women. Young entrepreneurs like Sharon and Reg impress Hal who knows first hand the risks of starting a new business, the importance of taking the time to figure out the pros and cons before making the plunge. In Toronto Reg worked as a chef in a classy restaurant while Sharon taught high school math. After ten years spent teaching, she quit her job, cashed in her pension and taught herself the ins and outs of playing the stock market. Within four years she had made enough money to finance building this twelve-room house on five acres of land. When Hal asked for Sharon’s stock market advice, she said, “Sell your stocks before they peak and start investing again in the fall.” Advice that is of no use to Hal who has no pension to cash in, and no savings.

Hal carries the commode and then the rocking chair up two flights of stairs to the attic where there is a bedroom on either side of a bathroom. The only furnishings so far are the beds and Sharon asks Hal to keep an eye out for bedside tables and blanket stands.

Downstairs, Sharon offers a cup of coffee. A practised salesman, Hal knows it is bad business to refuse a kindness and they
drink their coffee sitting at a card table in the unfinished kitchen. There is no sign of Reg and habituated to affable, unhurried talk, Hal asks where he is. Sharon tells him Reg is in Moncton picking up the Italian marble for the kitchen countertops.