The Rain Barrel Baby (13 page)

Ivy had phoned Frank to ask him about his progress with the list she had left with him. He made a date with her to get together for a drink. He hadn’t spent any time trying to track down any more of the names on the list, but the Nelson Mac reunion was ostensibly his reason for seeing her, so he closed the door to his office now and got busy.

It was late Saturday afternoon. It seemed like he never took a whole day off anymore.

There were sixteen people on the list unaccounted for. He figured that if he could find two of them it would be enough.

Frank had supper with his kids — barbecued hamburgers, a veggie burger for Emma. Then he went to the hospital to visit Denise. He almost told her about Ivy and then didn’t.

Denise asked about the kids, seemed genuinely interested, so Frank told her an anecdote about Sadie: He and Sadie had been sitting side by side on the couch watching a rerun of
The Simpsons
. Frank hadn’t been paying strict attention. He’d been thinking about Ivy Grace — but he didn’t mention that part to Denise.

“Jesus Christ,” Sadie had said.

“What!” Frank gaped at his daughter.

“I was just sayin’ ‘Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints.’” Sadie smiled up at him.

Frank looked at the
TV
in time to catch the last of a commercial for that particular brand of religion.

“Well, I can hardly holler at you for that, can I?” He had laughed and given Sadie a hug. “Yup, that’s quite a mouthful.”

Denise smiled as Frank told the story. “I miss them, Frank,” she said. “I miss tucking them in and kissing them goodnight.”

“They miss you too,” he said.

At 8:45 he pulled into the parking lot of the Tap and Grill on Osborne Street and went inside to meet Ivy.

The evening had turned cool after the heat of the day. The weather was so changeable. Frank wondered if it was just regular changeableness or part of some huge phenomenon like El Niño or La Niña or the end of the world.

Ivy wore a cream-coloured cardigan over her summer dress. Her jet black hair brushed her shoulders. Frank didn’t think Caucasians had hair as black as that. It had to be dyed.

They ordered drinks — Frank a beer and Ivy a mineral water. Damn! It would be easier to snatch her glass out from under her if she was feeling a little tipsy. Why couldn’t she have ordered a stinger!

Frank eyed her handbag. For sure there would be a lipstick in there. But he doubted he would have a chance to rifle through it. If she went to the washroom, she would take it with her. That’s the reason women visited washrooms, to haul stuff out of their purses and use it on themselves.

Ivy opened her handbag, reached in and pulled out a new pack of Matinee cigarettes. She smoked. This was going to be easier than he thought.

“Ivy! I didn’t know you smoked. I don’t think you did the last time we got together.”

She smiled and lit one with a match from Hy’s Steak Loft. “Just sometimes. I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all!”

She smoked it half-way down to the filter and put it out. Frank hoped that the waitress wouldn’t be too keen about cleaning the ashtray the way they were in some places.

Ivy took her sweater off and hung it over the back of her chair. He was pretty sure he could see a hair attached to it. The bar was dimly lit though. He couldn’t be certain.

“Excuse me, Frank. I have to use the ladies’ room,” she said and picked up her purse.

“Certainly, Ivy.” Frank found himself partially standing up to see her off. What was that all about? He had never done that before in his life.

She was gone. Clear out of the room. Carefully, Frank picked the cigarette butt out of the ashtray, placed it in a plastic evidence bag, sealed it, and put it in his pocket. Then he stood up and looked closely at her sweater. Sure enough, there was a hair, complete with follicle. He removed it and placed it on a white napkin on the table. He fumbled in his pocket for another bag and ever so gently he placed the hair inside, sealed it and returned it to his pocket alongside the cigarette butt. There was a button on that particular pocket so he fastened it. Frank waved the waitress over and asked her for a clean ashtray.

Ed Flagston would be expecting the samples Monday morning. He had set the wheels in motion, completed the paperwork and even spoken to his brother-in-law on the phone. The wife’s brother had said he would do his best to rush the job, but he had made no promises.

The waitress returned with a clean ashtray at the same time that Ivy came back from the washroom.

“Thank you.” Ivy smiled at her.

Frank gave Ivy his list of two names for the reunion.

She laughed. “I see this hasn’t really been a priority for you, Frank.”

He smiled. “Well, things have been kind of busy for me lately. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice to see you anyway.” She reached out to touch his hand.

Frank jumped as though her touch was fire.

It was after eleven when Frank got home. The two younger kids were in bed. Emma should be in bed too, Frank thought, when he heard voices coming from the rec room. That damn television.

Sometimes he could almost find himself agreeing with Gus that practically nothing worthwhile had been invented since the second world war. What were Gus’ exceptions? Car turning signals, dental floss, and in-line roller skates, of all things. Gus admired in-line skates and wondered why it had taken them so long to be invented. He wished they had been around in his youth.

Frank chuckled to himself as he remembered Gus’ explanation of why he wouldn’t own a pair of skates now. It turned out he was scared to try them in case he fell down and broke both his arms or hands and had to hire someone to wipe his ass. An understandable fear.

The rec room was dark except for the flickering of the tube.

“Hi, Dad,” Emma said.

“Hi, Em.” Frank turned on a lamp. “Hi, Donald.”

“Hi, Mr. Foote.”

“What are you two up to?”

Please don’t have been necking, Frank thought. I’m not ready for that yet. He thought back to his own teen years when he used to join Audrey at her baby-sitting jobs, and remembered that it had always been done secretively because the parents of her charges frowned upon it. They had been caught once, caught big. They weren’t exactly doing it, but may as well have been, considering the state of their clothes — they wore none — and their obliviousness to what was going on around them. Mr. Wheatley actually had to say, ‘Ahem!’ before they realized he was there. Mrs. Wheatley was nowhere to be seen. They guessed the situation proved too much for her. Audrey hadn’t been asked back to baby-sit there or anywhere else; word had gotten around.

Emma and Donald didn’t look as though they’d been necking.

“We’re just watching a movie about a volcano,” Emma said. “We thought it might help us with my science project. I guess you could say we’re doing homework.”

Frank laughed. “Well, I hope it’s almost over. It’s getting pretty late. Does your mum know you’re here, Donald?”

“Yup.”

Frank sat.

The kids that aren’t criminals seem so sensible nowadays, he thought. The ones I know anyway. I don’t know very many. But they’re way more sensible than we ever were.

“Can I give you a lift home, Donald?” he asked.

“Thanks, Mr. Foote, but I’ve got my bike.”

The credits started to roll and Emma pressed the rewind button.

“So how’s the volcano project coming, anyway?” Frank asked.

“We’re just gathering information at this stage,” Donald said. “Laying the groundwork.”

Frank was pretty sure he liked Donald. The kid talked, which was good. And he wore glasses, which also seemed good to Frank, although he didn’t know why.

He just didn’t want him touching his daughter.

“I think it’ll end up being really great,” Donald added and smiled at Emma, who smiled back.

“I can drop the tape off on my way home,” he said, getting up.

“Okay.” Emma stood up and stretched. “I’ll walk you to your bike.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Foote.”

“Goodnight, Donald.”

Frank wondered if they were kissing at the door. But Emma came back almost immediately.

“You like Donald, eh, Em?”

“Yeah, I do, Dad.”

“He seems very fond of you too.”

“Do you think so? I think so and then I don’t and then I do again. It’s confusing.”

Frank grinned at his daughter and wished that Denise was here to offer some kind of female perspective on this new situation in Emma’s life. What the hell did he know? And then he remembered that Emma had said that she hated her mother.

“Seeing him makes me feel kind of funny inside. But a good kind of funny,” she said. “Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, Em. I think I know pretty much exactly what you mean.”

“Well, I think I’ll call it a day.” Emma yawned.

“I’m just going to stay here and fool around with my new wool for a while before bed.” Frank opened a drawer in the table beside his easy chair.

“Goodnight, Dad.” Emma smiled.

“Goodnight, Em.”

Frank hauled out a deep green ball of wool and laid it next to a beige one. Maybe a sweater for Sadie. There was a series of knitting workshops being offered at the high school and Frank had made inquiries. The participants were supposed to have decided on a project before the first class and to have purchased the wool and a pattern. Nothing too complicated, but not too simple either, the woman had said on the phone. Like, no scarves. Well, he had the wool.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll scout around for a pattern, Frank thought, as he turned out the lights and headed up to bed.

It wasn’t hard for Ivy to get a membership at the golf club. Being married to Simon Grace was still a good thing in many respects. Grace, Royston & Wells was still one of the most highly regarded law firms in the city, even though all three original partners were long out of it.

She joined the club as Tara. Tara Grace.

Ivy had enjoyed golfing once — she had been good at it. She knew there was no hope of getting through nine holes these days with her concentration problems. But there was nothing stopping her from hanging out in the restaurant and bar. She could make a day of it on the Saturday of the tournament. And she would take care to look her very best.

It turned out that the best thing about joining the club was the swimming. Tara Grace swam and swam. In the crystal blue water she was free. And transparent, like the wings of a dragon fly. The muck that filled her head and body disappeared in the water and she longed to feel that way forever.

The outdoor pool was the best. Lying on her back, she stared up at the fresh green leaves against the late spring sky and would have died there if given the choice. It was early in the season, so often she would have the pool all to herself. The air was sometimes cool but the water was always warm.

She couldn’t stay in the pool forever, but it came to her that when the confusion occurred, the interruptions that sent her off in different directions, she could come here and let it all float away. When her timing was right, she would find herself alone in the water, knowing she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

It was in the pool on the last day of May, a half week before the day of the golf tournament that Tara was finally able to divide and categorize the three voices in her head.

She wrote these concepts down in her notebook when she got out of the pool. They were sharp-edged and clear. She loved the clarity more than anything.

On Friday, the day before the tournament, Tara had another perfect swim. No one but her — that was essential.

By the end of it, she saw her plans laid out neatly and completely in front of her. It was as though they had always been there. She just had to sweep away the dust gently, like dusting for fingerprints, to reveal the true deal. True deals: there were three of them and they sparkled and shone before her.

Tara laughed out loud as she climbed the steps out of the pool and dried her hands and face on a towel so thick she couldn’t dry the insides of her ears.

She stretched out on a lawn chair and retrieved her notebook from her bag. She knew what each voice wanted and on a brand new page she wrote: Ivy’s Three Tasks. Beneath the heading she listed them in point form.

And then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

And in spite of her afternoon nap, Ivy slept soundly on Friday night. Nothing worried her.

She breakfasted with her husband early on Saturday morning.

“Simon, I was wondering if we could get a swimming pool built in our backyard.”

Simon was still reeling from the sight of his wife across the dining table from him. It had been weeks, maybe months, since she had joined him for breakfast. He peered at her as closely as he dared.

“You look different, my dear. What is it that’s changed?”

Ivy laughed. “You probably haven’t seen me without makeup for a very long time. Maybe that’s it.”

Simon realized that she was right. She looked pretty in the sunlight shining through the window. A soft pretty — a little taut maybe — but not the hard scary gorgeous that he had grown used to.

“You look nice,” he said and to his chagrin felt a tear escape and slide into one of the vertical crevices in his face.

“What do you think?” Ivy asked. “The yard’s big enough.”

She lit a cigarette. “I’ve found that I really like swimming.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Simon.

Although he dreaded the construction noise and workmen stomping about, it seemed like a good, healthy idea to him, one that should be encouraged.

“Okay, great.” She pressed her cool lips against his forehead. “I’ve gotta run. I’m going to watch a golf tournament today.”

“A what?”

“A golf tournament. At the Prairie Hills. I’m a member there now. I swim mostly, but it’s starting to get crowded now the weather’s warming up. That’s why I’d like a pool here at home.”

Ivy went off to get ready for the day and Simon spoke to his dog.

“She’s a puzzler, Lucy girl. She puzzles the heck out of me. What do you think?”

Lucy whapped her tail on the floor and rested her grizzled snout between her two front paws. Simon reached down to stroke her head and realized he felt better than he had in days.

“How would you like to go for a walk today, Lucy?”

It had been a long time since Simon had been out with his dog. Sometimes Lena was kind enough to take her for a modest romp in the park but nothing like what Lucy had been used to before Simon got sick. She sat up at the word walk, not excited yet but prepared for excitement if what she thought was happening should turn out to be true.

Simon chuckled and called out, “Lena, let’s you and me and Lucy take a stroll.”

Ivy prepared herself like a school girl going on a first date with a boy she loved. Except for the cuts. A school girl wouldn’t slice into the tender flesh of her most secret self to ensure that her tainted blood would flow easily.

She bathed and showered till she shone and took extra care with her hair and makeup. There would be no swim today. She had to look perfect. The outfit she chose emphasized the curves of her body and her long shapely legs without seeming to do so on purpose: a crimson silk shirt that fell gently against the black lace covering the smooth skin of her breasts; a straight black skirt, also silk, long enough to look right on someone her age, but short enough to rise well above her knees when seated; and delicate Italian sandals with four-inch heels. Ivy admired the way she looked in high-heeled shoes and she had no intention of traipsing around the golf course. She was sure she could manage just fine from inside the clubhouse and patio areas.

Tara Grace was a good new name. Ivy was glad she had chosen it and pleased with herself for taking out her membership under that name. She knew Wim wouldn’t know her. Why would he? Frank hadn’t recognized her and he was more the type who would. He looked at people.

Maybe she would keep the name Tara even after she was done here. Ivy could disappear.

It was easy. Wim Winston was easy.

“Don’t I know you?” he said as he sidled up to her at the bar.

“No, I’m sure you don’t.” She pushed away the image of him panting over her in the penalty box and with it the shame that covered her like a steamy blanket.

Wim laughed. “Yes, I do. Don’t tell me what I do or don’t know!”

He’s still an asshole, Tara thought. “Whatever.” She turned back to her mineral water and took a sip. If he knew she was Ivy Srutwa, chances were good he wouldn’t want to fuck her. She hadn’t bargained on this.

“I’ve seen you before. I know I have,” Wim said. “I’ve got it. It was at the hospital a while back, the hospital where I work. I’d never forget someone as beautiful as you.”

Tara sat up straight and smiled a slow smile. “Well, thank you.”

“May I buy you another drink?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” Tara said. “But you can tell me your name.”

“Wim.”

She laughed. “I know that from your name tag, I mean your last name, Wim.”

“Winston. Dr. Winston,” he added and she laughed again.

“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Winston. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” She stood to go.

“Wait! Don’t go! Are you a member here? Do you come here often?”

Ivy backed her Triumph out of the parking lot. That was enough for today. It couldn’t have gone better, she thought. Except for the scare when he said he knew me. But that passed soon enough.

She drove the Triumph only on certain occasions, left the Lincoln in the garage and went for a sportier look. The top was down on the little red car and Ivy hummed along with the radio. The days ahead looked tidy and clean. Everything in its place.