A Chill Rain in January (16 page)

“Damn,” said Alberg. “We better do another search of the area, Sid. Maybe she went for a walk, fell down, broke her hip or some damn thing.”

“Yeah. I'll get on it.”

“Any word from Gillingham?”

“No. Why?”

“He's got a bee in his bonnet over this Strachan thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, hell, nothing. There's a wound, there's a bruise or some damn thing; Gillingham's got it into his head maybe it wasn't an accident.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sokolowski hesitated, then said, “Well, I don't like the guy, you know that, Staff. But I gotta admit, he's good.”

“He's good, yeah. But he's full of shit on this one.”

“You'll be back this afternoon, right?”

“It'll be evening by the time I get to Sechelt.”

“If Gillingham gets the report over here today I'll make sure it's on your desk.”

“Okay. Thanks, Sid.”

Alberg buttoned his jacket, looked at himself in the mirror, unbuttoned it, turned left and right, put his hands casually in his pockets, took them out, buttoned the jacket and straightened up, studied himself some more. Shit on it, he said, finally, and undid the buttons. He patted his pockets, checking for his wallet, and collected car keys and room key from the top of the dresser.

Then he took two small gift-wrapped boxes from the desk and put them carefully in one of his jacket pockets. He was ready to go.

Hundreds and hundreds of students were graduating that day from the University of Calgary. Hundreds and hundreds of cars, it seemed to Alberg, were trying to find places to park there. Maura and her parents had decided to travel by cab and had offered to pick up Alberg on their way, but he had declined. Now he wished he hadn't.

It was still cold and gray—though at least, thank God, it wasn't snowing—and he hoped his daughters would be warm enough in their graduation robes as they walked in the procession to the gymnasium.

Somehow in the crowd Maura spotted him and waved and shouted until he saw her. He had hoped to sneak in unobserved and bury himself among the hordes, but when he saw her he was glad. She led him to a seat somewhere near the rafters of the building, shouting, “We should have gotten here a good hour ago. I had no idea people would come so early.”

When the ceremonies finally got under way Alberg realized that the place was an acoustic disaster. It was impossible to hear anything being said on the stage below. Appreciative laughter washed upward from time to time, apparently in response to witticisms emitted by the various honorary-degree recipients, the president of the university, and God only knew who else.

Alberg had missed his own graduation, having opted to pay a hasty visit to his parents instead, before reporting to the RCMP training center in Regina. So he had imagined being overcome at the graduation of his daughters; he had expected to have to struggle not to let tears spring to his eyes; he had thought he might have to put an arm around Maura, comforting her as she wept. Now he was chagrined because Maura was calm and dry-eyed and he himself didn't feel a single damn thing except irritation because he couldn't hear the names as they were called out.

His mind wandered. To Cassandra. To Benjamin Strachan. To Zoe. He wondered what she did for a living. Maybe Isabella was right. Maybe she was a model.

When the ceremonies were over, Maura and her parents went ahead by cab to the restaurant where they were all to have lunch and present Janey and Diana with their graduation gifts. Alberg said he would wait for his daughters to get rid of their gowns, and take them to the restaurant in his rented car.

He stationed himself at the foot of the steps that led down from the gym. People were still spilling out of the building, and all around him graduating students were being embraced, wept over, smiled upon, and photographed. Alberg had forgotten to bring his own little point-and-shoot.

He waited impatiently, shivering in his too-light jacket, wondering what the hell could be keeping them; after all, he had a plane to catch. He glanced at his watch, looked up again—and there they were, just a few feet away from him, standing on the steps and scanning the faces in the crowd below; they had stopped moving down the stairs, and people had to go around them, but nobody seemed to mind.

Janey stood on the step behind Diana, the fingers of her right hand resting lightly on Diana's shoulder. They wore black robes and mortarboards, and their faces were unexpectedly grave. They were looking for him among the throngs of parents; he was astonished at how beautiful they were.

He knew that he was living one of those moments that freeze themselves forever in memory; how much better this is, he thought, than a photograph.

When they saw him their faces became so radiant that he held out his arms, helpless, and they ran down the rest of the steps and he hugged them and offered them summer jobs in Sechelt.

Later, feeling melancholy, he drove his rented car to the airport. He was standing in the Air Canada check-in line when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Maura,” he said, delighted.

“I decided I wanted to see you off,” she said. She was wearing a long gray coat with a red scarf around her neck, black boots, and a black handbag slung over her shoulder. “The kids wanted to come, too. But I wouldn't let them.”

Alberg reached the counter and handed over his ticket. He checked his bag, even though it was small enough to fit under the seat, and got a boarding pass.

“Maybe there's time for coffee,” he said, taking Maura by the arm. They went upstairs to the cafeteria.

“So you're going to give your daughters jobs this summer,” said Maura once they were seated.

“Yeah,” he said, beaming. “I haven't a damn clue what they'll be. But I'll think of something.”

Maura had dark eyes and a dark complexion. She wore her hair short and straight, and she was tall and elegantly thin. Alberg gazed at her fondly. “They're good kids, aren't they,” he said.

“Yes, Karl. They are.”

Janey, who looked like her mother, had travelled for a year after graduating from high school. That was a year Alberg would never forget. He was constantly on the phone to Maura, wanting to know where Janey was, and what she was doing; what trouble she'd gotten herself into. She didn't get into any trouble at all. At least, none that Alberg had been made aware of.

Diana, who resembled Alberg's Aunt Dorothea on his father's side, was two years younger than her sister. She had skipped a year in elementary school, and she went straight from high school to university. Thus it was that the two of them had gone through university together.

“They loved your gifts,” said Maura. He had given them silver jewelry, a locket for Janey and a bracelet for Diana, created by a West Coast Indian artist.

“Oh, yeah? Do you think so?” But he already knew, from their reactions, that he had pleased them.

“What are they going to do between now and the summer?” he asked their mother.

“They're coming back with me. Diana says she'll be my housekeeper. Janey's going to help in the shop for a few weeks.” Maura owned a women's clothing store in Kamloops, a small city in the interior of British Columbia. “Then I think she's going to go to California with a friend.”

“What?” said Alberg “What friend? Why haven't I heard about this?”

“You're hearing about it right now. And I'm sure Janey will be happy to tell you anything I've left out.”

“What kind of a friend?”

“You mean, is it a boyfriend? No.”

“Damn good thing, too,” said Alberg, relaxing slightly.

“How are you doing, Karl?”

He opened his mouth to say a few hearty things, reassuring but impersonal, but he found that he couldn't.

Maura's face reflected the serenity that had always haunted him. It was her private possession, precious and unshareable: an inner strength, a self-assurance that he deeply envied. He often thought that their marriage had been sacrificed to Maura's serenity; that when it came to the crunch, her tranquillity was more important to Maura than he had been.

He saw her regarding him, quite openly, with great affection, and he sighed and said, “Well. Let's see. I like the job, of course. I like Sechelt. And I like the people there. I've got a couple of cats. I'm kind of lonely,” he said bravely, “from time to time.”

“I thought you were seeing someone,” said Maura. “A librarian. Or is that over with?”

Alberg, flustered, said, “Over—no, it's not over; it—” Upon a screen somewhere in his mind flashed Zoe Strachan's face, pensive and luminous. He opened his mouth to say something that would replace her image with Cassandra's; he just needed a minute, only a minute, to find the right words.

“Good,” said his ex-wife warmly. “By the way, Karl. I want you to know…I'm getting married again.”

He gawked at her. His hand gave a convulsive jerk, striking his cup, which overturned and spilled black coffee all over the tabletop. He sprang to his feet, to avoid getting it on his good pants. “Shit.” He looked at Maura in despair. “Oh, good,” he said.

She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.

“That's grand, Maura.”

She brushed coffee from the front of her gray coat and put her arms around him, firmly.

“Oh, I'm happy for you.”

“I know you are, Karl. I know you are.”

I
N THE PLANE
Alberg mulled and fretted and worried; who was this son of a bitch she was going to marry? Marry! He shuddered. How had this come about?

While driving from the Vancouver airport to Gibsons he regretted, lamented, and grieved. He didn't even get out of his car on the ferry; he was too weak with self-pity. He refused to remember the guy's name. Maura had said he was an accountant. Also divorced. With no children of his own. Christ, thought Alberg. The accountant might have had children of his own. Maura might have become somebody's stepmother. Janey and Diana might have acquired stepbrothers, and stepsisters. Alberg was aghast.

All night long, it seemed, he brooded, he languished, he mourned. He began seeing Maura in his mind with a shadow at her shoulder. At first the shadow was tall, broad, ominous. Pitilessly, Alberg cut him down to size. Still he remained there, no longer ominous but stubborn as hell, right at Maura's shoulder; Alberg could almost hear him panting and slavering back there, refusing to leave her, clinging to her neck. Jesus. Then he became indignant. When Tuesday dawned he was sitting up in bed, mad as hell, waiting until it was no longer too early to phone Calgary. What the hell was she up to, getting married? What did his kids think about this, he'd like to know.

When it was late enough to phone Calgary he decided to phone Cassandra instead. He needed sympathy. Kindness. Tenderness. Of course in order to get these things he'd have to tell her he needed them; she wasn't a mind reader, after all. And then she'd want to know why he needed them. He didn't know how she'd react when he told her he was suffering because his ex-wife was getting married again.

In the end it was all academic, because Cassandra's mother was out of the hospital and staying with her daughter. He could hear in Cassandra's voice that her teeth were clenched, figuratively at least, probably literally as well. Alberg heaved a sigh and suggested lunch, but of course she had to go home at noon to make lunch for her mother. They were at cross-purposes, Alberg with his preoccupation and Cassandra with hers, and when he hung up he felt sad and achy.

At the detachment, things weren't much better. Isabella informed him that Sid Sokolowski's wife's cousin, whose name was Ludmilla, wanted to apply for the job as his cleaning woman. Alberg didn't want to hire a relative of Sid Sokolowski's as his cleaning woman. But she was there, in person, waiting, so of course he had to see her. She was a young, strong, brawny, intelligent woman with big red hands and a lot of thick yellow hair. He looked at her and quailed inside. He gave her a weak smile, asked a few questions, heard her out, and sent her courteously on her way. God only knew what possible reason he could give Sid for not hiring her, but he wasn't going to hire her, and that was that. I don't think I'll hire anybody, he decided, and said it aloud to himself, in his office, looking at the phone, imagining the conversation he was about to have with Janey and Diana.