The Brutal Heart (12 page)

Keith and Ginny dropped me off at my house. Ginny was spending the afternoon canvassing, and I wanted to clean up and have a sandwich and a nap before I joined her. I checked the mail and found the usual mix of bills and ads. There was also an unaddressed padded envelope containing a
DVD
. That, too, was no surprise. Nation
TV
had been taping since the candidate left the courthouse triumphant, and I knew they would have great footage of Ginny Agonistes, the combatant who wouldn’t quit.

I walked into the house, left a message on Zack’s machine telling him I’d survived two flights, and went out to the yard to throw a ball around for the dogs until I’d come down from all the tensions of the morning. It didn’t take long before the dogs collapsed in the sunshine, and I went inside to make myself a sandwich and watch the
DVD
.

I was so mentally prepared for shots of Ginny on the steps of the courthouse that it took me a moment to understand what I was watching. The quality of the picture was sharp, but the camera’s eye was static, so the effect was like watching a scene through a security camera. A woman, very slender with dark hair cut in a sleek bob, was sitting cross-legged on a bed, stroking a cat. I recognized her immediately. It was Cristal Avilia. She was wearing a T-shirt, and her legs were bare. She stood, walked out of camera range, and when she returned, she wasn’t alone. Zack was with her. He was wearing a robe.

He handed her an envelope. She placed it, unopened, on an armoire and moved in front of him; then she took her fingers and began stroking herself. She began to moan and took her fingers and held them up to his lips. “Taste it,” she said.

He took her fingers in his mouth. “That always works,” he said. He began to stroke her, and she thrust herself at his hand, whimpering.

As Zack told me the night he explained his relationship with Cristal, from that point on, it was all business. He wheeled his chair next to the bed, pivoted his body onto the sheets, and they had sex. I couldn’t move. I watched until it was over, and Cristal slid out of bed. She was naked, she walked off camera, in a few minutes she came back, still naked, with washcloths and a towel. Zack cleaned himself, and she left the room as he dressed and moved back into his chair. When he was ready to leave, he wheeled towards the door without saying goodbye.

“You never look at me, you know.” There was bitterness in Cristal’s voice; there was also longing.

“We both know why I’m here,” he said. When he was gone, she threw the towel he’d been using against the door. “Bastard,” she said. Then the screen went black.

I hit eject. What was on the disc was not a surprise. Zack had told me that he’d bought sex from Cristal Avilia. But knowing it and watching it were two different matters. I put the disc into the pocket of the folder that contained my notes about “Women in Politics.” I called Ginny’s cell and told her I couldn’t make the canvass this afternoon, but I’d meet her at Luther for the basketball game after supper.

Then I made myself a sandwich that I didn’t remember eating, went outside, and started breaking up the soil in the patch beside the house where we’d decided to plant tomatoes. The bed hadn’t been worked before, and as I dug, the sun pressed down on my back like a hand. By the time I’d prepared the soil and given it a soak, I was sweaty, stiff, and thirsty, but I felt better. When I went back inside to shower, the phone was ringing. It was Zack.

“Jesus, I was starting to worry,” he said. “Your cell must be turned off, and I’ve called home about a dozen times. Everything okay?”

“I was out digging that bed where we’re going to put the tomatoes,” I said.

“You sure you’re okay? You don’t sound like yourself?”

“I don’t feel like myself,” I said. “Somebody left a
DVD
in our mailbox. It was of you with Cristal Avilia.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “And you watched it.”

“Yes. Not the smartest move I ever made.”

“I’m coming home,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to.”

I went to the little greenhouse Zack had had built for my birthday and began carrying out the tomato plants we’d been growing. They were thriving. I heard his car come up, but I didn’t go out to greet him. In a few minutes, he came up behind me and touched my arm. “So where do we start with this?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

He reached out to me, but I moved away. He wheeled his chair close to the plants. “How do you know when they’re ready for the big move outdoors?” he said.

“You kind of ease them into it,” I said. “I’ll take them back inside tonight. When they’re ready and we can trust the weather, I’ll plant them. I used to help my father do this when I was a kid.”

“You never told me that. In fact, you’ve never told me much about your father at all.”

“I didn’t see him much,” I said. “He was a doctor, and doctors are busy people. But he liked to grow cherry tomatoes from seed. And he let me help him.”

“So that’s why you wanted to do this.”

“I guess. My father didn’t spend much time at home, but during tomato season, he’d always leave a little dish of these on the kitchen counter, and they’d be there when I woke up. It always made me feel good imagining him out there in the dark picking the tomatoes, thinking about me.”

Zack took my hand. “Jo, what can I do to fix this?”

“Make it go away,” I said.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Then I guess we just have to keep on keeping on,” I said.

CHAPTER
6

That afternoon, Zack and I followed the adage that the best thing to do when confronted with a problem is to sleep on it. We took a nap, and when I awoke with his body warm against mine, and the branches of the honeysuckle outside our window tracing shadows on the bedroom ceiling, I knew we had to do whatever it took to hold on to our life together. As if he’d read my mind, Zack reached for my hand. “We can’t blow this,” he said.

I laced my fingers through his. “We did take those vows.”

“It’s your call about where we go from here,” Zack said.

“Let’s just get on with it,” I said. And so we did. We dressed and went into the kitchen. Zack made tea; I took a pan of lasagna from the freezer and put it in the oven for dinner, then like other busy couples, we sat down at the table and checked our messages.

Mine were predictable: a call from Mieka reminding me that the next day was the first anniversary of UpSlideDown and that I’d promised to have lunch there with her and the girls. The rest of my messages were from Ginny’s campaign: two from Keith asking advice about media buys; one from Milo O’Brien, whose staccato intensity as he summoned me to a breakfast rally the next day at the Pile O’ Bones Club made his invitation sound like a threat; and one from Ginny telling me she was going to the Luther game early to watch the twins warm up and she’d save seats for us.

I wrote down what I needed to remember and poured the tea. When I handed Zack his cup, he was still checking messages, and I was smug. “Beat you,” I said. “My life is more manageable than yours.”

He exhaled wearily. “You don’t know the half of it, Ms. Shreve. I have a message from the pal who referred me to Cristal. It turns out he’d recommended her to other guys, all lawyers, and all of them had very personal
DVDS
hand-delivered to their family mailboxes today.”

“Without explanation.”

“Right,” Zack said. “No explanations, no demands, no nothing. Just seven
DVDS
of married men doing what they shouldn’t have been doing with Cristal Avilia.” He rubbed his head. “You know, until now, I thought I had a pretty good idea of how that disc ended up in our mailbox.”

“You never said anything.”

“I wanted to make sure I was right. Jo, I thought Debbie Haczkewicz put it there.”

“Debbie Haczkewicz? Come on, Zack, she’s a police officer. Why would she risk her job to hand you evidence?”

“Because it wasn’t evidence. It was just something that happened to be in Cristal’s condo. Debbie knows I didn’t kill Cristal, and she knows I am married. She is also aware that Denise Kaiswatum opens and logs every piece of mail that arrives at Falconer Shreve and that much of the time I work at home. When you told me about the disc, I assumed that Debbie slipped it in our mailbox and didn’t have a chance to call and tell me it was there.”

“Why would Debbie try to protect you?”

He sipped his tea. “Because she thinks she owes me. Her son, Leo, was in an accident three years ago. He flipped his motorcycle on the Ring Road and broke his back. He’s a paraplegic. Nineteen. Not easy to be that young and know that you’re going to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of your life. But, like the rest of us, Leo didn’t have a choice. The doctors patched him up and packed him off to Wascana Rehab so he could ‘adapt to an altered lifestyle.’ ”

“And Leo didn’t want to adapt?”

“He wanted to die. I remember the feeling.” Zack’s lips were tight. “That’s when Debbie called and asked me to visit him.”

“What happened?”

“I introduced myself, and Leo took a swing at me. Strong kid,” Zack said admiringly.

“Did you swing back?”

“God, no. I remembered my own days in rehab. Our most potent weapon was our catheter. Disconnect one of those, aim it, and –”

I put up my hand. “I get the picture.”

Zack smiled at the memory. “Anyway, I let Leo flail away and rant about how unfair it was that he had to spend the rest of his fucking life in a fucking wheelchair. And when he was finished, I told him I’d be back the next day and I wheeled off in my fucking wheelchair.”

I shook my head. “How come you never told me this?”

“The kid deserved his privacy, and when I met him, he was not at his best. Leo was a tough case. I must have gone there every day for three solid weeks before he finally cracked.”

“You won him over with your charm,” I said.

Zack shook his head. “No, I bought him off with a T-shirt I got on the Internet. On the front there was a cartoon of a guy in a wheelchair saying, ‘I’m only in this for the parking.’ ”

“And the cartoon got through to Leo?”

“Something did. He stopped yelling, and we started talking. He turned out to be a really nice kid. We still keep in touch.”

“So where’s Leo now?”

“At U of S, majoring in English, which, as Leo points out, is a lame subject anyway, so what the hell?”

I took Zack’s hand. “We’re laughing again,” I said.

“Yep, and we can freeze the frame right here if you want. I can tell you more uproarious stories about my adventures in rehab, and we can declare the subject of Cristal off limits.”

“Except it’s always better to know than not to know,” I said. “So let’s have it. I’m assuming the fact that the
DVDS
went to other people besides you rules out Debbie Haczkewicz as the source.”

“Absolutely,” Zack said. “So we’re back to square one.”

“Square one times seven,” I said.

“With a couple of significant differences.” Zack ticked off the points on his fingers. “My relationship with Cristal had been over for two years when she died, and you knew that I’d been with her.”

“And the men who called this morning had wives who were still living in blissful ignorance,” I said.

Zack lowered his eyes. “Right. And, of course, these guys are terrified that now that the genie is out of the bottle, they’ll lose their families.”

“Maybe they should have thought of that sooner.”

Zack pushed his chair back. “Jo, all of Cristal’s clients, me included, took a stupid risk, but what we should have done is no longer an issue. We have to deal with the stuff that’s hitting the fan now. And I need to know where it’s coming from.”

“Talk to the other men,” I said.

“That’s not a problem for you?”

I shook my head.

“I’d like to keep this whole thing as quiet as possible. Would it be all right if we met here tonight?”

“Of course,” I said. “But, Zack, I’m assuming these are people I know.”

“Some of them are,” he said, “and if it’s going to be awkward for you, say the word.”

“It’s going to be awkward for everybody,” I said. “It might be wise to make sure Taylor and I have already left for the game when your guests arrive and that they’re gone by the time we get back.”

“Got it,” Zack said. “To be fair, Jo, most of these people are decent. They’ve done something foolish and they’ve jeopardized things that should not have been jeopardized, but they’re not beyond the pale. Try to hang on to that.”

“You think I’m being judgmental.”

Zack’s dark eyes met mine. “I think none of us knows what goes on in other people’s bedrooms.”

As soon as Taylor and I arrived at Luther, she spotted Blake Falconer’s Mercedes in the parking lot. “Hey, there’s Gracie’s dad’s car. Okay if I go in and find her?”

“Uh-uh,” I said. “Gracie’s probably with her team, warming up. And there are going to be a lot of people at this game. In that new hoodie, you’re going to look like every other Luther student in the gym.”

Taylor patted the emblematic lion on her shirt. “I want to fit in.”

“Wherever you are, you fit in,” I said.

Arms outstretched, Taylor did a 360-degree twirl, taking in the campus. “Isn’t this just the greatest?” she said.

It was a green and gold evening in May. The sun was moving down in the sky and as its light hit the jets of water from the lawn sprinklers, it shattered into prisms, small rainbows blooming in the rich grass. The air was silky and filled with the sounds of spring: birdsong, young voices, and the rustle of new leaves in the wind.

I put my arm around my daughter’s waist and squeezed. “You bet,” I said. “This is the greatest.”

We didn’t need directions to the gym. It was half an hour till game time, but this game was being played for a charity and the halls were already choked with donors and students, most wearing the Luther black and gold, but many wearing the red and yellow of their rivals, the Spartans. Rowdy, animated, and flushed with excitement, the kids moved towards the gymnasium, where the hormones boiling inside them could erupt as soon as the whistle blew. The donors, many of them wearing smart scarves in the colours of their alma mater, were carried along by the crowd and by the hope that, when the whistle blew, their own hormones would kick in.

I didn’t have any trouble spotting Ginny. She was sitting in the front row of the bleachers, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and a black ball cap. More than a few people glanced her way, but Ginny’s focus was her daughters, who were doing layups with the rest of their team. I sat down beside her. “Quite a crowd,” I said.

“Ranch Ehrlo’s a good cause,” she replied, but her eyes stayed on her girls. When their coach whistled the team off the court, Ginny turned to me. “I’m glad you’re here. You, too, Taylor.”

“Thanks for keeping seats for us,” Taylor said. “I hate sitting way up at the top.”

“Me too,” Ginny said. “That’s why I always made sure I was in the game.”

I laughed. “How did the door-knocking go this afternoon?”

“Not bad. No one threw stones at me and no one called me a slut. Getting custody of the girls is helping.”

“Good career move?” I said.

Ginny made a moue of mock disgust. “You’re so cynical, Joanne.”

We both laughed. “So what’s next?” I asked. “Milo called about the breakfast rally.”

“Bring yogurt,” she said. “I have to choke down all that grease, but there’s no reason you should.”

“This isn’t my first breakfast rally,” I said. “I know to bring yogurt.”

“Good. Hey, Keith tells me he’s bounced a couple of ideas off you, and you’re brilliant.”

“Keith overestimates my contribution,” I said. “They’re his ideas. I just confirm that they’re brilliant.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, thanks. This campaign is a mess. We need all the help we can get. Speaking of help, I really appreciate Mieka letting us shoot a couple of
TV
spots at her business.”

“You’re taping at UpSlideDown? How did that happen?”

“Keith arranged it. He said it would be perfect. It’s in the constituency, and those yummy mummies and their toddlers will help people forget my libidinous hijinks.”

“And Mieka was all right with it?”

Ginny’s smile was puckish. “My libidinous hijinks?”

I laughed. “The
TV
spots. She’s not exactly right wing.”

“I might be conservative, Jo, but I’m not a dinosaur. And the
TV
shoot was Mieka’s idea.”

We were interrupted by a man who wanted Ginny’s autograph, then by a woman who asked Ginny if it was true she supported same-sex marriage. When Ginny said she did, the woman called her an abomination and huffed off. “I believe I just lost a vote,” Ginny said mildly.

I was reading the history of Ranch Ehrlo in the souvenir program, trying not to listen to Ginny defend her stance on Canada’s role in Afghanistan to a very angry young man, when I saw Blake Falconer. He was still wearing a suit and tie, but he looked unkempt. His eyes were red and swollen and his face was haggard. I went over and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hi there,” I said.

For a moment, it seemed he couldn’t quite place me. “Sorry,” he said. “I wandered off there for a bit.”

“Are you okay?”

He tried a smile. “Bad day. But Gracie’s playing, so here I am.”

“Why don’t you sit with us?” I said. “Ginny saved a place for Zack, but he has a meeting.”

Blake nodded. “I’m aware of the meeting.”

“Did you get a
DVD?”

“No. My relationship with Cristal was … different.” His voice broke. “Jesus, the hits just keep on coming, don’t they?” He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

“When was the last time you got some sleep?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

I touched his arm. “Go home and go to bed,” I said. “I can bring Gracie by after the game.”

“Thanks, but she always looks for me in the stands.”

He sat beside me, head down, staring at the gleaming wood of the gym floor. Only when the teams were announced, did he raise his eyes. Gracie flushed and freckled, her explosion of red curls tamed into a ponytail, swept the stands with her eyes, found her dad, gave him the thumbs-up, and ran into place. The Brodnitz twins, sleek in the Luther black and gold, had already found their places, and they were bouncing lightly on their toes, impatient to start.

When the whistle blew, the stands erupted. At first it seemed the teams were evenly matched. Close to the half, the score was 32-26 for Luther. The fans leapt to their feet and stayed there despite the rising temperature. Taylor knew nothing about basketball, but, her face shining with excitement, she was on her feet cheering or groaning whenever everyone else wearing the black and gold cheered and groaned. Only Blake and Ginny seemed immune to the contact high. Blake watched through unseeing eyes, his face frozen in a half-smile. The noise in the gym was ear-splitting, but Ginny observed the action with professional concentration. She didn’t cheer for her daughters: her connection to their game was deeper than that. When either of them took possession of the ball, Ginny would stretch her own strong wide hands, willing them to play their best.

And after the half, their best was sensational. The coach might have been unwise in praising the Brodnitz twins so fulsomely to their teammates, but she hadn’t been inaccurate. The other young women on the team played with enthusiasm and skill; some, including Gracie Falconer, showed flashes of real ability, but Emma and Chloe Brodnitz were brilliant.

Strong, quick, and tenacious, the twins generated their own force field: creating plays, leaping, shooting, scoring. Their game had nothing to do with chalkboards and strategies, and everything to do with body wisdom. They didn’t react. They seemed to know what was going to happen next, and when it happened, the twins were already there. Luther won: 72-48. The Brodnitz twins had been responsible for fifty of those points. As the opposing teams shook hands, Ginny permitted herself a small smile. During the obligatory team hug, Chloe and Emma remained distant, and they moved away from the celebration quickly. Em glanced in our direction, saw her mother, and she and Chloe ran over to our front-row bench.