Part 15 (2/2)

”Darwin says you lent him some furniture for Mrs. Pell,” Clary said. She hugged Mrs. Zenko, reaching down because she was so compact.

”I was glad to find a use for that old couch,” Mrs. Zenko said, blus.h.i.+ng at the touch. She stepped outside and waved Clary to sit on the porch chairs. ”And the bed's been in my garage since Nathalie went to England. I can't pretend to like that woman very much, but it's better for the children if she's less dissatisfied, isn't it? She washed that old pieced quilt your Dad's mother made-did a good job of it.”

”She likes it,” Clary said.

”Are you off to the hospital? I'll check on the children every little while, if you like.”

”Darwin says she doesn't want me. They're pleased with the results, but she's not in good shape.”

Mrs. Zenko's eyes filled. ”I remember so well when your dad was ill,” she said. ”And John.” She flicked away the tears and stood up to go in. ”A lot of people have to go through this type of thing. It seems like the world is badly run, some days.”

Clary drove over to do the banking on her computer in the office; easier when no one was around. The building was dark. She felt like a thief, though she'd come in to work in the evening countless times. Twenty years at the firm, but she shut the door quietly. The situation was a little grey. She hadn't heard from Barrett yet about her leave of absence, and wasn't sure whether she was still technically employed.

Her finances, once she got online, were a shock. At first she thought her salary must have already been stopped, but it had been deposited as usual. She had known that she'd need to transfer money, but she couldn't believe how much she had spent in the last few weeks. How could she have let this get so out of hand? And now Moreland to pay back for the renovations. Five thousand? If she was lucky.

She called Moreland in Davina.

”The bas.e.m.e.nt is beautiful,” she told him. ”I thought Darwin was talking about a few sheets of dry-wall.”

”Oh well, if you're going to do a thing at all,” Moreland said. ”Might as well do it up right. That Darwin, he's a good worker, he and Fern made short shrift of the painting, and she made that little curtain in the bedroom, did you notice it?”

”Of course I did,” Clary said, seeing in her mind Fern's thin, tendril arms stretching up to set the panel in place. ”Tell Fern it's the nicest curtain I've ever seen.”

”Well, we're happy if you're happy,” Moreland said.

Clary felt a weight of shame. Moreland had rescued Trevor while she slept. She wondered if he was worried about the children in her care. ”Moreland,” she started, then didn't know how to go on. ”You obviously laid out a lot of money on the bas.e.m.e.nt, and I'd like to reimburse you right away. I can mail you a cheque, or deposit it into your account, if you like.”

A little silence, and then Moreland laughed.

”I mean it, Moreland,” she said, jumping over his laughter. ”I'd like to get this off my conscience right away.”

”I'm just laughing because you're such a p.r.i.c.kle-puss. Like your Mom.”

Clary felt that pinch in her throat that she always got when anyone compared her to her mother. She was not, actually, anything like her mother.

”Okay, okay. I got the carpet for fifty bucks from Murray Frayne, end-of-roll from the golf course, as you might guess. Darwin's pals brought the lumber and the ceiling tiles, so you'll have to go to him about that, and the labour was all given. The window was a credit from Patterson's I never thought I'd get a chance to use, so you've done me a favour there, and Henley turned up with those G.o.dawful louvred doors because his wife hates them and he'd had to take them out of his own house; brand new, but she wants walnut. So-oh, I forgot one thing, you owe me a hundred dollars for the paint. It took four gallons, but I did get it on sale.”

Clary was silent.

”And if you think you're the only person around here that can do the decent thing, you're sadly mistaken, Miss Clary. You get a grip on yourself and write me out a cheque for a hundred dollars, and I'd like to see it in the mail by Monday.”

She didn't know how to allow him this.

”I had a good time, Clary, and I like that Darwin guy, and those kids. I got a kick out of doing this one little thing, and I've told you the honest truth about the costs.”

She knew he hadn't, by him saying that. She knew him pretty well too.

”A hundred and fifty,” she said.

”What?”

”You said you paid fifty for the carpet.”

”Oh, right.”

”Liar.”

”Like I say, we lucked out there on the roll-ends.”

She said, ”Well, we're going to need more carpet-Darwin moved Mrs. Pell out to my dad's old workshop, and it's a concrete floor. Darwin's going to call Murray to see if he can find some more, but I want to pay for it properly.”

Moreland laughed. ”Good for Darwin,” he said. ”Get that old bat out of your hair.”

The office was darker after she hung up the phone. The cold light from the computer screen didn't help. She still had to transfer money from her savings account, and without her salary for the next few months the best thing might be to cash in some GICs. She hadn't realized how much people eat, and the cost of clothes and diapers, let alone furniture. It was fine-she could have spent the same money on a Caribbean cruise. This was better. What was the worst that could happen? She remembered asking herself that as she went out the door to the grocery store, where Trevor had wet his pants and probably gained another emotional scar, and Mrs. Pell had robbed the place blind.

Clary reached into her desk drawer for ibuprofen, but her hand met nothing. The drawer was empty. She opened the file drawer below: empty hanging files, jingling faintly as they swung. In the bottom drawer, nothing. Barrett, hurt, must have ordered her desk cleaned out.

She found Mat's stash of blank CDs, opening her cabinet boldly in spite of a ridiculous impulse not to leave fingerprints. It took almost an hour to sort and burn her current work files, but she had them, she'd be covered. She erased anything personal and reset the pa.s.sword to ABC123, feeling both paranoid and sensible.

The evening cleaner came up behind her as she was locking the outer door of Gilman-Stott. She gave him a jaunty ”Goodnight!” That would set Barrett's nerves jangling, when he heard that she'd been at the office. What did it matter, she thought. Time to check on the children.

Mrs. Pell turned in the new bed. Hadn't taken her long to get moved in over here, once the place was scrubbed down. Kids wanted to scurry all over the place, flus.h.i.+ng the toilet and what-not. Getting them chased out took the longest. She turned again, then heaved off the covers and sat up, taking a long time over it, hand over hand. She could switch on the TV if she wanted to. Go to her own bathroom. Sock feet planted on the piece of green rug they'd given her, she laughed to herself.

Too bad her sister Janet couldn't see her now, she thought. Too bad Janet had died, screaming her head off with her breast. And now Lorraine. Even in the dark Mrs. Pell could feel the tumbling blocks diamonding down the quilt.

One doughnut left in the box that she'd hidden under the bed when the kids came tearing over. With a grunt she slid off the bed onto her knees, and groped under the bed as far as she could reach with her swollen hands. Not so fresh anymore, but still. She hauled herself back up onto the bed and sat panting, taking a bite and breathing some more. She wasn't too well. She pushed that out of her head. A bite. Behind her eyelids a parade of people walked: Dougie Pell, Clayton when he was a teenager, her dad, Clayton's dad-that f.u.c.ker. And herself, when she was six, sitting beside Janet, watching Janet's needle go in and out, in and out, little st.i.tches.

20. Raspberry.

Darwin wouldn't take any money either. In lieu of rent, he said, and nowhere near enough; he cut off any argument by telling her the hospital was talking about sending Lorraine home when she was released from this isolation period after chemo. Clary went in to find out the details.

The dire smell of the ward hit her in the face after a grace period away. She walked the familiar route down the hall-then farther, because Lorraine had been moved to an isolation room, with an ante-room for visitors to wash. The little ritual took time, and attention to the instructions printed over the sink, before she could move through to the room itself.

Lorraine was sleeping. Narrow drip-lines draped her in a spider's web.

A strange man sat in a chair against the wall; Clary saw he was there for the other patient in the room. He was staring at her: a young woman-a girl, lying flat down with no pillow, her closed eyes purple dents in her head. The man didn't move, or acknowledge Clary. He was not sleeping.

After hesitating a minute, Clary pa.s.sed close by him to go to Lorraine's bedside. She put her hand on her own cheek first, to check its temperature in case she should be too cold, and then on Lorraine's cheek to wake her gently. Nothing.

Lorraine's chest rose and fell, her hair fell away from her brow and ears. She was as deep in sleep as Snow White, lying in this huge gla.s.s coffin. Clary turned from the bed and left.

Early in the evening, Paul knocked on the door. Clary was so surprised and glad to see his thin, sweet face that she almost leaned forward to kiss him, as if he were family, or Moreland.

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