that tied me to the red speedboat. But I knew that, in the curious logic of dreams, Zack was the driver of the speedboat. And I knew that, no matter what, I would never separate myself from him.
I picked up my cell and hit Zack’s number on speed-dial. His voice was deep and warm. “Hey, telepathy,” he said. “I was just about to call you to thank you for the pictures of the girls.”
Still caught in the web of my dream, I couldn’t speak. “Is everything okay?” Zack said.
“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve loved you from the night we went to the Stone House and looked down on the valley together. I don’t want a different life, Zack.”
“Has something come up?
“Fear,” I said. “But I’ll get over it.” I cleaned up the dishes and went into the hall where Mieka had taken my jacketand the dogs’ leashes. On the cobbler’s bench by the door there were some old photo albums. On special days, like the first day of school, Mieka brought out the albums to show Madeleine and Lena their grandfather, Ian. Mieka had idolized her father, and she wanted her girls to know the kind of man he’d been. I picked up the album on the top of the pile and leafed through.
I had taken most of the photos. There were a few of Ian and me together, looking impossibly young as we unwrapped presents on Christmas morning or cross-country skied, but most were of Ian and our children.
I had never doubted that Ian loved our kids, but he was an absentee father. I looked at the picture of Mieka’s Grade Eight farewell ceremony. Ian and I were flanking her, as proud parents do, but Ian had missed the bonfire for the Grade Eights and their parents after the ceremony. There was some crisis at the legislature, and he’d had to go back to the office. I wondered idly if Ian’s absence had hurt Mieka or if she even remembered.
The second album was filled with photos of Ian and me in the first heady days after we surprised Saskatchewan and ourselves by winning the provincial election. Howard Dowhanuik was premier and Ian had become Attorney General and second-in-command.
The album seemed to contain another life. In the early days, all of us connected to the new government had been like family, but ambition, time, geography, and mortality had separated us. Most of the people in the photos were now just names on my Christmas card list, but there were two with whom I’d stayed close. Our party had had a good run – almost fifteen years in government, but like most politicians, Howard went to the dance once too often. After we lost the election, Jill Oziowy, the ebullient redhead who had handled the party’s communications during our years inpower, stayed around for a while, but when Ian died, she left Saskatchewan and moved to Toronto to work for Nation TV . She’d been in New York City or Toronto ever since. Jill had been like a member of our family and I missed her, but over the years she’d sent a number of plum assignments that required a background in politics my way, so we had stayed in touch, albeit mainly electronically.
Howard Dowhanuik and I had stayed close too. The events of the past twenty-four hours had spooked me. Logic suggested that Cronus’s death was somehow connected to Zack’s campaign for mayor, but I couldn’t connect the dots. Howard had the old politician’s passion for political gossip, and it occurred to me that he might have heard rumblings about what was going on inside Scott Ridgeway’s campaign.
Howard’s condo was on a cul-de-sac five blocks from Mieka’s. I’d called ahead, and he was waiting at the door for me. During his college days, Howard had boxed professionally. His time in the ring and his time in politics had given him the battered wariness of an aging eagle. I reached out and touched his cheek. “You shaved for me,” I said. “I’m honoured.”
“You’ve always been worth shaving for,” Howard mumbled, then, embarrassed at his display of
I picked up my cell and hit Zack’s number on speed-dial. His voice was deep and warm. “Hey, telepathy,” he said. “I was just about to call you to thank you for the pictures of the girls.”
Still caught in the web of my dream, I couldn’t speak. “Is everything okay?” Zack said.
“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve loved you from the night we went to the Stone House and looked down on the valley together. I don’t want a different life, Zack.”
“Has something come up?
“Fear,” I said. “But I’ll get over it.” I cleaned up the dishes and went into the hall where Mieka had taken my jacketand the dogs’ leashes. On the cobbler’s bench by the door there were some old photo albums. On special days, like the first day of school, Mieka brought out the albums to show Madeleine and Lena their grandfather, Ian. Mieka had idolized her father, and she wanted her girls to know the kind of man he’d been. I picked up the album on the top of the pile and leafed through.
I had taken most of the photos. There were a few of Ian and me together, looking impossibly young as we unwrapped presents on Christmas morning or cross-country skied, but most were of Ian and our children.
I had never doubted that Ian loved our kids, but he was an absentee father. I looked at the picture of Mieka’s Grade Eight farewell ceremony. Ian and I were flanking her, as proud parents do, but Ian had missed the bonfire for the Grade Eights and their parents after the ceremony. There was some crisis at the legislature, and he’d had to go back to the office. I wondered idly if Ian’s absence had hurt Mieka or if she even remembered.
The second album was filled with photos of Ian and me in the first heady days after we surprised Saskatchewan and ourselves by winning the provincial election. Howard Dowhanuik was premier and Ian had become Attorney General and second-in-command.
The album seemed to contain another life. In the early days, all of us connected to the new government had been like family, but ambition, time, geography, and mortality had separated us. Most of the people in the photos were now just names on my Christmas card list, but there were two with whom I’d stayed close. Our party had had a good run – almost fifteen years in government, but like most politicians, Howard went to the dance once too often. After we lost the election, Jill Oziowy, the ebullient redhead who had handled the party’s communications during our years inpower, stayed around for a while, but when Ian died, she left Saskatchewan and moved to Toronto to work for Nation TV . She’d been in New York City or Toronto ever since. Jill had been like a member of our family and I missed her, but over the years she’d sent a number of plum assignments that required a background in politics my way, so we had stayed in touch, albeit mainly electronically.
Howard Dowhanuik and I had stayed close too. The events of the past twenty-four hours had spooked me. Logic suggested that Cronus’s death was somehow connected to Zack’s campaign for mayor, but I couldn’t connect the dots. Howard had the old politician’s passion for political gossip, and it occurred to me that he might have heard rumblings about what was going on inside Scott Ridgeway’s campaign.
Howard’s condo was on a cul-de-sac five blocks from Mieka’s. I’d called ahead, and he was waiting at the door for me. During his college days, Howard had boxed professionally. His time in the ring and his time in politics had given him the battered wariness of an aging eagle. I reached out and touched his cheek. “You shaved for me,” I said. “I’m honoured.”
“You’ve always been worth shaving for,” Howard mumbled, then, embarrassed at his display of
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