display—a living room with pale carpeting and dark furniture built to maximize utility in a small space. Past the living room was the den, more casual, with cushionypieces, a thick rug, a framed family portrait on the wall and photographs of the sisters in their reindeer costumes, dancing in
The Nutcracker
. Finally the kitchen, efficient and gleaming in brushed aluminum marred only by take-out containers of Chinese food. He put the cartons beside them.
Heather’s dad, Rick, was sitting at the table, stirring sugar into his tea. His hobby was digital photography, but he was a professor of business ethics. Nothing important happened in the neighbourhood without his assistance. The arena had been renovated through a corporate sponsorship he’d arranged, the after-school program Learn About the World was his brainchild and had become a model for intercultural programs. He sat on the boards of numerous charities, some of which raised money through the sale of raffle tickets. He was blond, like his wife, and wiry. They could have been brother and sister. But he wore his grief more obviously, his eyes bloodshot, his clothing rumpled.
Alec returned with two more cartons and Debra was asking, “Couldn’t you have some tea?” Without waiting for a reply, she poured it for him and pulled out a chair.
Cathy was leaning against the wall, staring at the blank fridge. There were no photographs or lists on it, the shiny front undisrupted.
“We had a lock on the medicine cabinet,” Rick said, putting more sugar in his tea as if he’d forgotten that he’d already sweetened it while Debra sat down in the chair beside his.
“My sister’s flying in tomorrow,” she said, pouring tea for herself. “Rick’s cousin lives in the city, which makes things easier, but his brother couldn’t get a flight this morning. He’llbe here later tonight. We’re going to have her cremated.” Alec didn’t flinch, though others inside did. “I don’t want anyone trying to put her back together and make her look pretty. It wasn’t pretty.”
Alec sat with his feet planted flat on the floor, knees apart. In his hand the china teacup, rose patterned, held a dainty quantity of tea. It wasn’t bad. Milky and sweet. “That took a lot of guts what you did,” he said.
“I couldn’t be a mother right then. In a crisis one has to focus.” As a doctor, she said, she knew there was only one thing left to do: extract the fetus quickly. The body would incubate it for five minutes to eight at most. There was no thought of whose body.
Alec did what he knew how to do, listen rather than speak, taking in whatever strangeness was before him until action was required.
When she fell silent, Alec asked, “How’s the baby?”
“She’s in the neonatal ICU,” Debra replied. “I’ll go back to the hospital tomorrow, but there’s no reason to think she shouldn’t do well.”
“I thought Heather would do better at home,” Rick said in the same whispery way he’d spoken about the medicine cabinet, as if his daughter’s death had left him transparent, his organs barely held in by skin. “There was no reason to make her go away.”
“You’d never let her,” Cathy said. And then bitterly, “Even though she never did what you wanted.”
“She was still our daughter. Regardless.” Rick put more sugar in his tea. He hadn’t drunk any of it yet. “But if we hadsent her away, then maybe she’d be alive. If only we’d left the other side of the house vacant. We were thinking that we would renovate before we rented it out again.”
“Without the gun, she’d have done something else,” Debra said. “The baby would have died if she’d thrown herself off a bridge. Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Thank God she was close enough to term. Think of the silver lining. We still have our baby and we’ll be able to bring her home soon. Heather didn’t take her away, too.” She turned to Alec. “Thank you for having Cathy over
The Nutcracker
. Finally the kitchen, efficient and gleaming in brushed aluminum marred only by take-out containers of Chinese food. He put the cartons beside them.
Heather’s dad, Rick, was sitting at the table, stirring sugar into his tea. His hobby was digital photography, but he was a professor of business ethics. Nothing important happened in the neighbourhood without his assistance. The arena had been renovated through a corporate sponsorship he’d arranged, the after-school program Learn About the World was his brainchild and had become a model for intercultural programs. He sat on the boards of numerous charities, some of which raised money through the sale of raffle tickets. He was blond, like his wife, and wiry. They could have been brother and sister. But he wore his grief more obviously, his eyes bloodshot, his clothing rumpled.
Alec returned with two more cartons and Debra was asking, “Couldn’t you have some tea?” Without waiting for a reply, she poured it for him and pulled out a chair.
Cathy was leaning against the wall, staring at the blank fridge. There were no photographs or lists on it, the shiny front undisrupted.
“We had a lock on the medicine cabinet,” Rick said, putting more sugar in his tea as if he’d forgotten that he’d already sweetened it while Debra sat down in the chair beside his.
“My sister’s flying in tomorrow,” she said, pouring tea for herself. “Rick’s cousin lives in the city, which makes things easier, but his brother couldn’t get a flight this morning. He’llbe here later tonight. We’re going to have her cremated.” Alec didn’t flinch, though others inside did. “I don’t want anyone trying to put her back together and make her look pretty. It wasn’t pretty.”
Alec sat with his feet planted flat on the floor, knees apart. In his hand the china teacup, rose patterned, held a dainty quantity of tea. It wasn’t bad. Milky and sweet. “That took a lot of guts what you did,” he said.
“I couldn’t be a mother right then. In a crisis one has to focus.” As a doctor, she said, she knew there was only one thing left to do: extract the fetus quickly. The body would incubate it for five minutes to eight at most. There was no thought of whose body.
Alec did what he knew how to do, listen rather than speak, taking in whatever strangeness was before him until action was required.
When she fell silent, Alec asked, “How’s the baby?”
“She’s in the neonatal ICU,” Debra replied. “I’ll go back to the hospital tomorrow, but there’s no reason to think she shouldn’t do well.”
“I thought Heather would do better at home,” Rick said in the same whispery way he’d spoken about the medicine cabinet, as if his daughter’s death had left him transparent, his organs barely held in by skin. “There was no reason to make her go away.”
“You’d never let her,” Cathy said. And then bitterly, “Even though she never did what you wanted.”
“She was still our daughter. Regardless.” Rick put more sugar in his tea. He hadn’t drunk any of it yet. “But if we hadsent her away, then maybe she’d be alive. If only we’d left the other side of the house vacant. We were thinking that we would renovate before we rented it out again.”
“Without the gun, she’d have done something else,” Debra said. “The baby would have died if she’d thrown herself off a bridge. Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Thank God she was close enough to term. Think of the silver lining. We still have our baby and we’ll be able to bring her home soon. Heather didn’t take her away, too.” She turned to Alec. “Thank you for having Cathy over
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