13

Wende didn’t come alone. She also didn’t bring a date. At least Prin presumed she had not brought a date.

“I’m Rae,” said a short, business-dressed Chinese woman.

Molly was still in the kitchen when the two of them pulled up in a Lexus. Their daughters—scrubbed, combed, and arranged oldest to youngest in pretty dresses—awaited the guests just inside the front door.

“You have a big shiny car for just two people!” said Chiara.

“Thank you. And you all look beautiful. You have a very charming home,” said Wende.

How small their house was. It was a ninety-year-old semidetached with three bedrooms and a half-finished basement located at the top of a hill in the city’s east end. Looking south on clear winter days, you could see straight across Lake Ontario to the smoke and crumbling block of Buffalo.

The house itself had been renovated many times over the years, but never fully or especially well, which is why they had been able to afford it. The result was exposed brick here and there; hollow, fake-panelled doors set in original gumwood frames; thick, well-scored old oak floors running into click-in-place artificial oak whose surface was a reasonable facsimile of thick, well-scored old oak floors, at least where it wasn’t peeling. The bathroom looked like the Before shot in a home renovation show. Their furniture wasn’t all shabby and certainly not all chic, but a combination of interesting yard-sale finds, better IKEA, and random pieces of fine, nineteenth-century German craftsmanship—end tables and side chairs and such, all the colour of blackstrap molasses—which they’d brought home from Molly’s grandmother’s Milwaukee bungalow over the years.

The walls were mostly—but not entirely!—covered in religious art and family photographs. Prin’s mother frequently gave Molly silver-plated trays from Sri Lanka meant for hanging, not serving, that featured images of monks, elephants, and monkeys, and ceremonial processions of monks, elephants, and monkeys. These were propped up in advance of Lizzie’s visits. More recently, Prin had also started propping up a Golden Rule poster, framed in a thick, filigreed oak, that Lizzie’s new Muslim husband had presented to the family on his first visit to their home.

Kingsley had given them a framed picto-history series marking his life and exploits. Thanks to a clever German carpenter who also must have had a vain in-law, the pictures were affixed to the inner panel of a buffet top that could be quickly opened and prominently displayed at the sound of an impatient triple doorbell.

Prin wasn’t embarrassed by any of this as he studied Wende taking in their home from the foyer. Did she notice the piles of New Yorkers set beside the piles of Saint’s Lives comic books? What exactly did she notice? She’d accepted the invitation to come to dinner with no comment. But she must have been nervous, because she brought someone who, so far as Prin could tell, was not her date.

“So, how do you know Wende?” asked Prin.

“Rae’s an agent,” said Wende.

“ASIAN! It’s pronounced ASIAN!” said Philomena.

Her sisters took her away.

“A real estate agent?” Prin asked.

“Correct,” said Rae.

“Welcome!” Molly said.

She was wearing a flowing, floral-print black dress that moved with vigour as she accepted the flowers and wine and brought everyone in to their little living room. Wende wore slate-grey slacks and a white cotton dress shirt that had maybe one more button undone than was necessary.

The conversation right away focused on Rae. She had only come to Canada a few months ago, to help her uncle with his import-export business. She had left that and was now working with Wende and the developer who wanted to turn UFU into a retirement condo. Did she like Toronto? Yes. What did she like about it? It looked like a movie set for a big city and it was clean like a hospital. Did she miss home? Yes. A lot. She missed her husband and her own children. A lot. She had three daughters. Why had she come to Canada alone? Next question. Were you hoping your family would join you here? Stupid question.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’m going to check on the kids,” Molly said.

“Why don’t I?” Prin said.

“You chat with Rae. Can I offer some help, Molly?” Wende asked.

The two women walked to the kitchen together. Prin heard a buzzing, high-pitched sound. He’d never strained his ears so much! But he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“So, you’re at UFU, correct?” Rae asked.

“Yes, I’m a professor there,” Prin said.

“And do you pronounce the school ooo-foo, or do you say the letters like words, like You, Eff, You?”

“That’s been a debate for years. People say it both ways,” Prin said.

“I like You, Eff, You,” Rae said.

“Me too. So, I think we’ll be working together. I’m curious, what’s your role in all of this?” Prin asked.

She nodded heavily, twice.

“Sorry, what’s your role?” Prin asked.

“I am responsible for finding potential residents. Actually, I think we are going to do an event together, you and I, soon. Correct? That’s how you say it, yes? We are going to do some old people together?” Rae said.

“Yes, I’m delivering a talk to a seniors’ group. Father Pat asked me to share my research with them,” Prin said.

“And if they become interested, that’s great. If we can do it before that Muslim man finds you, then we get it,” Rae said.

“Sorry, finds me?” Prin said.

“Students. From his country. But we will go faster and get it,” Rae said.

“The contract?” Prin said.

“The contract,” Rae said.

“Well, best of luck, and happy to help,” Prin said.

What were they discussing in the kitchen?

“Do you mean that, really?” Rae asked.

“Pardon?” Prin said.

The children were eating early. Afterwards, they would watch another hour of Ten Commandments in the basement while the adults ate. Prin could hear nothing but their calls for more butterbread and less fish, less beans, and why aren’t we allowed to have dessert during Lent?

“Do you really mean it, ‘Best of luck and happy to help?’ Canadians say things like this a lot but I don’t know if you mean them. How can so many of you people really have ‘No worries’?” Rae asked.

“Well, yes, I do wish you the best of luck and, as you know, my own job and those of my colleagues depend on something working out here so I am indeed happy to help,” Prin said.

“So you will help me, more than you will help the Muslims?” Rae asked.

“I’m not sure I’d phrase it that way, and probably Wende should be part of this conversation, don’t you think?” Prin said.

She pulled up closer to him on the couch. Prin leaned back a little, and she leaned forward.

“But she has no children. You have children. You have daughters! You understand. You must understand. You also have daughters. Please help me. If we get the contract, I will get enough money to bring the whole family here. Otherwise, I think he will fire me definitely, and then I will have to go back to selling kidneys. Do you know anyone who needs one?” Rae said.

“What? What are you talking about? Kidneys! Is this what your uncle’s import business is about?” Prin said.

“Sorry? Must be problem with my English. So sorry, I no understand,” Rae said.

She smiled a lot of teeth, sipped her wine, and stared out the front window. She kept nodding. She also kept checking to see if he was watching her. Rae said nothing more until Wende and Molly returned to the living room, at which point she got up and went into the kitchen to watch the children finish their dinner. Prin didn’t know whether to stay with Wende and Molly and figure out what-kind-of-what was happening there, or to follow Rae. If he did, would he find her sobbing at these other people’s daughters or sizing them for potential donations?

But instead she came back quickly, and still smiling, if with more effort. Molly invited everyone to the table, where she’d placed a pan of white beans, trout, and rosemary, beside which was a loaf of fresh-baked bread, a green salad, and the white wine that Wende had brought. They gave up alcohol during Lent. So now ought they to acknowledge the guest’s gift by drinking it, or acknowledge Christ’s forty days in the desert by not?

“Prin?” Molly said.

“Yes?” Prin said.

“We’re waiting,” Molly said.

“You want me to open the wine?” Prin asked.

“Would you like to lead us in grace?” Molly asked.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Then… wine?” Prin said.

Molly smiled.

“Whatever you think is best, dear,” she said.

She smiled, but not at him. She smiled at Wende! Who was smiling back.

Just what kind of conversation did they have in the kitchen?