I eyed Ben's clothes when we got back to the apartment. He'd been running around the playground with Aiden, but he seemed clean enough to go out again without changing. I threw a change of clothes into a bag for him. I didn't think Dave would have a full set of clothes for Ben at his apartment. A chance encounter with a mud puddle or an upset tummy could be a disaster as far as a four-year-old was concerned. Better safe than sorry. I added one of his favorite books, an apple, and a granola bar too.
Dave arrived on time, and there was the usual bustle of getting Ben's jacket and saying goodbye. Dad had been napping while we were at the playground, but he came out to give Ben a goodbye hug.
I sat down at my desk again and started to make notes for an outline of the co-op project. I hadn't come across any information from the very early days, but I knew I wanted to start with the origins of the co-op. I had heard that cooperative housing in Canada started in 1968, with numbers growing rapidly throughout the 1970s and 1980s. The baby boomers, the large generation of people my father's age born after the World War II, were growing up and starting families, creating a need for more housing, particularly in the large urban areas. Lobbying from cooperative organizations to a supportive federal government led to funding programs to help create affordable homes.
I hoped I could find some materials from the very early days when the co-op was just starting. Or perhaps Gwen could let me know which members had been in the co-op since the beginning. I knew I could get some basic historical material about the start of housing co-ops in general from the local cooperative housing association. But I really wanted some personal stories from early members. I thought that would make the history a lot more engaging.
I knew that my own story—a single mom in desperate need of a rental home I could afford—was likely repeated over and over throughout the years. But the co-op had also sheltered new Canadians arriving in the country as refugees, women and their children leaving abusive relationships, and people with HIV/AIDS during the dreadful years when the disease swept through Vancouver's gay community. Seniors and disabled people needing accessible housing had also found a haven here.
I hoped telling some of the individual stories of how people came to live here would be more interesting than a simple accounting of how the co-op started.
I was sorry again that Les was gone. I'm sure he could have told me the sort of personal stories I was looking for.
I hoped I could find others willing to share their stories of the early days.
When Dad came back, he had Mariana with him. “Hi, Becky,” he called. “I ran into Mariana in the hall. We're just going to have a drink. Do you want one?” He was heading for the kitchen and the bottle of his single malt scotch. I'd given it to him for his birthday, and he usually limited it to special treats. This was the second time he'd offered it to Mariana.
“No thanks, Dad. I'm in the middle of some work.” I wanted to give the pair some privacy. Although my father was devoted to Ben and spent a lot of time with me, I knew he had been lonely since my mother died. It gave me a bit of a pang to see him show an interest in another woman, but I thought it was for the best. I liked Mariana, and it was nice to have her around. We would always miss my mom, but we needed to get over the grief and move on with our lives. I knew my mom had wanted, more than anything, for us to be happy.
“We're thinking of going out to dinner later,” Dad said. “Just one of the Italian places up the street. Do you want to come?”
Dad's invitation seemed genuine, but the way he phrased it, we're thinking of going out to dinner, do you want to come, was certainly quite different from let's all go out to dinner. I thought I got the picture.
“No thanks, Dad. Dave should be bringing Ben back soon. I'd better wait for him. And I've got lots of work to do, anyway. Now's a good chance to do it, with Ben out with Dave.” I thought I'd got as far as I could with the co-op history for now but I did have some more work for clients I needed to do. And I could spend time on some proposals for a few other potential clients I hoped I might do some work for. “We have plenty of leftovers, so I can just grab something to eat when I get hungry.”
I did manage to get a lot of work done before Dave brought Ben back. I hugged my son and sent him to get ready for bed.
"So, I've been working on that co-op history,” I couldn't resist saying to Dave as he turned to leave. “I think it will be pretty interesting. But remember you're going to ask the librarians if they have any more information about that story I asked you about.”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “I don't know how fast they can find anything. You know it's not really a priority. In fact, they're doing it as a favor to me. It's not really the kind of thing they're supposed to do.”
I knew from experience how charming Dave could be when he wanted to be. I could imagine him turning that charm on the staff who worked in the newspaper archives. I supposed I should be glad he was able to help me out.
“I told Cara what you were working on,” he went on. “She remembers the two girls and that something happened to them. But she was pretty young at the time. She says she remembers the kids talking about it and everyone being scared. She thinks the parents were trying to shield the kids a bit and not talking about it, so she doesn't remember it very well. But you might want to talk to her about it.”
I was pretty sure Cara wouldn't really want to talk to me. Helping me out wasn't likely a big priority for her. But I might try, if I couldn't find information another way.
Later, after Ben was in bed, I made myself a sandwich with leftover turkey. I was feeling a little sorry for myself.
I wished Dave hadn't talked to Cara about what I was working on. And I hoped she hadn't told too many other people in the co-op about it.