CHAPTER 14

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THE COMMUNITY HALL is bare, stripped of the Fall Fair decorations. Vivian hadn’t planned on coming in, but the main door had been left wide open and now she’s standing on the worn beige linoleum staring at the knots in the wall-to-wall wood panelling they’d installed in the seventies.

In the quiet, she remembers how busy it once was. Local community groups used to fight over time slots in the packed schedule. Club meetings, bingo, exercise classes, performances.

Pam’s crop top shows off the tight muscles on her stomach. Her white sneakers and socks over her black leggings flash up and down as she moves. Dance music blasts through the hall and rows of women hop on and off low platforms. “Step, lift! Step, lift! One more time.”

Vivian has been invited to speak to the Seniors Club; a chance to network with voters and hear their concerns. She regrets showing up early.

“Switch sides. Lift, lift!”

Vivian stalks around the edge of the hall and stands directly beside the portable stereo system. She looks at her watch. Pam turns and meets her stare, claps her hands twice and shouts: “Great work ladies! Let’s cool down.”

Pam bounds over and turns off the music as the women reach their arms gently towards the ceiling and back down to their toes. “We’ve still got five minutes,” she says to Vivian.

As the women carry their steps into the storage room, Vivian reminds them not to block the foldable chairs and tables that are about to come out. None of them seem to be in a hurry to leave, even as the seniors start hovering by the entrance.

Pam’s class gather around her, chatting as they approach the main doors at snail pace. Her voice sails across the top of the rest: “What?” Vivian instinctively tunes in.

A woman in leggings and a green leotard is speaking. “It’s the same type of cancer. Lung cancer, I think Janice said. And they all work at the mill.”

The women mutter sympathy. Vivian marches into the storage cupboard. Minutes tick by as she stands and stares at the folding chairs until a white-haired gentleman taps her on the shoulder and offers to help.

The wood panelling had been a mistake, in hindsight. It makes the hall look so dark and dated now. The storage cupboard doors swing open as the mayor’s wife, Carol, pushes through them with chairs under each arm.

“Oh, hello Vivian. I didn’t know you were coming to our paint night.”

Vivian waves her hand. “No, no. Unfortunately, I have plans. I was just passing by.”

“We’re painting two cats on a branch under the moonlight. And there’s wine. You’d be very welcome. The more the merrier!”

Carol is a beanpole with turquoise glasses. The brightly coloured silk scarf around her neck has been fastened with the knot off-centre, presumably to look artistic, but it makes her look like an ageing flight attendant.

“Maybe some other time,” Vivian mutters as she walks towards the door.

“Next month it’s Van Gogh’s Sunflowers,” Carol calls after her.

“Oh no,” Vivian answers. “Not my style.”

Three prints by post-impressionist painters do very little to brighten the poorly lit reception area at the clinic. From there, it gets worse; the only colour in the examination rooms are the faded blues of the beds. The doctor’s surgery is in a humble heritage building on Main Street, recently purchased from a now-retired physician who never thought beyond the immediate needs of his patients.

“The first heavy rain, the roof started leaking,” the prematurely bald young doctor says. He misses his family and hates the summer heat and isn’t sure how to fill the shoes of the doctor who spent the last 40 years earning the locals’ trust. His girlfriend is dragging her feet about moving to a small town.

He pushes his large glasses onto his nose. “The numbers are unusual,” he says. “Much higher than the national average among the mill workers.”

His tone is unsentimental, detached from this town and its patients and the faces behind the statistics. For Vivian, that is a relief.

“Please keep this between us for now. I’ll have the site tested but for all we know lifestyle factors could be the cause. We don’t want to start a panic.”

“Of course.” He closes his folder of numbers and Vivian takes it out of his hands, his mouth opening to object.

“I have a lot of business connections in the Lower Mainland,” Vivian says. “A friend of mine runs a private clinic in North Van and he’s looking for a young doctor.”

“I did not invite that man over to dinner!”

“Yes, my dear, you did.”

“I would never invite someone to dinner on a Monday evening, Todd. We have a council meeting to get to.”

Vivian scrutinizes the positioning of the silverware laid out on the dining table before hurrying into the bathroom to put a comb through her layered bob and fumble with her lipstick. She isn’t sure why she’s holding her handbag or what she’s angry about, but she is furious. He makes everything such a challenge. She thinks about it. Who? Who does? Tim. Tab. Todd. TODD. She says it out loud to make it stick and he surfaces in the bathroom doorway like the puppet he is, except that he isn’t her puppet anymore.

“Angie says our guest has just pulled into the driveway.”

“Who the heck is Angie?”

“She takes care of you.”

Yes, Angie. The silverware placer. Useless woman. Vivian would rearrange it, but there’s no time. Todd grabs her by the arm and tries to lead her gently out of the bathroom. She shakes him off and marches towards the dining table. Angie hovers by the front doorway; the woman who conspires with him to drug her and confuse her and make her sit when they want her to sit and sleep when they tell her to and get dressed when they say she should.

Angie shows her a ridiculous, oversized grin and says: “It’s so nice to be joining you and your friend for dinner.”

Why is she joining them? Doesn’t she have anything better to do? Vivian stares at the top of Angie’s head. She has a dreadful perm; the sort that is falling apart and wouldn’t have looked particularly attractive to begin with, puffing out around her scalp and ending abruptly above her shoulders.

The doorbell rings. Todd moves towards it but Vivian pulls him back.

“What about the council meeting? We’re going to be late!”

Todd sighs. “We talked about this. We both stepped down from our council positions because of your health.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes, you did.”

Vivian shakes her finger at him. “You forced me to, then. You forced me!”

He does what he always does when she gets angry; the most exasperating thing of all. Nothing.

“Who replaced us?”

“It doesn’t matter, Vivian. We’re out of it now.”

“But what about our plans?”

“Someone else will take care of it.”

“Hah.”

“I’ll keep any eye on things.”

“Will you?”

“We’ve been married for more than half a century. You have to start trusting my decisions because you don’t have much of a choice anymore.”

Vivian is about to object when the doorbell rings again. Vivian looks at Angie and wonders how they’re going to introduce Todd’s co-conspirator. There’s no time to ask. Todd is at the door welcoming their guest.

Vivian looks up at his black hair and thin smile. “Frank!” she says happily.

The young man’s expression falters, but only for a second. “I’m Dean. Frank’s son.”

“Of course. Dean. Come in.”

“What a beautiful home you have,” he says as he removes his burnished brown leather shoes. He’s in a collared shirt and casual blazer and he offers her a very nice-looking bottle of red wine. “Much better than Frank’s,” he says.

Todd introduces Angie as a family friend, but Vivian can tell by the look Todd gives Dean that their guest already knows what’s what. Dean has been fed all this claptrap about Vivian being in “poor health.” She would rather have introduced Angie as the cleaner than a family friend but there’s nothing she can do about that now.

Dean commends the grilled eggplant and goat cheese salad that Todd has carefully assembled. The two of them have a brief discussion about the availability of locally-grown produce and Vivian zones in and out because the chit-chat is making her sleepy. At some point Todd asks Dean how he’s managing to divide his time between Stapleton and his consulting work. “I have a business partner who’s helping to fill in while I take care of Frank’s affairs,” Dean explains. Something seems off about the way he says it: Frank’s affairs. Vivian wonders what exactly he means.

The mood disintegrates about halfway through Todd’s prized salmon on a bed of asparagus. “My mom said she told Frank about me a few months after the mill explosion,” Dean announces out of the blue. Vivian and Todd glance at each other, neither being particularly adept at sensitive conversations. Their guest continues undeterred.

“Stapleton was in the news constantly and my mom thought it was about time she told him.”

Another awkward pause.

“It must have been difficult,” Vivian offers softly.

Dean doesn’t acknowledge her attempt at kindness. “Frank told my mom he couldn’t be a dad because he wasn’t a good person, and I was better off not knowing him, so my mom decided not to tell me about him. My mom said he seemed genuinely sad about it, like he wished he’d known about me earlier, when he thought he was good enough to be my dad. It makes me wonder what changed for him.”

Vivian hums and Todd reaches for his wine.

Dean turns the conversation and his attention sharply in Vivian’s direction. “I heard you were involved in bringing the sawmill to Stapleton.”

Todd sees the threat and intervenes before she has a chance to answer. “Vivian was involved in so many projects during her years on council. I think honestly she’s quite tired of discussing them.”

Dean doesn’t take the hint. “Wasn’t it built in the late ’70s?”

“Yes,” Todd answers again, even though the question was clearly directed at Vivian.

Dean nods. “I thought so. I was too young to remember that.”

Todd tries to keep the conversation casual since Dean seems intent on continuing, but Vivian can hear the tension rising in his voice.

“Of course, you were. The mill opened in ... let me think ... in 1978.”

“Did you work there?” Dean asks him.

“No. We had business interests in the Interior and the Lower Mainland, so I spent quite a bit of time travelling.”

“Did you invest in the mill?”

“No. Well ... the group had a few shares in the parent company, but it wasn’t one of our primary interests. The fast food franchises always did very well for us.”

“Someone was telling me ... I can’t remember who ... that one of your companies provided security services for the mill site after the explosion.”

It isn’t a question he should be asking, not over dinner, not in their home, and certainly not after his peculiar speculation about Frank’s inability to commit to fatherhood. He is beginning to sound accusatorial. Todd stumbles on his answer. “As you know ... the key to business is finding opportunities, filling gaps—you know—providing services where needed.”

Todd puts a halt to the conversation by asking Angie if she wouldn’t mind bringing in the dessert. He has outdone himself with a homemade crème caramel. Vivian’s eyes focus on the knife as he slices through the dripping dark caramel and the perfectly soft but firm custard.

Dean scoops up a spoonful and tastes it. His lips lift and he is temporarily pacified. He praises Todd once again on his culinary talents. There’s something about Dean’s manner that Vivian recognizes in herself. He’s a schemer. Didn’t Todd say something to that effect? What was it again? Something about being prepared.

“So Vivian,” Dean says, “after all your hard work getting the mill built, the explosion must have been particularly devastating for you.”

She keeps her mouth closed and watches his sharp green eyes. This is all part of his plan, but she doesn’t have an inkling of his intentions. That’s alright. She will study his moves until he gives himself away.

Todd fills the awkward pause. “It was a traumatic time. Vivian doesn’t like talking about it.”

Dean raises a hand apologetically. “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just ...”

He looks at her again with those eyes, just like Frank’s. “As you know, I’m considering spending more time in this town ... maybe even keeping my investment in it ... so I need to know exactly what, and who, I’m investing in. There appear to be a few anomalies around what actually happened at the mill.”

“Anomalies?” Todd repeats.

“Yes. Do you think Curtis Reid was set up?”

Vivian’s mind is racing and rambling simultaneously as is now customary. Curtis Reid. She knows the name. She can picture him. Thick set. Thuggish looking. And the girl.

“Elena,” she says.

Their guest leans in as though he hasn’t heard. “What?”

Todd puts his napkin on the table and stands. “I’m sorry to have to cut this short, Dean, but Vivian is getting tired.”

“Of course.” Dean pushes his chair back and holds out a hand for Vivian to shake. “It was so nice to see you again.”

She doesn’t acknowledge him. She’s thinking about the girl. Elena. She barely knew her, what with her own son already grown. She stares coldly at the tablecloth. Frank was so upset. But it wasn’t their fault. They couldn’t have known.

Dean’s voice again. She wishes he would just leave. “I keep forgetting to ask you if you found your dog.”

Vivian tightens up and glares at him. “She isn’t lost.”

“Oh, my mistake. Must’ve been someone else.”

She hears the lies Todd tells him as he walks him out, just audible to her not-so-deaf ears. “Vivian’s dog, Cherie, passed away a few weeks ago,” he tells him quietly. “Vivian doesn’t always remember.”

Todd is hovering with a cup of water and two little yellow pills. No. She’s not taking them. He pushes the cup towards her and she swipes it out of his hand. The water sploshes onto the hardwood, snaking towards his slippers as he steps back, cursing. He clutches his back while he mops his precious floor. He forgets he isn’t so young himself.

Father is hanging over the mantelpiece. He shouldn’t be here, in her house. Father never visits. A present and a card arrive on her 17^th birthday while she is home for the holidays. The card is signed in his name but it isn’t his handwriting. The gift is one he’d never have chosen.

She loves the pink sleeveless dress, even though it accentuates things she doesn’t have. It is the 1950s; the cars have curves and the women are supposed to, so it fits tightly around her chest and waist and flows out around her non-existent hips. Vivian wonders if it is his secretary who has the duty of selecting her birthday gifts, or his new wife. She does a twirl for Mother, whose only remark is that it makes her look common. It’s clear who Mother thinks sent the gift.

Father started a new family soon after he and Mother divorced. Mother insists on making Vivian visit his Vancouver home for at least a few days during each school vacation. Mother says it’s good for her and it will prevent Father from forgetting that he also has a daughter to think about.

Two little boys and a wife much younger than Mother. The first time Vivian was sent to stay with them, she felt quite afraid of meeting Mother’s replacement. It is bearable though. The boys think only of themselves and her stepmother is hardly the villainous hag depicted in fairy tales.

Unlike Father, Ruth is always very welcoming to Vivian. She’s in her twenties (which outrages Mother), and she treats Vivian as more of a friend than a stepdaughter. They chat about fashion and music and movies. Ruth is petite and fine-boned with bright blue eyes that are almost as striking as her wavy auburn hair. It is Ruth who teaches Vivian about the importance of presence, and Ruth who tells her that a woman can be noticed without being spectacularly beautiful if she exudes confidence and learns how to dress well.

Father had been successful in Stapleton but he seems even more so in his grand city home. It’s an imposing stone building on a street lined with chestnut trees. A little pathway weaves through the landscaped garden and large lawn, hidden from the street by a low wall and tall, sculpted bushes. The house is so large it has wings and a grand central staircase connecting them.

When Vivian visits, Father works late during the week and golfs all weekend. She hasn’t determined if this is his usual habit or he’s avoiding her presence. They are rarely alone together. It doesn’t hurt her particularly; she’s used to his ways, until she sees him with the boys. The youngest one is still toddling, and his big brother is only slightly older. When Father comes home, he grabs them and throws them up and spins them around. She has no recollection of a time when he was ever as enthusiastic about greeting her.

Vivian approaches Ruth when the two of them are alone. “I want to talk to Father privately but I’m not sure when he’ll be available.”

Ruth treads around the topic as carefully as Vivian. “Oh, I know it’s difficult. He’s always so busy. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have a chance before you leave.”

Ruth keeps her word. Towards the end of the week, the five of them are having dinner and Father seems in a relatively good mood. The boys are fidgeting and he hasn’t snapped at either of them. The moment the little one loses interest in his cut-up chunks of food, Ruth yanks them both away from the table. “Come on,” she says to their confused little faces. “Let’s see if those clothes Grandma sent actually fit you before she calls and asks.”

Father barely looks up as the three of them stumble off with minor protests from the boys. He pushes meat and vegetables onto his fork and into his mouth and doesn’t acknowledge Vivian. She doesn’t know how much longer they’ll have alone, so she gets right to the point.

“I’ve been offered a place at university, to study law,” she says, “but I need some help with my student expenses.”

He puts down his fork and frowns.

“You don’t need a degree. You’ll be married soon.”

“I can be a married lawyer.”

“Your husband will provide for you.”

“Please, Father.”

“If you’re so set on providing for yourself, you can make your own way to university.”

She slams her fist on the table and her father frowns at the disturbance, so unbecoming of a young lady. His sons rush back into the room, pushing each other to get through the doorway first. Ruth’s voice peals out from another room and they race back out, giggling at each other.

Vivian looks back at Father but he refuses to meet her gaze. “Will you be putting them through university?”

“If they want to go. Someday they’ll have their own families to provide for.”

He looks over at Charlie, who has darted back in to grab another piece of bread. He is the oldest and chunkiest. Strong for his age, and not stupid, but not brilliant either.

“Charlie will probably do better going straight into business,” Father says.

“Why can’t I choose?”

“Because you will have a husband and children to take care of.”

It is crushing to hear his words but Vivian was expecting this rejection from him. Mother was right about one thing. Her regular visits to Father’s home have made it possible for her to remind him of his duties to his first child.

“I came up with a proposal that might convince you. One that would be mutually beneficial.”

Father leans back in his chair and smirks, as though a high school girl couldn’t possibly know the meaning of the word “proposal” unless it is related to marriage.

“Go on,” he says smugly.

“You cover my university fees and I won’t tell Ruth about the woman you visit on Cedar Drive.”

“She’s been stealing from me.”

“Who?”

Vivian points at the woman who follows her around her home. She wants to say the woman with the terrible hair, but she’s forgotten the name of it, that particular form of hair catastrophe. The woman grimaces like she’s just been slapped and Todd throws up his hands.

“What have you lost this time?”

“My gold necklace and I didn’t lose it. She stole it!”

Vivian is so angry her voice is hoarse. She’s right. She knows she is. That woman took it. She’s a thief. Perm, that’s it. She has a terrible perm.

“Don’t talk to Angie like that!” he says. “You probably left it somewhere.”

“I’ll see if it’s in the bedroom,” Angie says nervously.

She dashes off. Todd looks around the kitchen as though it might pop out from the fruit bowl or the knife block. He stops, turns. He’s holding it in his hand. The gold chain is dangling from his hand.

“You left it by the toaster, Vivian.”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I leave it there?”

“Why would anyone else?”

He isn’t being kind. His tone isn’t kind. He walks over to her and opens up her hand and gently drips the gold into her palm. “Here’s your precious necklace.” Then he walks over to Angie and apologizes to her. Vivian looks down at the gold in her palm. She has nothing to feel guilty about. She worked for it, she tells herself.

Father agrees to her terms. He will pay for her university education in exchange for her silence about the woman on Cedar Drive. Vivian is surprised he gives in so easily until she realizes that fighting with her would be more interaction than he could bear. He has only one question for her.

“How did you find out?”

“It wasn’t difficult. I pay more attention to you than you do to me.”

She doesn’t tell him this, but it was Ruth who unintentionally helped her uncover his big secret. Father’s study was strictly off-limits, an indication that there was something in there worth finding. Vivian felt sure that if she could gain access to his study, she could dig up something that would cost him more than her tuition fees.

Ruth was her way in, Ruth who seemed to be forever trying to impress her. Vivian chose an afternoon when the boys were being particularly rowdy and asked her for a quiet space with a large desk where she could finish a school project. Ruth flitted around the house and made a few suggestions, but Vivian politely declined all of them for various reasons until they reached the study. Ruth disappeared into the master bedroom and came back with a key. “Don’t move anything and don’t tell your father!” she said, seemingly excited that she and Vivian were doing something they shouldn’t.

As soon as Ruth left the room, Vivian rifled carefully through her father’s papers and noticed only one detail that seemed out of place. On the inside cover of one of his notebooks, he’d written in tiny scrawl; 403 Cedar. Wed. 12 pm.

When Wednesday came around, Vivian told Ruth she was going out to meet a school friend. Instead, she made her way over to Cedar Drive. It was a nice house, not as impressive as her father’s but still grander than any in Stapleton. She arrived at 11:45, giving herself enough time to find a discreet hiding place. The homes were all large and fenced or walled. There were mature trees with thick trunks spaced at regular intervals along the street, but it would look suspicious if she were spotted lurking behind one of them.

As she was debating where to position herself, she heard a car coming. Dark green and polished, just like Father’s. She turned and began walking in the other direction, hoping to slip by unnoticed. The car stopped, a door opened and closed and footsteps crunched gravel. She dared to glance back. There he was on the front steps of 403 Cedar and opening the door for him was a woman.

The scene itself didn’t really shock her. What shocked her was how plain the woman looked compared to his current wife. She was almost disappointed that her father didn’t have higher standards when it came to his mistresses. The vehicle in the driveway was a sparkling red Cadillac Eldorado. Vivian didn’t know a lot about vehicles, but she knew Cadillacs weren’t cheap. Vivian slipped away as her father stepped inside the house.

She returned to the house on Cedar Drive the next day. There were no cars parked out front and no sign that anyone was home. Vivian walked confidently up to the front door and knocked as if she had business there. She slid her hand into the mailbox pinned to the wall. Inside was an envelope addressed to Mr. W. Langston. So, there was a husband. She slipped the letter back in the box and knocked again, for the sake of any nosy neighbours. She waited a moment, then walked back down the driveway.

Father was still at work when she returned to his house. Ruth greeted her with a warm smile and drew her into the living room so she could hear her latest record. “Jo Stafford,” Ruth said excitedly. “Such a beautiful voice.” Ruth had played it enough times already that she could sing along, swinging her hips.

Vivian sat while her stepmother slowly waltzed around the room. Ruth was the type of person who could be completely entranced by the beauty of something, a trait which Vivian both envied and loathed. Vivian waited for the song to end before asking the question.

“Do you know a Mr. Langston?”

Ruth nodded. “Yes. He partnered with your father on a development of some sort, but the two of them couldn’t see eye to eye on anything, so they went their separate ways. I suppose they’re competitors now.”

So that was the attraction of the plain woman.

“Why do you ask?” Ruth asked.

“Oh ... a friend at school. He’s her uncle. She thought I might know him.”

Ruth smiled and picked out another record. Vivian couldn’t pity her. She didn’t want to know about her father’s bad behaviour. She was doing what she had to do. It wasn’t fair; it simply ... was.

“Don’t you point the finger at me! I did what was needed!”

A familiar woman rushes over to her bedside and takes her hand. “It’s alright Vivian! It was just a bad dream.”

Vivian sits up in bed and stares at the woman’s bedraggled curls.

“Why don’t we get you up now seeing as you’re awake?”

The woman puts her hands behind Vivian’s shoulders and gently pulls her forward.

“Lift your arms up and we’ll put on one of your nice blouses.”

Vivian does as she’s told. The woman’s cold skin brushes against hers as she pulls off her nightshirt, slips a bra around her chest and pulls her weak sagging arms through the sleeves of a crimson blouse. This is what old is. Humiliating.

“What about ...” She can’t remember the name. “The girl?”

“Do you mean Elena?”

“Yes. How do you know her?”

“I don’t know her. You ask about her from time to time, wanting to know how she is.”

“How is she?”

The woman pauses. “Your husband says you don’t need to be thinking about her because it gets you all worked up and I agree with him. Leave the past in the past.”

“But it isn’t in the past. It’s ...”

She wants to continue, but she doesn’t know what she means. The passage of time is no longer clear to her.

The woman changes the subject. “Your husband told me your granddaughter is starting university. You must be very proud.”

Vivian doesn’t answer. She has no recollection of having a granddaughter.