18

Dark in the Lost Lagoon

My night was filled with feverish dreams. I was locked in the tower room, listening to my mother’s horrified screams reverberate through the walls as Lady Graverly tortured her in the cellar. At last I broke the door down and raced down the stairs. In the foyer, I encountered Sarah Kilpatrick, hanging from the chandelier by her hair, pleading for help. I tried to cut her down but was thrown to the ground as Lady Graverly burst through the door, swinging an axe. She cut Sarah down like a side of beef and pulled a hideously shrunken, shrieking Alexander from her womb. In the private quarters, I searched in vain for the cellar entrance, only to realize my mother’s cries had died off.

I woke up with a start. Reaching for the phone, I called Mom and asked if I could drive out to the house to see her. I had expected her to be angry about my no-show at dinner or emotional about her health, but her tone was casual.

“I’d love to visit, dear, but you know I go to Pilates every Monday. I’ll be downtown later this afternoon to get my hair done. I could swing by the manor beforehand?”

I loitered in my room for hours, feeling both trapped and insulated in the tiny, circular space. If I didn’t leave, I wouldn’t have to deal with my mother’s illness, nor would I have to face Lady Graverly after last night’s disturbing incident. Yet at the same time I was a prisoner of my thoughts. I channeled grief for my mother toward resentment for Lady Graverly. For weeks, Mom had been vying for my attention, struggling to find a way to tell me about her illness, yet I had been dismissive and evasive, allowing Lady Graverly to dominate my time.

By late afternoon, I was unable to stand another minute in the room. I crept downstairs. In the foyer, I was surprised to find Lady Graverly at the reception desk, humming cheerfully as she sorted through mail.

“Darling, there you are!” she said, rising from the chair. “I was worried about you!” She came to me and clutched my hands, turning each cheek for a kiss. “Thank you ever so much for your company last night. You truly are a prince. I am feeling so much more optimistic about the future today.”

I forced a smile. At least one of us felt better. She looked radiant, years younger than she had seemed last night. Glancing down, I saw her bony knee poking against the fabric of her tartan skirt. I shuddered as I remembered the grotesque mole, the layer of fine hair covering the crusty exterior, like a tiny parasitic rodent burrowing on her leg. Pushing the image away, I hastened down the hallway toward the kitchen. I could feel her eyes on me and sensed that somehow she knew about the drama that had unfolded last night. Either she had overheard my conversation with Wendy or she had heard my stifled sobs after Wendy left. I couldn’t help but wonder if she felt a certain glee over my mother’s misfortune, the imminent removal of a major obstacle to my affections. As the kitchen door closed behind me, I felt a stab of guilt. For all Lady Graverly’s faults, she couldn’t possibly be that wicked.

Now I was trapped in the kitchen, unable to exit out the back without my coat and shoes, which were in the foyer. I did not want Lady Graverly to see how distraught I was, fearing she would probe. In the pantry, Lincoln’s cot had been stripped, his Bible and scant personal belongings removed. I folded the cot and leaned it against the wall. Agnes, Clarissa, Lincoln—all three had vanished within days. Was I crazy to stay?

I went to the window. It was barely three o’clock, yet the sky was growing dark. A tin soldier sat on the windowsill, looking into the back yard, and I moved it aside and leaned there, watching the grey mist drift by like smoke from a nearby house fire. I observed the decrepit oak tree, clusters of dead leaves clinging to its branches, the grown-over lawn with patches of brown, the dilapidated garage, its roof sagging. How had I envisioned quaint wedding receptions in this dreary setting? My mother’s illness changed everything. To squander my own money would be foolish; to squander her money would be unforgivable. The thrill of entrepreneurship was gone; the prospect of failure seemed certain. To go forward with this enormous endeavor at a time when my family needed me, when only a few months remained of my mother’s life, would be lunacy. But if I gave up now, what would happen after she was gone? I would be motherless—but also homeless and jobless. And I would have sacrificed my dream.

My cell phone rang. Mother was parking down the street.

“I’ll be out for a few hours,” I told Lady Graverly as I rushed into the foyer and pulled on my shoes.

“Are you not expecting the housing inspector?”

Damn, I had forgotten. “Would you mind showing him around?” I asked her, disregarding the alarm bell that sounded in my head. Nothing was more important than my mother right now.

“I’d be delighted to. I thought you and I might enjoy a drink together this evening. It might be our last respite before the tour group arrives.”

“Sorry, I can’t.” I went to the door and opened it.

“As you wish. Alexander has an appointment with the doctor tomorrow at one. I thought you might like to come with us. You seem so fond of one another.”

She was manipulating me, using Alexander to guilt me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I need to focus on my family right now, okay?”

“Very well, then.”

As I stepped onto the verandah and pulled the door closed, I heard her call out, “Shan’t you be needing a coat?” Pretending I hadn’t heard, I hurried down the steps, expelling the manor’s stale air from my lungs and replacing it with fresh air. I tried to open the gate, but the latch was jammed. What was it with doors and windows at this cursed manor? Giving up, I leapt over the gate, catching my sweater and tearing it. On the street, I searched for my mother but couldn’t see her. I waited, keeping my back to the manor, certain that Lady Graverly was watching. It was a typical December day in Vancouver, cool but not freezing, and cold wind nipped at my skin. I knew I should return for a coat, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Elinor’s scrutiny again.

A girl in a red windbreaker was making her way up the street, hopping around puddles. As she drew closer she pulled off her hood, and I recognized my mother. I rushed to her, my frosty mood melting, and put my arms around her.

“I’m so sorry I missed dinner, Mom.”

“It’s okay, dear,” she said, wriggling from my grasp. “Wendy told me you were tied up.”

We walked toward the lagoon, knowing our destination without discussing it. I searched for words to say, but everything sounded melodramatic or trite or insensitive. My throat felt constricted. Determined not to become emotional, I opted to remain silent. The wind picked up as we reached the lagoon, sending a spray of rain into our faces.

Replacing her hood, Mom turned to me. “Aren’t you cold? Your sweater will be ruined.”

“It already is,” I said, showing her the tear. “I’ve never liked it, anyway.”

“Isn’t that the one Janet gave you for your birthday?”

“Um … I don’t think so.”

“Here, take my umbrella.”

“I don’t want it,” I said, pushing it away.

A quartet of ducks glided along the water to our right, keeping pace with us. I sneaked a sideways glance at my mother. Was it my imagination or did her face look thinner? Yet her blue eyes were shining.

She stopped and turned to face the water. “Even on a gloomy day, the lagoon looks beautiful. Look, they’ve decorated the fountain like a Christmas tree.”

I lowered my eyes, not wishing to acknowledge beauty in the face of sorrow. “How long have you known?” I asked her.

“A few weeks.”

“A few weeks? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ve sensed the changes in my body for some time, but I got the results back just a few days ago. I needed to be certain first, and then to come to terms with it myself before I could talk to you and the girls.”

We walked in silence.

“I’ve drawn up a will,” she said. “I named your uncle Thomas executor.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yes, we do. We don’t have a lot of time, Trevor. I’m leaving the house to you and your sisters. Do what you wish with it, but I won’t pretend I don’t care whether or not you keep it in the family. Nearly forty years of family memories live in those walls.”

Lady Graverly had similar wishes for the manor. These two matriarchs shared an attachment to their homes I didn’t fully comprehend, perhaps because I had never lived anywhere long enough.

“I’m hoping one of your sisters will move in,” Mom said.

“Not me?”

“Of course I’d love you to, but it doesn’t quite fit with your plans, does it?”

“I’ve decided not to buy the manor, Mom.”

“What? Why?”

“You were right. If I buy that house, I’ll be a slave to it. I’ll never lead a normal life.”

“What’s a normal life? The important thing is to follow your heart. What does your heart say?”

“It says I need to spend as much time as possible with you.”

“You’ll still have plenty of time for me, dear. But what will happen after I’m gone? If you truly believe the manor will make you happy, I want you to buy it. That money is yours now.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Well, I can’t take it with me.”

I grew quiet, not wanting to argue. “Is there any chance you’ll …?”

“Go into remission? No. The cells have spread to my lymph nodes, my liver, my pancreas. Six months ago they were undetectable, now they’re everywhere.”

A sob welled within me. I bit hard on my lip to keep it down and tasted blood.

She hooked her elbow around mine. “Don’t feel bad, Trevor. I consider myself blessed. I was given a five-year wakeup call, and I chose to listen.” She looked up at me and smiled. She looked beatific in the dying light of the sky. “I’ve told you before, cancer saved my life. It pulled me out of my self-imposed exile. Since that first diagnosis, I’ve been living life to the max, savoring every moment. When Charles died, I lost my joie de vivre. Cancer helped me get it back.”

I waited for her to apply this rationale to my own life, to lecture me about being stuck in my own self-imposed exile, about my lack of joie de vivre, but she said nothing more. I felt relieved, and then disappointed, and then frantic. Who would diagnose my afflictions after she was gone? I contemplated her behavior in the past weeks. The arguing and judging had ebbed almost to a stop; at last, she had simply accepted me. It was what I had always wanted, I thought, but now I realized I needed the fight. No one was more interested in me, more willing to expend time and energy to analyze my past, to fret over my future, to uncover my neurotic disorders. Without her, there would be an irreplaceable void. I would be completely alone—something I had thought I wanted but now feared more than anything.

The rain was gaining momentum, soaking my sweater and seeping into my skin. “I’m glad for you, Mom. But forgive me if I’m not ready to see the bright side of things.”

She took my hand, lightheartedly swinging it. “Remember New York, how much fun we had? That crazy time in LA during the opening? Thanks to you, I’ve stayed in some fantastic hotels. I’ve been treated like royalty.”

I recalled being busy and distracted during those visits, exhausted by her need to make every moment meaningful. Why hadn’t I been able to get over myself and be there for her, for us? “Those visits were amazing, Mom,” I said, squeezing her hand.

She stopped walking and turned to me. “Promise me you’ll take care of your sisters. You may think you don’t need them, but the three of you will need each other more than ever.”

Lady Graverly’s words replayed in my head. Promise me you’ll ensure Alexander is taken care of. My chin trembled. After evading familial responsibility all my life, I now had two families who needed me.

“I promise.”

“I have so many things to tell you, Trevor, but now is not the time. I have to get to my appointment.”

“A doctor’s appointment?”

“No, I’m getting my hair done.”

“Can we sit down for a few minutes, Mom? I have something for you.” I walked her to a bench facing the lagoon, and we sat down. Reaching into my pocket, I unfolded a piece of paper and read:

It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,
And gone are the depths of haunting blue,
The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,
The singing firs, and the dusk and—you,
And gone is the golden moon …

“That’s it!” Mom exclaimed. “That’s the poem my mother used to recite. How did you find it?”

“A friend. It was written by Pauline Johnson.”

“Yes, of course. Read it again for me, please?”

Droplets of rain splattered on the paper as I read, blurring the ink. When I finished, I folded up the sheet and gave it to her. She tucked it in her pocket, smiling through her tears. We sat in silence. The rain ceased, and a red, post-apocalyptic-like sun emerged to take its final bow. I held my mother, not wanting to let go of this once-invincible woman. Looking down, I saw wispy silver roots sprouting from her white-blond hair. I felt the warmth of her skin, the hum of her body, and thought about the cells invading it, turning off lights and shutting down organs along the way. In the aftermath of my father’s death, I had abdicated my role in the family. It was time to step up again.

Lifting my head, I allowed myself to look at the lagoon. The sun had disappeared, and the surface looked as dark and thick as blood.