Читать книгу Against the Wind - Jim Tilley - Страница 14

Right on time. Nine o’clock as Lynn enters the lobby of the Marriott on the lakefront in Kingston. Ralph hands her a key card on which he’s marked the room number. “Top floor—great water view. You’ll love it. Right next to mine.”

“Hi Ralph— Nice to see you, too,” Lynn says.

He can’t tell whether she’s irritated or kidding. He takes the card from her, moves back a little, then steps forward and gives her a hug. “Lynn. I’m glad you decided to come. I appreciate it.”

“Me too. That’s much better.”

He hands her back the key card. “Have you eaten breakfast? They have a buffet here every morning. It’s edible.”

He’s relieved that she turns it down. On the way to his parents’ place, he tells her that they moved last year from their scenic waterfront home in the Thousand Islands to an assisted-living facility with a view of commercial buildings and open fields that will soon be built up into more commercial buildings. His mother finally decided she could no longer cope with the housework and cooking and caring for his father, whose dementia has now progressed beyond the early stages. His father can still carry a conversation and tell a joke, but keeps asking the same questions over and over. It exasperates his mother. He tries to visit often to offer some relief.

After registering in the guestbook at the front desk of the facility, they take the elevator to the top floor. Lynn notes the wide, well-lit hallways.

“Wheelchairs and walkers. It’s a two-lane highway. The faster folk need to be able to pass the slower ones.”

“I bet it’s a highly controlled environment.”

“You have no idea. No stoves, hot plates, candles, matches. No smoking. Nothing that might start a fire. Microwave ovens. Emergency cords in the bathrooms. No tubs or sinks that hold water for very long. Mind you, no plastic caps on the wall outlets, but otherwise childproofed.”

They knock on the door of Room 400 and are met by his parents. “Mom and Dad, I’d like you to meet an old friend—Lynn Adams. Lynn, please meet Claire and Gordon. I guess it’s more like meet again.” After hugs all around, they sit in the living room, Gordon in his recliner, Claire on the small sofa, Lynn and Ralph in adjacent armchairs, everything oriented to face the television.

“Would anyone like tea?” his mother asks. “Ralph, you can boil water in the microwave and make what you want: Chamomile, English Breakfast, Earl Grey. You know where the tea bags are.”

“Mom, do you remember Lynn? She and I were in the same homeroom from first grade through high school.”

“I remember her,” says his father. “She’s the one you wanted to marry.”

Lynn laughs. She’s glad Ralph has warned her. “That’s right. Forty years ago he did, but a French Canadian snatched me out of his arms. He’s never got over it.”

Ralph makes a point of pouting, but his father is not easily put off. “Why are you here now?”

“We met up again a few weeks ago. I asked Ralph to help me find a lawyer.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Not really. They’re trying to put wind turbines in my backyard.”

“Where’s your backyard?”

“In Picton.”

“Has Ralph been able to help you?”

“He’s recommended a good lawyer.”

“But he’s a good lawyer himself. Why not him?”

“That’s what I asked him.”

Ralph doesn’t comment. He sinks back in the armchair and allows the conversation to take its natural course. With his father, it’s like a river seeking the gradient of the land. He’s curious to see where it will end up today. Lynn seems game, but Ralph knows her patience will run out when she gets trapped in one of his father’s oxbows, the questions and answers eddying round and round.

“It didn’t work out for the residents of Wolfe Island,” says Claire.

“It probably won’t for us either,” says Lynn.

“What day is it?” Gordon asks.

Here we go. “Saturday, Dad.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Lynn. From high school and college. Back in St-Jean and Montreal.”

“What’s she doing here?”

“She lives nearby in Picton. I thought you and Mom might be glad to see her again.”

“I am. She’s very pretty. How did you find her?”

“In St-Jean, back in grade school. Do you remember?”

“I don’t remember much these days.” Gordon shifts his body, trying to find a more comfortable position in his recliner.

Claire glances at Ralph and sighs. “We’ll be able to have an easier conversation after lunch when he takes a nap,” she whispers to Lynn. “I hope you brought a book—Ralph and I like to work on Sudoku while Gordon dozes.”

“I like puzzles too,” says Lynn.

“Great— Here’s one I did yesterday. They called it ‘devilish’— I’ll copy it onto a blank template for each of you.”

While Claire works on today’s puzzle, Lynn and Ralph start on yesterday’s. After a few minutes, he says, “Mom, there’s no low-hanging fruit.”

“That’s why I set it aside for you.”

“What’s low-hanging fruit?” Lynn asks.

Ralph tells her that he coined the term to refer to the squares that are easy to fill in, the ones that can be solved for quickly, merely by scanning horizontally or vertically. “Picking the low-hanging fruit first makes the rest of the puzzle easier.”

“Tarzan’s queer younger brother,” says Gordon chuckling, obviously pleased with himself.

“What?”

“Low-hanging fruit.”

Lynn laughs so hard she almost falls off the ottoman to which she’s moved. “Gordon, are you always this funny?”

“I try— Especially when there’s a pretty girl in the room.”

A half hour later, Gordon snoring lightly, Claire engrossed in her puzzle, Ralph struggling with his, Lynn exclaims, “Ta da!” and puts down her pencil.

“Ralph, she beat you,” says Claire.

“That’s why I don’t do them,” says Gordon, stirred from his snooze. “They’re not a true test of intelligence.”

“Now, Dad. You know they are— You hate to lose.”

“No more than you,” says Claire.

“True enough— ” Ralph replies. “Except to a pretty woman.”

With his father napping in the bedroom after lunch, Ralph commandeers the recliner, lies back and closes his eyes, shutting out the conversation between Lynn and his mother. It’s always like this when he visits, his parents sitting around all day talking, snoozing, reading, more and more of the same in the retirement home, the residents more like inmates in a low-security compound, all surrounded by the walls of themselves and others more or less the same, less and less they can remember each passing month, the same conversations, a wonder any of them can recall what day it is, his father checking the date in the newspaper on the table beside the recliner, and if his mother hasn’t yet picked up the paper from the mailroom, his father digests the same news, the world stuck in its wars, murders and scandals, the same sports teams winning by the same margins, the same people getting married and dying, the comic strip characters up to the same antics. Does his mother ever regret trading their waterfront home for this? Every day at that house brought different patterns of wind and waves on the river, different reflections of sun and clouds. In the summer, boats motoring by, cormorants diving for perch. In winter, fresh trails of footprints in the snow covering the ice, sometimes the neighborhood fox presenting herself. It was exhilarating to watch a storm race across the river and slam against the picture window. Man against the elements. Man finally harnessing those same elements. From their old property he could see the turbines at the far eastern end of the Wolfe Island wind farm. He found the lazy spinning of the blades soothing. That had not been his battle to win. His father, who’d sit for hours on the screened porch watching the activity out on the water, organized the locals into a group to protest the project across the river, but dementia dulled his fire and, one by one, homeowners sold out to younger families with different sensibilities. Out on the island, the citizens lost heart. The wind farm was erected largely as originally planned.

Ralph opens his eyes and finds Lynn gazing at him. “Where were you?” she asks.

“Back at their waterfront home. Windmills. Growing old. The need to set things right before the end.”

“I could tell it wasn’t anything light. Look— Your mother fell asleep reading her book.”

“It’s another Harlequin romance. She never seems to get enough of them. Same old, same old.”

“Can one ever have enough romance?” Lynn asks.

He senses a wistfulness in her tone. “I suppose not.” She doesn’t reply. “When Mom and Dad wake up, let’s say goodbye for the day. We’ll take them to tea and leave them with their friends. Tonight there’s live music— They won’t miss us.”

Lynn parks her car in the underground garage at the hotel, and walks with Ralph along the waterfront in the park. They sit down on an unoccupied bench.

“Few sailboats out there this time of year,” he says.

“Yeah, most are in for the winter. Are you still sailing?”

“My boat at the Cape is up on land now and shrink-wrapped for winter. Too bad, it would be fun to get out with you.”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

They sit silently for a quarter hour watching the surface of the lake sparkle in the sun’s late-afternoon glancing rays. Then he touches her cheek and suggests they head over for an early dinner at Curry Original, his parents’ favorite Indian restaurant before they moved, tucked away at the end of an alley, near the waterfront but without a view of it. Though Ralph hasn’t dined there in a few years, the owner remembers him and asks after his parents. They order Naan, Chicken Saag, and Chicken Tikka Masala, all of which they agree to share. She selects a Napa Valley Cabernet that she says will cut the spiciness of the food. A better start to dinner than at Café Boulud.

“In Toronto you asked how the outdoorsman could have turned into a lawyer arguing cases against environmental activists— I have an answer.”

“Is it one you believe in?”

“Yes, but it’s hardly self-flattering. Funny thing— I know why I went to work for a big law firm and I know why I broke away to start my own practice, but I can’t tell you why I’m still doing it.”

“I’m confused,” she says.

“Money— There’s no money in working for a nonprofit. But when you’ve already earned a lot, there’s no need to continue what you’re doing if you don’t fully believe in it.”

“You mean quit and work for the other side?”

“Possibly. Or plain quit. Instead you keep doing what you’ve always been doing because it’s comfortable to do that. You turn off your conscience—you don’t let any concerns creep into your thinking.”

“The devil you know,” she says.

“Right.”

“That’s not a satisfying answer.”

“No. It’s not.” He takes her hand, “But it’s the only answer I have right now.”

“Sounds as if you’re in a rut.”

“Yeah— Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” He pauses to gauge her reaction. She looks concerned.

“Try me.”

“I feel there’s something you haven’t told me— ”

She looks even more troubled. “I don’t have to ask if it’s going to upset you— ”

“No, go ahead.”

“It’s about Jules. He’s a good-looking boy. You might even say pretty. Not what I’d expected.”

The worry leaves her face. She swirls the wine in her glass and holds it up to the light, looks into the semi-opaque red, sees the legs crawling down the insides of the glass. She breathes it in and takes a mouthful, swishes it across her palate, lets it bathe her tongue. “A taste consistent with the bouquet and a finish that’s not much different from the first impression,” she says. “Are you sure you want to venture into this territory?”

“For American reds, I’ve always preferred the Willamette Valley,” he says. “But my true favorites are the Italian reds.” Why is she stalling?

“It’s deeply personal. I’m willing to discuss it, but I’m not sure you’re prepared to hear it.”

Ralph picks up his glass and clinks it against hers. “Here’s to a wonderful evening— I’m a lawyer— I’m used to handling the unusual.”

“Okay then— Jules was born Juliette.”

“You mean a girl?”

“Yes, he’s transgender.”

Lynn tells the story of Jules, beginning with Jean-Pierre’s temporary estrangement from their daughter Suzanne after she abandoned Montreal to live in New York City with an American she’d met at Mc-Gill and married right after graduation. Jean-Pierre’s hard stance softened when Juliette was born. It helped that Suzanne chose a French name for her. Suzanne and Jean-Pierre were back on friendly terms by the time the TWA flight crashed. He took her death as punishment for the prior estrangement and wouldn’t forgive himself until he came to view Juliette as his second chance. As if he still had a daughter with the same flesh and blood. Everything was fine until Juliette renounced her birth gender and announced she was a he. That he was actually Jules. Lynn recounted the years of escalating conflict between Jean-Pierre and Jules that finally led to the rupture and the separation. Lynn called it her evacuation from the war zone of their city home in Outremont to the tranquility of rural Picton. It was a week before her birthday two years ago, almost fifteen years from the day that Suzanne died, that Lynn and Jules left Quebec behind.

She pauses while Ralph digests the story. He takes a mouthful of wine, squeezes it between his tongue and teeth, inhales and swallows. “When did Juliette decide she wanted to be Jules?”

“Juliette didn’t decide she wanted to be Jules. He realized he was Jules, not Juliette. There was no transformation.”

“Of course there was.”

“That’s how we first thought of it too, and how Jean-Pierre was still thinking of it when Jules and I left.”

“That makes sense to me.”

“Sort of— But as soon as you truly embrace that Jules was always a he, you see it differently.”

“You mean Jules believes that Juliette never existed?”

“Exactly.”

Ralph knows he’s no poker player. He’s sure his face registers incredulity as he lets out a long sigh and pushes his chair back from the table a little. “Do you really believe that?”

“Now— But not at first. Not for a long time. I thought it might be an extreme case of poor self-image, you know, that all teenagers struggle with.”

“Instead of?”

“ —Gender dysphoria.”

“That sounds like psychiatrist-speak.”

“It is— A lot of therapy.”

He wants to let her continue talking about the therapy, but senses there’s a more pressing issue behind what she’s told him. “Did Jean-Pierre see a therapist too?”

“He would have none of it. Thought it was a phase and Juliette would grow out of it— ”

“ —But she didn’t, and you left when you realized that Jean-Pierre wasn’t going to change. Why did you choose Picton?”

“A friend told me of an open position for an English teacher at the high school— We came without even visiting it first. We were that desperate. Luckily, it’s worked out well.”

“And Jean-Pierre?”

“We haven’t had a serious discussion since I left. I see him once a month when he picks up and drops off Jules.”

“When are you going to resolve the marriage one way or another?”

“Soon— Tomorrow, after Jules gets back from his weekend trip to Montreal.”

Ralph can’t help but interpret her response in terms of his own selfish desires. It’s good news or bad depending on how it’ll work out between her and Jean-Pierre. Either way, a no-lose outcome for her. She’ll get back together with Jean-Pierre or move on. He doesn’t want to think about it; he’d prefer to hear more about Jules. “How did you convince yourself that Jules’ situation was gender dysphoria?”

“How can you ever know something like that?” She pulls her chair closer to the table and leans forward as if she’s finally on the verge of divulging a long-held secret. “Please— Let’s not go there. I’ve already had enough therapy.”

He shuffles his chair back up to the table and takes her hand again. “What did it do for you?”

“It helped me realize that Jules is a survivor— That I’d worry less if I trusted him to take charge of his life.”

“But he was too young for that.”

Lynn wells up. “The alternative was unacceptable.”

“Would it have come to that?”

“Who knows?— Jules is tough— He’s put up with a lot— ”

“Like what?”

“I found blood on his sheets one morning when he was sixteen. He’d used a paper clip to scratch ‘I am not me’ into the underside of his forearm. Can you imagine doing that to yourself?”

She says that Jules had himself committed to a mental institution. Jean-Pierre drove to Picton to sign the papers because she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Jules missed Christmas at home that year. “When he was discharged— ” She dabs her eyes with her napkin. “When he was discharged, I had a stack of presents for him. He refused to open any. Said he didn’t deserve gifts— Had six weeks of schoolwork to make up for midyear exams. I’ll never forget— I didn’t think it was possible— I know I couldn’t have done it.”

He takes both her hands in his. “Done what?”

“Learned the course material in two weeks. Two A’s and two B’s, the only B’s he’s ever had.”

“Seriously?”

“He’s the best student in the school. I think getting those B’s scared him more than anything else.”

Ralph squeezes her hands gently and releases them. “I could tell when I met him how smart he is.”

“You have no idea.”

No, he doesn’t. Doesn’t have any idea at all about what Lynn has been through. With Jules. With Jean-Pierre. The conversation has been difficult for her. Ralph suspects she hasn’t been able to speak about it with anyone other than her therapist. He draws back a little from the table again, unsure of what to say next. She breaks the awkward silence.

“I’ve learned that Jules knows what he needs to do to keep going. He changed his name— Made a corset to hide his breasts— Insisted on top surgery— Began hormone therapy.”

“Testosterone injections?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get comfortable with that? Don’t they cause a woman to become sterile?”

“They do. I didn’t get comfortable— I had no choice.”

“If you could do it over, would you do anything differently?”

“That’s a question I try never to ask myself. I don’t know— I’d probably have tried to persuade him to have some of his eggs harvested and frozen— Too late now.”

“That wouldn’t have been consistent with the view that Juliette never existed.”

“You can’t expect everything to make sense— ” she says as she fidgets, using the nail of her right index finger to scratch away the polish from the nails on her left fingers. “Life for us was a state of constant triage.”

“And now?”

“We’re doing much better. We take it a day at a time.”

Ralph notices her use of we. He takes her hand again. “It’s not as bad anymore,” she says. “These days I worry about the future, not the present.”

“Life’s going to be tough for Jules,” he says.

“Until he has bottom surgery. Afterwards too probably— Whenever that is— Can you imagine not having a normal sex life?”

“Yes—unfortunately,” he says. They both laugh and let the conversation end there. He pays the bill.

They leave the restaurant and amble back to the hotel. When they reach the entrance, Ralph suggests walking along the waterfront. There’s something he wants to show her. He keeps hold of her hand until they come to a large inlaid stone compass on the promenade. He leads her to the western compass point, leaves her there and walks to the southeastern point. “Face outward,” he says. “I’ll do the same— These are the directions to our homes. As we travel along these lines, we move farther apart.” He walks back to her. “Isn’t this better?” He puts his arms around her and kisses her on the lips, more firmly this time than he had at her home. He clasps her hand again. They walk back to the hotel entrance and through the lobby to the elevator.

Outside his room, Ralph says, “Come in for a drink. It’s too early to call it a night.” He expects her to hesitate but she doesn’t.

Ralph and Lynn arrive at the retirement home as his mother is returning from church. They wait in the lobby as Claire goes up to the apartment to bring Gordon down to go out to lunch.

Aunt Lucy’s, his father’s favorite restaurant. They are greeted warmly and shown to a booth in an alcove. Claire recaps the minister’s sermon for Gordon. He asks several times why he hadn’t attended the service. Lynn learns firsthand why a meal off the premises with Gordon is an ordeal. At first he can’t remember whether he’s ordered and then, after he’s been reminded that he has, can’t recall what he’s asked for. Answering the same question for the third time, Ralph says, too curtly, gauging by Lynn’s expression, “Dad, the food will be here shortly. They’re going to poach the salmon the way you like it—pink in the middle.” He looks to Lynn and shrugs, partly in frustration, partly in apology for his tone. To her, he says, “All salmon is pink in the middle.” She squeezes his hand.

After lunch, Ralph and Lynn drop off Claire and Gordon at the retirement home and excuse themselves. Ralph announces that he’ll be back in the evening to say goodbye before returning to Toronto. They drive downtown to the lakefront and stroll through the park talking about one hundred thirty-five degrees of separation.

“We’re walking west along the lake,” Ralph says. “Toward your home. I’d like to spend time with you there.”

“I’ve thought about it since our dinner in Toronto,” she says. “I’d like to have you visit, but I don’t think the timing is right.”

“Why not?”

“It’s taken nearly two years for Jules and Jean-Pierre to come to a peaceful understanding. Another father figure in Jules’ life right now might be confusing. It’ll be different when he’s at college.”

“Not until then? What about the weekends Jules is in Montreal? I don’t have to see my parents every time I come to Toronto for business— Or you could visit me in New York.”

“I’m not sure.”

“How can I ease your mind?” He brings her close and kisses her. “Do you know I still love you?”

She blushes. “A part of me loves you too.”

“When were you last in New York City?”

“Nearly twenty years ago.”

“It’s time to fix that. Why don’t you come to my place in two weeks? We can visit a few museums and cook a meal together.”

She kisses him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says.