Suddenly the sunshine I had welcomed in the first hours of the day seemed too bright and too harshly revealing. I thought of Jason Brodnitz, the broken, defeated man I had seen in court on the day he withdrew his suit for custody of his girls; then I thought of 3, the sadistic monster in Cristal Avilia’s journal. Two lives running their parallel courses: one public, one hidden – both now ended. All the secrets would be unpacked. The agony that lay ahead for Ginny and her girls was unimaginable.
“Are you going to represent Ginny?” I asked.
“Looks that way,” Zack said. “And I’ve got a call in to Sean. Ginny trusts him, and he’s familiar with Brodnitz’s background.”
“This is all so terrible,” I said.
“Agreed,” Zack said. “But there’s work to be done. I’m going to be holed with my client and the cops for a while. Could you call Keith and let him know what’s happened? And, Jo, I’d be grateful if you’d track down Blake and tell him to get away for a few days till the dust settles.”
Leopold Crescent, the tree-lined street of handsome old houses where Jason Brodnitz lived and died, was in our neighbourhood. Getting from here to there in a city the size of Regina is seldom a logistical problem, but it can be an emotional one. Often the shortest distance between two points is a straight line that leads past the house of an ex-husband, an ex-friend, or an ex-lover. That day every route between my parking space in front of the Cheese Shop and my house took me past streets that were arteries to the Brodnitz house. I calculated the odds, drove straight down 13th Avenue to Albert Street, and made it home without running into a police barrier.
As soon as I walked in the door, I called Keith. There was no way to break the news of Jason Brodnitz’s murder gently, and when Keith heard he sounded stricken. But he was an experienced politician, accustomed to assessing disaster and moving on. He hadn’t known Jason Brodnitz except as an impediment to Ginny’s future, so he didn’t waste any energy on crocodile tears. His analysis of the situation was cogent: the faster Ginny was cleared of suspicion, the better, and the lawyer he wanted to do the job was Zack.
“She needs the best, and that’s your husband,” Keith said. “I’d ask him myself, but if the request comes from you, he’ll do it.”
“No request necessary,” I said. “Zack’s already signed on.”
“One less hurdle to jump,” Keith said. “I don’t want Sean Barton handling this.”
“Don’t do your victory lap yet,” I said. “Zack told me he needs Sean’s help on the case.”
“That’s okay, as long as…” Keith stopped himself. “Forget it. Zack knows what he’s doing.” He sighed. “Life is never easy, is it?”
“Nope. That’s why the Scots gave us Glenfiddich.”
When Keith laughed, he sounded like himself, and I felt better. After I talked to Blake Falconer, I felt worse. His reaction to Jason Brodnitz’s murder was unnerving. He didn’t seem surprised. “People like that deserve to die,” he said, and his voice was toneless. When I didn’t respond, he ended the silence. “Is there anything else?” He didn’t question Zack’s decision that he should leave town. He agreed and said he’d be in touch. As I dropped my cell in my bag, I felt a jab of dread. Like Miss Clavel in Lena’s favourite Madeline bedtime story, I knew that something was not right.
The morning papers were still on the kitchen table. I flipped through them. The picture of Ginny and her daughters coming out of church had made the front page of all three. It was a clean sweep.
Until that moment I had been baffled by Jason Brodnitz’s decision to call a press conference to clear his name. He was not naive. If he was the man Cristal Avilia referred to as 3, Jason would know that media scrutiny would, in the end, expose him. But more than once, Zack had pointed out the obvious to me: if human beings were always guided by reason, there’d be no work for lawyers.
When human beings are choked with resentment, overcome by anguish, or filled with rage, passion trumps reason. As I looked at the morning papers with their images of Ginny in possession of everything Jason must have longed for – public affirmation, a brilliant career, the love of his daughters – I understood why Jason had called the press conference. If he were destroyed, his family would not be spared. It was an ugly thought, and I felt the need to banish it. For me, the solution was to swim laps until the tension disappeared from my body and my mind was clear. I changed into my suit and headed for our pool. Jill Oziowy’s phone call caught me just as I was about to dive in.
As always when she was working a story, Jill’s adrenalin was pumping. “This Ginny Monaghan thing is going to be big,” she said, “and you’ve spent the last three weeks with her. You’re in the right place at the right time. Any chance you’d be willing to go once more into the breach for NationTV? On air would be great, but you can do background. We’ll take what we can get.”
“Definitely not on air,” I said. “And I’ll have to think about the other. I may just be too close to this one. Zack’s representing Ginny Monaghan.”
“How about trading a little information?”
“We can give it a try,” I said. “You go first.”
“Well, at the moment, we’re playing connect the dots with the Cristal Avilia case and this one.”
I was shocked that someone from outside had linked the cases so quickly. “What makes you think there’s a connection?” I said.
There was an edge of exasperation in Jill’s voice. “Oh come on, Jo. All during the campaign there were rumours about Jason Brodnitz being involved with hookers. Cristal Avilia was a hooker. And now they’re both dead.”
“So somebody who doesn’t like hookers and johns killed them both?”
“Or somebody who was married to a john got pissed off at him for associating with prostitutes and risking her career and reputation. Look at the facts: Jason announces a press conference where, tittle-tattle has it, he’s going to identify Ginny’s campaign as the source of the rumours besmirching his good name. But before he gets a chance to tell his side of the story, he’s murdered, and guess who finds the body? Ginny. And guess who removes the knife sticking into Jason’s chest?”
Now it was my turn to be exasperated. “Come on. Do you honestly think someone as disciplined as Ginny Monaghan is going to jeopardize her future because her ex-husband is on the prowl?”
Jill was measured. “I don’t know because I don’t know Ginny Monaghan. You tell me.”
“She didn’t do it,” I said. “I’ve heard Ginny talk about her training as an athlete. Reading a situation and staying in control is second nature to her.”
“So, are you sporting a Monaghan for PM button?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“Got anything more?”
“Nope.”
“That’s a fair start. Keep working on the Avilia-Brodnitz murders.”
“I thought I was working on a program about women in politics.”
“Ginny Monaghan’s a woman in politics,” Jill said. “Boy, talk about a role model. Ginny’s ex-husband threatens to derail her career, so his girlfriend gets pushed off a balcony and he gets a kitchen knife in the heart. Who says women aren’t as tough as men?”
I rang off, dove into the pool, and started doing laps. On days as sunny and warm as this one, I often longed for my old outdoor pool, sometimes so much that I went over to Mieka’s and swam there. Today I was happy to be cut off from the world – safe in my house. I was still swimming when Zack came home. “Want some company?” he said.
“I’d love some,” I said.
In a few minutes, he was back, wearing trunks. He lowered himself onto the steps that led into the pool, eased in, and sighed with pleasure. “God, this feels good,” he said. “And necessary. I had fucking leg spasms this morning.”
“Because we haven’t been doing this enough,” I said.
“There’s a lot of things we haven’t been doing enough,” Zack said. We swam in companionable silence. After half an hour, Zack said. “Time to go. I’ve got to stop by the office before I go to court.”
“What about lunch?”
“I’ll grab something.” He moved towards the stairs and started pushing himself out of the pool. I climbed out too. Zack frowned. “Hey, you don’t have to stop. Stay in. Take it easy.”
“I want to watch you towel off.”
He grinned. “That means I get to watch too.”
We showered and then went to our room to dress. “Jill called this morning,” I said. “NationTV wants me to do something on Ginny Monaghan.”
Zack shook his head. “Could you give this one a pass?”
“I already have,” I said. “I told Jill that you’re representing Ginny. She understands the problem. We did, however, agree to some selective information sharing.”
Zack raised an eyebrow. “Did you get anything good?”
“The media are working on the link between Jason’s murder and Cristal Avilia’s.”
Zack stopped drying his head. “And?”
“Jill floated a scenario that Ginny killed them both because she was angry about his association with a hooker.”
Zack snorted. “Jeez, the stuff that’s out there, eh? Well, here’s some info that’s not for sharing. When I got to the Brodnitz house, Ginny wasn’t alone with the deceased. Margot was with her.”
I poured some lotion into my hand and rubbed it on Zack’s back. There were some worrying abrasions there – pressure sores – too much time in the chair and not enough time taking care of skin. I didn’t say anything, but when Zack flinched the first time I touched a raw spot, I went into his bathroom for the Polysporin and dabbed some on the abrasions. “So, what was Margot doing there?” I said.
“Hovering,” Zack said. “When it comes to her clients, Margot’s part mother hen, part pit bull.”
“That’s an interesting image,” I said.
“Accurate too,” Zack said. “Margot’s a good person to have on your side. She’s protective and she doesn’t back away from a fight. According to Margot, the first she’d heard about Jason’s news conference was on Canada This Morning. Of course, Margot being Margot called him and told him not to do anything till he’d talked to her.”
“So Margot talked to Jason today,” I said.
“Don’t I wish? He didn’t answer his phone. Margot left a voice mail. At that point, as far as she was concerned, Jason was just an ex-client who was about to do something stupid. She wanted to talk to him, but he wasn’t at the top of her list. She had appointments with clients who were racking up billable hours. His news conference wasn’t until midafternoon. She thought she had plenty of time.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No. She tried calling him a couple more times, then she assumed he just wasn’t answering his phone, so she went to his house.”
I took a pair of silk briefs from Zack’s dresser and handed them to him. “And Ginny was there. It must have been quite a scene to walk in on.”
“It’s one I won’t forget for a while.” Zack shuddered. “There was so much blood. Ginny was soaked. By the time we were finished with Debbie and her gang, someone had notified the press, and they got some peachy shots of Ginny coming out of her ex-husband’s house covered in blood.”
“She’s not under arrest?”
“No. The police can’t do anything until they collect the evidence. If they think Ginny’s concealing something, they’ll keep an eye on her.”
“So what’s next?”
“Ginny’s going to call me after she’s talked to the twins.”
“Those poor girls.”
“Losing a father when you’re that young has to be rough.”
“I wonder how Em and Chloe will remember him.”
Zack shrugged. “Time will tell. Right now the priority is to get their mother out from under this.” He pulled on his socks – cashmere, winter and summer, because his circulation was so poor. “Ginny wants you there when she and I get together. I said I’d ask, but nobody’s going to blame you for taking a bye on this one.”
I screwed the lid back on the Polysporin. “Lately, my attempts to put my head in the sand haven’t met with much success. I might as well do what I can.”
We finished dressing in silence, weighed down by the thought of what lay ahead. Zack chose a lime green and hot pink tie that I especially liked. He was knotting it when the phone rang. He answered and mouthed Ginny’s name.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said. “Joanne’s coming too.” He paused, listening. “I’ll tell her.” He rang off. “Ginny’s grateful. Time to move along, Ms. Shreve.”
“I know,” I said. I thought of the leg spasms, the abrasions on his back, and the weariness in his voice. “Zack, let’s still go to the lake tonight. I’ve already done the shopping. Mieka’s looking forward to having Taylor. And this case will be here when you get back.”
He looked at me hard. “That is so tempting.”
“Give into temptation,” I said. “After the meeting at Ginny’s we can swing by the house, pick up the dogs, and have the barbecue smoking and the martinis poured by six.”
“Sold,” he said. “I love the lake before the people come. It’s nice to be safe from human mischief.”
“People do complicate things,” I said.
We took Zack’s car to Ginny’s – a mistake as it turned out because a shiny new Jaguar with a vanity plate AMICUS is more noticeable than a Volvo station wagon of indeterminate age with a licence plate that says nothing. There were media vans parked in front of Ginny’s condo. Zack pulled into a parking spot well away from them. “What the hell do they think they’re going to see?”
“Us,” I said. “Lucky you wore your pretty tie.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Jo, how do you think Ginny should handle this publicly? It’s not just a question of optics; her behaviour could have ramifications down the line.”
“Legal ramifications?”
“Yes. If this comes to trial – which I hope to God it doesn’t – Ginny’s behaviour in the next few hours could be significant.”
“You can’t expect her to perform, Zack. She must still be in shock. Whatever her feelings were about Jason, seeing him like that must have been a nightmare.”
“Ginny’s strong – she’ll do what she has to do.”
“Then have her issue a brief statement expressing her shock and sorrow and asking that the media respect her children’s right to privacy at this sad time.”
Zack grunted. “You really think the media are going to buy into that?”
“Reporters have kids of their own. They should know when to draw the line.”
“How about the voters? What do you think Jason’s death does to Ginny’s election chances?”
“It finishes them,” I said simply. “Ginny may not have been charged, but the suspicion that she had something to do with his murder is there. And purely pragmatically, she needs to be campaigning, but the moment she steps out in public, she’s fair game – the press can ask her whatever they want.”
“So she just holes up in her condo until this blows over?”
“It beats the alternative.” I pointed at the media vans. “Those vans are going to be a permanent fixture till the police figure out what happened to Jason.”
“Any suggestions? Deb isn’t going to let Ginny leave the jurisdiction.”
“Lawyers’ Bay is near Regina. It’s a gated community, and we have a guest house sitting there empty.”
Zack smiled approvingly. “Good plan, Ms. Shreve.” He glared at the media. “Time to face the ravening hoards.” He opened his door and reached into the backseat for his chair. The TV people were on him like the proverbial ticks on a dog. Zack unfolded his chair and gave them his barracuda smile. “How about backing off until I get into my chair? And, incidentally, the answer is ‘no comment.’ ”
The bravest of the group stood his ground. “We haven’t asked anything yet,” he said.
“Whatever you ask, that’s the answer.” Zack slid into its seat and wheeled towards the condo. I stayed right behind him.
There were six of us at the meeting: Ginny, Keith, Margot, Sean Barton, Zack, and me. Ginny was sitting cross-legged on the window seat. Framed by a wash of blue sky, her open-necked white shirt crisp, Ginny could have been an ad for the benefits of condo living, but her face was pale and her eyes unfocused. We exchanged muted greetings, then Zack moved close enough to Ginny to take her hand. He always connected physically with his clients. It was, he said, his way of telegraphing to a judge or jury that his clients were human beings in whom he believed.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay. Telling the kids was rough.”
“How are they doing?”
“I’m glad they have each other.”
“Joanne has an idea that should help,” Zack said. He glanced at me.
“I thought you and the girls might like to get away for a few days,” I said.
Ginny’s eyes moved to Zack. “Will the police let me do that?”
“I’ll talk to the inspector in charge of the case and see. I think I can get her to agree. The cottage we own is just forty-five minutes from the city, so if the police have questions you can be at headquarters in an hour. I think as a good faith gesture, you should stay in town till tomorrow night. By then the first rush of questions will be over. That’ll also give you a chance to issue a short statement expressing your shock and sadness about Jason’s death and asking the media to respect your daughters’ right to privacy at this sad time.”
Ginny nodded. “I should also make certain everyone knows I’m still in the race.”
“Good point,” Keith said. “But we have to make sure we get the balance of regret and determination right in your statement. Incidentally, Jo’s right about getting out of town. If you’re here, you’ll be getting ugly questions, and every story will link your name with Jason’s.”
Ginny’s laugh was grim. “Ginny Monaghan, ex-wife of murdered businessman Jason Brodnitz, dropped in on a daycare centre today.”
“You’ve got it.” Keith said. “Let’s get the statement out, then talk about how we can handle the campaign without Ginny.”
Crafting a short statement that conveyed both sorrow and grit proved daunting, and as everyone worked on the wording, my mind drifted to the day my own father died, and I felt an almost palpable connection to Ginny’s daughters, sequestered somewhere in the condo. Finally, I got up and walked over to Ginny. “Would it be all right if I talked to the girls? I thought I could mention the cottage.”
Ginny nodded. “Actually, I’d appreciate that. I don’t know quite what to do there. I think they’re in Em’s room – down the hall, second door on the left.”
When I knocked, both twins came to the door. They’d been crying, but they were poised. “Were you looking for the bathroom?” one of the twins said.
“Actually, I was looking for you. Could we talk for a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
The room had the usual teenage clutter, plus an impressive array of home-gym equipment: a treadmill, a stationary bike, a step bench, and an assortment of free weights. “If you can find a place to sit, sit,” one of the twins said.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m sorry. I really can’t tell you two apart. You’re…?”
“Chloe,” she said.
I cleared off a corner of the bed and told them about the cottage. As they listened, some of the misery drained from their faces. “That would solve one of our problems,” Em said, snaking her arm around her sister’s waist. “It’s hard to know what you’re supposed to do when your father dies.”
“I remember that,” I said. “Sitting in my room while my mother was downstairs talking to people.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen. My father died an hour before my sweet sixteen birthday party was supposed to start. My mother made me promise not to tell the guests because she’d gone to a great deal of trouble arranging things, and she didn’t want the party ruined.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped. “She must have been a witch.”
“She was,” I said.
“So what did you do?” Em said.
“I went to the party. It was being held at a place called the Granite Club in Toronto – very classy. I told my best friend, Sally, what had happened. She knew one of the boys who worked in the bar, and she got him to give us a bottle of cherry brandy and a package of Rothmans. We went outside and drank the brandy and smoked the cigarettes until I threw up on my dress. Then we went to my sweet sixteen.”
Chloe’s eyes were huge. “Your mother must have been furious.”
“She didn’t talk to me for a month.”
The corners of Em’s mouth twitched into a smile. “But it was worth it, eh?”
I nodded. “It was worth it.”
“So what did your dad do for a living?” Em asked. Her tone was casual, but as she waited for my answer, she was intent.
“He was a doctor.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “Not like us.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” I said.
“Right,” Chloe said. “We’re the incredible Brodnitz twins. Too bad our father was a pimp.”
“Let it go,” her sister said. “He’s dead.”
“But we’re not,” Chloe said, and she ran from the room.
Em’s eyes flashed with anger. “There are times when I hate both my parents.” She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “Coach would say that’s a waste of my energy.”
“Coach would be right. Em, is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes,” she said wearily. “Wait three minutes and go knock on Chloe’s door. She didn’t thank you for the cottage, and if she doesn’t do the right thing, she beats herself up for days.”
Chloe’s room was immaculate; so were her manners as she apologized for losing her temper and for neglecting to thank me for offering their family the cottage. As I walked back to the meeting, I knew that being Chloe Brodnitz had never been easy, but it was about to become a lot harder.
By the time I returned to the meeting, the statement had been drafted and the focus had shifted to tasks.
Keith spoke first. “Six days to E-Day, and Ginny, unless there’s a miracle, I don’t think you’re going to be able to campaign. My thought is that we establish a group, the Friends of Ginny Monaghan – high-profile, well-respected people who will go into the community and act as your surrogates. What do you think?”
Ginny’s smile was wan. “Looks good on paper, Keith. Let me know if there’s a stampede when you ask for volunteers to risk their reputation for an alleged sexaholic who may have murdered her ex-husband, the pimp.”
Keith didn’t flinch. “Well, you’re looking at volunteer number one,” he said. “As for the rest, you underestimate your power, kiddo.”
Ginny bit her lip. “Thanks,” she said. “I should have known…”
Margot had been quiet during the discussion. Now she was ready to contribute. “Well, before there’s an Oprah moment here, I’m appointing myself the Friend of Jason Brodnitz.”
Zack looked at her curiously. “That’s a new wrinkle. Not many lawyers continue working for a client after he’s dead.”
“I do,” Margot said sharply. “Jason may have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t a pimp. I’ve dealt with those guys and they always made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I never got that with him.” Margot turned to Ginny. “I know this may seem as if I’m not on your side, but I am. I have a sense that when I find out the truth about him, I’m going to find out who would have a reason to want him dead.”
Zack shot his new partner a hard look. “You’re wasting your time, Margot. The police are digging into every aspect of Brodnitz’s life even as we speak.”
“I have my own sources,” Margot said.
“Who?”
“Mandy Avilia and my sister, Laurie. One of them will know who Cristal’s boyfriend was, and I’m putting my money on the boyfriend as our bad guy.”
“I’ll come along,” Sean said. “I’m working with Zack on this. I may pick up something useful.”
Margot caught my eye. It was just a flicker, but I knew she didn’t want Sean along.
“Round-trip it’s a five-hour drive, Sean,” I said. “Zack won’t be able to spare you for that long. I’ll go with Margot. I met Mandy Avilia at Cristal’s funeral. We didn’t have a chance to talk that day, and I have some questions of my own.”
“So, it’s settled then,” Margot said briskly. She stood and smoothed her skirt. And with that we went our separate ways.
Zack and Sean stayed behind to discuss the case with Ginny, but Keith, Margot, and I left together. When the elevator doors closed, Keith chuckled. “That was a pretty smooth manoeuvre you two pulled off. I don’t think Sean knew what hit him.”
“I disagree,” I said. “Sean doesn’t miss much.”
“I don’t like that boy a bit,” Margot said. “You’ve done your good deed, Joanne. The prospect of a day with Sean did not set my girlish heart a-flutter, but you don’t have to come to Wadena.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’m tired of sitting around, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I want this to be over, Margot. Let’s go to Wadena and find out what we can.”
Margot looked at me approvingly. “You know, I think you and I are going to get along just fine. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine.”
Our cottage was in an area called Lawyers’ Bay. The spot had been named in the 1940s with a sneer by locals nettled by the fact that Henry Hynd, a Regina lawyer, had snapped up the horseshoe of land fringing the prettiest bay on the lake. Henry and his wife, Winifred, were long-range thinkers. They planned a big family, and their dream was that their children would grow, marry, build cottages of their own on Lawyers’ Bay, where Henry and Winifred (who was called Freddy by friend and foe alike) would watch them swim and grow during the hot months of summer.
But life has a way of scuttling plans. When the Hynds’ first child, a son, was born, Freddy almost died. Lawyers’ Bay remained undeveloped until their son, Henry Junior, also a lawyer, married Harriet and they produced a single child, Kevin. Our cottages had come about because Kevin Hynd, in his first year at law school, found a family in four students in his first-year class. After Kevin and his friends graduated and became successful law partners, they built the cottages that Henry and Freddy Hynd had dreamed of.
By the time Zack and I married, Henry Senior and Freddy had gone to their respective rewards, and Henry Junior and Harriet were living in cozy proximity in an assisted-living home in Regina. The families occupying the lake homes that dotted Lawyers’ Bay bore little resemblance to the senior Hynds’ dream of happy families in cottages with squeaky doors, sandy floors, and guest books with wooden covers, of memories that focused on good times and good coffee.
Kevin never married; Blake Falconer’s marriage ended in tragedy; Chris Altieri committed suicide; Delia Wainberg married a man who graduated bottom of their class at law school and never practised law but found joy in raising their daughter and in creating life-sized woodcarvings of animals and people. And there was Zack, who, when we met, had been the most successful and solitary of them all. He had built his cottage at the urging of his partners. He hired a housekeeper, bought a big, expensive boat; then, except for the three long weekends of summer, he forgot about the place. That changed when we got together.
From the beginning I loved the cottage. The architect had understood the importance of light, and there were enough windows and skylights to please even me. Because of Zack’s wheelchair, all the rooms were large and all the doorways wide. Zack had handed the interior designer a blank cheque and told him to do whatever he thought would work. The decision had been wise.
The designer had chosen the coolest of monochromes for the walls; sleekly unobtrusive furniture for the public rooms, and abstract art throughout the house that was pleasing but not challenging. Only the concert-sized Steinway and the collection of moths mounted in shadow boxes were of Zack’s choosing.
When Zack and I married, he told me to make whatever changes I wanted to. I didn’t change a thing. The large uncluttered spaces were great for a family that included a man in a wheelchair, a daughter still at home who had many friends, two granddaughters, two big dogs, and two cats. I liked the spare decor and the hardwood floors. My favourite room was the sunroom that overlooked the lake. The designer had found a partners’ table at a country auction – a massive piece with twelve matching chairs. It was ornate, out of fashion, and, for that reason, dirt cheap.
That late afternoon, Zack and I had our pickerel there, so we could watch the sun blaze its shining path on the lake and keep an eye on Pantera and Willie.
After Pantera ripped down the hill, did a face plant into the sand, shook his square head, lumbered into the lake, and began swimming, Zack turned to me. “The dogs love it here.”
“No leashes,” I said. “I love it too. Same reason.”
“Any time you want to move out here, say the word.”
“Four more years,” I said. “After Taylor finishes high school.”
“Fair enough,” Zack said. “So what are you going to do out here?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“I’m going to get an office in town,” Zack said. “No partners, no clients, just my name on the door. Pantera and I aren’t like you and Willie. We need a destination.”
After we ate, we went down to the lake. It was chilly, and I went back up to the cottage to get our jackets. When I glanced out the window, Zack was sitting on the dock with Pantera. They were at peace, and I wondered how long it would be before they were at peace again.
I walked down to the dock and handed Zack his jacket. “Penny for your thoughts,” I said.
“Just trying to sort out the tangle. There’s always a loose end that starts unravelling it all. I’m just trying to figure out where it is.”
“Maybe Margot and I will find it in Wadena.”
Zack leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t be surprised. One lousy choice and an entire life changes.”
“Are you talking about what happened to you?” I said.
“No,” Zack said. “No complaints here. No one has had a better life than me.”
“Don’t use the past tense,” I said. “You and I are just hitting our stride.”
We sat in silence as the path of light on the lake grew wider and finally disappeared. The sky grew dark. Usually, this was the signal for other cottagers to turn on their lights, but that night there was no one there but us. There was a tang of skunk in the air and, except for the slap of the waves on the shore, the world was quiet. Finally, Zack sighed. “Time to go to bed, Ms. Shreve. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
“I know,” I said. “But we still have tonight.”