Darkness at Daylight

I know it’s been a long time but it was one hell of a week.

The fallout from Margery’s baptism was, in retrospect, nothing compared to the fury that followed the revelation that Jack Grade—JACK GRADE!—was “involved” with “that Leesa Mitzvah girl.”

I woke up one morning and padded out to the kitchen, with the view I was always boasting about, and went through the rituals of the morning. Coffee was brewed; a paper was collected, orange juice and the morning headlines completed the routine. The city had lost its green canopy and had yet to surrender to a blanket of snow so I looked out on gray trees stripped of their foliage and somber skies all painted from a dreary fall palette.

It took me a week, maybe ten days, to shake off the lethargy of that morning. A four-day trip to London for Miss Cousins gave me a way out; I stayed in for a few days and waited for the heavy sense of futility to end and hoped that it would be soon.

The problem, of course, is that you just never know when it will happen because both the beginning of depression and its miserable end follow their own mean timetable.

Jane covered for me at the office and checked in on me with feigned errands, or pretexts related to the administration of The Campanile. She was visiting the building at least twice a week now for business—plus daycare trips to Sra. Cabral—and was Toronto’s newest and most nervous driver.

With a subway system, streetcars and buses the city was well served with transit and for many people—myself included—a car was unnecessary. Jane had grown up downtown and had never owned a car or had need for one. Her growing business and reputation, however, had put paid to that particular invoice. Jane was now a true member of the commuting world and cautiously made her way about the city of Toronto endeavouring to avoid busy intersections and school zones.

She had begun to regularly extol the virtues of her shiny new hybrid vehicle (she was from the Annex, after all) and had adopted global warming, along with classic arena rock, as her latest cause. Ardie and I both waited for it to pass.

“Well, are we going to see you die of this business, Sir?” said Ardie one evening as he arrived at my front door and glanced at my disarray. I wasn’t dressed yet—it was after six—and the apartment was dark.

Ardie looked around the said nothing. His eyes swept from one place to another noting a newspaper on a chair, a teapot, cup and saucer and the TV remote control on the floor next to the sofa, the curtains drawn tightly closed. Finally turning on me I noted how it sometimes seemed as though Ardie was looking in me and not at me.

“I am not going to die, Ardie. My luck has run out,” I replied, not really looking for a laugh. “I am just waiting for the sun to come out.”

Ardie looked at me and his already deep voice dropped an octave to a conspiratorial tone. “It’s too late in the day for sunshine now, but try and believe it will be there in the morning,” he said, “and not just darkness at daylight.”

I didn’t want to go anywhere but Ardie insisted—in a fun way, actually—and before too long I had showered and dressed and agreed to join Ardie for potluck in 12B. Habashka had prepared supper and gone out for the evening so we had a carpet picnic in the living room, looking out at city lights.

The phone rang a few times and Ardie ignored it with ease, unlike most of us. The drama of “Jack and Leesa” had started to simmer and statements were being made and positions were being quietly taken.

Beebe’s family supper following Margery’s baptism was an ill-conceived affair. No one was really that eager to socialize all evening with the very same people they had just spent the afternoon with and conversation was forced. Ardie made game efforts to keep the mood light but finally gave up and joined Ted in the den to watch television.

Beebe had a liberal hand with a bottle of scotch and grew increasingly quiet throughout supper. Ted bantered with Kat (she had a good sense of humour) and everyone tried to avoid mentioning that Jack Grade was nowhere to be seen.

He arrived late and, according to Ardie, in something of a foul humour. He arrived as supper was almost finished to warm hellos from Margery, Kat and Suky and a glance of warning from his father. Beebe invited him to “help himself” and not too worry about being late.

The silence, said Ardie, was loud.

Jack explained that he wasn’t one bit late. Having already had supper—with “that Leesa Mitzvah girl”—he was just stopping by for coffee on his way home. Why, he could not have possibly come for supper when he had already made plans to dine with Leesa. They had, it turns out, had supper downtown and he had just returned her home.

“We’ve been seeing a lot of one another; she’s a fun girl,” he said. If it was a challenge it did not go unnoticed by anyone, particularly Beebe. Ardie always said that his sister knew that the real success was not in the picking of battles, but the timing of battles.

For a moment it seemed as though her tight smile would crease into an actual grin but it remained fixed in place, her gaze fixed on Jack across the table. Ted cleared his throat and suggested that “the two of you should have had supper with us” and Beebe’s eyes flickered but still she said nothing.

“Don’t forget to say ‘thank-you’ to Aunt Margery, Jack,” said Beebe, standing up from the table, “because she’s going to have a mass said for each of us.” Beebe smiled at Margery fondly to indicate her pleasure.

Ardie told me that when Beebe came out with that line he “damn well knew” that Beebe was going to teach Jack a thing or two about timing.

“Who knows? Maybe she can arrange an Indulgence, too,” she said, her eyes still bright and her smile still fixed. “Who really knows?”