“I wonder if she married a Baker on purpose, just to change her name that way — from Cook to Baker. Would you call that a step up in the social scale?” She bit into another brownie.
“We hardly talked about her at all, even though we were sitting in her house and she’d died right there in the front hallway.” I shivered. “I wish I had had a chance to talk to her.”
“So why did she leave you this cottage? And why don’t you want it? I’d give my eyeteeth to have a place to go to, to get out of this city in the summer. Or to sell, and have all that lovely money to spend.”
“She didn’t leave me the cottage, my grandfather did. He didn’t get along with my mother…”
“Sounds like my family.” She picked up another brownie, caught my eye, and placed it on the plate again. “Do you think there’s any such thing as a happy family?”
“Not that I know of. Anyway, that’s why I don’t think I should keep the property. Mom hated the Cooks so much, she even told me they were all dead so that I’d stop asking questions about them. If I took something from them, it would be like denying her, saying that all her sacrifice was for nothing.”
“Now, wait just a minute.” Bonnie stood up and began to pace, her hair swinging back and forth. “First, your mother isn’t here to be hurt by whatever you do or don’t do. Second, perhaps leaving you the property was a way for your grandfather to make up to you, something he couldn’t do while he was still alive. Third, land is land. Someone has to own it. Why not you?”
“I don’t feel right about it.”
Bonnie groaned.
We watched while the sky outside deepened to the silvery gray that passed for darkness in the heart of the city. I pushed my mug away and stood. “I’m beat. I want to get out of these clothes and have a long, hot bath.”
“How’s the studying going?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Has a date been set for your exams yet?”
“End of June.” I shivered. “I’ve been dreaming about high school again: Grade 13 and I have to write a physics exam but I’ve skipped classes all year. If I fail, I won’t be able to go to university. And of course, I get the time wrong and can’t find the room. I’m walking down a long empty hall in squeaky shoes; all the doors are closed and I know I’m late.”
“I hate those dreams,” Bonnie sympathized.
“Stupid thing is, I didn’t even take physics in my last year in high school.”
“Drink hot milk before you go to bed. It always works for Ryan.” She bit her lip on the name.
Another minefield. I sneaked a glance at my watch: past seven. Will would be wondering what had happened to me.
Bonnie buried her face in a tea towel. When she looked up, her eyes were suspiciously bright, but there were no signs of tears. “I’m sick of crying over this. Robin says I have to let go, that there’s no way we can get custody.”
“I thought you’d worked that out,” I ventured. “Didn’t you settle on reasonable visiting rights?”
“Reasonable! One weekend once a month in Ottawa. It’s totally unfair. They’re my kids. Ryan’s nine, old enough to recognize the lies, but Megan’s only four. How’s she supposed to ever get to know me? She was just a baby when I left, when I had to leave. I’m just a visitor to her.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating just a little? She seemed pretty happy with you and Robin when I met her here last fall.”
“My mother was here too,” Bonnie said. “My own children don’t know me.” She sniffled.
“I don’t know what to say that I haven’t said before.” I stood up. I wanted to go, but couldn’t leave her here like this. “I never even knew I had a father until I was her age, and then my mother wouldn’t talk about him. I imagined all kinds of things. At least you’re there in her life. She’ll get to know you…”
“She hides under the blankets when I come to get her. She cries all the way to my mother’s house and when we get there, she won’t let me touch her. Every weekend it’s the same: by the time she’s willing to be friends with me again, it’s time for her to go home. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the effort.”
“Bonnie!”
“It’s so hard,” she cried. “Ryan can be so rude, you wouldn’t believe it. It’s all Harold’s fault, the stories he tells them about me.”
“You don’t know that he does that,” I pointed out. “He is a teacher, after all. He must deal with kids from broken homes all the time. Surely he wouldn’t try to make the situation more difficult for them by criticizing you. And he does let you visit.”
“On his terms.”
“Maybe it’s what the kids need right now, the security of being in their own place…”
“It’s been three years,” Bonnie retorted. “It would be so much better if I could have them with me all the time.”
“What about Robin? How does he feel about them? And what about your job? And your degree? And where would they go to school?”
“You’re as bad as my mother,” she sighed. “She says it serves me right, I should never have left them. What does she know? Her marriage was a disaster from day one and she only made it worse for all of us by staying in it.”
“Do you have to take them to your mother’s house?”
“I can’t afford a hotel. And none of my so-called friends will speak to me. They all blame me for leaving Harold, the ’perfect husband and provider.’ If they only knew. Do you know what he used to do?”
“I don’t want to hear this, Bonnie.”
She paid no attention. “He’d put white threads on the kitchen floor in the corners or under the shelves. If they were still there after I housecleaned, he’d make me scrub the floor again, on my hands and knees, with a toothbrush. He was real tricky about it: he didn’t do it every week, so I was never sure if they’d be there or not. Sometimes, he pretended to find them in places I knew I’d double-checked. He said it was for my own good. He said it was to make sure I kept his house clean enough for his children to grow up in.”
“How could you live with such a man?”
“I couldn’t. That’s why meeting Robin was so wonderful. He really cared about me, my wants, my needs. I didn’t believe a man could be so understanding.”
“Don’t any of your friends like him?”
“They’re mostly Harold’s friends, from work. All they see is how young Robin is. Ten years difference isn’t that big a deal, is it? If it was reversed and he was the one who was older, no one would think anything of it.”
“You shouldn’t let what other people think bother you so much. If you and Robin are happy together…”
“And what about my kids?” she interrupted. “It’s his fault they can’t come here any more. Harold used to let my mother bring them down here to visit, if I couldn’t get up to Ottawa. Then last Thanksgiving — you heard the fuss she made when Robin brought that street kid home for dinner. The whole city heard her.”
“It wasn’t that bad…”
“You should have seen her face when Megan picked a cockroach out of that boy’s backpack! I thought she’d die on the spot.” She affected a kind of giggle that turned into a gulping sob. She jumped up from the table and ran into the bathroom.
I carried the tea things back into the kitchen and then stood in