The discovery was a shock to Garnet’s mother. She had known that her mother, a British nurse, and her father, a French-Canadian soldier, had met in 1944 while serving in France, that after the war they had married in England, and her mother had come to live in Canada with her new husband. But Garnet’s mother had been told that her father had died after a brief illness in 1952, when she was two years old. Her mother had remarried a short time later, and her stepfather, Henry Smith, had adopted Garnet’s mother as his own daughter and she had taken his last name. She had never known about the divorce.
The subject of her real father had rarely been brought up over the years, as Nana never wanted to talk about him. And now it appeared that 1952 was the year the divorce papers were signed.
Ever since Garnet’s mother discovered the papers, she had become almost obsessed with a search to find any information she could about her father and learning whether he was dead or perhaps alive, but so far her efforts had been fruitless.
Garnet pushed back the covers of her bed and went downstairs. As she expected, her mother was sitting in front of the computer, her fingers punching more inquiries onto the keyboard, with a half cup of coffee gone cold next to her.
“Any luck today?” Garnet asked.
“Mm. Not really,” her mother replied.
“You can’t find the name?”
Garnet’s mother looked over the top of her glasses. “No, that’s not the problem. I found the name on this website with telephone listings. But there are hundreds of St. Jean’s all over Canada, most of them in Quebec.”
“Have you tried the Kingston Penitentiary?” Garnet said, hiding a grin.
Her mother frowned. “The Kingston Penitentiary? What are you talking about?”
Garnet shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. “Well, you know how Nana never wanted to talk about him. If he isn’t dead, maybe he’s been in jail. Maybe that’s why he’s never called you.”
Her mother glared at her and Garnet couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“You’re not being helpful, Garnet,” her mother said, turning her eyes back to the computer screen.
“Oh, come on. I’m only kidding.” Garnet turned to go the kitchen for some breakfast, then stopped and swung back around. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you try sending out a mass mailing? You could use the telephone listings and send a letter to everyone with the last name and ask if they know or knew your father, or ask if they know where he might be. Or why don’t you just hire a private detective?”
“Hire a private detective. Now that’s a good idea. I guess I was just hoping there’d be a way to do it myself.” Garnet’s mother bit her lower lip. “I’d still like to know why Mum didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe she was too embarrassed.”
Her mother nodded. “You’re probably right. I know how it was when your father and I divorced. I felt like such a loser. Sometimes I wished I could have just crawled into a hole. And back in your Nana’s day, well, getting a divorce was nearly unheard of. She would have been too proud to go back to England where she would have had to admit failure to her family and friends. Auntie Janet told me years ago, when I was in England, that my grandparents had never approved of Mum’s first marriage. Grandfather called my father a fortune hunter from the start and his point was only proven when Grandfather’s business dealings failed and he was forced to sell the manor. When my father realized Mum’s family had no money, Auntie Janet said he decided to go back to Canada and took Mum with him. She was already expecting me. So maybe by saying he’d died, Mum thought she wouldn’t have to explain anything to me or anyone else.”
Garnet’s mother shrugged. “Still, you’d think she could have told me, her own daughter, especially once I was old enough to understand. Of course, with her illness, she probably waited too long and couldn’t tell me later. I suppose I’ll never really know what she was thinking. Your suggestion of hiring a private detective is a good one, though. I might look into it.”
Garnet walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice. As she waited for her toast, she thought of her grandmother and how things had been before she became ill. When they all lived in Toronto, and Grandpa, or at least the man Garnet had always known as her grandfather, was still alive. And before Garnet’s dad left.
When Nana used to say her name, it sounded like Gah-net, her English accent making it sound more sophisticated somehow. Garnet remembered the gingersnaps and their spicy aroma as Nana pulled them from the oven and placed them on a Wedgwood china plate. Nana always liked to use her good china when company came. “Otherwise,” she remarked, “when will it be used?”
And Nana loved Christmas. She made it a fun and elaborate affair in the proper English tradition, with crackers, silly paper hats, and the flaming Christmas pudding. “That was the best one ever,” she would declare every year when the last of the blue flame on the pudding had burnt itself out. Garnet often slept over at Nana and Grandpa’s. They would take her to the park, or shopping, or they would do simple things like read books and play games or watch movies together.
But the year Garnet turned seven, everything changed. It started with her father’s decision to leave and her parents’ divorce. Though her father, Neil, had always been away for long periods on business, it had still seemed strange at home when he packed up all of his things and moved to Hong Kong to take the job at the new head office. At first, he had called twice a week as he always had when he was away, but over the years, the calls had dwindled, especially since he had remarried.
Then one day, Nana stopped talking. She stopped eating and became weak. As Nana lay back against the pillow, with her once carefully groomed hair matted to her head, Garnet finally began to understand. The person before her was only the shell of the woman she had once known and loved. Her pale blue eyes could not see the reality before her, her spirit was hiding somewhere in that tiny, frail body, and her mind was trapped in another place and time, in a world of its own, a place she had not chosen and from which she could not escape. She died soon after.
Garnet took the last bite of her toast and decided to visit Elizabeth.
As Garnet neared Elizabeth’s house, she noticed a black Grand Am pull into the driveway. The motor was turned off and the door on the driver’s side swung open. She was surprised to see Dan jump out, wearing khaki pants and a short-sleeved shirt. He ran around to the passenger’s side to open the door, then took Elizabeth’s arm to help her as she steadied herself with her cane. Elizabeth appeared elegant in a navy suit accented with white trim.
Garnet turned her bike into the driveway and pulled off her headset. “Hello, Elizabeth,” she said.
Elizabeth’s face lit up. “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise? Hello, Garnet, dear.”
“Hey, Garnet,” Dan said, smiling. Then his eyes dropped down to Garnet’s bare legs below her denim shorts, before darting back up again, and Garnet felt an unexpected flutter dance through her.
Did he just check out my legs? She dismissed the thought immediately. Of course not, stupid, she told herself. Why would he check out her legs? “Hi,” Garnet said quickly, feeling her face grow hot as she turned her attention back to Elizabeth. “I was just riding through the neighbourhood.”
“Well, that’s good timing. We’re just returning