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