Law and Disorder. Mary Jane Maffini
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be able to have a great relationship. The presence of two teenage girls who viewed me as taking over their mother’s place currently presented a bit of a hurdle. Even if they were both attending university in Halifax, a five-hour drive from dear old Dad.
“What about them?”
“You know they’ve been keen on Dragon Boat races since we had those events here in Sydney the last couple of summers.”
“Right, and that’s terrific. Happy to contribute,” I said. This was going to be easy. Sponsoring the little beasts while they rowed for a good cause. Why not?
“You sound enthusiastic,” he said, that teasing note creeping into his voice. I loved that voice, made my knees weak.
“I am,” I said, “in a weak-kneed way, I am.”
“Well, that’s great. They’ll be arriving in Ottawa this week.”
“Did you say Ottawa?”
“I’m glad you’re not too weak-kneed to be listening.”
“They’re coming to Ottawa?”
“Quit teasing. You know how much I appreciate this.”
“Remind me why again?”
“The Ottawa Dragon Boat Race Festival is next week. I thought it had all been arranged, Camilla. We discussed it, and I talked to Alvin about it too the other day, and he said it was great. Don’t you remember?”
In fact, I didn’t. “It’s just late, like you said, and I’m groggy. That’s terrific. The Dragon Boat Races are a lot of fun. Are you coming with the girls? Because that would be really excellent.”
“I have a work commitment that I can’t get out of. Believe me, I’ve tried, but it’s a course, and I’m locked into it. No choice.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be sorry to miss out on the race and, now that I think about it, I wouldn’t mind seeing you either.”
I said, “It’s wonderful. They’re coming with a team, right?”
Ray was quiet for a second. Words like wonderful do not come naturally to me, especially in connection to visitors, aside from Ray, himself. Maybe I had overdone it again.
“Right,” he said at last. “But there’ll only be the two of them and they’ll be busy. They’re a real pair of water rats. They love this racing thing. And they don’t mind sharing a room. Think how much worse it could be.”
Despite the time of night and my state of mind, I managed not to say that I couldn’t think of how it could be any worse.
What is a lawyer’s ideal weight? -Five pounds, including the urn.
Morning comes early in the middle of June. When the first light of dawn scratched at my eyeballs somewhere around four thirty, I sat up in bed and started making notes.
48 By the time I climbed out of my bed, I had a plan. A long shower and my favourite green apple shampoo helped me to feel alive at least. I shook my hair dry and slipped into a pair of light cotton capris and a sleeveless top to set out with Gussie through the sleeping neighbourhood. I banged on Alvin’s closed bedroom door as we stumbled by. Spare him the sympathy. He had it coming.
Twenty minutes later, Alvin gazed blearily at me across the kitchen. He squinted and turned back to sip his Cape Breton-style morning tea. “It’s too early for you to be so grouchy, Camilla. And it’s not fair of you to wake me up.”
“Time to come clean, Alvin.”
He glanced at me warily.
I pulled up the second stainless steel and leather chair. “I had a long talk with Ray last night. By any chance is there some small detail you might have forgotten to mention?”
Alvin had taken on the look of a mouse in his mousehole while the cat sat outside tapping its claws on the floor. In this relationship, I so rarely get to be the cat.
“Like what?” he said, sipping the bracing black tea.
We both knew perfectly well that there were many many things Alvin could have forgotten to mention out of self-preservation, playfulness, or other Alvinesque reasons.
“Oh say, like Ashley and Brittany? Ray’s daughters.”
“What about them?” he said.
“Well, apparently they’re arriving this week for the Dragon Boat Races. And they are staying here, in this house. Sleeping arrangements have been all worked out. Isn’t that great? Everyone knows about it. Except me, of course.”
Alvin swallowed. “Didn’t I talk to you about all that?”
“I don’t think you did, Alvin.”
“I meant to. I had a chat with Ray one night when he was looking for you. I don’t know where you could have been at the time.”
“Walking the Ferguson family dog, I imagine. That is the extent of my social life lately.”
“Whatever.”
“And what all did you work out with Ray? Be precise.”
“That they’d stay here, of course. What else would you plan to do with them? They’re practically family. That’s what I said to Ray. And he told me when they were coming and all that.”
“That must have been when you filled me in on the details.”
“Okay, okay. So I forgot. Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla, you always go on about everything. I have a whole lot on my mind lately. Now that you’ve shut down Justice for Victims, I have to find another job, and if you sell this house, I have to get another place to live. I’m working really hard to build my cooking skills and that’s taking a lot of time and psychic energy.”
“Spare me, Alvin.”
“Everything is not about you, Camilla,” he sniffed.
I have learned not to be distracted into losing my temper.
“But this is about me. Don’t you think I might want to know when they’re arriving, for instance?”
“I suppose.”
“So did you write down the arrangements?”
“I knew I’d remember them.”
“Fair enough. And do you remember them?”
I tapped my fingers on the table during the longish pause.
Eventually, Alvin said, “Not exactly.”
“Oh, great. Well, they’re going to be here sometime, so you’d better figure out what needs to be done and how you’re going to do it. Consider it a matter of life and death. I’d like a plan after I get back from my first meeting.”
Alvin said, “But you don’t have meetings any more.”
I met P. J. Lynch for breakfast at the Second Cup near the Courthouse. I was already waiting with an iced latte and a blueberry muffin when he blew in the open door. His carroty hair was a bit rumpled, as were his yellow T-shirt and his cargo shorts. Maybe he’d slept in that shirt. Or maybe not, as he cultivates a wrinkled style. Particularly on a Saturday.
He stood in line until he snagged a double espresso and three chocolate biscotti.
“Any word?” I asked when he sat down.
“About what?” he said when he had inhaled his breakfast, setting some kind of chocolate biscotti eating record.
P. J. was a reporter who put