The Birthday Lunch (8 page)

“Sure,” he says. “And a cigarette.”

Hal lights up and watches the smoke spiralling toward the rainy window. “Did I ever tell you it was your mother who introduced me to cigarettes?” he says. “I never smoked until I met Lily. And I never drank. Mother was a strict Presbyterian and cigarettes and alcohol weren’t permitted in our house.”

Claudia has heard this declaration many times before. From now on, she thinks, there is nothing, absolutely nothing we say or do that won’t remind us of Mom; her absence is so palpable it has left nothing untouched. “What is that?” Claudia says when they hear a jangle of musical notes.

“The new doorbell. I got rid of the damn buzzer. It drove your mother crazy.”

Claudia goes down the front stairs and opens the door. A guy she vaguely remembers kissing at a high school dance
stands on the doormat. For the life of her she cannot remember his name, but he remembers hers. “Sorry for your loss, Claudia,” he says and hands her a cellophane wrapped vase of flowers. Claudia thanks him and carries the flowers upstairs to the kitchen. Hal asks who they are for. “For us, Dad,” she says.

Hal nods. Of course. When there is a death in the family, people send flowers.

Claudia unwraps the cellophane and hands her father the card but he waves it back. “You read it.”

“My deepest sympathy to you and your family. Clive,” Claudia reads. “Who is Clive?”

“Clive Alyward. He owns the funeral parlour four doors away from Better Old Than New.”

“The undertaker sent flowers?”

“Clive and I are friends,” Hal says. “We often sit together at Kiwanis luncheons.”

Luncheons
, a word Claudia remembers hearing Grandmother Grace use. She asks her father where he wants her to put the flowers.

Hal waves his cigarette. “Anywhere,” he says, and Claudia carries the vase of carnations, baby’s breath and ferns into the living room and places it on her grandmother’s rosewood desk.

The bell chimes and this time when Claudia opens the front door, there is Sophie Power, the woman who lives in the apartment below her parents’, a tall, long-jawed woman somewhere in her seventies, a woman her mother liked, a bashful woman who keeps her head down as she speaks.

“I made supper for you,” she says, handing Claudia the basket. “Mind the chicken. It hasn’t been long out of the oven.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Power.”

Sophie mumbles a you-are-welcome and ducking her head, she bolts into her apartment and closes the door. There. She did it. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Yes, it was hard but she got through it without blubbering about Lily being the nicest person in town, how much she will miss their chats, how she can’t believe she won’t see her again, how sorry she is for the family. Sophie remembers that after the final stroke took Rolf, people kept repeating how sorry they were for her loss until she thought she would scream to the heavens for them to stop. “Say something else, talk about the weather, the crops, the cows, anything,” Sophie wanted to scream, “but don’t say I am sorry for your loss.”

Since then she has come to understand that the words were spoken out of kindness by neighbours who couldn’t think of a blessed thing to say; the plain truth is that when a loved one dies, there isn’t much you can say, especially to a family struck down by sudden death. Better to be doing rather than saying. Speak less, do more is Sophie’s motto, which is why she got busy in the kitchen this morning. At some time or other, the McNabs will get around to eating and it will be easier for them if a home-cooked meal is waiting. Every day this week she will put the food basket on the doormat, ring the bell and be back inside her own apartment before someone answers the door.

Claudia turns on the television. She knows her father rarely watches daytime television but he might be interested in the late-morning show. Hal isn’t interested but he agrees to watch
it until Matt arrives. Claudia slips away and telephones Laverne. “Good morning, Auntie,” she says. “Would you like to join us upstairs?”

“I don’t think so,” Laverne says.

“But you’re down there by yourself.”

“I prefer being by myself.”

Claudia perseveres and tells Laverne that Matt will be arriving soon. If anything can persuade her aunt to come upstairs, it will be the news that Matt will be arriving soon. Matt has always been her favourite. It was Matt who accepted Laverne’s offer of a trip to France as a high school graduation present. Three years later when Laverne made the same offer to her niece, Claudia thanked her aunt and explained that Roger Monahan needed her and she didn’t want to leave him so soon after his father and brother drowned. Her aunt did not appear disappointed by Claudia’s decision. “Very well,” she said, and Claudia assumed she’d understood. Apparently not, because later Laverne complained to Lily that the drownings had not prevented Claudia from going to university, and the offer of a trip to France was never repeated. Since then Claudia has travelled to France and Italy with Leonard, but of course her aunt does not know about those trips or about the affair. Nor do her father and brother.

“How soon before Matthew is here?” Laverne asks.

“Any time now,” Claudia says.

“In that case I will join you,” Laverne says.

Moments later there are footsteps on the back stairs, the door opens and Claudia sees that her aunt is also wearing yesterday’s clothes. Claudia quashes the impulse to hand her aunt
a Kleenex so that she can wipe off the smeared lipstick. Instead she offers coffee. “Thank you,” Laverne says.

Claudia carries the tray of coffee into the living room where Hal is wreathed in cigarette smoke. Allergic to smoke, Laverne sits opposite on the chair where Corrie Spears sat yesterday. Claudia passes around the coffee and they settle down to watch the television where a Dolly Parton look-alike is gushing about next month’s royal wedding, “How will Shy Di manage being a member of the royal family?” she says. “She is so young.”

“Prince Charles should be ashamed of himself, and so should Trudeau.” Hal says to the TV. “Cradle-robbers is what they are.”

Leonard is a cradle-robber. Claudia knows that if her father knew about her lover he would be shattered by disappointment, even disgust and might disown her. He would not order her to leave the house but he might push her away if she tried to comfort him. “Don’t tell your father,” Lily advised her. “He wouldn’t understand and he wants to protect you.” Her mother referred to Leonard as a phase Claudia would grow out of and predicted that eventually she would break off the affair. Claudia will, one day she will. But she cannot think about that now, she must think about the notepad in the kitchen, the list of duties she and Matt will follow after he arrives. Claudia turns down the sound and flicking through the television channels, she settles on
General Hospital
and the three of them watch a patient being wheeled into the operating room on a gurney, masked doctors bending to the task beneath a flood of light, none of it real.

The doorbell chimes and Claudia races downstairs to answer. It has been three years since she last saw her brother and seeing him on the doorstep, the black hair and blue eyes so like their mother’s, brings an onrush of tears. Dropping the suitcase, Matt holds Claudia close and cries into her shoulder until he hears a voice at the top of the stairs saying, “Hello there, Son.” Looking up, Matt sees the hunched shape of his father in the hallway. “Hello, Dad,” he says and after making his way upstairs, he embraces his father—it is a long embrace, an embrace of sorrow, a tacit recognition that the woman they loved is dead.

Laverne waits her turn in the solitude of the living room. She is not used to waiting her turn, but seeing her nephew after so long will be worth the wait, and at last here he is, walking toward her, taking her hands and in the European way, kissing both cheeks. “Auntie,” he murmurs and for a moment Laverne expects an embrace but Matthew lets go of her hand and follows his father to the sofa. Only Hal lights a cigarette: Matthew does not smoke and Claudia is being considerate. There are questions about the long flight from Alberta, the overnight in Halifax, the flight to Moncton. When the answers peter out, Matthew says that it is time to get down to matters at hand, that when there is a death in the family, there are decisions to follow up, decisions that have been set out in the will. “Lily didn’t have a will,” Hal says.

“Mom didn’t have a will?”

“She never thought she would need one. So soon.” This is all Hal can manage before he is waylaid by grief. Matt reaches for his father’s hand. “It’s okay, Dad,” he says. “It’s okay.”
Claudia drags the vinyl chair to the sofa and takes her father’s other hand.

“Sorry, Dad. I should have seen to it that she made a will.” Matt says and once again the guilt moves in. As the lawyer in the family, he should have made sure that his mother made a will. “Don’t you worry, Dad. We will manage without one.”

Isolated on the opposite side of the room, Laverne feels a spurt of indignation: Why didn’t her sister make a will? Yes, Lily was a procrastinator, but together with Hal, she was co-owner of this house. Also, she inherited their father’s collection of antiquarian books: early editions of Mark Twain, Alexandre Dumas and Charles Dickens including
The Pickwick Papers
and
David Copperfield
, which Hal took to the store for display and later sold. Hal isn’t a reader and without a will, the antiquarian books will no doubt end up in Better Old Than New. Excluded from the huddle of comfort, Laverne carries her mug into the kitchen and pours the coffee down the sink. Leaning against the counter she stares at the tacky bird clock hanging on the wall above the telephone and waits until the minute hand moves from the song sparrow to the purple martin before returning to the living room.

Startled—they have not noticed her absence—the three of them look up. Claudia brings the wooden chair close to the sofa and invites Laverne to join them. “No thank you,” she says. “My intention was to welcome Matthew and now that he is here, I’ll leave you to make the arrangements. I’m tired.” Laverne
is
tired. Grief has exhausted her, weakened her defenses, and she feels less vulnerable when she is alone.

Once the back-stairs door closes, Claudia lights two cigarettes, one for her father, the other for herself.

“What’s got into Laverne?” Hal says.

“Auntie’s always been a loner, Dad,” Claudia says.

“Even so, at a time like this, she shouldn’t be downstairs alone. She should be with us.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want any part in making the arrangements,” Claudia says and looks at her brother. “You and I will look after whatever has to be done.”

“But I’ll have a say in the matter,” Hal says.

“Of course, Dad.”

Matt asks where she is now: not Mom, not Lily but
she
.

“She’s at the undertaker’s,” Claudia says. “Alyward’s Funeral Home.”

“Well, she can’t stay there.”

“Of course not,” Hal says. “She’ll be buried in Kirk Hill. Years ago I bought a plot for three in the cemetery.”

“Why for three?” Matt says.

“Laverne has no family besides Lily and I bought it for your mother’s peace of mind.”

Matt is relieved to have one decision made. “Okay, so what about the funeral?”

“You know your mother was an atheist. She wouldn’t want a funeral.” Hal rubs his eyes. “Another thing, no viewing. Lily had no time for viewings.”

Claudia remembers her mother’s scathing opinion on the subject of open caskets, which she dismissed as grotesque.

“Lily would want to be cremated,” Hal says.

“Are you sure, Dad?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Hal looks at his daughter. “Your mother and I didn’t stop talking when you left home. There are a lot of things about your mother and me that you don’t know.” Hal means this kindly and is upset by the tears welling in his daughter’s eyes. He reaches for her hand. Hal knows that if Lily were here, she would tell him to stop being grumpy. Excusing himself, Hal boosts himself off the sofa and shuffles into the purple spare room where he can be alone.

Claudia retrieves the list with
Body
written on top and shows it to her brother. “We should start with the undertaker,” she says.

“Then let’s get it over with.” Matt has never forgotten seeing his grandfather at the undertaker’s in Halifax. Grandfather McNab was brusque and scary, but when Matt saw him laid out in the coffin at the funeral parlour on Bayers Road, he remembers being more terrified of his grandfather dead than alive.

Claudia taps on the door of the purple spare room. “Matt and I are going out, Dad. We won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” Hal says. He is relieved to be alone because when he is alone he doesn’t have to pretend he is all right. He can lie in bed remembering the happy times he and Lily had together. He can hear himself talking to her and he can hear her talking back, telling him he can do it. “You can do it, Hal,” Lily often said. “You can do it.”

Alyward’s Funeral Home is on the same side of the street as O’Connell Park with its swimming pool, ball pitch and tennis court. Originally built by a prosperous lumber merchant, the
china-blue house has white bargeboard trim and a wide veranda. Mindful that many of his clients are farmers, after his father passed on, Clive Alyward had Jimmy Klassen plant red geraniums in milk cans and place them on either side of the driveway entrance. He also hired Rusty Bitterman to renovate the exterior of a large outbuilding behind the house. Clive had Rusty raise the roof, install wide double doors and reshingle the exterior to match the house. The addition of a rooster weather vane adds a rural hominess meant to camouflage the embalming and cold storage facilities inside.

Since completing the morning’s embalming job Clive has exchanged his lab coat for a navy blue blazer and settled in his office beside the window to reward himself with an hour’s reading. He opens the library copy of Ruth Rendell’s
A Judgement in Stone
and is immediately caught up in the story. Clever Ruth Rendell putting the murder up front. Clive admires her recklessness, the way she wades into a story and buries the clues, the way she relies on coincidence, circumstance and character to do the job. Murder is of secondary importance.