Hollis’s golden retriever, noted for his beauty, not his brains, welcomed them to the cheery yellow kitchen, an oasis in a dismal house. Hollis had defied the church manse committee and their choice of institutional green for the kitchen and repainted it. Besides hanging ferns and blooming cyclamen, two of her own large acrylic paintings of masses of exuberant oversized flowers added colour and joy to the room.
The rest of the house, with the exception of two rooms—her study, where she’d supplied her own white wicker furniture and glowing paintings, and Paul’s private bedroom and office—had been furnished and decorated by the manse property committee. The first time she’d been in the manse, a quick look around the house with its yellow oak floors, dark woodwork, cast-off religious pictures in heavy black frames and ugly furniture had confirmed Hollis’s impression that this group, no matter its membership, specialized in collecting cast-off mismatched furniture and always chose institutional beige or bilious green paint.
MacTee behaved as if he’d been deserted for days. He moaned, whined, rolled on the floor and gladdened her heart with the totally fatuous pleasure he took in her return. After they’d patted him and rewarded him with a biscuit, he lay on the kitchen floor, eyes open and body alert to any possibility of treats coming his way. The house settled into its customary morning quiet.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Hollis tried to think what to do. “I can’t twist my mind around what happened—it’s unimaginable.” She shivered and pushed her shaking hands into her pockets. “But I realize I’ll have decisions to make.” Kas leaned against a counter, nodding sympathetically.
She waved her hand at the empty kitchen counters. “One thing for sure—once Marguerite Day informs the congregation, these will fill with food. I’ll need boxes of aluminum foil to make packages of food for the freezer.” She shrugged. “But not yet. Right now I know I have things to attend to, but I can’t think what they are or where to start.”
“A list is always good. If you like, I’ll give you a hand.” Kas rubbed his hands together. “This house is chilly. Look at you. You’re frozen.”
Hollis stood in the middle of the room. Her teeth chattered, and she was still shivering.
“Go and change. You don’t like tea, do you? I’ll make coffee.”
Hollis made an effort. “Help and coffee sound great. The coffee and the milk foamer are in the cupboard above the coffee maker. You’re right. I am cold. I’ll change.”
Before she was out of the kitchen, Kas had reached for the can of Tim Hortons fine grind.
Upstairs, Hollis slid a periwinkle blue mohair turtleneck over her head and pulled on her favourite black leather pants. Comfort, she needed comfort. She wobbled back to the kitchen and collapsed at the table.
“I’m warm, but I’m feeling disoriented—like I’m floating above my body. My thoughts agitate and whirl but go nowhere.”
“It’s shock. A hot coffee loaded with sugar will help.” Kas filled two large mugs and laced one with three teaspoons of sugar.
Hollis drank quickly. Almost immediately she felt the effect of the heavily sugared liquid. Kas reheated the milk in the microwave, removed the glass container and energetically pumped the foamer’s plunger up and down. She watched him and thought back over the years.
Kas had married her friend, Tessa, while both were medical residents. She’d liked him then and liked him now. One of the reasons she’d accepted a teaching position in Ottawa had been their presence in the city. Kas worked as a psychiatrist at the Royal Ottawa Hospital and Tessa as a thoracic surgeon at the Municipal hospital.
When she’d married Paul, she’d hoped they’d all become friends, but Paul had showed no interest in widening his circle to include Kas and Tessa.
“You were right. The sugar has done its stuff.”
Kas didn’t add as much sugar to Hollis’s when he refilled their cups. He picked up the pad of paper sitting by the phone, carried it to the table, sat down and divided the top sheet into three columns: decisions to make; things to do; and, people to call.
“You can’t set the date for the funeral until the police release Paul’s body, but you can place a notice in the paper and direct people to phone the church office for details.”
“I wonder how long we’ll have to wait.”
“A good question without a definite answer, but you can plan the funeral.”
Paul had loved ceremony and theatrics. “Spectacular. Visitation for two nights before.”
“What about the service?”
“The works. The way he’d like it. Loaded with pomp and circumstance.”
“What about the obituary? Flowers or donations?”
“Donations.”
“Which charities?” Kas filled in the columns as she made her decisions.
“The AIDS hospice, City Church. Are you familiar with it?”
“No.”
“They’re a group of gay Christians who applied to use the St. Mark’s building for services. The congregation’s rejection of their application infuriated Paul.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Request donations for St. Mark’s refugee committee. I remember Paul on TV spearheading a drive to sponsor refugees and launch them on new lives.” He added, “I’m suggesting this because I have a feeling many people only knew him in the refugee context. And others who will want to contribute may not feel comfortable donating to the other organizations.”
“Good idea.”
“Who should be contacted? Where’s your mother?”
“On a whale-watching cruise in the Pacific. I won’t tell her, because she’d feel it was her duty to go to great lengths to be here, and it would be a shame to spoil her holiday.”
“But won’t she feel badly if you don’t tell her? Wouldn’t she want to be here?”
“She’d feel it was her duty. But, as you know, she disliked Paul and disapproved of my marriage. Although she might not come right out with it, she’d let it slip how clever she’d been to warn me not to act rashly. She’d trot out a homily about ‘being prepared to pay the price’ when you acted quickly.” Hollis caught her lower lip with her top teeth and shook her head. “No, I don’t need her censure; she’s better off in the Pacific.”
“Paul’s family?”
“Paul was an only child. His parents are dead. He has distant cousins out west. When we decided to marry, I inquired about family, and he said he hadn’t had anything to do with them for years and wasn’t about to begin. If he hadn’t had any contact, I probably shouldn’t either, but informing them of his death feels like the right thing to do. I’ll unearth his address book and let them know.”
Kas glanced at the kitchen wall clock, pushed the list toward her and rose. “You won’t mind if I go? I promised Tessa I’d pick her up when she finished the marathon. I want to be waiting for her. You’re probably aware of how withdrawn she’s been lately? She hasn’t told me what’s wrong, but I hate to do anything to upset her any more.”
Hollis hadn’t known. One of her best friends. Recently, no not recently, at least three or four weeks ago, Tessa had phoned, and they’d had a quick chat. She tried to remember the conversation, but as far as she recalled, it had been a “touching base, I miss you but we’re both so busy let’s do lunch soon” kind of talk. Had Tessa tried to confide in her, to tell her she was struggling with a problem? And being fixated on the dissolution of her marriage, would Hollis have picked up Tessa’s signals? Probably not. She didn’t want to lose her friend. Before too many more days passed, she’d