He rapped on the back door, then listened for signs of life inside VORLand’s End. “Come in!” Bernice summoned. Then, as he was stepping over the threshold, she chided, “You don’t have to knock, Buddy. If you knock, it means I have to stop what I’m doing and shuffle like an old, worn-out work horse to the door to greet you.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, glaring at him, was a plump, post-middle-aged woman. Her greying hair was mussed up in a pillow doo, her pallid skin sagging and wrinkling. Buddy tried to ward off the notion that he could actually see her aging as she sat there in front of him.
“This is my daughter Jenny,” Bernice introduced them brightly.
“It’s Jennifer, Mother,” the woman objected. “How many times do I have to tell you not to introduce me to strangers as Jenny?”
“Hello Jennifer,” Buddy reached across the table, offering to shake hands. She accepted limply with obvious disdain, as if she’d forgotten to put her rubber gloves on, but wasn’t quite rude enough to reject his greeting. Her heavy brows knit themselves into a frown, lips pursed into a pious pout.
“Jen teaches philosophy up at VIU,” Bernice interjected proudly.
“Oh!” Buddy exclaimed, fearful that anything more precise might be judged a non-sequitur.
“Yes. She’s definitely in the minority there. It seems philosophy is one of those bastions of male intellectualism. But Jenny’s always been headstrong and argumentative. Even as a child, she would insist on questioning and debating everything,” Bernice laughed nervously. “She drove Harry and me crazy with her arguing.”
“Mother!”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Remember the time you refused to visit the petting zoo in Beacon Hill Park because it was cruel to keep the animals penned up, even though the goats were perfectly happy and the peacocks could escape any time they chose? No amount of coaxing could get you in there, and we ended up going for an ice cream cone instead, which melted and dribbled all over your dress before you’d finished contemplating its various properties.”
“I stopped in to meet Mr. Hope, Mother, not to relive my childhood visits to Victoria. I have a class at three and need some prep time before that, so?” She looked pointedly at Bernice.
“Of course, dear,” her mother deferred.
“My mother tells me you’ve recently separated from your wife, Mr. Hope.”
“Well, not officially, but yes, we’re going through a bit of a rough patch.”
“Mind telling me why?”
“I haven’t told her yet,” he bridled. “But once we’ve figured it out, you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”
“I think I have the right to ask a few pointed questions of a stranger who’s moving into my parent’s back yard, Mr. Hope, and who’s going to have unrestricted access to their house, don’t you?”
“Ask another question.”
“Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. How the hell do I know I can trust you when I don’t know you from Adam, Mr. Hope?”
“Jenny!” Bernice objected.
“Fair enough,” Buddy replied, stiffening. “But I don’t really have an answer for that one either, Jennifer. All I can say is: I’ve never had a criminal conviction in my life or even been charged with anything criminal; I’ve worked forty years as a journalist; helped raise two fine children—a daughter and a son, both of whom I adore—and that I love my wife and still care for her deeply. So the only suggestions I can make are: talk to your parents and take whatever precautions you deem necessary; and ask me to leave if you can’t come to terms with my being here.”
“So you’re saying, essentially, ‘trust me’, without offering anything but your word that you’re not going to take advantage of the situation?”
“Not quite. I’m saying, Trust your mother’s judgment. Keep your mind open and your guard up while we all get to know one another. And if you can’t do that or things aren’t working out, invite me to leave any time. No hard feelings.”
“That’s fair enough, isn’t it?” Bernice fumed.
Jenny gave her a long, hard look, then sighed. “Okay,” she said, in a tone that signalled retrenchment, not retreat. “But I have to say this goes against my better judgment. You’ve got family here who can support you, Mother, and it’s not as if we can’t afford professional home care. Nothing against Mr. Hope, but I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, raising my concerns. Am I?
“Of course not,” Bernice assured grudgingly. “We all know you have our best interests at heart, dear.”
She glanced hopefully Buddy’s way, but he couldn’t find it in himself to signal any sort of approval. He didn’t like Jenny and didn’t trust her either. If anyone’s credentials need checking, it’s yours, he figured. She’d got his journalist’s dander up, no doubt about it.
“Nice meeting you,” he said, nodding to Jenny as he turned heading for the door. “But I’ve got things need doing and you’ve got a class to prepare for, so I’ll say goodbye.”
“Oh,” he paused on the threshold. “I’m going into Victoria tomorrow, Bernice. Is there anything you need me to do? I’ll be gone most of the day.”
“No, no!” she flustered. “We’ll be fine. But do stop in and say goodbye before you go, dear.”
“Dear!” Jenny sneered. “Oh, for goodness sake, Mother!”
Next: Between Heartbeats