His reception at the Grundys' modest suburban home, however, was exceedingly warm. The moment the limousine stopped outside, the front door flew open and a flock of family members streamed out to greet him Karen in front, Jason close behind. Karen kissed and hugged him tightly, whispering, "It's so good to have you," which was unexpected and reassuring. Jason was tugging at his coat, shouting, "Daddy! Daddy!" Ainslie lifted him with a joyous "Happy birthday!" and the three were locked together in each other's arms.
But not for long. Karen's younger sister, Sofia, tall, slim, and sexy, eased herself in to give Malcolm an affectionate kiss, followed by her husband, Gary Moxie, a Winnipeg stockbroker who gripped Malcolm's hand, assuring him, "The whole family's proud of what you do, Malc. Want to hear a lot about it while you're with us." The Moxies' two daughters, Myra, twelve, and Susan, ten, joined the noisy, fond welcome.
Violet Grundy, elegant and motherly, with large eyes and a sweet smile, was next, embracing her son-in-law. "We're all so happy you could come. A little delay doesn't matter; what's important is you're here."
As the others turned back toward the house, George Grundy, white-haired, erect, and not an ounce overweight at seventy-five, put an arm around Malcolm's shoulders. "Gary's right, we're proud of you. Sometimes people forget how important it is to put duty first; nowadays so many don't." George lowered his voice. "I gave them all especially Karen a little lecture on the subject."
Ainslie smiled; the brief confidence explained a lot. Karen adored her father, and whatever he had said clearly had a strong effect. "Thank you," he said appreciatively. "And a very happy birthday."
Brigadier General George Grundy, an active-duty soldier for most of his life, had served in the Canadian Army in Europe through World War II, where he was commissioned from the ranks, survived some of the heaviest fighting, and received the Military Cross. Later he'd fought in the Korean War. Since retiring at age fifty-five he had been a college lecturer, specializing in international affairs.
"Let's get inside before you turn into a pillar of ice," George Grundy said. "They've planned a full program for both of us."
* * *
The welcoming continued through the day. The doublebirthday dinner for George and Jason included an additional twelve people, a total of twenty, crammed into the Grundys' modest house. The newcomers included Karen's older brother, Lindsay, from Montreal, who, like Malcolm, had been delayed by his work. With him was his wife, Isabel, their grown son, Owen, and Owen's wife, Yvonne. The other seven guests were longtime friends, mainly exmilitary, of George and Violet.
Amid it all, Malcolm found himself the center of attention. "It's like having a real detective from TV," twelve-year-old Myra said after plying him with questions.
Jason sat up, suddenly alert. "My dad's a lot neater than those guys on TV."
Others wanted to hear a description of the execution Malcolm had just attended, of the murders that preceded it, and how they were unraveled. Malcolm answered as honestly as he could, though he left out his final confrontation with Elroy Doil.
"One reason for our interest," George Grundy said, "is the big increase of violent crime in Canada. Time was when you could walk out of your house and feel safe, but not anymore. Now we're almost as gun-crazy here as you are in the States." There were murmurs of agreement.
During a discussion about homicides, Malcolm explained that most murderers were caught either because they did stupid things or failed to realize the forces they were up against.
"You'd think," Sofia Moxie said, "that with so much information in newspapers and novels, and on TV about crime and punishment, they'd know the odds are against them."
"You would," Malcolm acknowledged. "But the murderers out there are often young and not well informed."
"Maybe they're not informed because they don't read much," Owen Grundy said. He was thin and wiry, an architect with a passion for oil painting.
Malcolm nodded. "Lots of them don't read at all. Some probably can't read."
"But they must watch television," Myra said. "And TV criminals get caught."
"Sure they do," Malcolm agreed: "But the crooks on TV seem like big shots. They get noticed, and that's what kids especially deprived kids want. The consequences come later, when it's usually too late."
To Malcolm's surprise, most of the group favored the death penalty for murder, even crimes of passion. It was an opinion-swing evident in the United States, and now perhaps in Canada, where capital punishment had been abolished nationally in 1976. Isabel Grundy, a homemaker and physics teacher, with a brusque no-nonsense manner, was vehement. "We should bring back capital punishment. Some people say it isn't a deterrent, but common sense says it has to be. Besides, those who get executed are usually the scum of the earth. I know that's not fashionable to say, but it's true!"
Out of curiosity, Malcolm asked, "What kind of death penalty would you favor?"
"Hanging, electrocution, injection I don't care which, as long as we're rid of those people." There was an awkward silence, because Isabel had spoken heatedly. Just the same, Malcolm noted, no one contradicted her.
* * *
For the birthday dinner, a partition between the living and dining rooms had been opened to accommodate a fifteen-foot table with colorful streamers and party hats. While caterers prepared to serve a four-course meal, George and Jason took their places of honor, side by side.
George looked around and commented, "I have a feeling something should be said . . ."
Karen told her father, "Let Malcolm!"
Heads turned toward him. Gary Moxie said, "Ball's in your court, Malc."
Raising his head, Malcolm said, smiling, "A few unrehearsed thoughts for this historic occasion. . ."
He continued, looking around and speaking clearly, "At this table, where we join for food and fellowship, we reaffirm our belief in ethics, truth, love, and especially today the best ideals of family life. We celebrate this family's unity, its achievements, good fortune, and for our youngest clan here their promise, dreams, and hopes. On this sunny occasion for George and Jason we pledge our mutual loyalty, promising to support each other in difficult times, however and wherever these occur. And as well as family, we welcome those treasured friends who share our celebration and affections."
Malcolm concluded, aware of bilingual Canada, with a robust "Salut!"
Amid appreciative murmurs, the toast was echoed. One of the guests said, "I'm a churchgoer, but I like that better than a lot of conventional graces that I've listened to."
The meal proceeded roast turkey as its centrepiece followed by more toasts and responses, including a simple but heartfelt "Thanks a lot!" from Jason.
* * *
The following morning Malcolm, Karen, and Jason walked together through the residential lakeside streets of Scarborough. From high bluffs they could see clearly across Lake Ontario, though neighboring New York State, some ninety miles away, was beyond their sight. It had snowed again during the night, and the trio threw snowballs at each other. After three tries, Jason finally found his target: Malcolm's head. "Wish we had snow in Miami!" he shouted happily.
He was a sturdy boy, square-shouldered, with long, well-shaped legs. His eyes were wide and brown and often looked serious and questioning, as if aware that there was much to discover, though the means of doing so was at times unclear. But now and then his face would light up with a radiant smile as if to remind the world that life was sunny after all.