To cope with the day’s shocks, she’d kept busy by calling Dad’s friends, but no one claimed to know anything about his resurrection. One guy called her a pathetic practical joker. Two more implied she was nuts and cut the conversation short while others were so patronizing she’d wanted to smack them. The most infuriating call had been to Vincent Wilkes.
Casey wasn’t surprised that Lalonde had already contacted him or that Vincent was still an architect. The shock came when he told her that Dad had built a house in West Vancouver just before he died.
“Marcus planned to tell you about it when the final touches were done, which they pretty much were just before his death,” Vincent had said. “So, I assumed you knew.” And then the infuriating part, “Your mother didn’t mention the house?”
She’d wanted to know how Mother knew about the place. All Vincent would say was, “About two weeks after the funeral, Lillian came by to pick up those photos of you that Marcus kept on his desk. She said she wasn’t interested in either of his houses.”
Casey peddled harder. Mother hadn’t been at the funeral, hadn’t been invited. And Casey hadn’t noticed the missing photos. Vincent had packed Dad’s personal belongings and delivered them to the house. Eighteen months passed before she could bring herself to open the box.
Casey didn’t expect to hear from Mother. The last time they’d spoken was seventeen years ago, on Casey’s thirteenth birthday, about ten months after her parents split up. Casey had been stunned to find Mother waiting outside the school. Maybe it was wrong to refuse the gift Mother had brought with her, but she couldn’t let Mother think she’d been forgiven for wrecking so many marriages.
Casey’s muscles ached, but she kept going until she heard familiar taps on the door. “Come on in, Summer.” God, how would she handle the news? Summer was only eight when Dad died. She’d cried all through the funeral and wouldn’t go to school for a week.
Summer stepped inside, carrying a plate of half-finished chocolate cake and wearing her favorite night shirt and moose slippers with the floppy felt antlers. She really was growing fast. Every time Casey saw her, she looked a little more like Rhonda, thank god. The dark eyes and thick black hair made it easy for Rhonda to convince the world she’d given birth to her, a lie she intended to carry to her grave.
Grabbing a clean towel from the laundry pile she hadn’t got around to folding, Casey dabbed her brow. “Need a towel? Your hair still looks wet.”
“I’m fine.”
“How was your swim practice?”
“Good. Coach says I’ll do great at the meet, but I don’t know.” Summer prodded the cake with her fork. “Like, I don’t feel ready.”
“You said that last year, and you won a medal.”
“Only third place. Want some cake?”
“I wish, but chocolate brings on a crappy mood, remember?”
“I thought that was only chocolate bars.” She sat in Casey’s rocking chair. “How come you didn’t have supper with us?”
“Lousy day,” Casey rubbed the back of her neck and slumped onto the sofa. “I wouldn’t have been good company.”
“Sometimes I wish I could cook what I wanted. It’d be cool.”
“Sometimes it is, but your mom’s spoiled me too much. I need to do more on my own.”
Rhonda didn’t agree. Thought the new microwave was a waste of money.
“Can I borrow your bike for school tomorrow? Mine blew a tire.”
“Sure, and I’ll get you a new tire. A mechanic at work owes me a favor.”
Two quick knocks on the door told Casey who her visitor was. Trepidation quickened her heartbeat.
“Come on in, Rhonda.”
Oh lord, she had on her hideous, pea-green sweat pants and red flannel shirt again. Rhonda was a worse fashion disaster than Stan, but where Stan didn’t know any better, Rhonda simply didn’t care. Not in the last three years anyway. Her thick hair was pulled away from her face with plastic ladybug clips.
“Almost bedtime,” Rhonda said to Summer. “Finish up. And have you seen my pastry cutter?”
“You left it in the bag of flour again.” Summer shook her head as if the burden of having a forgetful mother was too much.
Rhonda turned to Casey. “You look exhausted.”
“I am.” She dabbed her face, hoping to hide the stress.
“Mom talked to some guy about renting the room.” Summer raised a forkful of cake to her mouth. “He lasted, like, two minutes before she got rid of him, which is good ’cause he smelled like stinky fish.”
“And I didn’t like the nasty grin on his face when I told him the vacant suite’s under your bedroom,” Rhonda added. “I won’t have him chasing you all over the house when I’m still hoping that you and Lou—”
“Rhonda, don’t go there. Not tonight.”
Rhonda watched her a moment, then turned to Summer. “Finish your cake in the kitchen, hon, and then brush your teeth. I’ll come say goodnight in a few minutes.”
Casey hugged Summer. “Sweet dreams.”
When she left, Rhonda said, “Lou would treat you a thousand times better than Greg did.”
“Until our last year together, Greg was one of the good guys, remember?”
The night he proposed, Greg had surprised her with a bottle of champagne and a rowboat ride, both handled awkwardly. In the middle of the lake, he’d given her a diamond chip on a thin gold band now abandoned in a safe-deposit box.
“Anyhow, I wasn’t completely blameless.”
Rhonda’s mouth fell open. “How is his adultery your fault?”
Casey couldn’t make Rhonda understand that she’d worked harder at her job than she had at her marriage. The depression after Dad’s funeral hadn’t helped. If she hadn’t been so self-absorbed she would have realized how far she and Greg had grown apart.
“What’s wrong?” Rhonda asked. “Did Greg say something nasty?”
“No, I didn’t even mention Greg. You did.”
Rhonda strolled to the kitchen table. “I see you’ve been trying health food again.”
“Just rice and beans.”
“You’ve been going through albums.” Rhonda turned a page. “Feeling nostalgic?”
“Sort of.”
“I remember when most of these were taken.” Rhonda closed the album. “So, when are you going to kick Greg and his bimbo out of your house? You need to sell the place, Casey. Invest in RRSPs and stuff.”
“I have an RRSP.” Casey took her dirty plate to the sink.
Rhonda had never approved of her renting Dad’s old house to Greg, the same place she and Greg had shared after Dad died. But Greg paid the rent on time and took good care of the yard, or so she assumed. It had been a long time since she’d driven by. She could have rented the house to someone else; could have quit her job so she wouldn’t have to see Greg at work, but she’d needed to show people that a broken marriage hadn’t destroyed her.
“I’ll sell it when I find something I want to buy.”
“Mutual funds are good.”
Every time Rhonda went on about money, it meant she was having financial problems. No surprise there. The studio suite had been empty for three months. Only university students would put up with a hot plate and teensy shower, and most of them, including Rhonda’s other tenant, had gone home for the summer.
“Rhonda, if you need cash, I can help.”
“I don’t want your money.”
She never did. Dad had left Rhonda only a few personal mementoes in his will. Casey still felt guilty for benefiting from a hundred-thousand-dollar insurance policy. After paying his debts, funeral expenses, and taxes, she’d offered half of what was left to Rhonda. Rhonda’s stubborn streak, however, was unparalleled in this universe.