Blackfly Season

21

JOHN CARDINAL WAS A DECENT COOK when he put his mind to it. He was not a man to rely on frozen dinners and pizza deliveries the moment his wife was out of town. Catherine’s many hospitalizations had forced him to learn his way around the kitchen. In fact, some of his favourite memories were of Kelly as a little girl “helping” him, chopping apples into uncookable chunks, her hair matted with pie dough.

He made himself a chicken curry and ate it in front of the television, watching the news and then flipping channels for a while. There was nothing on so he went down to the basement and did some woodworking. He was building a set of wide shelves for Catherine’s darkroom—nothing difficult, but he had to be careful with the router when he was cutting the grooves. Catherine’s darkroom was one of the first things he had built in the house, a long time ago, now; he was running out of projects.

Woodworking was Cardinal’s only hobby. He liked the smell of sawdust, the feel of wood in his hands, and he enjoyed the satisfaction that came from completing a project, even a small one like shelves. In law enforcement, satisfaction was an elusive commodity.

Cardinal and Catherine often worked in the basement at the same time, Catherine in her darkroom, Cardinal at his work table. They kept a dusty boom box down there and took turns choosing the music. Other times, Cardinal would be building something and he would hear her footsteps overhead in the kitchen. Alone together. That was how he thought of those times. We’re alone together, and sometimes it seemed more intimate than sex.

There were no footsteps overhead now, and Cardinal hadn’t bothered to put any music on. He wasn’t really enjoying the carpentry, either. With Catherine gone, it wasn’t the same.

The phone rang. Cardinal switched off the router, turned off his work light and went upstairs to the kitchen.

“What took you so long?” Catherine said when he picked up. “You had to hustle her out the back door?”

“Hey, sweetheart. I was hoping you’d call me back last night.”

“Sorry,” Catherine said. “We were out photographing these old grain silos on the waterfront. They look fabulous in the moonlight. And the old Canada Malting factory. It was fun, and I think the class learned a lot. How’s work?”

“One murder, one attempted murder.”

“Goodness. They must have you working late.”

“Pretty late. Kelly called you last night. She said it was just to chat, but I think she needs money. Naturally, she wouldn’t accept any from me. Couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.”

“Oh, John, don’t let it get to you. She’ll come round. You know she will. Anyway, I can’t be thinking about that right now, I’ve got too much on my mind.”

That was not like Catherine. Normally, she was never more concerned and attentive than when they were discussing their daughter.

“I wish you were home,” Cardinal said. “Or I wish I was there. It’s too quiet here.” At least he could say that without being accused of undermining her.

“Well, I can’t come home, John. I’m in the middle of some really important stuff here.”

“I know that, honey. I’m glad it’s going well.”

“The thing about these waterfront pictures, we’re getting a lot of stars in them, a lot of moon. It’s made me reconsider a lot of things. I mean, unless you’re an astronomer or something, you pretty much take them for granted, but I’m really thinking about them now. I think I may be beginning to understand them. For the first time.”

He could hear the clink and clatter of mania in her tone. A train of thought jumping the tracks of reason.

He said something soothing—“That’s good, sweetheart”—but in his mind he was praying. Please just let her make it through the next couple of days. Please let her make it home.

“When you photograph stars in relation to the buildings, you can feel their motion. You can sense an intention almost. You remember that time we saw the northern lights?”

“You mean in Newfoundland? Yes, of course.”

They had seen the northern lights many times in Algonquin Bay, but never the way they had seen them in Bonavista Bay. Half the sky shimmering with curtains of light—emerald, chartreuse, vermilion. Suddenly, Cardinal had understood the meaning of the word awe.

“Well, it’s like that. The midnight sky isn’t a place at all. It’s an unearthly book. We can’t read it yet, not really. But you can sense it’s readable.”

A long time ago, Cardinal and his wife had worked out a code. It was during one of Catherine’s best periods. She’d had a couple of years of solid ground, and she was firmly in her sane character, which was many things—smart, funny, generous—but, above all, sweet-natured. She was one of the world’s naturally agreeable people.

Cardinal had taken advantage of the opportunity to make a deal with her.

“Cath,” he had said, “I hope you won’t be upset by the request I’m going to make, but I think it’s important.”

“Then I won’t be upset by it,” she said. She had been peering at contact sheets through a loupe. She looked up at him across the table, a little nearsighted from the change in distance.

“I’d like us to work out a phrase. A code. A sentence. I don’t know. Something. Something I can say to you when it seems clear to me you’re on the edge of an episode. I don’t mean when you’re just excited. Or when it’s iffy. I mean when I’m pretty sure you’re going to lose it but you don’t seem aware of it.”

Catherine’s eyes clouded and her face sagged a little. Cardinal could read every shade of pain in his wife’s features, just as he could read every shade of joy. Nothing hurt him more than to bring her pain. He thought she was going to get angry at him. Here he was spoiling a happy evening.

“I think that’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion.” Catherine tilted her head back to her contact sheets.

“You’re not angry?”

“No. It hurts a little. But it’s okay.” Her hair cascaded over her face. Her voice was slightly muffled. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Something normal sounding, but that we both agree on what it means.”

And so they had worked it out. Shifting the phone in his grip, Cardinal used it now. “Honey, I think we’re looking at some heavy weather, here.”

Heavy weather. That was the phrase. A couple of times it had worked. Just as often, it didn’t.

“No, we are not looking at heavy weather, John. Everything is perfectly fine.”

“I’m telling you what I see. Not what you feel.”

“This is not heavy weather, John. Jesus. How can you say that to me? Damn it, John. Every time I go away or do anything the least bit independent.”

“Please take it easy, hon. Can’t you just lie down and relax for a while and take an honest—”

She slammed the phone down.

Cardinal took a shower and got into bed. The true crime book lay unopened on his night table. He couldn’t be sure what to do about Catherine just now. If he showed up in Toronto, it would undermine her completely in front of her students. If he did nothing, she could rapidly get worse. Please let her stay sane. Please let her make it home all right.