contented sphere with questions that might be an earthquake with aftershocks. Would she even admit that she knew the answers? I hadn't warned her I was coming. I didn't want the walls to go up.
I checked into a nice little hotel along Highway 400. The front hall was crowded with friendly people and the echo of children's voices as they romped in the pool. In my room I began to put my clothes away carefully, then suddenly realized that this was Karoline's routine. I took everything out of the drawers and folded them back into my suitcase.
I strolled out into the sunshine in search of food. I had a couple of hours before Elizabeth would be home from work. I was determined not to arrive at her place hungry. Fortunately, I found a big Chinese food buffet restaurant at the top of the hill, where I feasted on salads, shrimp, crab and a myriad of desserts while I contemplated the fish swimming in colorful array behind a huge glass tank.
The walk downhill was somewhat uncomfortable. I had eaten more in those few minutes than I had in months. When I got back to my room I lay down on the bed, undid my jean shorts and promptly fell asleep.
The sun was waning when I awoke. Instead of the grizzly feeling I usually had after a nap, I felt invigorated. I brushed my teeth and set out in my zippy little vehicle once more.
Elizabeth lives on the other side of the highway, just that much removed from the city and its environs. Her career as a surgical nurse is, from all accounts, satisfying and challenging. Right after her marriage at nineteen she had three children. All of them grew up adventurous despite their almost-country upbringing.
They are spread around the world now, collecting memories, doing good works, teaching in foreign countries or going to school in distant languages. I don't know them any better than I know my sister and her husband. When I infrequently think of my two nieces and my nephew, I imagine them as crusading heroes armed with an absolute certainty about who they are and where they are headed.
My brother-in-law, Samuel Cummings, is a tall handsome man who moves with confidence and sensuality. He's a far more outwardly affectionate and gregarious person than his wife. I like him. A computer software designer, his career has been somewhat of a rollercoaster. Though he appears to have hit his stride in his forties.
I turned off Duckworth St. onto the side road that led to the home Sam and Liz have inhabited for over twenty years. Tucked on a hill opposite the Barrie side of Little Lake, the house overlooks a pristine body of water that kisses the air with the promise of cool swims and shiny fish. The long steep driveway leads to a massive two-storey that must echo without children's scampering footsteps. It's a house that combines brick and siding gracefully. A wide porch runs all across the front and along the right side, offering stunning views of the lake.
Bracketed on both sides by forest, the neighbors a comfortable distance away, the Cummings residence has a rural aura, accentuated by the barn-like structure behind it. I say barn-like because it's far too flower-boxed and frilly to be taken seriously. On one visit long ago I'd glimpsed a hayloft, a play area for the kids and four snowmobiles stacked two-by-two inside. I think they even had a pony at one time.
As I pulled up in front of the garage I could see lights in the open windows that graced the living room, though no sign of a living being. It struck me, for the first time, that Elizabeth's house was so familiar not due to past visits, but because it resembled, almost twinned, the house in Bell Canyon. My sister chose a home and a career exactly like our mother's.
The apprehension flooded back. What if she wasn't home? What if she refused my request? By the time I had mounted the steps and pressed the bell, my mouth was dry.
I looked around at the tasteful decorations. Flowerpots lush with red and white and yellow. A clay chipmunk. A stark white
I checked into a nice little hotel along Highway 400. The front hall was crowded with friendly people and the echo of children's voices as they romped in the pool. In my room I began to put my clothes away carefully, then suddenly realized that this was Karoline's routine. I took everything out of the drawers and folded them back into my suitcase.
I strolled out into the sunshine in search of food. I had a couple of hours before Elizabeth would be home from work. I was determined not to arrive at her place hungry. Fortunately, I found a big Chinese food buffet restaurant at the top of the hill, where I feasted on salads, shrimp, crab and a myriad of desserts while I contemplated the fish swimming in colorful array behind a huge glass tank.
The walk downhill was somewhat uncomfortable. I had eaten more in those few minutes than I had in months. When I got back to my room I lay down on the bed, undid my jean shorts and promptly fell asleep.
The sun was waning when I awoke. Instead of the grizzly feeling I usually had after a nap, I felt invigorated. I brushed my teeth and set out in my zippy little vehicle once more.
Elizabeth lives on the other side of the highway, just that much removed from the city and its environs. Her career as a surgical nurse is, from all accounts, satisfying and challenging. Right after her marriage at nineteen she had three children. All of them grew up adventurous despite their almost-country upbringing.
They are spread around the world now, collecting memories, doing good works, teaching in foreign countries or going to school in distant languages. I don't know them any better than I know my sister and her husband. When I infrequently think of my two nieces and my nephew, I imagine them as crusading heroes armed with an absolute certainty about who they are and where they are headed.
My brother-in-law, Samuel Cummings, is a tall handsome man who moves with confidence and sensuality. He's a far more outwardly affectionate and gregarious person than his wife. I like him. A computer software designer, his career has been somewhat of a rollercoaster. Though he appears to have hit his stride in his forties.
I turned off Duckworth St. onto the side road that led to the home Sam and Liz have inhabited for over twenty years. Tucked on a hill opposite the Barrie side of Little Lake, the house overlooks a pristine body of water that kisses the air with the promise of cool swims and shiny fish. The long steep driveway leads to a massive two-storey that must echo without children's scampering footsteps. It's a house that combines brick and siding gracefully. A wide porch runs all across the front and along the right side, offering stunning views of the lake.
Bracketed on both sides by forest, the neighbors a comfortable distance away, the Cummings residence has a rural aura, accentuated by the barn-like structure behind it. I say barn-like because it's far too flower-boxed and frilly to be taken seriously. On one visit long ago I'd glimpsed a hayloft, a play area for the kids and four snowmobiles stacked two-by-two inside. I think they even had a pony at one time.
As I pulled up in front of the garage I could see lights in the open windows that graced the living room, though no sign of a living being. It struck me, for the first time, that Elizabeth's house was so familiar not due to past visits, but because it resembled, almost twinned, the house in Bell Canyon. My sister chose a home and a career exactly like our mother's.
The apprehension flooded back. What if she wasn't home? What if she refused my request? By the time I had mounted the steps and pressed the bell, my mouth was dry.
I looked around at the tasteful decorations. Flowerpots lush with red and white and yellow. A clay chipmunk. A stark white
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