She closed her eyes, remembering. She realized that she had never been spoken to so tenderly. If she never saw Allam again, she would not forget the feelings that were now hers to keep. She would not forget the two of them naked in her bed. Allam above, the sound of spine, rising, falling. The weightlessness. The space beyond touch . . . yes.

Desperate Measures

At the next meeting—no planned agenda—the company began to talk of their experiences of taking on executor and trustee duties. Almost everyone had something to say. Allam listened with his usual curiosity. Addie sat back, trying to take in information. She still held power of attorney for Sybil, but she would not be executor when the time came. That duty remained within the jurisdiction of Sybil’s family.

Allam and Gwen had arrived together in Gwen’s car and parked on Beamer Street in front of the café. This was witnessed by two members of the company and by Cass, who was standing at the cash register near the front window at the time. In the backroom, the two sat side by side at the round table, as always, and made no effort to explain the frequent exchange of glances. There was no ignoring the current between the two. There was no ignoring the solicitous attention he bestowed in her direction.

Gwen wore a bit of colour—a silk scarf atop the usual browns. The scarf was printed with images of butterflies in a blend of colours against solid backgrounds of green and indigo. A sight to behold. Gwen fingered the silk as she sat, her thoughts elsewhere.

Chiyo, taking in every detail, said to herself: Jack Goes Boating. Philip Seymour Hoffman as Jack, Amy Ryan as Connie. Awkward at first—shyness from one, then from the other, not always at the same time. They’re suited, maybe for the long run. Or as long as they can make the run last. Chiyo smiled to herself and then felt like weeping, not because of a possible Gwen–Allam alliance—that should be celebrated!—but because of the tragedy of Hoffman’s death. She and Spence would have to pull out some of the dozens of Hoffman DVDs and watch them again.

Hazzley was laughing with an edge to her voice, telling the story of lineups she’d endured at Service Canada counters. A huddle outside the building before the door opened first thing in the morning. No sign of a queue. The crush to get inside to tear off a number-strip. So many people needing passports, child or disability benefits, Canada Pension Plan death benefits, job-search assistance, on and on and on. “Sadly, some officials behind the wickets—not all, thankfully—don’t have their first cup of coffee before they start the day.”

“One of the people I encountered while dealing with my mom’s estate looked stunned, as if he’d been punched in the head,” said Chiyo. “For sure he hadn’t had his caffeine fix. To stand on the vulnerable side of a counter facing him, to be the object of disinterest, indifference, irritation—all of that was so seriously disheartening I can scarcely talk about it. Maybe some people in these jobs no longer connect with their clients because they’re forced to repeat mind-numbing tasks ad nauseam. Some people arrive without the required documents, some without a full grasp of the languages of the country and some without any idea how to proceed. Others have every document in hand, to the nth detail. But everyone is treated with the same grim glare of disdain. It’s downright demoralizing.”