Vantage Point by Scott Thornley

Author:Scott Thornley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: House of Anansi Press Inc
Published: 2018-10-24T19:22:26+00:00

* * *

When they’d finished their meal, Jean-Marc met them at the cash desk. “Here’s my card, Detective. On the back is the contact for that Dundas lunch, Jean Wishart. She is a fine painter and may know this person.” He smiled before adding, “Alors, in English you might say she is a ‘character.’”

Outside, as MacNeice dialled Jean Wishart’s number on his cell, Aziz looked for cardinals in the cedars. She’d never noticed birds before she met MacNeice. He’d taught her many things, but this was a gift of pure joy.

“Wishart’s in. I’ll take you home and loop back.”

“I’d appreciate it. This was divine. The quiche was delicious, and I don’t think it was just in comparison to St. Joe’s white sauce.”

As they were driving back to Dundurn, Aziz leaned against the door and fell asleep. MacNeice pulled over and lowered the backrest. She mumbled something but didn’t open her eyes. As the seat descended, she smiled a smile better seen from the inside of a dream.

From then on MacNeice did his best to moderate his speed, avoiding rough patches on the road and anticipating stoplights. When they finally came to a stop at her apartment building, he turned off the engine and waited for the loud chatter of a nearby jay to fade before opening the door.

Aziz woke up as he unfastened her seatbelt. “Oh, my . . . I think I was fast asleep.”

He lifted her legs out of the car and told her to put her arms around his neck. With her head resting on his chest, he lifted her out of the seat and closed the door. “Are you okay to walk, Fiza?”

“Oh . . . yes. Just give me a moment.” She took a deep breath and stood upright for a second or so before she began to fall back towards the car.

Catching her, he said, “I’m going to carry you, Fiza. Just relax.”

At the door, she punched in the entry code. Aziz had been in the same building for years and had managed to move to the top floor. At her door she asked to be put down. “It would be too much like carrying me over the threshold.”

“Very funny,” MacNeice said as they stepped inside. “You’re all right getting into bed?”

“Yes.”

MacNeice went into the kitchen, where days-old breakfast dishes were sitting in the sink. He put them in the dishwasher, where they joined breakfast dishes from several days before. From the cupboard he retrieved a water jug decorated with blue cornflowers. He filled it with water and squeezed in the juice of a lemon. Before going back to the bedroom, he picked up a glass from the drying rack.

“Are you decent?” He smiled, an acknowledgement that this was the first time in his life he’d ever asked that question.

He put the jug on the bedside table, noting a small stack of the London Review of Books on the lower shelf. Filling the glass, he asked, “What medications have they given you?”

“Just the antibiotics. They offered something for the pain, but I didn’t take it.

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