"You all right, Shirley?"

"Of course."

"I sure like your jacket." Steamer touched her arm. "I never saw pink suede before. It goes good with jeans."

Shirley smiled. "You don't have to cheer me up, Steamer. It's just one of those times. You know."

"I think you're lonesome. Is it bad to say that?"

The train arrived from the north, and the teenagers in their sweatsuits stood over the safety line so the recorded announcement woman would warn them to stay back.

The Oilers game was still on, so there was plenty of room on the train. Steamer and Shirley sat on a south-facing bench together, with the hockey bag under their feet.

"I hope it ain't bad to say it, Shirley. And I just notice because I'm lonesome too. Takes one to know one, you know?"

Shirley nodded. Somehow, she couldn't summon the energy to tell Steamer to stop talking.

"Have you seen Napoleon Dynamite?"

Shirley shook her head.

"We should rent that. It's my favourite movie because it's awesome even though there's no s.e.x or swears or gunplay. Would that be all right?"

"Okay."

"What's your favourite pizza? If we get my favourite movie, we'll get your favourite pizza."

On the train, confronted with the question of her favourite pizza, Shirley understood what was wrong. She was depressed. On the night Benjamin Perlitz died, weakened by the NHL players' strike and hints of her husband's adulterousness, Shirley had been wounded.

Finding it too difficult to open your mouth when someone asks a question like "What's your favourite pizza?" was probably the textbook definition of depression.

"Thin-crust veggie."

Steamer slapped his leg. "Thin-crust veggie it is, then."

The train stopped at Commonwealth Stadium and the kids in sweatsuits got off. Shirley wondered if they were planning to steal a car or abuse a cat. It had to be one of the two. Shirley also wondered if it was possible to pull oneself out of a depression without resorting to pharmaceuticals.

"Shirley, can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I know, in my heart, that I won't make it to the show."

"Don't say that, Steamer."

"When you see a kid like number twenty-seven and you know you could never catch him, not in a million years, you better pay attention to that message G.o.d is sending."

Shirley nodded as gently as she could manage.

"So I decided what I'm gonna do. Do you like feet?"

"I suppose. As much as the next person."

"I like them a lot, so I'm going to be a doctor of the feet. What's that called again?"

"A podiatrist."

"I'm gonna be a podiatrist."

"That's terrific, Steamer."

"So I was wondering if, after our pizza is done tonight, I could examine you."

"Well..."

"I know I'm not a podiatrist yet, but it might be good for me to know what I'm getting into."

The train pulled into Churchill Station and the last man on their car disembarked. Avoiding eye contact with Steamer, Shirley looked down and considered her feet.

62.

amigo, amiga No matter how many times Madison showed him how to hold it, and to use his wrist instead of his arm, and shift his weight on to his right leg, Jonas could not throw a Frisbee.

He gave the Frisbee thing one final try and watched it sail high up in the air, turn sharply to the right, and fall at the base of a barbecue pit near the Hawrelak Park washrooms. Then he began making a giant pile of leaves under a nearby grove of balsam poplars.

Jonas worked quickly. The hill was of an admirable size when Madison returned with the Frisbee.

"What are you doing?"

"We must accept that I simply cannot throw a Frisbee. Next time let's make it a Nerf football, yes? Yes. Good. Now, back up a few paces and run and jump and land in these leaves. It'll be a gas."

"Jonas."

"What?"

"I'm a pregnant girl. I can't do that sort of thing."

"Pish posh. These are pillowy leaves."

"You go first."

Jonas was never a go first kind of guy. When he was a child, growing up in Beverly, he had made an art out of convincing the other boys to go first. This was a particularly important skill between grades eight and eleven, in the summertime, when the boys in his neighbourhood took the bus to Borden Park pool, waited until dark, and hopped the fence. His powers of persuasion, which he came to think of as Jonas Mind Tricks, allowed him to see nearly every boy from M. E. LaZerte High School in wet underwear. His own "chlorine allergy" kept him safe and dry in the lifeguard throne, flashlight in hand.

The pillowiness of the leaf pile was potent. Jonas was certain. So, contrary to his nature, he zipped his windbreaker and backed up. "Ready?"

Madison dished a thumbs-up. "Give 'er."

It wasn't until Jonas reached the foot of the pile that he realized running was unnecessary. Even though his brain understood that jumping, at this point, was foolish, Jonas jumped. He turned in the air, and went horizontal. In the air, flying backwards, Jonas had time to scold himself for going first. Jonas had time to think this was the last image he would see of the world: forests leading up to the deliciously expensive homes in Windsor Park.

He landed, with a thud, on his back, only his legs cushioned by the leaves. Once Jonas got his breath, and once Madison stopped laughing and a.s.sured him he hadn't fractured his coccyx, they lay together in the bed of leaves looking up at the purple bank of late afternoon cloud that had installed itself over the city.

"What are you going to be for Halloween?"

"Carlos and I are going to be Butch Ca.s.sidy and the Sundance Kid."

"Who's who?"

"I'm Sundance, obviously. Why don't you think for a second before you ask such moronic questions?"

"Has Carlos come to terms with his gayness yet?"

"When we're alone, in a house or in the middle of a deserted expanse of gra.s.sland, sure. It's Freddie Mercury time. Around other human beings, no. According to that Carlos, we're brothers. He actually refers to me as bro."

"I cannot imagine you as a bro."

"You know what he bought me last weekend?"

"A promise ring?"

"A snowmobiling suit. For snowmobiling. He has two snowmobiles, and calls them sleds. When the snow falls, and Carlos can't wait, we're going to go sleddin'."

"'Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.'"

"Have you told Rajinder about the bun in ye olde oven yet?"

Madison pounded the leaves on either side of her. "I was going to. About fifty times. But I always chicken out."

"Don't you think he's going to figure it out soon, when you start wearing maternity pants?"

Madison buried her face in the leaves. "I'm a coward."

"What are you going to be for Halloween?"

"A big fat lady who hates herself."

"Be Buddha."

"No."

"Santa? President Ulysses S. Grant? Late-career Elvis? Aretha Franklin? You better hurry up and decide, girl."

Madison got up, extended a hand to Jonas, then tossed the Frisbee into the wind, and caught it herself. "Rajinder and I are going to see Jeanne and Katie tomorrow morning."

Jonas cleaned the bits of leaves and earth off Madison's face. He wondered how she didn't worry about pimples, putting all those tiny pore-clogging grains of dirt directly on her cheeks. "Can I come?"

"I don't think so."

"I thought we were going to be three amigos. Three best chums."

"I'm an amiga, aren't I?"

"If there's even one boy in the crowd, it's amigos. s.e.xist? Maybe. But you've completely excluded me."

"You've got Carlos."

Jonas turned and marched toward the stairs leading up and out of Hawrelak Park. The notion that Carlos, an ur-redneck from Leduc, could compare with her sophisticated Indian millionaire with the cute nose was preposterous. Insulting. Behind him, he could hear Madison talking to herself and jogging to catch up. He took the stairs slowly and waited on the sidewalk at the top, the traffic rumbling by.

Madison caught her breath. "We could go on double dates."

"You don't understand. A little while ago it was just you and me. Now there's this baby coming, and Rajinder and my pretends-he's-not-gay boyfriend, the whole save-the-neighbourhood thing. If it doesn't work, and it probably won't, we'll move away from each other and meet for soft drinks once a week. Then the baby'll come and there'll be less time, and all your friends'll be baby obsessed like you, and we'll just talk on the phone. About your baby. Then we'll begin to forget. Other priorities, breeder birthday parties, et cetera. Then we'll see each other from afar in Save On Foods and quietly agree to avoid meeting so we won't hold each other up. Then"

"Come on."

"I really feel this way. It happens to people. We're losing each other."

They hugged and Madison reached up and slapped Jonas in the back of the head. "Let's not."

"Deal." Jonas held out his hand for a shake.

Madison took it. "Deal."

"So can I come with you tomorrow, to see the Perlitz girls?"

"I don't know. It took a long time to get Jeanne to say yes at all, and it isn't exactly a social visit. We have to get her to say no to the university and yes to our plan."

"That's exactly why I should come. Jeanne loved me. Everyone loves me so much, you know, because I'm exceedingly funny and striking to behold. It's sick and pitiless to deprive them of my company." Jonas dropped to his knees, which smarted, and took the Frisbee out of Madison's hand. He lifted the Frisbee to the purple sky and threatened to toss it down the hill. "Please?"

Madison sighed. "It's a sombre occasion. No shenanigans."

"None."

63.

the power dinner In all his time as president of the riding a.s.sociation, the party's executive director had never summoned David Weiss for a private meeting. Though he was not the nervous sort, David found himself trying on different shirt-and-tie combinations following his late-afternoon, post-leaf-raking shower. White shirt and blue tie? White shirt and red tie? Open collar?

David found the right complement for his black suitwhite shirt and grey tieand asked Abby for her opinion. She was at the dining room table with a gla.s.s of wine, listening to a Pavarotti greatest hits CD and fussing over the New York Times crossword. "Spin."