Charlie:Did I ever tell you that you’re trouble?
Me:If you’re not in the mood for trouble, I’ll just have to read page 179 again.
My phone rings seconds later. “Why don’t you read it to me?”
Nan barely speaks the entire drive to Ottawa. When we pull up to the modern cube of a home where John lives, she peers out the window.
“This isn’t where I pictured him ending up.”
The house is owned by John’s son, and it’s one of those multilevel flat-roofed concrete-and-glass structures.
“Are you all right, Nan?” Bennett asks. Charlie and I share a glance.
“Not really,” she says. “Let this be a lesson to you all: Don’t let wounds fester. It only gets harder to repair them.”
With that, she steps out of the car. Charlie offers her his arm, but she shoos him away. We hang back, giving her space.
Nan rings the bell, and the door swings open. I hear John say my grandmother’s name before she steps forward into a long embrace. When they part, Charlie shakes John’s hand, giving him a warm pat on the shoulder.
“My goodness, Alice,” John says when he sees me. “You’ve grown up.”
“You did, too,” I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. John’s salt-and-pepper hair has gone white. He wears his trousers high on his waist in a way that I thought was funny when I was younger, and now looks rather stylish. His eyes still twinkle behind his wire-rimmed glasses, the way my grandfather’s did. John is a couple of inches shorter than Nan. So was Grandpa. They were best friends, two scrappy short dudes with a passion for fishing and pranks and poker.
“John, this is my great-granddaughter, Bennett,” Nan says.
John studies Bennett, who’s doing her best to maintain eye contact. He extends his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.
“Would you like tea? Coffee?” John asks, leading us throughthe white space. It reminds me more of a gallery than a home. I like how clean it feels, how free of baggage, though it strikes me that John looks out of place. It’s very different from the Tudor he and Joyce lived in, with its dark wood, brocade, and knickknacks.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say. “But we’re going to take Bennett downtown while you two catch up.” Nan has agreed to this plan, but now she looks at me, wild-eyed.
“We’ve got tickets for a tour of the East Block,” Charlie says. “Bennett wants to see the historic rooms. We’ll be back around three, if that works.”
John glances at Nan and then straightens his shoulders. “We’ll see you this afternoon. Have fun, kids.”
We eat on the patio of a pub in the ByWard Market before heading to the imposing Gothic castle–like fortress that is the East Block of the Parliament Buildings. Charlie is hooked on the tour guide’s every word, and at one point raises his hand to ask a question about its restoration.
I snap a photo and then whisper “Nerd” in his ear. He tucks me under his elbow and tousles my hair before smacking a kiss on top of my head. Bennett stares at us, mouth agape, and we both freeze.
I smooth my palms over my shorts when Charlie releases me.
“We’re just kidding around,” I say to Bennett.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. She’s never looked like such a teenager.
“Not whatever,” I say.
“Auntie Ali, please. I’m not stupid. You two are obviously doing it.”
My mouth: open. My face: scarlet. My ability to speak: zero.
My niece—whose diaper I changed not that long ago!—is talking about sex.
Charlie puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezes, and then lets go. “Bennett, your aunt and I are good friends. We’re not a couple. And apart from that, it’s none of anyone’s business.” He says it in that easy way of his, with no hint of reprimand, but there’s no mistaking that he’s telling her to back off.
I hold my breath, waiting for Bennett’s face to crumple, but she nods. “Okay.”
Later that afternoon, we return to John’s house tired from an afternoon of wandering in the city and sticky with sugar and cinnamon from the BeaverTails we ate in the car. No one answers when we ring the doorbell. The three of us stand on the step looking at each other, and then we hear my grandmother’s laugh. We follow the sound to the backyard, which is much the same as the front. Ornamental grasses in right-angled beds, a concrete block patio. Nan and John sit at a table across from each other, each with a cup of tea. They’re laughing. I raise my camera.
