Sunny Days, Sunny Ways

The church was, as always, dusty.  As always, Tracy ignored it.  She sneezed once, at which Vachon looked round from the corner, where he was getting out a bottle; but, when it was not chased by a Kleenex but a sheepish grin, he turned back to grab a can from behind the box.  This he offered Tracy, who took it with slight surprise.  Vachon was always hospitable in his own way; but refreshments were not often forthcoming.  The can was almost cool (which she attributed to the ambient temperature of the old building); and she pulled the tab and took a draught with some relief.  It had been a stinking hot day; and the night was not much better.

“I envy you, you know,” she said, lowering the can.  “I don’t think you’re sweating at all; and I’m so sticky I wish I could go home and shower.  Except by the time I got back here I’d feel just as bad again.”  She burped.  The Sprite had been a bit shaken.

“Perks of eternity.”  He saluted her, bottle in hand, and took a swig.  “So, other than that, how was your day, Mrs. Lincoln?”

“What?”  Tracy looked puzzled.

He shook his head.  “Forget it.”

“Labour Day weekend coming up, that’s all,” she said.  “I got a choice to make—which used not to be the case but—” She shrugged.  “I didn’t choose for my parents to split up.  Why that means the holiday’s got to be spoilt is beyond me; but one or the other is going to be pissed.  And that’s just a fact, and nothing I can do about it.”

Vachon looked at her quizzically.

Her lip twisted in annoyance.  For a few seconds, she toyed with the can; then she drank some more.  “Forget it,” she said finally.  “I’ve got some time to decide, whichever way.”

Vachon settled on the floor and, after a few awkward starts, brought up Babylon 5, which he had chased round the clock on CTV before the series had settled happily into a seven p.m. slot on a small independent station.  Tracy, who saw no reason to get hooked on a sci-fi show, had been mysteriously resistant to watching with him.  (“Well, I am a resistor,” she had told him, with an impish grin.)  She’d cheerfully missed as many episodes as possible when she could summon another commitment.  Even so, given the size of her apartment, she’d heard a fair bit of the show when she’d simply had to be home.

“Mind if I drop by to use the TV?” he asked.  He’d taken the precaution of taping the series on her VCR to rerun in the summer silly season.  “I’d kind of like to rewatch the good bits.  Not,” he twinkled, “on your nights off.  I’ll spare you the reruns.”

“Sure, okay,” she said easily.  “Hey, pull the blinds and spend all of Labour Day at my place, if you want.  I’ll be otherwise occupied.”  Roused to bitterness again, she added, “Occupied where is a different question.”  Looking down, she toyed with the can of Sprite.

“You want another of those?” Vachon put in.  “I got a half dozen.”

“No, I’m all right.”  She drank deep, and set it down on the floor.  “Am I being thoroughly obscure?  I suppose I am.  Sorry.”

“Don’t if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, twist my arm!”  She rolled her eyes.  “No, it’s okay.   Nothing you haven’t heard before.”  Ruefully, she tried a laugh.  “Friend you can bore his ear off, that’s you.  It’s just my parents, you know.”

He nodded.  “Kind of figured.”

“Well, my mother wants me to go to her new apartment on Labour Day.  For dinner; but probably do something in the afternoon first.  I don’t imagine the Ex—not on its last day—but maybe a movie or something.”

Vachon nodded.

“But Labour Day’s always been a thing in the family.  Everyone heads over to Gramps’ place.  He and Gran have this big barbecue set-up, with tables out in the yard.  It gets crowded, what with Uncle Sonny and Aunt Rena and their family, and Uncle Dave and Aunt Steffie and their family, and my grandparents, of course; and there are some cousins from Barrie who usually drive down; and Aunt Mary, who’s actually my great-aunt, and all her lot; and Dad, of course.”

“The whole tribe, in fact,” said Vachon, stifling amusement.

“No,” said Tracy seriously.  “There are cousins in Calgary; and—if you want a tribe—there are the Vetters down in the Maritimes.  But, yeah … basically everyone from around here comes.  Gramps used to do the barbecue; nowadays it’s mostly Uncle Dave.  Dad would take over entirely, if you ask me; but he’s kind of bossy about cooking things his way whether or not people say ‘well-cooked’, which gets them mad.  So it’s mostly Uncle Dave.  Or maybe Uncle Sonny, except he gets tired easily; so Aunt Rena tries to insist he sit down as much as possible.”

“I’ll try to keep track,” said Vachon, as utterly straight-faced as possible.  “Do you have one of those family trees you could lend me?”

She looked him in the eye and said, “Piss off, Javier.”  And he laughed.  After a moment, though, her own funny bone tickled irresistibly; and she couldn’t stifle a matching grin.  “Yeah, you do need a scorecard,” she admitted.

He looked into her eyes and added things up.  His smile faded.  “Your mother.  Before the divorce, she would be there at the barbecue along with your Dad and you; but now … she’s persona non grata?”

“Ooh, with the big words.”

“It means—”

“I know what it means.”  She sighed.  “Basically, yeah.  I mean, some of them do take Dad’s side.  Obviously.  On the other hand, I’ve heard Aunt Rena talk about how she feels being married to a cop; and I think she’s one who for sure gets why Mum drinks.  Or did drink,” she corrected herself swiftly.  “She’s still going to meetings.  Anyway, I know Mum and Aunt Rena are still close:  she goes over there sometimes.  Thing is, though, Dad will be at the barbecue:  he always is.  Or at least he’ll drop in for a while even if there’s some bigwig Commission stuff he feels he has to go to, holiday or no holiday.  And I’m quite sure he doesn’t want Mum there.  And there could be a scene—started by him, really, if you ask me.”  She looked down, picking at the knee of her jeans.  “Mum’s all right,” she said.  “Dad can be flat-out impossible at times.  On the other hand, this is the big family do, highlight of the summer.  It’s not just Mum and Dad.  It’s the rest of the family, too.  And they’re okay, you know.  Mostly.”

Vachon nodded.  “But she wants you to go to her instead.”

“Yup.  Got it in one.  Mum’s making a big deal of my not going to the barbecue.  Of spending the day with her.”

“Choosing.”

Tracy nodded.  She bent down, picked up the can of Sprite, and took a final sip.  Vachon waited.  Finally, putting the can back down, Tracy muttered, “Boy, I wish I had duty that night.  Only I don’t.”  She snorted faintly.  “I don’t even think Dad fiddled the schedule.  It just came out that way.”

“Swap with someone?”

She shook her head.  “Too obvious.”  Looking up from denim to meet big brown eyes, she said simply, “Yeah, skipping out would be great in a way.  But Uncle Sonny….”  She bit her lip.  “You do know, right?  I did tell you?  About his heart?”

“Well, yeah,” Vachon said, startled.  “That whole business back with Dr. Lambert being kidnapped and all that … the stolen hearts….”

“Well, he’s worse.”  It was a bald statement, followed by Tracy looking blankly around the room till her eyes rested on a dark corner.

“I’m sorry.”

“And still they’ve found no match for him.”

He nodded sympathetically.

She bent down, picked up the Sprite can again, shook it slightly but found it empty, and put it back on the floor.

“Trace,” he began.

She looked up.  “He’s the oldest of the family.  Barring Gramps and Gran, obviously, but—he never had the drive, the ambition, that Dad has.  Or even Uncle Dave.  He made sergeant in the end, but I think even that was just to shut Dad up; he’d go on at him.  But Uncle Sonny was happy being just a patrol officer, you know?  He wants his life to go on the way it always has, not always trying to change things.”  She blinked, hard; and Vachon could swear she was on the verge of tears.  “He gets people.  I could always talk to him when Dad was busy, or—even more—when Dad was just not listening to what I was trying to say.”

“Sure,” murmured Vachon.

“I just—”  She choked up.  Then she shook her head, biting her lip.  “I don’t—”  She stifled a sob and said, “Maybe that other Sprite?”

Vachon didn’t move to get it.  “All that,” he said.  “That it’s not your Dad you’re choosing; nor even going for the habit of the old family get-together.  That it’s your Uncle Sonny.  You don’t think she’ll get it?  You said she’s still close to your aunt—that’s the one married to your Uncle Sonny, right?”

Tracy nodded.

“What you just said to me,” said Vachon gently.  “Tell that to your Mum.”