28. Mike
MIKE
T he crane takes a little over an hour to deliver all the parts for the greenhouse to the roof.
This company’s products are always modular, and this little structure assembles with neat precision.
There are two guys from the greenhouse company to oversee the installation and I help where I can.
It’s amazing how accurately each element fits and exciting to see it all come together.
I have to love standing on the roof, watching a greenhouse panel spin and glitter like an oversized suncatcher before it’s lowered toward the waiting frame. It seems like most of Empire has gathered to watch and there are people on all the roofs in view.
I’m still sizzling from Sylvia’s kiss, wishing that she and Sierra were here to watch, too.
Each panel is two metres long and four high, made of two layers of glass.
The ones for the south and west side have blinds secured in the space between the glass, and they can be controlled with a lever in the frame.
The roof units are longer and narrower, also with blinds inside, which results in a long slope on the roof angled to the south and a shorter rise on the north.
There’s a different module in the end unit at the east side, one with a door.
The space above the end walls and the roof is filled by triangular modules, both with inset fans.
Even before the electricity is connected, the fans turn lazily in the breeze, circulating the air inside.
I’ve also ordered some dark bricks for the floor, which are delivered on skids. The crane operator lifts them to the roof as well, saving me a lot of stairs. There should be enough to build a short wall on the north side to act as a heatsink, too.
The crane pulls away before lunch, leaving us to tighten joints and caulk crevices.
There’s a cheer from the street and the rooftops as people applaud the crane and its operator on departure.
He waves like Santa Claus at the end of a Christmas parade.
The greenhouse guys pronounce themselves done a little bit later, their rep takes a ton of pictures, then they head out.
Not even two. I wave and beckon to Merrie that she can return and she waves back.
Sylvia has sent me the specifics by text and I reply to her. I still have a bit of time before I have to head to Havelock and am considering the merit of stopping in the office – even though it’s Friday – after grabbing a shower.
Instead, I turn to find a teenage boy watching me solemnly. He looks to be a bit younger than Sierra, but then boys often have their growth spurt later than girls. He’s wearing a baseball cap – a Jays fan, apparently – and his freckles seem to have freckles.
“How did you get up here?”
“The greenhouse guys let me in.”
“Why are you up here?”
“I’m Noah McLaughlin and I want to interview you,” he says. “I want the whole story behind the new greenhouse and I want an exclusive.”
I realize who he has to be. “Are you the one running The Empire Chronicle?” There’s a new website in Empire, a virtual newspaper, and I heard it was run by one of the kids in town.
He wrote an article about The Carpe Diem Café that Dierdre showed me at work one day. I just skimmed it but it was well done.
“That’s me.”
Getting some exposure is a good idea and would be more payback for the greenhouse company. “Great idea. I can’t give you an exclusive, though.”
“Why not?”
I gesture to the greenhouse. “The company who manufactured this is contributing to the installation so that they can use it as an example in their marketing.”
“They want to sell more of them.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. That’ll be mostly to their customers and to the industry trades,” he concludes, rightly enough. “I want the exclusive for the general media.”
“I can’t dictate who picks up what.”
“But you can decide who you talk to.”
I smile. “Okay. Just you.”
He nods and offers his hand. We shake on it, very solemnly, then he pulls out his phone and gets ready to record our conversation. “Are you Mike Cavendish?” he asks before he turns it on.
“I am.”
And away we go. “I’m Noah MacLaughlin and I’m on the scene at The Carpe Diem Café where a new greenhouse has just been installed on the roof.
If you’ve been following me this morning, you’ve already seen The Empire Chronicle’s coverage of the installation from the street.
If not, check our archive. Right now, I’m on the roof with Mike Cavendish.
Tell me, Mike, what’s the plan for this greenhouse? ”
We’re sitting at the bus depot, waiting for Sierra’s bus, the windows rolled down and a cool breeze flowing through the cab. Una looks really weary and I had to lift her out of the wheelchair at the hospital and into the truck. I think she’s dozed off until she speaks.
“I was friends with Dianne, you know.”
I turn to look at her, surprised by her words. “My mom.”
Una nods, a strand of silver hair blowing across her face. Her gaze is fixed on the distance. “I liked her so much. We were so different, not just in age, and I admired her greatly.”
I don’t know a great deal about my mom. She died when I was four so I don’t remember a lot about her either.
There are a few pictures at the house, mostly of her laughing with a swarm of little boys around her knees, and I think I remember the sound of her laughter.
She was beautiful. The old photos remind me of that.
“I’ve been thinking of her a lot lately,” Una admits. “She had an ability to just carry on, to smile through anything, and do it so well that you never guessed her heart was breaking.”
I glance at Una again in surprise. “When was her heart breaking?”
“Most of the time.” She gives me a shrewd look. “I always kept her confidence, because it seemed like the right thing to do, but now I wonder if that’s creating more trouble than it should. I want to tell you about her, if you don’t mind.”
“I’d love to know more.”
“I thought so.” Una nods, choosing her words.
“I suppose that when you have several children, you’re not supposed to have a favourite, but you were always Dianne’s favourite.
And you were the one she worried about. You were a serious child, always, slow to anger, patient.
She always worried that your loyalty might lead you astray.
She knew that once you admitted someone to your inner circle, you would trust them completely, maybe do anything for them regardless of the price to yourself.
That kind of honour is rare, Mike, and it can tear someone apart if it’s abused.
” She takes a breath while I’m absorbing this.
“That’s one of the reasons she was going to leave Patrick. ”
“What?”
“Oh yes, your mother wanted a divorce. They had a whirlwind courtship, from my understanding. She always got this dreamy expression when she talked about it. I will guess that Patrick decided she was the wife for him. I’ll guess that he overcame every objection with persistence and style, so that all that remained was for her to agree.
Maybe she was infatuated with him. Certainly, her parents encouraged the match.
A beautiful wedding, she told me. A fairy tale come true.
” Una shakes her head. “And then the babies began to come.”
“Three boys,” I provide when she falls silent.
“Three very hard pregnancies,” Una says, which I hadn’t known.
“There are women who love being pregnant. I was one of them. I never felt better than when I was carrying Liam. I would have had a dozen children willingly, but that wasn’t meant to be.
Liam wasn’t even two when Jacob died, and there could never be another man for me.
Liam would be my only child.” She sighs and I don’t know what to say.
I remember that Sylvia’s parents were killed in a car accident when she was small, but it seems a bit late to offer condolences.
“Dianne, though, had nothing but difficulty during her pregnancies. If she wasn’t sick to her stomach, she had aches and pains.
Bed rest a lot of the time. She never had the bloom that many pregnant women get.
She always looked a bit off. And the deliveries, well, she had a hard time with those, too. ”
I had no idea. Memories of my mom aren’t exactly common in Candace’s house.
Una shakes her head. “She was determined, though, to do right by Patrick and give him sons. She thought she was done after you arrived – an heir and a spare – but that wasn’t enough for Patrick. She was sure that the proverbial store could close after Austin’s arrival, but Patrick disagreed.”
I could believe he would.
“I worked for Doc Miller in those days. Started there as a receptionist after Jacob died, but I ended up doing more than managing his appointments. My mother was a bit of a healer. She made a lot of herbal teas that were particularly of help with women’s concerns.
When I saw women with painful periods come to the doctor and leave without answers, I wanted to help.
Doc Miller wasn’t overly impressed at first, but he also didn’t like that he couldn’t help them.
He used to research the ingredients first. A tea made from raspberry leaves isn’t going to hurt anyone, which was why he agreed.
I think he was surprised by how much difference those teas could make.
And so, he often told his women patients to talk to me.
” She smiles. “I remember the time I made my mother’s red clover tea for a baby with a persistent cough.
He was so excited when that child just coughed up the phlegm and began to breathe more clearly. Nothing else had worked.”
“You must have talked to my mom a lot.”