Definitely Against Policy, page 18
He didn’t care to rush off, anyway. Mary’s absence drained the sales office of color despite its bright red sofa and rainbow-hued prints. The irony of Mary’s secret letter to his family wasn’t lost on him, but he wasn’t angry with her. Only sad, tired, and hollow with regret.
Chapter Seventeen
Unaccustomed to eating breakfast, Eli felt as if he’d swallowed an anvil as he drove to In-Spire. At least his headache was gone. Grandma stayed behind to wash, dry, and iron a pile of shirts intended for the dry cleaner, muttering under her breath that a laundry service was “a vain extravagance” and “it was time Eli found a wife.” Pretending he didn’t hear, Eli kissed her cheek and set off with Jacob in tow.
What would Felicity and the others—the City of Toronto—make of Jacob Klassen? Awkward Jacob, age thirty-six and finally a husband and father, dressed in his best navy bomber jacket and work pants, a Syngenta ballcap over his kitchen chair buzz cut. Fatherhood had catalyzed Jacob’s smug religiosity to a feverish ecstasy. Eli was content to concede the moral molehill to him, if only he wouldn’t blather on about Jesus when they got to the office. Which he would. Look up culture clash in a dictionary and you’d find a picture of a Bible-clutching Jacob with a goofy grin on his face next to a confused real estate agent. The propensity for spontaneous public prayer was encoded in the Klassen DNA, though the gene had skipped Eli, praise Jesus.
Jacob embarrassed him. Eli felt ashamed for feeling that way, and here they were on Lakeshore, minutes away from his mortification.
Jacob peered through the passenger window. “Thousands of people on these streets and in these buildings and not one of them could feed himself if the trucks stopped coming and the stores closed. Without us, they’d all starve.”
Eli swerved around a slowing Uber. “And without them, you’d be naked, getting around on foot, maybe dead for lack of medical care.”
“I’ll grant you that, Eli, but what is your contribution to God’s creation?”
“Touché.”
Jacob had made a valid point. In the grand economic machine, a farmer or a surgeon or a garbageman were essential cogs. A realtor was only lubrication, a facilitator in the movement of money. Might as well agree and move on.
However, Jacob had only warmed up. “You’re like the tax collector in the temple. You take your cut and live high and mighty in a tower, though God knows your trickery.” He stabbed Eli’s shoulder with a knife-like finger. “Real estate agents can’t be trusted. They’re in business for themselves. Same as lawyers, insurance salesmen, and usurers.”
“Usurers. You mean bankers? Jeez, you’re hostile toward everyone in finance. Jake, if you’re in money trouble, I can cover a payment.”
“You laugh, but—”
“I’m not laughing. You have a family to support. You mentioned a new tractor, and if you’re behind on a loan or whatever—”
“I don’t need your money. We’re getting by. I’m talking about your soul, younger brother. Toronto is a zoo. The people who live here, they’re like exotic animals. All different and all jostling against each other and sleeping in pens and cages. A man can’t be righteous here. There’s no room for God. You don’t belong here.”
“I’m all right but thanks for the advice.” Eli checked over his shoulder, then turned down a narrow alley to a lot tucked behind a nondescript building.
“How much do you pay for parking?”
“Three-fifty a month.”
“Forty-two hundred a year?” Jacob’s voice broke with incredulity and Eli predicted he’d share this shocking fact with all and sundry at coffee hour after Sunday service. “We could pave the lane or replace the roof with aluminum for that kind of money. All you get is the use of what, eighty square feet? A patch of pavement.”
“Gotta spend money to make money.”
Jacob whistled through his teeth. “If you didn’t spend it in the first place, you wouldn’t have to run in your hamster wheel and live in a cage.”
“Judge not lest ye be judged,” Eli deadpanned as he engaged the parking brake.
“‘He that loveth his brother abideth in the light.’ I say these things to you, Eli, because it’s my duty as your elder brother to guide you.”
Eli regarded his brother, now clambering out of the car. Duty. That’s what made Jacob tick. He saw himself as patriarch-in-waiting and took the role seriously.
“We’re late,” said Eli. “When we get to the office, you can visit with Felicity, the receptionist, while I meet with my client. Felicity texted that she’d be happy to show you the project.”
They walked in silence, Jacob a jumpy tourist, Eli dreading his meeting with the dowager, a formidable woman who disliked excuses. He checked his watch. Ten minutes behind schedule.
Eli opened the door and followed Jacob inside. “Where’s Mrs. Humphries?” he asked Felicity, who stared vacantly at Jacob.
“Who?”
“My client. You were supposed to offer her coffee and my apology for running late.”
“Oh, her. Uncle Stephen was here and told her she had better options. He offered to show her a two-bedroom in the Century project. They left five minutes ago.”
“But she was all set to buy here. She only had to choose her upgrades and sign on the dotted line. She’s my client.” Who he’d buttered up for weeks.
“Don’t tell me that, Eli. Tell Uncle Stephen.”
“Holy shit.” Felicity’s eyes darted back and forth between the brothers. “You two look like freaking twins.”
Jacob doffed his cap and dipped his head. “I’m Jacob Klassen. Older by seven years.” His bashfulness lent him a down-to-earth charm that Eli had never seen before.
“No kidding.” Felicity giggled. “I’ll bet you have a ton of stories about your brother.”
“I’m going for a walk,” said Eli, making for the door.
Outside, he couldn’t decide where to go. He didn’t have another meeting for a couple of hours, so he wandered aimlessly down side streets, through churchyards and small parks, away from the construction projects and hubbub of the arterial roads. The rift with Mary had cracked him into pieces, and he didn’t know who he’d be when he glued himself back together again, if he even could.
Eli should be furious with Stephen, but he found that he wasn’t. At Hill Realty, Mrs. Humphries was a client of the brokerage, not the agent, and technically Stephen hadn’t broken any rule, though he was in clear violation of decency and the salient unwritten rule, “thou shalt never steal a client from another agent.” Furthermore, Stephen and Claudia took a generous cut on all transactions, though Claudia kept a tight grip on the purse strings to keep her husband on the straight and narrow.
On the other hand, Eli had it coming and he knew it. He’d slept with the man’s wife and scooped his few investor clients while he was in rehab. Stephen was only evening the score.
Returning to the office, Eli walked through a garden blooming in forsythia and plum. Songbirds built nests and staked their territory in chirps and trills. However bereft and guilty he felt, the birds didn’t give a damn about his feelings, and good for them. As Eli approached the door, Felicity’s shrill giggle and Jacob’s braying laughter carried through an open window. At least one Klassen was having a good day.
****
To pay Eli back without risk of financial ruin, Mary had to find a job to supplement her meager wage as a TA, so on Tuesday morning she sequestered herself in the dank basement office she shared with another doctoral student and rolled up her sleeves. Mary scanned the list of “opportunities” on the Kerry Workplace Solutions website. Receptionist, administrative assistant, file clerk…anything in that no-fuss, no-muss category would do. She uploaded her resume and started filling out the Byzantine application form. The agency required three references, including one from her most recent employer, before they’d even offer an interview.
Two references were easy. Mary could ask Penny, the department people-pleaser, and Jim, a co-worker from her holiday serving job. But who could she ask at Hill Realty? Not Claudia or Stephen, and definitely not Eli. She didn’t know Lori, Alex, or Bill well enough to ask a favor. That left Jonquil.
Mary texted her and seconds later, Jonquil responded with a phone call.
“Why, of course I’ll be your reference, Mary,” she enthused. “Only tell me, how are you? Really. I was utterly distraught when I heard you left us. How are you?”
“Not bad considering I didn’t leave. I was fired.”
“Yes, well, you’ll be missed.”
By whom, Jonquil didn’t say, so Mary asked her.
“Well, I’ll miss you and, umm, who else? That bicycle courier, the one with the handlebar mustache and all the tattoos—”
“Neither of us even knows his name.”
“Not true. I know he’s a Scorpio…it’s Brendan. Or Brandon?”
“Brent,” Mary offered as a lark.
“Brent! Of course. You’ve got a sharp memory, Mary, and that’s what I’ll say as your reference.”
“Thank you, Jonquil. I really appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome. And some parting wisdom? When a door closes—”
“Another opens?” finished Mary.
“Yes. This may be the best thing that has ever happened to you. I know you were attracted to Eli, and you’ll miss him, but you were chasing the impossible. Your auras aren’t complementary. He’s a shimmering, electric blue, and your aura, well, you’re on a different wavelength.”
“Oh? What color is my aura?”
“Well, before I say anything more, Mary, you should know that auras change. It’s possible for anyone to nurture their spirit and develop their aura with meditation, breathwork, and other yogic practices. If you’re interested in soul work, I can put you in touch with my healer. The art of reading auras is extremely complex, and I really should stay in my lane.”
“There’s no harm in sharing, is there, Jonquil? I am curious, and if you think I’d benefit from soul work—”
“It’s beige,” Jonquil blurted. “A dull fawn.”
“That’s not even on the color wheel,” Mary whined. “That’s camouflage.”
“I also detect a hint of yellow,” Jonquil said, back-pedaling furiously. “A subtle color. A nice warm beige is nothing to be ashamed about.”
“You’re saying my personality is boring beige.”
“Not your personality, Mary. Only your aura. You’re a very nice girl. It’s a spiritual thing. Think energy. Chi. Magnetism.”
“I’m a triple-A battery and Eli’s a nuclear reactor?”
“I said nothing of the sort. Really, I shouldn’t have stepped out of my wheelhouse. The science of auras is complicated. As I said, if you want the name of my healer—”
“That’s okay, Jonquil. I won’t trouble you for more than the reference. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Just out of curiosity, what color is Felicity’s aura?”
“Felicity Hill?”
“Yes.” Who else, for fuck’s sake.
“Her aura is orange. A lively, adventurous, joyful orange.”
“And orange is a complement to blue? On the color wheel?”
Jonquil replied slowly, “Yes, I suppose it is.” Then, with artificial enthusiasm, she said, “It was lovely chatting with you, Mary. I’m sending you good vibes for your job hunt!” and she ended the call.
Their conversation bothered Mary for the rest of the day. Although Jonquil had spouted woo-woo nonsense, her crazy notions sat on a bedrock of truth. Dull, beige people didn’t take risks. They stuck to the rules, kissed asses, double-checked references, and applied for the position of file clerk with Kerry Workplace Solutions. And they definitely freaked out when their boyfriend went all electric blue on them.
When Mary got home that evening, she asked Dominic, “Do you believe people have auras?”
“What?” He stopped watering his orchid and gave a small laugh. “Have you been hanging out in the drama department again?”
“I know it’s silly. People don’t have auras, but do you think it’s possible to characterize people’s personalities with color?”
“Sure. Why not? As long as I’m plaid. Or paisley. I wouldn’t want to be pigeonholed.”
“Let’s start again. Assuming each person has an array of personality traits—”
“A sound assumption.”
“And one or two of those traits are dominant—”
“A shaky assumption.”
“What color would I be?”
“You?” Dominic rubbed his chin and took a long, appraising look at her. “That’s difficult.”
“Oh, come on, Dominic. It’s not as if I’m asking you if I look fat in this dress.”
“You’re wearing jeans.”
“Your literalism is unhelpful at present. You know what I mean. Use your intuition. The first color that pops in your head when you see me.”
“Very well. Navy with gold chevrons.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Because this is dumb. People don’t have auras.” With a shake of his head, Dominic picked a tiny clump of dust from a leaf.
“But if they did, would I be beige?”
“No, not beige. And not gray, puce, or brown either. You’d be a bold, primary color.”
Mary smiled with relief. “Okay. How about Eli?”
Dominic gave Mary a scolding look. “I’m not answering that. You broke up with him yesterday.”
“Just for fun and I won’t ask any more crazy questions.”
“Okay.” Dominic sighed. “He’s electric blue.”
“Fuck. No kidding.”
“Yes kidding. I just said the first color that popped into my head.”
“That’s the whole point, Dominic. You answered intuitively. I really am beige.”
“No, you’re not. Your imaginary aura is spectacular, Mary. You just don’t have enough fun.” Dominic hugged her. “It’s ‘Reel Deal Tuesday’. Want to go to the cinema?”
Mary glanced at her messy desk. “Why not,” she replied. “A little escapism might bring out my yellow.”
****
Used to cooking for multitudes, Grandma prepared a massive supper of roast chicken thighs, ham in case Eli preferred it to fowl, mashed potatoes, a rainbow of vegetables, a pickle tray, and a loaf of bread to round out the meal. Eli was mildly astonished that she’d pulled off such a feat given the paucity of cookware in the kitchen.
Grandma turned off the oven and said, “I’ll leave the pies in so they’re warm for dessert. Now go and sit at the table with your brother. Everything’s ready.”
Jacob had taken the chair at the head of the table, so Eli seated himself across from her.
“Jacob?” prompted Grandma. “Before the food gets cold.”
They bowed their heads, though Eli didn’t close his eyes, and Jacob cleared his throat as if warming up for the keynote address at a Toastmasters convention.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you for the bounty of this table, for the sustenance of flesh from animals winged and hooved, the nourishing leaves, seeds, and roots of your earth, and for the many people whose hands worked hard to bring us our supper. We also thank you for the blessing of family and for the shelter of Eli’s home. Lord, with humble hearts, we thank you for our health that we may serve you in our labors.”
Eli peered at Jacob and Grandma, whose eyes were clamped shut. The bounty of the table was cooling rapidly, but Jacob continued his blessing, voice rising in petition.
“Lord, we ask that you strengthen us to do what is right and good in service to you, and that you hold Eli, especially, in your tender and merciful care so that he may cut his way through the thorny wilderness of godlessness to a life of Christian devotion, justice, and grace. Help him turn away from darkness and false idols and direct him to your light. Deter him from the path of sin so that he may follow the path of righteousness. And help him mature into a Godly family man with a dutiful wife and obedient children. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” whispered Grandma. She unfolded her hands and grinned at Eli. “’Bout time you ate a decent meal. Dig in!”
“Thank you, Grandma.” Eli decided not to argue against Jacob’s manipulative agenda cloaked in a prayer. “This looks and smells delicious,” he said instead.
Jacob forked a thick slice of ham onto his plate, so Eli took a piece of chicken.
“You boys tell me about your day.” Grandma pushed a heaping bowl of potatoes toward Eli.
“It was interesting,” Jacob said through a mouthful of ham.
“You didn’t leave the sales office,” said Eli.
“Didn’t have to. I saw plenty staying put in that portable. The receptionist, Felicity, she really likes you, Eli. And she’s so pretty, not that it matters.”
“Are you playing matchmaker, Jacob?” asked Grandma.
“Eli could do worse.” He filled his plate from the bowls, licking a serving spoon before returning it to the coleslaw.
Grandma tapped Jacob’s hand in rebuke. “What’s her name?”
“Felicity,” said Jacob. “Sweet disposition. Kind.”
“And too young for me,” said Eli.
“She’s twenty-three,” said Jacob.
“A young twenty-three,” argued Eli.
“Even better,” said Jacob. “At her age, you can still teach her. Mold her into a wife who makes her husband proud. She was keen on learning about farming and Eden Springs.”
Grandma said, “I was eighteen when I married your grandfather. And your father and mother were both nineteen when they tied the knot. Worked out well for us despite our immaturity.”
Eli stared at his plate. It hadn’t worked out well for any of them. The Klassen men relished their self-appointed role as wife-molders, and Grandma, his mother, and Ruth suffered for it. Grandma corrected her children and grandchildren with moral authority, patience, and kindness, but Grandpa had relied on sharp criticism and a thick leather strap. This lesson in contrasts was lost on Jacob. Eli said quietly, “Felicity’s a nice girl, but she’s not the one for me.”
