The High Road Read Online Free Page B

he headed back to the engineering faculty.’”
    “Daniel, if I believed that I’d say it. But I don’t, and because I want to arrive safely for lunch, I’m keeping quiet about it.” Sheturned her gaze to the trees lining the road. “I think I just saw a cardinal.”
    We drove in silence for a time before she piped up again, ever cheerful.
    “I understand my granddaughter and you are now living together in sin in the McLintock boathouse.” She was still gazing casually out the window.
    I still wasn’t used to her directness. News travels fast in small towns.
    “I was going to tell you. We were going to tell you,” I stammered. “We had such an amazing time in Quebec City. And, well, one thing led to another, which led to her moving her stuff in when we got back. I hope you’re okay with that. You are okay with that, aren’t you?”
    She reached over and patted my arm.
    “I couldn’t be happier.”
    I unclenched.
    Not another word was exchanged for the rest of the drive, giving me plenty of quiet time to wonder why I thought I might finally be free of politics. I reviewed the evidence again and again, and convinced myself that Angus could not and would not seek re-election and the world would return to equilibrium. I really didn’t think I had the stomach to return to politics yet again. And I was eager to resume my delayed re-entry to the academic world. When Angus won the seat, the University of Ottawa had agreed to hold open my teaching position in the English department so I could accompany the new Cumberland-Prescott MP to Parliament Hill. Working with Angus had been fun, fresh, and even exciting. But like skydiving, I wasn’t sure I could do it every day for the next four years, even if Angus could somehow win this seat again without the gift of his new Tory opponent self-immolating just before the vote. It felt like I was done.
    When we arrived at Chateau McLintock, Angus was waiting to open the car door for Muriel and arm her into the warmth of the living room. My last act before getting out of the car was toset my BlackBerry to
Vibrate
so we wouldn’t be disturbed during lunch. Angus seemed happy. His hair, a cross between Albert Einstein and Bob Marley, was in full frazzle. His beard? Well, it looked not unlike Niagara Falls, just not quite as orderly. Safely ensconced on the couch with a glass of Dubonnet, Muriel looked utterly content as Angus bustled about. I flopped down next to her. Out the window, I could see the boathouse through the trees. Lindsay had gone over to her mother’s to help her assemble a bird feeder she’d received for Christmas from a distant and sadistic relative. The kit had more parts than a V8 engine and instructions written only in French, Spanish, Italian, and what Lindsay thought might be Japanese. I’d offered to help, but knowing of my stunted mechanical gifts, Lindsay had wisely declined. For me, it’s a very short trip from “do it yourself” to “blew it yourself.”
    “Angus, I had such a wonderful time here on Christmas afternoon,” Muriel gushed in a voice designed to reach Angus all the way in the kitchen. “It was a wonderful celebration.”
    “Aye, that was a splendid time,” Angus replied as he returned with a serving tray of Swedish meatballs. There was also some kind of a sauce and a tiny pewter cylinder of toothpicks. Despite her tremor, Muriel was quite adept at stabbing the meatballs, dipping them, and then getting them to her mouth. I was into my fourth or fifth meatball when Angus headed for the door to the deck.
    “Okay, I’m runnin’,” Angus said over his shoulder, his Scottish lilt draped over every word, but more like a tarpaulin than a shawl.
    “What do you mean? We just got here,” I said perplexed. Muriel was smiling in mid-meatball.
    His hand on the doorknob, Angus turned to me.
    “You’re not hearin’ me. Or perhaps you don’t want to. I said, I’m runnin’ … for re-election.” With that, he disappeared out onto