Sussex Drive: A Novel by Linda Svendsen Read Free Book Online Page A

most of all.”
    He disappeared, pretending to flee his aides-de-camp, out the door. Lise put her arm around Niko.
    “You’ll be okay,
Maman
,” he said, then turned to Shymanski and shadow-boxed him to the Long Gallery. She suddenly heard Niko hammering “Chopsticks” on Glenn Gould’s practice Steinway, accompanied by Shymanski’s steady chords.
    In the afternoon, Lise accompanied Niko to his therapist. Dr. Pelletier’s modern home office, in the Glebe, faced out on the Rideau Canal. The interior light was beautiful,calming, even on dark days, and when Lise joined Niko in his sessions, it felt as if her son could fully accept losing
son cher papa
, handle being a half–First Nations boy with his famous African mother representing Charles, the King of England, and deal with a hip French-Canadian-Caucasian stepfather who sometimes sucked the aforementioned mother’s complete attention. In the winter, while Dr. Pelletier calmly reframed their thinking errors, she heard the ice-skate blades whisking by on the Canal and, outside, walking back to the car, she inhaled the scent of roasting chestnuts in the cold air. Small things that gave order and clarity and major hope. She kept her faith: he was a lonely teenager in a tough hierarchical milieu. She understood why Niko was drawn to the slightly older Martha, who was unspoiled, grounded, and didn’t play social games. Lise thought she would have been a wonderful friend for Niko if she hadn’t been so Christian.
    Today, though, Dr. Pelletier had run interference at his door and asked if she minded if he and Niko met alone to set goals for the school year. Lise did not.
    “À plus,”
she said, and eased back to the car. Corporal Shymanski waited behind the wheel; he was an excellent defensive driver. “I’ve been kicked out,” she said.
    “Do you want to return to Rideau Hall?”
    “We’ll just have to turn around and come back.”
    In the end, she decided she wanted to sit on a bench in the shade by the Canal; it was so hot, and too humid for joggers, and they were basically on their own. Lise asked him abouthis prosthesis, if he was happy with his lighter carbon-fibre composite leg, was the suction suspension comfortable? She’d had experience talking to other transfemoral amputees, who were also veterans, and was able to engage in the details without exhibiting either horror or pity.
    Shymanski provided a few updates about muscle atrophy and the physio he was undertaking.
    “It was a tough thing that happened,” she said. “For sure.”
    “It was,” he agreed.
    She noticed steps to the water near the boat tie-up, not too far from them. “Why don’t we go over there?” she suggested. “We can put our feet in the water and cool off.”
    Shymanski smiled. “Foot.”
    “Oh, mon Dieu,”
she said. “How stupid of me.”
    “No worries. Let’s do it.”
    They headed over; she had to, at that point, having been completely insensitive after referencing his prosthetic leg. She slipped out of her sandals and sat down at the edge, lowering her feet. It was lovely and cool. She didn’t want to check and see what Shymanski was doing—it was taking him a while to remove his New Balance sneaker. She played with her feet, skimming the surface, rotating her ankles, and suddenly his big white foot loomed beside hers. He stood and kept the prosthetic with the other New Balance shoe dry on shore. She had to give it to him—he was game.
    “Do you ever hear anything about Lieutenant-Colonel Aisha K.?” she asked. “Or is the case closed?”
    “They don’t talk about her,” Shymanski said. “Not to me.”
    “She was an extraordinary person. Look at the response to her here in Canada.”
    “Yes, Your Excellency.” Shymanski nodded.
    She sensed a well of deeper feeling—loss, bitterness—but he wasn’t going to spill. She also had a bad habit of projection; after all, it was
her
husband who’d left that day.
    “She was like a rock star, wasn’t she?”