344 THE ADVOCATE
VOL. 78 PART 3 MAY 2020
I can’t just leave him, can I? “I’ll check on you later today. See a doctor.” “I’ll
be fine.”
I get in my car and look at Maxine. I think to myself, “I guess I’m supposed
to say something wise.” I’m supposed to make this a teachable
moment. But what do I say? I just left the Chief Justice stranded, hobbling
home with his dog after I hit him with my car. “What did we learn from
this?” I’m stalling for time. “Well, we didn’t hit his dog,” I say. “And we
offered to call an ambulance and to help out,” I add. I’m building a little
momentum. “And he wasn’t in the crosswalk. Drivers expect you to cross
the street at the crosswalk. You must remember that, Maxine.” I wonder if
I’m building my defence …
At work I share the news with a couple of partners and an assistant. Their
response was not what I would describe as sympathetic—to say the least.
That afternoon I decide I should call and see how he is doing. But how do
I get past his assistant? She probably screens hundreds of calls. “May I speak
to the Chief Justice? It’s his neighbour, Mark Braidwood, calling.” There’s a
pause, and then he answers. Deep breath. He laughs. Then I laugh. What a
relief. “How are you doing?” “My knee is swollen, but I should be fine. I’m
flying to Ottawa this afternoon.” I’ll check on him later in the week.
I decide I should buy him a bottle of Scotch. I’m at the liquor store studying
the selection. I need something that says, “I hope this helps with your
recovery, but I’m not admitting liability.” It can’t be too fancy. Sixteenyear
old Macallan’s seems a bit too guilty. Dewar’s seems like I’m cheaping
out, and maybe even sending the wrong message, like we should agree that
he was in the wrong. I decide I need some bang for my buck. I settle on
Aberlour 12-year double cask matured. I’ll just leave it at his front door like
a 12-year-old boy. I won’t ring the doorbell and will try to walk away
calmly.
I’m driving along Marine Drive getting closer to his house with the bottle
of Scotch rolling around my front seat. As I get closer, I’m having second
thoughts. What if he decides to walk his dog as I approach? Or he’s having
a family dinner and they all arrive just as I’m attempting to make a quick
exit? I tell myself that since I’ve hit the poor fellow, I need to suck it up. I
park in front of his house and make sure to kill my headlights. The coast is
clear, and it goes off clean. I’ve avoided embarrassing myself.
Early next week, I decide to check up on him. My trick works and his
assistant puts me through. With a chuckle he asks, “Did you leave the bottle
of Scotch?” I respond, “I deny everything.” “You didn’t have to. We’ll have to
have a glass together.” I ask about his knee. “It’s the size of a football.” Maybe
more than one glass.