It Happened to Us

by François Houle

  A routine he’d learned to enjoy, a routine he’d grown to expect, a routine he missed. Nadia had been so predictable, but that’s what he’d loved about her when she was younger. He’d known what to expect and he’d known what to do.

  He hoped the Kirkpatricks, Brandon and Amie, knew how lucky they were right now. Their little girl, Elissa, was the best thing in their lives right now. There would never be another time for any of them like right now.

  He’d called Brandon yesterday to tell him he was done and they could pick up the bed today if that worked for them, and as promised, at exactly 11:30 a.m. they arrived and backed their minivan up the driveway.

  Mathieu shook hands with Brandon. “We really appreciate it. We would have understood if you’d had to postpone it a bit more, considering . . .”

  Mathieu made a non-committal shrug.

  “Is this my new bed?” Elissa said.

  Mathieu bent down, feeling his knee complain a bit, but he wanted Elissa to feel that she was important, and he’d learned with Nadia that when they were eye-level, her demeanour was different, less threatened somehow and more open to conversation. “I think that bed has your name written all over it. How does that sound?”

  Elissa nodded and clapped her hands.

  “Why don’t we go take a closer look?”

  “Come on, Mommy, Daddy, come see my new bed.”

  “You must have been a great father,” Amie said.

  Mathieu put a hand over his chest for a second, an unconscious gesture to calm the ache he felt. “It’s pretty easy when they’re this young. The real challenge comes later.” He paused. “Have a look at the bed and let me know what you think.”

  Mathieu stood back while they examined his work. Elissa couldn’t stop jumping and saying how happy she was and it reminded him of Nadia and how happy she’d been with her first bed.

  “It looks fantastic,” Brandon said. “You do really nice work. The way you blend walnut and cherry together is incredible. I especially like the carving of the sunrise on the headboard. No one carves anymore. It looks even better than the pictures on your website.”

  “Elissa loves it, and so do I. Thank you. You’ve made one little girl very happy,” Amie said.

  Mathieu smiled. “Then I guess it’s a keeper. Let me show you how to take it apart. The cross-boards just sit on the rails so they’re easily removed, and it’s best to take the drawers out too. The rest of the frame is better left together if possible. It’s a bit heavy, but if you have someone to help you, it’s much easier than taking it all apart. If you need to take it apart, all you really need is a Phillips screwdriver or drill bit and a ratchet set.”

  “My dad can help,” Brandon said.

  “Great. Let’s load it up in your van.”

  “That won’t leave any room for Elissa,” Amie said.

  The Kirkpatricks’ looked at Mathieu for a suggestion. “How far away do you live?”

  “About twenty minutes. Stittsville.”

  “Let’s put the frame in my truck and I’ll follow you.”

  “That’s great,” Brandon said. “We’ll pay you extra.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Mathieu said. “I have to get some supplies anyway.”

  Mathieu and Brandon put the frame in the back of Mathieu’s new truck, and protected it with a couple of thick moving blankets.

  “We’ll be telling everyone about you,” Brandon said.

  “I can’t ask for better advertising,” Mathieu said.

  “Is that a matching dresser?” Amie said.

  Mathieu turned toward the workshop. Another project that he’d delayed but was almost done. “Not quite the same wood, but I can make one to match the bed.”

  “I think it would look nice,” she said.

  “I’d have to look at my order log, but I think I could have one ready by mid-September. Let me know and I can confirm that.”

  “If you could?” she said, looking at her husband who nodded.

  Mathieu went up to his office and returned a few minutes later. “Third week of September. Does that work for you guys?”

  After filling the order form, Mathieu got in his truck and followed them to Stittsville. He helped Brandon bring the bed up to Elissa’s bedroom, and left shortly after. Seeing Elissa’s room had been like stepping back in time, a litter of stuffed animals piled in a corner waiting for a new bed to sit on, an assortment of Barbies stuffed in a clear bin, and posters of Merida from Brave on her walls instead of Simba from Lion King, which had been Nadia’s favourite movie at that age. Elissa’s room was so like Nadia’s room had been in 2001. Mathieu had felt this pressure in his chest and had needed to escape. Seeing how happy the Kirkpatricks were had brought back memories of better days and left him knowing another piece of him had been hollowed out and crushed.

  When he got to the intersection of Carp Road and Stittsville Main Street, he pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot and sat there while he calmed down, breathing deep and slow. Outside, the summer sun was a searing dish that mercilessly sucked the water out of him. He thought of going into the fast food outlet to get a drink, but couldn’t find the will to do so. The world seemed to bombard him from every side, the mid-day traffic heavy with construction trucks roaring by and sounding way too loud in his ears, a group of teenagers jostling and horsing around as they spilled out of Ronald’s House, high on full bellies and sugar-laden drinks, the sweet and strong smell of fresh cut lawn from the adjacent high school yard making his sinuses burn which he knew would lead to a headache.

  His mind focused on the sound those kids were making as they walked away, words almost decipherable but not quite, words he could fill in from his own past, words full of nothing but good summer fun.

  Mathieu closed his eyes and let the cacophony fill his ears, pulled back to happier times when Nadia and Caitlin played on the swing set in the backyard, their cries of joy and laughter like a gentle caress on his skin. Then he thought of the Kirkpatricks’ little girl Elissa, and how she had the same hair colour and eyes as Nadia, and he’d seen a dimple on her right cheek. Nadia had stolen his heart whenever she smiled and her dimple flashed at him. Maybe agreeing to make a dresser for them hadn’t been a good idea. It meant he’d probably see Elissa again.

  But he didn’t want to disappoint her. That would be like disappointing Nadia and he’d hated doing that.

  Mathieu started his truck, turned on the A/C, powered up his window, and headed home. He didn’t bother to stop for supplies as he’d lost his desire to work. Once in the house, he poured a double whisky and chased it with a beer. He sat at the kitchen table and not for the first time, thought of ending his suffering. Since Lori-Anne had left three weeks ago, he’d functioned mostly in a haze, sleeping as much as he could and only getting up to finish the few orders he had left.

  Mathieu poured another double whiskey and chased it with the rest of his beer. That would be lunch and dinner for today. He’d lost ten pounds since Lori-Anne left, never felt like eating. The sinus headache was draining him. He popped a couple of Tylenols and went to Nadia’s room. He sat on the unmade bed, stared at the empty closet.

  Worthlessness weighed him down like a blanket of lead. No one would miss him if he weren’t here. He thought back to Father’s Day when he’d gone to the cemetery. Why had Nadia not let him have that accident? It had seemed like the right thing to do.

  They could have been reunited.

  He could be with her right now.

  Mathieu’s headache pounded like two angry fists inside his skull and when he stood, a sheet of white spots exploded in front of his eyes. He lost his balance and collapsed on the bed. He grabbed his head in his hands and squeezed, wanting the pain to just go away. He couldn’t take it anymore.

  It had to stop.

  It had to end.

  It had to die.

  Mathieu stood on legs that could barely support his thinning frame, and stumbled down the hallway to his office
. He reached for the phone.

  “Grandpa, I can’t do this anymore.”

  * * *

  Mathieu was sitting on a stool in the garage with the door open, covered in sweat from the beating he’d given the grandfather clock. It now lay smashed against the far wall.

  His grandfather had told him not to do anything, that he was on his way, that calling him had been the right thing to do. But Mathieu had needed to do something. If he wasn’t going to kill himself, then he’d need to destroy something else.

  Pulverizing the grandfather clock had sapped him of energy. He was tired now, too tired to think. Too tired to do anything stupid.

  So he just sat there and waited for his grandfather. A car rolled up the driveway and Mathieu watched Grandpa get out of his Buick and walk up to him. When Mathieu stood, his grandfather simply hugged him. They stood like that for a long time, not saying a word.

  “It will be okay,” Grandpa said after they parted. “Calling me for help was a phone call I’d been hoping to get. It’s good. Real good.”

  Mathieu met his grandfather’s gaze for only a second, and looked past him. “I thought destroying the clock would make me feel better.”

  “Better that than the alternative.”

  “Lori-Anne is going to be mad at me.”

  “Let’s not worry about that now,” Grandpa said and pulled up a three-legged stool, the same one Mathieu had built when he was fourteen. He sat and Mathieu did the same. “So, you think you can’t go on anymore?”

  “I’m sorry for making you drive out here,” he said. “I know you’ve got your own troubles—”

  “There’s no one more important than you,” Grandpa said and waited until Mathieu looked at him. “You know that, right?”

  Mathieu stood and walked around. He grabbed the sledgehammer he’d left on top of the workbench and put it back in the cupboard where it belonged. “I can’t live with this pain, Grandpa. It makes me sick. I can’t eat, can’t sleep although I can lie in bed all day. I just don’t know how to move on. I pushed Lori-Anne away. How did you live through losing both my dad and Aunt Jacqueline? And now Grandma. Please, I don’t know if I can live through this.” He turned and looked at his grandfather. “I’m afraid.”

  Grandpa stood and took a couple of steps toward Mathieu. “We’re all afraid. It’s not easy to live through a tragedy. It takes courage. And you can’t do it alone. You’ve always been a sensitive boy, and I know how much you’re hurting. The one person you need is the one you pushed away.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Sit down, son.”

  Mathieu hesitated but when he saw his grandfather insist, he obliged. Grandpa remained standing. “I spent sixty-three years with your grandmother, and she’s gone now. It hurts. But not as much as losing your dad did. It was too sudden. We weren’t prepared. Sounds kind of strange to say that, but it’s true. With your Aunt Jacqueline, we had over a year to get ready so it didn’t hurt as much. Doesn’t mean we loved her less than your dad, but we’d made our peace with her dying.”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  “Yes, you do. Nadia was taken from you. You weren’t prepared.”

  Mathieu looked confused. “But Lori-Anne was?”

  “No, of course not. But she was there when it happened. Maybe it’s a bit easier for her because she was able to say goodbye.”

  “But Nadia died instantly.”

  “Someone doesn’t need to be alive to say goodbye. Maybe you just need to be there when they die. When your grandmother died, I was holding her, I was stroking her hair, I kissed her forehead. I was able to say goodbye.”

  Mathieu looked at his grandfather. “How is that going to help me? Nadia is gone. I buried her and said goodbye then, but I still don’t feel any better.”

  “You don’t have closure.”

  “Closure is not what I want,” he said, his voice rising too quickly. He waited a beat to let his emotions settle. “I just want my daughter back.”

  Grandpa stood a little taller. “She’s not coming back, son.”

  “That’s not helping.”

  “But it’s the truth,” Grandpa said. “As hard as it is to accept, Nadia isn’t coming back. I’d trade places with her if I could, God knows I’ve lived long enough, but life doesn’t work that way. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to take you to a doctor.”

  “I don’t—”

  Grandpa put up his hand to cut him off. “You’re the only family I have left and I’m going to do what is right. You’re in a world of hurt and someone needs to get you back on the right track.”

  “But Grandpa—”

  “I don’t want to hear any more talk of suicide,” he said in that tone Mathieu had heard many times while growing up, that tone that said there was no room for wiggle. “You have a whole life ahead of you, and you will see it through. I didn’t raise a quitter.”

  “This isn’t some bully I’m running from.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “What?”

  “Life can be the worst bully in the world,” Grandpa said, and pointed a finger at Mathieu. “And you will stand up to that bully.”

  Mathieu opened his mouth to protest, but his grandfather’s demeanour shut him up. The old man could be as unyielding as a wall when he needed to be, but he could also show a lot of love.

  “If you’d meant to hurt yourself,” Grandpa said, “you wouldn’t have called me. On Monday, you’re calling your doctor and you’re going to tell the nurse you need to come in now. We’re going to find you someone who can help.”

  “Okay,” Mathieu said in a voice that was small and tired and resigned. “Okay.”

  “Good,” Grandpa said. “Now let’s clean up this mess.”

  In silence, Mathieu and his grandfather tidied the garage, put tools away, and swept the glass that littered the garage floor. Clouds rolled in and a gentle rain began to fall, dissipating the hot humid air that had besieged the city for several days.

  “Nothing like a good rain to wash away the dirt and rejuvenate life,” Grandpa said. “I want you to come home with me. You shouldn’t be alone and I can use the help.”

  “Help for what?”

  “Go through your grandmother’s stuff,” he said. “I’m selling the house and can’t bring everything with me.”

  “You’re what?” Mathieu said, holding the broom he was about to hang. “You’re selling the house? Why?”

  Grandpa rubbed the bridge of his large nose. “It’s time for a change. By myself, the house is a lot of upkeep.”

  Mathieu hung the broom and stood beside his grandfather. “But you’ve lived in it sixty-three years.”

  “I need to stare at new walls,” Grandpa said and grinned. “I don’t need all that space. I found a nice little one-bedroom apartment at the Bridgehaven Manor. Moving in on September first.”

  “You’ve already done this? But Grandma just passed away.”

  Grandpa put a hand on Mathieu’s shoulder. “It’ll be easier somewhere else. Plus, it will be good for me to socialize with new people. Looking forward to that. Being alone in that house, it just calls for trouble.”

  “Wow! I never thought you’d ever sell the house.”

  “Time to let someone else make memories there.”

  Mathieu gazed out at the falling rain. A thought came to him, quiet and gentle, like a friend. If his grandfather could go on, was it possible for him too? “When does it go up for sale?”

  “As soon as I can make it presentable, get rid of clutter. My agent would like to list it Monday so we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Not a lot of time. You’re sure about this?”

  “I am,” Grandpa said. “It’s the right thing to do. I don’t want to be alone, and even at my age, change can be good. Your grandmother would agree.”

  Would Nadia agree that he move on? Would he let himself agree to move on?
Could he move on?

  “Can you leave your projects for a few days?”

  “I don’t have much, really. Just this dresser and I still have two weeks. And then I have one more order for September. It’s been rather quiet.”

  “Then go pack a bag and I’ll wait in the car,” Grandpa said. “New beginnings are waiting for both of us.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  July 29, 2012

  7:29 a.m.

  Mathieu thought he’d heard a knock, glanced at the clock on the night table, decided it was too early and he’d imagined the noise. He’d had a horrible sleep, waking almost every hour, disoriented and anxious until it came back to him that he was sleeping in his childhood bed. After the events of yesterday, he wasn’t surprised his subconscious had had to psychoanalyze every minute detail. What he wasn’t looking forward to was for some doctor or psychologist to do the same.

  That wasn’t happening right now, so no point dreading it. He turned over and tried to fall back to sleep. But the knock came again and he glared over his shoulder at the bedroom door.

  “Get up,” Grandpa said.

  “It’s only seven thirty.”

  “We’re going to the nine o’clock service.”

  “The what?” Mathieu sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You’re kidding?”

  “I never kid about church. Best way to start Sunday.”

  Mathieu fell back on the mattress and closed his eyes. Another hour of sleep would be so nice, thirty minutes, ten?

  “I can still drag your butt out of bed if I have to,” Grandpa said. “I’ve never missed Sunday mass and I’m not missing it today. Won’t hurt you to come along and pray to your daughter and grandmother. Sure your parents won’t mind either.”

  Mathieu had no desire to go to church, today, or ever. “Why don’t I just stay here while you go?”

  “You’re coming,” Grandpa said, opening the door and poking his head in. “Think of it as part of your therapy.”