All and sundry agreed.
* * *
After dinner, Jack took Will and Al Sutton out for a power boat tour of the lake. Will had been hitting the beer cooler pretty hard since his arrival, the booze doing wonders for his mood, but he turned sullen again when Jack refused to let him drive the boat. They got back just after dark and joined the others in the cottage, where Paul was playing the piano and leading a hearty sing-along.
When the singing tapered off, Jenny talked Paul into playing a few of his original ballads. Afterward, she told Al Sutton about the collection of CDs Paul had recorded over the years. “He’s really an incredible musician,” she said. “I keep telling him he should try for a recording contract, but he can’t be bothered. He gives the discs out as Christmas gifts.”
Later, Jack summoned the whole crew outside to a crackling lakeside fire, a deck chair waiting for each of them. Jack sat next to Jenny, Al beside Nina, leaving Will to squeeze in next to Paul and his date.
Al turned out to be the life of the party. The man was a born storyteller and as he spoke Jenny imagined simpler times, friends gathered round cook fires to feast on the hunters’ spoils and enjoy yarns spun by animated imps like Al. At the moment he was sharing a wicked little anecdote about his days in the ER of a busy Detroit trauma center, something about a pick-up artist and his final conquest, a fellating disco queen with epilepsy.
“What our boy didn’t realize,” Al was saying, playing mostly to Paul’s date, “was that whenever this gal got excited, she pitched a fit. An exceedingly violent fit. Anyway, he got her out to this drive-in movie and coaxed her head down into his lap, and everything was going along famously until she got overheated and started to convulse. Now, as I’m sure you’re all aware, when you see someone having a seizure, you stick something between their teeth so they don’t ‘swallow their tongue’. In this case, our boy had already obliged.”
Cerise said, “You’re joking.”
Al showed his dimples. “Not a word of a lie. I was sitting in the ER doing charts when these two hobbled in. His disco pants were soaked with blood and her face looked like she’d gone the distance with Mike Tyson. Apparently, when he couldn’t get her off him, the guy punched her until she was unconscious.”
“Oh, my,” Jenny said, “were you able to...fix him up?”
“Let me put it this way, Jen. She didn’t swallow her tongue.”
Everyone laughed. Everyone but Will.
“God, Al,” Nina said, touching his arm. “You’re wasting your time in medicine. You should be on the stand-up circuit.”
“ Not me,” Al said. “My twin brother, he’s the comedian.”
“You’re a twin?” Nina said.
“Identical. Looking, anyway. My brother’s a lunatic.”
Nina said, “That’s so amazing. I’ve got identical twins, Jeffrey and Gerry. They’re five.”
Al said, “Oh, lord,” and spent the next half hour regaling Nina with tales of his exploits growing up as a twin.
Things began to wind down after that. Paul went up with the women. After finishing his beer Al went up too, leaving Jack and Will to put out the fire.
“Not feeling well?” Jack said.
Will was glaring into the fire, crunching a beer can in one massive fist. “Fuck, no,” he said without looking up. “I’m peachy.”
“Just asking,” Jack said. He nudged a branch into the coal bed with the toe of his shoe, then said, “I wonder how Rob’s making out.”
“Must be tough,” Will said, warming a little. “Could’ve happened to any one of us. That’s the bitch about this job, ain’t it, Jack?” Jack agreed that it was. “You think his ass is in a sling over this?”
“Rob did everything by the book. No one can fault him on that.”
But Will had checked out again.
“Okay,” Jack said, standing, “I’m heading up. Coming?”
“Gonna finish my beer,” Will said. “He patted the cooler by his feet. “Maybe slay a few more.”
“Suit yourself. Just kick that fire out before you come up, okay big guy?”
“You got it, Jack. Sweet dreams.”
When Jack was out of sight Will drained his beer, tossed the empty into the lake and tabbed a fresh one.
* * *
Cerise turned her back to him in the dark, the bed squeaking under her weight. Paul could hear her sobbing into her pillow.
“It’s not you,” he told her, thinking how clichéd that sounded but unable to come up with anything better. He felt he should touch her, try to comfort her somehow. He was so clumsy at this. “It’s me,” he said. “This isn’t the first time this has happened.”
She turned to face him, her warm hand, wet with tears, touching his shoulder. Paul shuddered a little.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“It’s...not that kind of problem,” Paul said, surprised when she said, “Oh.” He hadn’t thought she’d understand.
She said, “So why do you bother? Trying, I mean.”
“It’s complicated.”
“All right. Do you want me to sleep someplace else?”
“No. I’m okay with it if you are.”
She turned away from him again. “I’m going to sleep then. I’m drunk.”
“Goodnight,” Paul said. There was no response.
In minutes she was snoring softly and Paul closed his eyes, thinking of Jack across the bonfire, the orange firelight making his eyes gleam.
* * *
Near dawn, Will Armstrong stood next to the bed on which his wife lay sleeping and gazed at her moonlit features. So beautiful, he thought, a bitter melancholy drenching his heart. His love for Nina hadn’t diminished an ounce in all the years he’d known her. If anything, it had intensified. In this soft, somehow consecrated light, she looked as breathtaking as she had the first time he’d seen her, strolling across the playing field behind Glebe Collegiate. He learned later that she’d moved to Ottawa from Pittsburgh only two weeks before, and that she’d already been accepted as a junior on the cheerleading squad. As Glebe’s star linebacker Will would be certain to meet her...but he’d known even then, as she climbed the school steps and vanished inside, that one day he would make her his own.
Swaying drunkenly, he touched her face. What are you dreaming of? he thought wretchedly. Some other man? That faggot bullshitter, Al, maybe? Imagining his cock inside you?
Will turned away, the black heat of these thoughts making him ill and deeply afraid. Why after all these years did she suddenly need secrets? Sometimes the torment of this question pressed him to the very edge of reason.
He got as far as the bedroom door, hesitated, then returned to the bed. He reached for Nina again, his huge hand tightly fisted, uncertain of what he meant to do...
Then he was shaking her awake. “Get up,” he said in a low growl. “We’re leaving.”
Muzzy with sleep, Nina blinked up at him in the dark. “Come to bed,” she said thickly. She turned on her side and plumped her pillow. “It’s late.”
Will grabbed her arm and pulled her into a sitting position. “I said get up. We’re leaving.”
“Will, what is the matter with you? You’re hurting me.”
He released her arm. “Five minutes,” he said, leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll be waiting in the truck.” Then he was gone.
* * *
Still groggy, Nina switched on the bedside lamp and squinted at her watch. It was a little past five in the morning. She considered going back to sleep—her husband was drunk and she refused to be bullied—but something told her to humor him. If they were leaving, fine. But she would do the driving.
She dressed quickly in sweatshirt and jeans, stuffed their things into the vinyl suitcase she’d packed for the weekend trip, and tiptoed out of the cottage.
Will was sitting at the wheel in the turn-around, the Suburban’s engine grumbling choppily. Nina walked to the driver’s side.
“I’ll drive,” he said through the op
en window.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I’m fine.” He opened the passenger door. “Now get in.”
Feeling the first stirrings of fear, Nina obeyed.
She sat tensely at first, as Will negotiated the narrow, winding cottage road, but his driving was steady and sane, and before long Nina found herself drowsing. Whatever was eating him seemed to have been forgotten, for the time being at least, and there was no way she was going to pursue it now.
Will’s drinking was a relatively recent concern—he’d downed his first weekday martini less than a year ago, right around the time she’d announced her intention to return to work—but from unhappy experience Nina knew there was little point trying to reason with him while he was under the influence. The booze only heightened the tensions between them.
As the truck rumbled along, the womb of sleep drew Nina deeper. If she was tired enough, her friends sometimes kidded her, she could fall asleep doing a handstand—
“Haven’t you got anything to say for yourself?”
Nina said, “What?” She’d caught only the tenor of Will’s question. The words hadn’t computed.
“I said, haven’t you got anything to say for yourself?”
There was an angry petulance in Will’s voice Nina had heard a lot of just lately, and for the second time that night she felt wary of him.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with—”
“Christ, Will, look out.”
They’d come to the junction of Cottage Road and Highway 7, but Will hadn’t reduced his speed. There was a blinding flare of light and now a transport roared past on the highway, airhorn bellowing. Will tramped on the brakes and Nina got a close-up view of the trailer’s corrugated side, close enough to make out the webwork of cracks the elements had etched into the paint. When the Suburban came to a stop, its nose jutted five feet onto the blacktop. Dust from the dirt side road swirled in the glare of the Suburban’s high beams.
Nina’s stomach did a slow rollover. She had no idea how they hadn’t been hit. She said, “If you’re trying to scare me, Will, you’re doing an excellent job.”
Will backed the vehicle off the highway and rammed the shifter into PARK. “Are you going to play dumb,” he roared, “or do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Spell what out for me? I haven’t got the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about that punk, Al Sutton. I’m talking about the way he gawked at your tits all night. I’m talking about the way you squirmed in your seat while you were pawing his arm. That’s what I’m talking about.”
Nina did something then that surprised her. She laughed. It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in, but once she had the sense of it, all she could do was laugh.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she started to say, but she’d barely gotten her mouth open when Will did something that surprised them both. He slapped her in the face. He pulled the blow at the last second, but Nina saw stars.
She glared at him for a moment, biting back tears. Then she said, “That tears it,” opened her door and stormed out.
* * *
His voice breaking, Will shouted, “Nina, come on, get back in the truck.” He caught a glimpse of her in his rearview, marching back along Cottage Road, then the dark swallowed her. “Shit,” he said, switched on the emergency flashers and went after her.
He ran along the soft shoulder, calling her name, still unsteady from the booze. He lost his footing at one point and slid into the ditch, his feet coming to rest in six inches of rancid water. Cursing, he clambered back up the slope and continued his pursuit, one elbow dripping blood.
He shouted, “Nina, I’m sorry—”then she was right there in front of him, moving toward him in quick strides. Will had to dig in hard to avoid slamming into her. Her eyes were flint hard.
“Nina, honey—”
Her hand flickered out and stung his face. “Don’t you—ever—hit me again.”
Fury, quick and hot, spilled out from the sting in Will’s face, turning the night a clotted red before his eyes. His hands tightened into fists the size of grapefruits...then he caught himself, the fury congealing into a sob in his throat.
“I won’t, baby, I promise. I don’t know what got into me.”
“You need help, Will. You really do.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Will you help me?”
Nina sighed. “I’ll try,” she said. “I’ll do that much.” She slung an arm around his waist. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
She led him back to the truck, helped him into the passenger seat and belted him in. Then she climbed in herself.
Dawn broke as they cruised east along the Queensway toward their home in Orleans. Feigning sleep, Will watched his wife through slitted eyes. He wondered what she was thinking and the wondering tormented him immeasurably.
He wondered if that dimpled little prick had slipped her his phone number.
2
JENNY WAS UP FIRST ON Saturday morning, with the sun. She’d slept like a log, as she always did at the cottage, and looked forward to a cup of hot coffee and a few minutes’ solitude on the deck before the others got up. She was rinsing out the pot when she noticed that the Armstrongs’ Suburban was missing from the turn-around. Surprised and a little concerned, she tiptoed to the downstairs guest rooms.
The room the Armstrongs had slept in was empty, the bed unmade. Jenny looked for a note but found none. Her first instinct was to call their home, but she rejected the idea when she looked at the time. If one of them had gotten sick in the night and they’d driven home, they almost certainly wouldn’t appreciate hearing from her at this hour.
Deciding to call them later, Jenny made the bed and returned to the kitchen to start breakfast. Soon, the sweet aroma of frying bacon filled the air and, first Jack, then Al appeared, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Paul came down next and said they’d be leaving straight away, Cerise wasn’t well. “Too many Vodka Coolers,” he said, rolling his eyes. Cerise hobbled down a few minutes later looking skull-eyed and pale. She apologized at least a dozen times before Paul got her bundled into his Corvette and drove away.
Jack and Al took off for the city right after breakfast, leaving Jenny alone and a little depressed. She wished she’d brought Kim along, but Jack had insisted she stay in town. “I don’t want her skulking around while Al Sutton is there.”
She doesn’t skulk, Jenny thought. But she hadn’t said it.
She shook off these thoughts and went out to the deck. It was a beautiful day and she was determined to make the best of it. She stretched out on a lounger for a couple of hours, reading a novel and sipping black coffee, then pulled on some hiking gear and set off with her camera along the wooded trail that encircled the lake.
* * *
Jenny got back to the cottage just after four, winded but feeling brighter. She’d gotten some great shots of a pair of humming birds feeding in a sun-dappled clearing. They hadn’t seemed to mind her presence at all—
The phone rang. It was a rare sound up here and it startled her. She picked it up and said hello.
“Hi, Jen.” It was Nina. “Just wanted to thank you for last night. And apologize for leaving so unexpectedly. Will got sort of...”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Well, it was pretty rude.” There was a brief silence, then: “Can I buy you lunch on Monday? As a peace offering?”
“No need for that. But sure, lunch sounds great.”
They agreed on a new Bavarian spot in the Byward Market.
Nina said, “One-thirty okay?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Good. See you there.”
Jenny pressed the cut off button and dialed the Goodmans’ number in Ottawa, thinking how nice it would be to hear Kim’s voice. Sam Goodman, Tracy’s dad, was a supreme court judge, a humorless little man Jenny had spoken to only briefly on the few occasions he’d been ho
me when she stopped by to pick up Kim. He looked strict and intolerant. Small man syndrome, Jenny thought. No wonder his daughter was so outrageous.
No answer at the Goodmans’.
Jenny hung up and looked around the cottage, feeling lonely now and a little unnerved. She’d never been completely comfortable with her own company and the huge silence up here only made it worse. At least at home she had her darkroom to putter around in, and her garden. And chores, her mind continued unbidden, and grocery shopping and laundry and meals, and tiptoeing around like a timid house girl in search of things the master might disapprove of. No sense buying that lovely bunch of lilacs, Jack will just complain about the blossoms dropping on the floor. No point showing him the photos I took in the park. “What good are pictures of a bunch of winos, Jen? If you’re going to take pictures, find something useful to shoot.”
Jenny pulled herself out of the quicksand of these thoughts. It was a pointless process, and if she let it take her she’d wind up in a blue funk all evening.
She dined on leftover pasta, then went upstairs and lay down. She was tired from the day of hiking and before she knew it she was fast asleep.
* * *
The phone woke her a few hours later. It was Jack, saying he and Al Sutton had been touring the hospital that afternoon when a gunshot victim came in through the ER. The guy on call had been tied up doing a craniotomy, his backup doing a C-section. The gunshot victim had been critical—a would-be armed robber shotgunned by the proprietor of the convenience store he’d been trying to rob—and Jack and Al had been handy. Al had barely made his plane back to Atlanta and Jack was exhausted. Did Jenny mind if he stayed in town overnight and joined her in the morning? Jenny told him that would be fine. If she needed anything she’d go down the road to the MacLaines’.
Her sleep was restless after that. She dreamed Kim had died and for some reason she, Jenny, had slept through the whole thing: Kim’s death, the funeral, all of it. Jack told her about it when she woke up, and even after he took her to the graveyard and showed her the headstone, Jenny still didn’t believe him.
* * *
Jenny awoke the next morning to the sound of a savage cry. Startled, she whipped the bedroom curtain open and saw Jack’s Mercedes in the turn-around. Feeling stiff and unrested, she wrapped herself in a housecoat and hurried downstairs.
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