Botero's Beautiful Horses

by Jan Conn

  The world felt uneven to Della all day long. She wavered from being so angry that if Sage had walked into the house, she could have scratched his eyes out, to feeling empty and foolish and unable to put the dishes in the cupboard where they belonged. Her daughter was a few hundred feet away and didn’t want to talk to anyone. Della thought what Stacey was going through made complete sense, and yet she knew a resolution must be found at some point, and it had to start with her husband. Shortly after they’d moved to Fernie, and relentlessly ever since, she had been part of a United Church community, and her weekly communion had given her faith not only in God but in life. Every time Sage concocted another obscene behaviour, it had been her heartfelt belief he could change. She only needed to remain steadfast and be the wife and mother any man would want to revere. Now she was not so sure. Not much had been given to Molly the Nose in way of explanation, but she knew her neighbour had likely connected the dots on this latest incident. She saw, as Della did, how Sadie became an ornament in the presence of strangers and how Sage and Hart both were cast under her spell. Rarely forthcoming in sensitive matters, Stacey had likely not filled her in on how she had been affected, but here too Molly may have come to conclusions of her own. Della considered Molly a friend but not a woman she would ever be close to. When she had come over before suppertime to explain that she was harbouring Stacey on her property, she did so emphatically and yet with an element of grim satisfaction in every understanding observation she made.

  Della expected Sage to return home with a lame explanation, expecting supper, thinking of life as a timeline to be followed regardless of the events recorded there. He didn’t return at six or seven or eight or nine. If he came home late, he would be drunk, and there would be no valid resolution to pursue because he wouldn’t know what he was saying, let alone remember it the next day. She didn’t bother with supper. Stacey wasn’t home to eat, and if he came home now, she would tell him to prepare his own damn meal. But he didn’t come. Spending most of the day preparing for battle exhausted her, and as a last gesture, leaning toward closure, she walked out to the shed in case he had come home but was wary about entering a house he had violated the night before. She took a flashlight and saw that it was snowing. She didn’t believe it at first, this snow. It wouldn’t last, as the thick wet flakes melted everywhere but on the grass. Sage was not in the woodshed. Sage would not be coming home tonight.

  She made herself a cup of hot chocolate and went to bed with her journal. If Sage weren’t man enough to return to the scene of the crime, she would write all the things she planned to say to him. She meant the writing to be cathartic, but the more she wrote, the worse she felt, knowing he was such a pathetic human being. Had Sage lingered near the front door or the back door just after eleven o’clock, he wouldn’t have dared to enter after Della let out a scream of anguish heard in the neighbourhood several doors down in any direction.

  At seven in the morning, the phone rang. At first the phone rang only in her dream, but then Della realized it was ringing on the wall of her kitchen. She wasn’t about to bounce out of bed to answer it. There had been several crank calls over the last few weeks. Kids phoning and letting the phone ring twice then hanging up. Or calls that, once answered, offered a deep and creepy breathing on the other end of the line. The phone rang and rang and wouldn’t stop. They didn’t have an answering machine because Sage didn’t like them. Still, the phone continued to ring. When Della got out of bed to answer it, she imagined it would be a repentant Sage somewhere outside a bar in Castlegar, depressed and sick and with a car he’d smashed into a telephone pole, wondering if Hart could come to pick him up, but despite all of her well-formulated predictions, the female speaking on the phone, notwithstanding her exasperation for the delay, explained as concisely as she could that Sage Howard was in serious but stable condition in the hospital with what doctors were calling a stroke, and because they were continuing to run tests, it wouldn’t be worth visiting until later in the morning, after ten preferably, and even then only close family would be allowed.

  In the small cot on the wall opposite the fireplace, Stacey felt sedated through the night. The small bed had room for one person and one person only. That gave her comfort, and she’d woken refreshed and used the outhouse and brought water in from the well to wash her face. Hart brought her a bowl of cereal and a lunch Molly had prepared and said he needed to get an early start, but if Stacey wanted anything, Molly would be home. On her way back from the outhouse, she saw her mother in a panic walking between the two houses to the Ferguson’s front door. She slipped into the backyard and made her way to the street through the Brown’s cluttered property. She felt stronger than she had the day before, and nothing her mother had to say would interest her.

  Della arrived in a state of panic. She wasn’t seeking her daughter but needed Molly to take over her babysitting for the morning. In return for her help, Molly only required the reason for the sudden request, and she agreed to be at the front door to greet her clients when they arrived. An emergency of any kind delighted Molly the Nose.

  It would take less than a half hour to walk to the hospital, and Della left before any of her kiddies arrived at the door. She took a circuitous route there and stopped for coffee on the way. She didn’t know much about strokes. Her father had a stroke when she was young, but it didn’t seem like a stroke at the time because he’d been bedridden when it happened and he did make a full recovery. Sage was younger than her father had been at the time, and Sage was full of piss and vinegar, one of her mother’s favourite phrases, and she imagined him lying in the hospital, cursing the nurses and threatening to get up and walk home in his hospital gown. When she got there, the head nurse suggested she take a seat in the hall and wait for the doctor who would offer a full account of her husband’s status. She picked up a magazine to give her hands something to do. Sage would see himself as a victim after the stroke, and she knew he had a right to that, but she wasn’t about to let the circumstance of his health be confused with compassion from any other quarter.

  The doctor sat down in a chair beside her and spoke softly as if they were planning a surprise party. His gentle manner confused her: did it mean there was nothing serious about the situation? Or was he preparing her for devastating news? She didn’t know which would be more welcome.

  Mrs. Howard, your husband has suffered a thrombotic stroke. At this point in time, the right-hand side of his body is dysfunctional. He is unable to see out of his right eye, and he can’t move his right arm; it has impacted his right leg as well. He cannot stand on his own. His speech is slurred, and the best avenue for communication at this point is asking yes or no questions so he can nod or shake his head. It’s difficult to determine the precise state of his confusion. He may remember what happened to him, or he may not. A janitor at his office found him passed out, lying beside the toilet, and his head took a severe whack on his way down. There is no way of knowing how long he lay there. Time is an important element with the body’s ability to recover from a stroke. We’ve run a CT scan, and there has been brain damage. How much can be recovered is something we will learn over the next few weeks and months.

  Della listened intently but said nothing. When the doctor finished his explanation, she heard a Dr. Harris being paged over the intercom and the man beside her stood up. Do you have any questions? he asked. Della said she didn’t think so. You can go in and visit him now. He’s drugged and sleepy. He’s suffering, so best not to stay too long. I’m sure he’ll be relieved to see you.

  Dr. Harris was halfway down the hall before Della stood up. She entered the doorway the doctor had pointed to and saw four beds in the room. One other man lay opposite Sage, and she was thankful that she wasn’t alone with her husband. Half of Sage’s face was purple and yellow from the fall. Della ignored the chair by the bed and stood beside her husband. He had an intravenous in his arm and a breathing contraption stuck in his nose. Sage turned his head and looked at her with his one good eye. His
lips quivered, but no sound came out of his mouth. She turned and saw the man in the bed opposite watching, waiting for her to say something.

  The doctor says there’s a chance you’ll recover from all of this. He doesn’t know yet. She turned around again and noted that the other patient, his leg raised and in a cast, was reading a magazine upside down. Someone had brought flowers, and they sat on the table beside the man along with a small radio with headphones. The doctor says you need to rest. I’ll come back tomorrow and see how you’re doing.

  Della felt tired suddenly. She wasn’t ready to return home and take charge of the three kids with Molly. She sat down on a seat in the waiting room at the entrance to the hospital and tried to sort through her thoughts, to focus on only the most important things spinning in her mind. A receptionist came up to her and asked if she was waiting to see a doctor. Della said no, she had seen a doctor already.

  Della got home close to lunchtime. Molly the Nose was her usual concerned self, and Della told her what she knew. What she knew about her current situation, she managed to wrap her mind around; it was the unknown, stretching out into the future, she feared.

  Hart’s older brother had a stroke a few years back, Molly said.

  Did he recover?

  He didn’t get the chance. He was dead when they found him. The doctor told the family it’s a blessing sometimes, when that happens. Can you imagine a doctor saying something like that?

  Yes, Della said. I can.

  Stacey spent the afternoon with Amber, planning. Amber said she could ask her parents if Stacey could stay with them. The two of them could sleep in the same bedroom and could make Stacey’s stay seem more feasible by cooking supper for the family twice a week. And they could do the vacuuming and dusting on weekends. Amber said her parents liked Stacey a lot, and once they heard even a little of what was happening at the Howards’ house, they would agree. When the two girls parted, it was up to Stacey to tell her mother that this was what she wanted to do. Both girls realized that if Della didn’t want it to happen, it wouldn’t.

  It was almost dark by the time Stacey returned to her living quarters at Fort Whoop. Molly the Nose had left a note on her bed. Your father is very sick and in the hospital. Your mother needs you.

  Stacey walked in through the back door, Della hugged her until it hurt and cried for the first time since finding out about the stroke. He had a stroke at work, she said. It must have been late in the day because they didn’t find him until close to midnight. It’s serious, the doctor says. He can’t stand up. He can’t even talk.

  Oh my god. How did this happen?

  No one knows for sure. It might have been the life your dad lived off and on for years, but sometimes healthy people get a stroke. Hart’s brother died from a stroke, and he was only fifty-six. Della watched something stiffen inside of Stacey then. It was the dying. She shouldn’t have mentioned it. Don’t worry, she said. Your dad’s not likely to die because of it. The doctor says he might recover most of his faculties. Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don’t. One thing is certain, he’ll be in the hospital for a while. There’s no chance of him walking in that door, and I want you back home where you belong. If anything changes, I promise I’ll let you know.

  Will you tell Molly and Hart?

  I will. It’s been a rough day for all of us, and I haven’t even thought about supper. I’ll go next door, and you can phone that pizza place you like. I washed the sheets on your bed by the way.

  We can afford pizza?

  Della pulled a ten dollar bill from her purse and left it on the kitchen table. She took her purse with her. Stacey must have eaten food over there. The least she could do was offer to pay them something.

  21

  Two weeks had gone by since Stacey had moved back home, and she was actively participating in the Environmental Club again. With her dad being sick and hospitalized, she found it easier to be with them because she had less to explain. As her best friend and confidant, Amber knew some of what had gone on, but empathetic glances from any of her other friends were based on her father’s health. She liked having a close-knit family of friends because each of them knew they could say things they might not say to others, take tenuous positions on issues or things or people, and no one in the group would offer anything more severe than a ridicule-flavoured teasing. Everyone looked up to Morgan as leader of their group, especially Amber, who had told Stacey that, once upon a time, young women organized their future by building a hope chest. Stacey had never heard of such a thing, but Amber said the custom came from a previous era and deserved a second chance. In the basement, she discovered a large cedar chest with fancy carvings on the outside, which used to belong to her grandmother, and Amber made it her hope chest, with her own private lock to keep it that way. Stacey saw the chest one day, but it contained only a fancy tablecloth and two candleholders sitting in the bottom.

  You’re planning your marriage. Is this what it means? Please tell me you’re not planning to marry Morgan. You’re only in grade ten.

  Morgan knows I have a hope chest. He doesn’t think it’s stupid. And he’s in grade twelve already. Besides, a hope chest is just for hope. It doesn’t mean you have to marry anyone in particular.

  Stacey could imagine what her Aunt Sadie would have to say about such an idea, but Stacey admired whatever Amber favoured, she did so unequivocally. Stacey had learned to qualify her acceptance of most things and some people. Every time they did something with the Environmental Club or went somewhere as a group, Hugh was always there, and he often sidled up to Stacey as if they had been together for years. One night he asked her if she wanted a shoulder massage, and she told him she didn’t, then sitting there on the floor against the couch watching a movie, her shoulders felt tight and uncomfortable, and she wished she had accepted, but she didn’t want to ask him for a massage. She wanted to keep Hugh at a distance.

  There wasn’t much distance between Amber and Morgan, and everyone understood that. They were subtly affectionate when with the group, but sometimes they disappeared and everyone knew they were together. One night when Stacey stayed over at Amber’s house, the nature and rhythm of their relationship became clear.

  During the era of the hope chest, Amber explained, couples saved everything they could experience until the night of their wedding. My mom was like that if you believe what she says, and I do. These days people breed like rabbits. If you’re a boy rabbit, people think you’re a stud, but if you’re a girl, you’re called a slut. Morgan and I decided several months back we didn’t like either of these extremes. Morgan is methodical that way.

  So what did you decide?

  We do it during the first week of every month. His parents are usually away or my parents are busy, and if not there’s always his uncle’s cabin up at the lake. One special day each month to look forward to.

  So you do it once a month, and that’s it?

  I said one day a month. It doesn’t always mean just once.

  What would happen if you got pregnant?

  We won’t. Morgan is very scientific about it. We use a condom to begin with and only do it on the days I’m not ovulating. It’s hilarious at our house at the beginning of every month. My mom and dad get paid, and I have something to look forward to. Everyone is in a good mood.

  Have you ever considered a diaphragm?

  I thought about it. I think my mom uses one now. But Morgan was the one who suggested a condom, so it’s one less thing I have to worry about.

  Stacey thought of mentioning the diaphragm she’d received from her Aunt Sadie, and she would tell Amber about it one day, but not until she got around to using it.

  The weeks that followed Sage’s stroke felt like purgatory at the Howard household, a time complicated due to the uncertainty of its tenure. Stacey had been nervous at first, not believing her mother’s description of Sage’s condition, thinking the hospital might release him at any time to live at home again. Stacey refused to visit her dad, and even thoug
h he lay in a hospital bed blocks away, Della agreed to have Hart come over and install a lock on Stacey’s bedroom door. Della visited daily at first, then every second day and eventually twice a week. The doctors expressed concern that many of the effects of the stroke showed no sign of improvement. With the help of a physiotherapist, he walked up the hall and back every second day, leaning on a walker the whole time, but left on his own, his instability yielded to gravity. Hart and Molly stopped in to visit Sage, and Hart went back a week later. He couldn’t do much but stand by the bed and tell Sage what little news there was in the neighbourhood and assume he could take in what they were saying.

  Della never visited more than twenty minutes at a time. Once when she arrived and found him asleep, she pulled up a chair and watched him breathing, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. When they met, Sage had felt like a man who would provide a good time for everyone around him, a rascal waiting for an audience. She had been charmed by him, no doubt about it, but they had known each other the second time around for only three days before they married in Las Vegas. The man she thought she had married still existed and always had, but so did the man he had become.

  For the first few weeks, she fretted over what would happen when he made his way home. What was best for everyone had a thousand story lines, and Della reminded Stacey daily she would be protected however it all played out, but the doctors failed to recognize any progress, and Della revised the scenarios that might see him at home again. The company employed Sage now, not the union, and documentation had arrived by mail suggesting that Sage had been placed on long-term disability that provided a monthly stipend less than his full wage but enough that they could get by on it.