Botero's Beautiful Horses

by Jan Conn

  He looked defeated lying there, as if each breath he worked on could be his last. She tried to imagine what thoughts he had. The doctor had suggested he might not remember anything about the incident itself, but since then, the nurses encouraged Della to talk to him, saying he could understand and it gave him something to think about. Some days Della had plenty to say to him if only she could have got him in a private place, but the circumstance never presented itself, and she wouldn’t have felt right if he couldn’t defend himself. Most of the words he uttered were reverberations that left her guessing.

  As the weeks passed, the routines Della and Stacey adopted became more intentioned. Stacey was more like herself again and doing well in school, and the parents of the kids Della looked after had stopped asking after Sage’s recovery. There had never been a family Christmas without all three of them present, and were it not for the focus on Christmas Day and Christmas dinner and expectations for gifts, their ship might have sailed on with little interruption, but Della, for the first time in months, felt her husband’s absence. He always had ideas about what to buy at Christmas and how to celebrate the season. He was the one who guided them off into the woods to pick out a Christmas tree, the one who held Stacey, when she was younger, up high so she could put the blue angel on top. It was the season when all the barbs that had snagged evidence of Sage Howard living in the house became most evident.

  To avoid the inexorable depression she could see coming with Christmas Day, Della rented a small hotel room in Banff for her and Stacey for three days. The day before Christmas, Stacey, for the first time, accompanied her mother on a visit to the hospital. They had wrapped a small ghetto blaster and headphones so Sage could listen to the world if he wanted to. Stacey didn’t stay long, but she showed the attending nurse how the functions all worked. Della had coerced Stacey into coming by suggesting that the visit would be a short one. Stacey made sure that was the case by leaving to wait for her mother in the car.

  With the roads ploughed and no snow in the forecast, they agreed three days away from Fernie would be their Christmas present, except for one book each. Stacey got Firestarter by Stephen King, and Della got the book she’d been dropping hints about for weeks, The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Despite a reduced price because most families wanted to be home for Christmas Day and Boxing Day, Della had to work hard at rationalizing the cost of the excursion. The two of them needed something filled with hope.

  The first day they walked around town, swam in the pool and then alternated between reading and snoozing in their room. Della gave their holiday one full day of whatever happens happens, but once day two turned the page, she insisted they have a heart-to-heart talk about all that had happened. Stacey wasn’t one to embrace conflict, and Della supposed she wasn’t either, and yet Della understood the time had come to clear the air.

  The doctor said there’s a chance your dad might come home after the new year.

  How’s that supposed to happen? He can’t even look after himself.

  Well, I guess all the details will be worked out. They mentioned a nurse coming by twice a week to give him a bath and a massage and to monitor him. That’s all I’ve heard so far.

  Let’s go swimming, Stacey said. It’s freezing out there, and swimming inside feels luxurious.

  We can go swimming. But first we need to talk about what happened. I wish we didn’t have to talk about this, but we do.

  You know what happened. I don’t see why we have to talk about what we already know. He came into my bedroom and climbed into my bed and started rubbing my back and kissing me. It’s disgusting. I hate him. No one should have to go through that kind of crap. I hate his guts. Amber said I can live with her family. If he comes back, that’s what I’m going to do.

  Stacey went to one of the two chairs in the room and positioned it to face the window. She sat down with her back to her mother.

  It was disgusting what he did, Stacey. There’s no forgiveness for any of it. But there’s something you need to know. Something I should have told you right after it happened.

  What? That I have a dad who believes in incest?

  Your dad was out all night. He thought Aunt Sadie was in your bed. She said she was staying an extra night, remember? He was half drunk. Not that that’s any excuse.

  What makes you think he’d be after Aunt Sadie?

  He went into your room the night before. He came home late that night, and I heard him come in, and he stayed in there for an hour. Then he left again. I heard everything.

  Stacey stood up and faced her mother. Her mother had started crying, but that only made her look more pathetic. Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you throw him out right then?

  I know that’s what I should have done. I know that now, and I hate him for doing it... but... I didn’t want...

  You didn’t want what?

  I want us to stay together as a family. That’s what I want. At least until you’re finished school. The way he acts scares me the most because he wants it to end, and he wants me to think that way too.

  How could you think like that? He’s a disgusting man, and it’s just a matter of time before he tries to rape me. He tries to catch me when I’m naked, like the time he came into the bathroom when I was having a bath and he refused to leave. He just stood there taking everything in. He’s always barging into my room when he thinks I’m changing. Does he do it when you’re in the house? Not a chance. And he leaves chocolate hearts tucked into my underwear drawer. He wants me to say something, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. Haven’t you noticed? I’m never alone in the house with him anymore. If you go out, I go out too, even if I have nowhere to go.

  Why didn’t you tell me all this?

  I told you about the time he watched me in the bathtub, and you said he was just a dad admiring how his daughter was growing up. You didn’t say anything to him. You should have told him to fuck off, but you didn’t say a word.

  Della tried to hug Stacey, but she shrugged her off and headed for the closet. I’m going out for a walk. Out where it’s freezing cold. But don’t worry about me. I’m used to it. I do it all the time.

  Della sat in the chair where Stacey previously sat and looked out at the view, knowing she was partly to blame for all that had happened. She saw no sign of her daughter; she must have gone out a back door of the hotel because she didn’t want anyone to see her, including her mother. The doctor that attended to Hart’s brother said sometimes death because of a stroke was a blessing. There was more than one reason for this to be true, and it was possible that Sage thought so too.

  The holiday getaway that had begun with such promise felt more like a bruise waiting to heal once it ended. Stacey didn’t want to go swimming again even when her mother suggested they go together. They both finished reading their novels, and when Della turned on the TV, Stacey went to the lobby to read magazines. The two of them didn’t converse more than necessary, both of them busy assessing the circumstance they lived in, contemplating what came next.

  On the ride back, Della took advantage of a captive audience and said it could be months before Sage returned home and possibly he never would. She asked Stacey to keep an open mind about what might happen next and said never again would there be compromise because she would never let it happen. To shut her mother up, Stacey said she would think about it, and because Stacey had softened her position, when they stopped for coffee in Skookumchuck, Della drove the car onto a side street and let Stacey drive around the block twice.

  Once they were home and unpacked, Stacey said Amber had invited her to stay overnight and go skiing with her family early the next day. Della tried not to look hurt. When she looked at her daughter, what she saw was what everyone deserved at her age: a face full of hope.

  You’ll be back on Tuesday then?

  I’ll be back on Tuesday. It might be late, but I’ll be back. Stacey wanted to tell her mother not to worry, that the two of them needed to stick together now more than
ever, but she didn’t. Instead, she walked up behind her mother where she sat at the kitchen table and wrapped her arms around her, hoping to convey the same message.

  Della went to the hospital the next day more conflicted than ever. Sage looked much the same except that they had his bed propped up and he had a clipboard and paper and pen on his left side. The nurse explained that speech was still an issue but that using his left hand he could communicate his needs. Della looked at what he had scrawled there: water, bathroom, radio, light off, yes, no. She had a few things she wanted to get off her chest, but the other three beds in the room had filled and it wasn’t the time.

  So, they’ve got you writing things down I see.

  Sage took the pen and pointed to the word yes. Then at the bottom of the page, he worked his pen ponderously until she could make out the word Stacey.

  She’s upset. What’s happened has pushed her over the edge. She’s skiing with Amber today, which is good. It will take her mind off things. She’ll never be the same, and there’s no room for forgiveness here. You need to know that.

  Della wanted to choose more pointed words, but everything she said in the room would form a riddle for the other patients and the nurse to solve. She wanted to say: You fucked up big time. You’re a sleazebag, a lowlife, a man who deserves nothing but contempt. Your daughter doesn’t want you around, and I don’t want to be around you either. You’ve burnt the last of your bridges, and no one feels sorry for you. Della stared at him as the words she so wanted to say formulated in her mind. She could see Sage picking up on her thoughts, and that made the visit feel worthwhile. I’ll talk to the doctor before I go. Is there anything you need?

  Sage took the pen and pointed to no, a satisfactory response. If he’d wanted something, she wasn’t in the mood to get it for him anyway. She should find the doctor and see if anything concrete had been decided, but she didn’t feel like doing that either.

  They needed groceries. She usually went to the grocery store armed with a list of what they needed, but with Christmas and the days away, they needed almost everything. She would buy a whole chicken, she decided. They’d missed out on a turkey this year, and with just the two of them, it wasn’t something she wanted to contend with. And Stacey still had another week of holidays, so next Friday or Saturday she would tell Stacey to invite Amber to sleep overnight. Maybe the three of them could go bowling, though the more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that two teenage girls would want to visit a bowling alley with a mother. A movie maybe. She would let the girls choose, even if it meant driving to Cranbrook. Sage never wanted to go to a movie downtown. They could watch plenty of movies on TV he said and they didn’t cost a dime. Even better, the three of them could stay home for the night and dye their hair. Stacey had mentioned dyeing her hair red, and Della had told her it would be a mistake, but what the hell. Molly dyed her hair all the time even though she wouldn’t admit it. She would have to check with Amber’s mother, of course. Della’s hair didn’t look awful, though it was thick and tight and hard to manage. There were streaks of grey coming on strong so maybe she would dye her hair a silver grey, invite the inevitable and embrace growing older.

  When she pulled into the grocery store, she noticed the sticker in the corner of the windshield, a reminder to get the oil changed. She would see to it next week. Sage had always fussed over things like that, but now it would be her job and she looked forward to it.

  22

  On tuesday della prepared supper even though she knew Stacey might get home from the ski hill late. She might have stopped for dinner with Amber’s family, or they might have done something else, but she wanted her to return to the house and sit down to asparagus and eggs and baking powder biscuits, one of her favourite meals. While she prepared supper, the winter air filled with the wail of fire trucks so close that at one point Della stood on the front porch to listen. She saw smoke feeding the sky several blocks away. The asparagus and the baking powder biscuits were ready, but she would wait to cook the eggs until her daughter arrived. She turned on the local radio station while she waited, and the news report made her heart feel heavy in her chest. A retired couple living on 9th Street had been asphyxiated in their beds in a house fire possibly started by an old oil heater. The firefighters could not salvage the house, most of which had burnt to the ground.

  Stacey arrived hungry. I’ve cooked one of your favourites, and I’m so glad you’re home, Della said. They ate and Stacey gave a full report on the skiing experience. She had only skied once before, but she liked it, she said. Della thought Stacey liked it because she wanted to keep up with Amber, but she didn’t say so. Instead she summarized what she had heard on the radio. She said when something like that happened, it made you want to cherish every given day.

  Where did they live? Stacey asked.

  A few of the houses at the end of 9th Street are older. I don’t know which one it would have been.

  The uncertainty of it all and the compulsion to earn a stake in anything catastrophic provided reason enough to put on toques and scarves and boots and walk in that general direction with the same curiosity that made boys on bicycles race after fire trucks whenever they had the chance. It was late by the time they walked down 9th Street, and cars drove by and slowed toward the end of the road. The fire had been extinguished earlier, and now smoke curled out of the carnage. Della and Stacey stood at the side of the road, taking in the tragedy and the yard cordoned off with yellow luminescent tape that framed the disaster like a dystopian masterpiece. Two cars drove by, and they could hear muffled voices inside the cars, no doubt voicing thoughts similar to theirs. At the side of the yard, lit up by the streetlights, a tree had been scorched by the flames, and toward the back of the yard, a similar tree had gone unscathed. Stacey looked at the two trees, so close together and with such different fates. Underneath the second tree, she thought she saw something move, and she took a few steps toward the side yard.

  You can’t go in there, Della said. They’ve probably roped it off because they have to investigate more in the daylight.

  Something’s alive over there, Stacey said. She moved ahead and stepped over the yellow tape, and even though Della knew better, she followed. A black dog with a smattering of white on its chest and on the tip of its tail sat in the dark. The dog lay in front of a doghouse but had its head raised, pointing to the charcoaled remains.

  Oh my, Della said. This must have been their dog. He’s waiting for them to come out. He doesn’t understand what’s happened.

  The dog allowed Stacey to squat beside it and rub her hand over the top of its head. He looked up at her once and whined, then turned his focus once again on the house. We can’t just leave the poor thing, she said. We should take it home for the night where it will be warm and safe. It’s okay, boy. We’ll look after you. She wrapped her fingers around his collar and coaxed the dog to his feet. The dog didn’t object, but he limped. He’s hurt, Stacey said. In the hint of light available, they confirmed that the dog’s right front paw was burned.

  We can’t carry him, Della said. It’s too far. You wait here with him, and I’ll get the car.

  As soon as Della left, the dog lay down again. He licked at his paw and then turned toward the house. Stacey rubbed her hand along his back and told him everything would be fine, until her mother pulled up and opened the back door. We should carry him, Stacey said, so he doesn’t step on something sharp. Why Della had her purse with her, she did not understand. She slung it over her neck, and between the two of them, they carted the dog to the back seat of the car. On the way home, they stopped at a corner store and bought three cans of dog food and a small bottle of peroxide.

  We should call him Lucky, Stacey said from the back seat where the dog lay with his muzzle on her leg.

  He’s not our dog, Della said. There could be relatives that want to claim him.

  Well, if there are relatives, they have no right. They should have thought of the dog out there by himself in the mid
dle of winter. He’s lucky we found him.

  They brought the dog into the house and laid him on a rug in the living room. Della opened a can of dog food and got a small dish and filled it with water. Lucky got up and hobbled toward the kitchen. The dog ate nothing, but he looked thankful for the opportunity to lap away at the water.

  Let’s get him back to the rug, Della said. I’ll need you to talk to him and distract him while I soak his paw in a peroxide solution. He won’t like it.

  The dog, to their surprise, didn’t flinch while Della attended to his paw, as if he understood someone had to help with his recovery and these people were as good as any. After his paw had a good soak in the peroxide, they rinsed it off, patted it dry with paper towels and wrapped it with one of Sage’s dress socks and masking tape. Stacey took the extra blanket from her bed and put it on the floor. The dog walked over, looked up at her once, then circled himself into his bed, his curious face toward the doorway. Della talked to him while Stacey got ready for bed, and when she settled facedown, she left one arm slung over the side of the bed so she could comfort him on their way to sleep.

  On the third consecutive snowy day in early February, Della sat watching a storm that had made everyone in town aware of their vulnerable human existence. The school wasn’t closed, but Stacey had stayed home anyway and Della didn’t blame her. Lucky stayed with Della every day, but the dog had bonded with Stacey. As the snow continued to mount in the yard and on the roads, Stacey spent most of the day outside playing with the dog, the two of them burrowing tunnels in the snow, and short, high-pitched yelps and raucous laughter filled the yard. Two of Della’s clients made it to the house that morning, but she stood at the window off and on and watched her daughter frolicking with the dog, and it reminded her of when Stacey had been very young and spent the warmer winter days in the yard playing by herself. Della had documented everything significant in their lives since they’d arrived in Fernie, and now she looked out at her daughter who would graduate in two years. It felt like all she had recorded had happened in a matter of minutes. It was late afternoon before dog and child made it back inside the house. Despite his physical exertion most of the day, Lucky pranced on his paws around the house as if he wanted to tell Della about the wonderful day he’d just experienced. Della waited until those in her charge were picked up before she shared with Stacey what she’d known for most of a week.