by Jan Conn
Della knew Oli Hardwick from church, a member of the congregation from when she first attended, and he never missed a Sunday. Rose and Molly had filled her in on most of the congregation over the last few years, and because of her fastidious informers, Della knew Oli as a widower. He’s a gentleman, Rose said. A stamp collector, Molly said, one who spent his days bent over his hobby or walking his dog. He’d retired young, having sold his lucrative sign-painting business, and Molly said sometimes he wished he hadn’t sold when he did. On several fronts, he seemed a lonely man. One fall, Hart had taken a trip without Molly, a search for artifacts for Fort Whoop, and Oli Hardwick and gone with him. Hart said all the way there and back, he talked about how much he missed his wife.
One night, due to heavy rain, Della took the car downtown for coffee, and Oli Hardwick sat at a corner table reading the newspaper. Not the local paper but a thick one from out of town. He looked deeply involved in it so Della didn’t bother him, just ordered a coffee and sat by herself. Oli looked out over his newspaper and saw her there and suggested she bring her coffee to his table and join him. She did.
Oli had heard about Sage’s fate. Everyone in town had. Despite this, he had Della explain the chronology of her husband’s condition, and he listened intently to all the details as if he wanted to pass some later quiz with flying colours.
You’ve had a tough go of it, Oli said. When he spoke these words, Della felt the impulse to mention Sage was the one who had it tough, but then she thought about it and realized Oli identified with her circumstance because he too had an assumed part of his life wiped out. And he was right. Life would never again be what it once was.
They both ordered a second coffee, and Oli offered to buy her a Nanaimo bar. Della said she had better not, and Oli said if maintaining her figure concerned her, she had nothing to worry about, and he ordered a Nanaimo bar for them to share. Della told him she knew he was a stamp collector and wondered what that entailed. Oli came to life then, you could see the spark in his eyes when he spoke. He’d attended the Great Western Stamp Show in Richmond last year, and he was planning a trip to Bayside, New York, for an even bigger show coming this summer.
I collect stamps from anywhere I can if I think they have value. That doesn’t just mean older stamps, it means rare stamps. My collection focuses on Canada and England, but I dabble in American stamps too, mostly to trade. Next year I’m thinking of going to England. They have huge stamp shows there, and I haven’t been back for over twenty years.
Oli went on about stamps for close to an hour. Della imagined such a thing might bore her, and it might have if she were reading about it, but Oli’s enthusiasm made it sound like a thrilling adventure.
Years ago, in England, Oli said, mail cost a fortune to send and was sent “collect,” and since it often required a day’s wages to receive it, thousands of letters would travel the country with no hope of being delivered. Then they adopted the penny stamp, which made it cheap for anyone to send a letter, and the stamp worked to send a letter anywhere in the world. I have three or four at home in varying condition. Stamps aren’t just items, you see. They bring with them a sense of history.
My dad had a collection, Della said. A small collection, nothing like yours. There’s a lot more to stamp collecting than most would think. I can see that now.
One more thing I’ll bet you didn’t know. The Queen has a stamp collection.
You don’t say?
I do say. And John Lennon collected stamps as a boy.
Well, I’ll be.
You’re welcome to come over and view the collection sometime, Oli said.
I’d like to do that, Della said. I’d like that a lot.
This happened on a Wednesday, and Della went back to just walking around the neighbourhood for the next while, but when Wednesday rolled around again, she took the car and went back to the coffee shop and saw Oli, newspaper in hand, as if he’d been waiting for her all week. This time they each ordered their own Nanaimo bar. Oli’s hair looked different, and she saw he had it combed over to the side with what looked like a wave-set. They talked again. For a long time. Not just about stamps but about the church they attended and Fernie and what the future might hold for the town. Della had ended up in Fernie because of Sage’s job, and they’d stayed put partly for the anonymity of the place, so she hadn’t considered the town’s future but thought maybe she should. They talked about some of the people in the church and some, like Hart, that didn’t attend. Oli said he envied Hart because of his passion for collecting things and because he had a wife who didn’t object. When Della heard this assessment, she thought maybe Oli’s stamp collection had begun in earnest after his wife died. A natural progression, that was. When something that substantive in your life falls away, something is bound to take its place.
25
Toward the end of march, Hart had his first bed and breakfast customer, a couple on holiday from Toronto in town to catch the end of the ski season. They’d read his notice in the laundromat. Once he got his customers settled, he went next door for Sage because he’d been busy the night before and he didn’t like to leave him two days in succession. He couldn’t take him to Fort Whoop, so he grabbed an extra Hudson’s Bay blanket and wheeled Sage to the back of the woodshed, like the old days. From where they sat, they could hear the man out at the well drawing water with the hand pump.
That’s good, Hart said, referring to the couple sleeping in his fort replica. I only put up the one notice, and I’ve got a taker already. I think I’ll put together a pamphlet and put them in the visitors’ center. This could be a nice supplement once I bow out of the insurance business. Someday I’ll be one of those old farts hanging around the coffee shop giving free advice. Free because no one would pay for it. I guess you’re never too old to sell insurance, but it gets tedious after a while. I imagine you know all about tedious.
Hart told Sage anything that came to mind, just as he would have wanted if they switched roles. He would want to know everything going on in town. I see Stacey dyed her hair, he said. She’s a redhead now. I saw her walking down the street, chatting it up with a boy she knows. She’s getting to be quite a looker, that one. I can see why the boys would be interested. Do you ever think what it would be like to be that age again? With your whole life in front of you? I don’t often. Just when I see someone like Stacey starting out. That’s when I think about it.
In the middle of June, it got hot. Everybody said it was hot earlier than usual, but Stacey couldn’t remember if that were true or not. She and Amber were about to finish grade ten. Morgan was graduating, and Amber felt uneasy about what that would mean. He would go to UBC in the fall, and he would have a room in residence, so Amber said she’d think up excuses to go to Vancouver because Morgan said he could sneak her in and nobody would know. Amber said the uneasy part of it all was that if she could sneak in with no one knowing, so could other people. She trusted Morgan, she said. They loved each other, and as soon as she graduated, the two of them would get married and Stacey would be the maid of honour.
Amber and Stacey wanted summer jobs, something other than babysitting or walking dogs. Amber’s dad knew someone who ran the golf course, and she thought there might be two job openings. Stacey knew Della wouldn’t like it, but she wouldn’t stand in her way either. She’d noticed a change in her mother lately. Della didn’t interfere as much as she used to, and Stacey felt like her equal somehow. She was studying for her driver’s test, and Della took her out to practise at least twice a week. It wasn’t clear to Stacey what had engineered the difference in her mother’s treatment of her. They owned a VCR, and every Sunday night, Della and Stacey rented a video to watch together, and Sage could watch if he wanted or close his eyes. Hannah and Her Sisters, Pretty in Pink and An Officer and a Gentleman were some of the movies they’d viewed. Sage watched them all, but she couldn’t tell if he had enjoyed them or not. Stacey had to remind herself that the people in the movies were acting, but it didn’t feel that way
. They magically appeared in your living room like real people.
On Wednesday, Della told Stacey she’d be out for most of the evening, meeting members of the congregation to study. Only the word members being plural was a lie. Don’t expect me until after ten, she said.
Oli Hendricks lived just out of town in a house that looked too big for one person. She pulled into the driveway, and Oli was at the window, waiting. The few flower beds in the front yard looked like they’d been let go. Oli wasn’t much of a gardener by the look of things.
Well, I made it. I always said I’d pop over to see your stamp collection, and low and behold, here I am.
Della had a light coat folded over her arms in case it cooled on the way home, and Oli took the coat from her and hung it in the hallway. All the times the two had met for coffee, Della had come away thinking Oli brimmed with confidence and charm. He didn’t look as confident now she had arrived at his doorstep. Possibly he didn’t have many visitors.
I got some Ethiopian coffee we can try. I’m glad you could come. Can I show you around the house first? It’s an older house, but it has its charm.
Della got the tour. The old cuckoo clock in the living room had belonged to his grandfather and was the only artefact passed on to him from that generation. The clock didn’t work, he said, but he liked having it around. She saw the updated kitchen had a dishwasher, something Della wanted but couldn’t yet afford. The bathroom had a jetted tub. Della didn’t know anyone who owned a jetted tub. The main floor had two bedrooms, with one of them converted to a study of sorts. A desk squatted at an angle in the corner, and a large table dominated the middle of the room. For laying out his stamp collection, she guessed.
The upstairs is much the same, Oli said. There’s another bathroom up there and two more bedrooms. That’s where I sleep.
They ended back in the kitchen, and Oli showed her the coffee before he made it. I wanted it to be fresh, that’s why I waited, he said. And look, I bought a half dozen Nanaimo bars to go with it.
This is a big house you have, Della said.
It is. Sometimes I think I should buy something smaller, but you get used to a place. You know how it is.
Della wandered to a back window and looked out at three trees that had finished blooming and were vigorously green. She couldn’t say she was all that used to her house. Familiar was as far as she could go. Oli may not have an interest in gardening, but he kept the inside of the house immaculate. Of course, he didn’t have kids parading through the house all day long, and he didn’t have an invalid to take care of. She felt bad for thinking so. Oli may well have had plenty to cope with before his wife died. He never mentioned his wife in all the times they’d been together. Molly had said his wife had taken almost four years to pass once they got the prognosis. Molly wouldn’t have made up something like that.
The coffee he made was delicious, stronger than the coffee they had downtown. He opened the box containing six Nanaimo bars, and Della blushed. They sat in the living room and listened to the old clock that showed the wrong time but ticked obediently, and even though the eating and drinking didn’t take long, it felt late to Della, and she thought maybe she wasn’t there to see his stamp collection after all, but Oli rose to his feet and asked her to follow him into his office. He opened a large cupboard she hadn’t noticed when she first viewed the room. From the hundreds of photo albums inside, Oli selected a few and brought them to the table in the middle of the room.
Storage is an issue for a stamp collector. As soon as I come upon a stamp, I file it where it belongs. If you don’t, you end up with envelopes or bags full of stamps you know nothing about after a while. I have some of those too, but they’re duplicates. Countries, including Canada, issue stamps that reflect something about their culture. This book, for example, holds Canadian stamps that honour entertainers, this one has literary legends. All my Canadian stamps are in yellow binders. Not sure why. The green binders like this one are British, and you can see here stamps issued during Queen Elizabeth II’s reign. He pointed. This one features castles.
He handed Della a magnifying glass and had her bend over and peer at certain elements that differentiated one stamp from another. Take a close look at this one. It comes from Mauritius, and it was meant to say postage paid, but it says post office; 1847 that one.
Oli opened up as he showed his collection, but then they went back to the living room for a second cup of coffee. They sat down on opposite ends of the large olive-coloured couch, and with no prompting, he spoke about his wife, his voice not much stronger than a whisper.
I thought my life had ended when she died. I couldn’t do anything for a long time. When she died, it was like a glass had smashed and scattered across the kitchen floor, and it wasn’t just my wife who had died, but our togetherness went missing too, and I could see the thousands of pieces everywhere, but I had no way of putting us back together again.
It must have been hard, Della said.
You have no idea. And I’m glad you don’t. You’re the first woman to set foot in the house in four years. That’s how hard it’s been.
He stopped talking, and Della stared across the room at the cuckoo clock. The clock had been ticking earlier but was now frozen in time, and she wondered if it had stopped at the exact minute his wife had died. She turned toward him and saw him crying. Without a thought, she moved over on the couch and put her arm around his shoulder.
Would you do something for me? he said.
I will. Just name it.
Oli stood up, held her hand and pulled Della from the couch. He held her hand tightly and led her upstairs. She hadn’t felt the need for a cigarette all evening, but she wanted a cigarette now. When they entered his bedroom, he explained what he wanted.
Would you lie down with me for a few minutes? Just lie down on the bed and hold me?
He lay down on the bed as if it were something that needed demonstration. Della looked at him, turned on his side, his head sunk into a soft pillow. She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed beside him. She put an arm around him, and he sobbed. Over his muted emotion, she told him everything would be okay. She didn’t say it with much conviction, but she said it because she felt the ache of his hunger, though she wasn’t convinced it would ever go away.
Until after ten, she had the house to herself. Her mother had said so, and she figured she could count on 9:30 being safe. She phoned Hugh right away, and he was thrilled she had phoned. Are you busy tonight? she asked, and Hugh said, Never too busy to spend time with Stacey Howard.
Good, she said. Come over tonight about 7:30. Make sure you shower first. I think you’re right. You and I should do it.
Stacey rarely drank beer, but she got two out of the woodshed and put them in the fridge. She had a quick shower and put the diaphragm in place like she’d practiced several times already and now felt what her aunt would call savvy like a pro. She put on a short skirt and a loosely fitted diaphanous top and didn’t bother with socks or underwear. She saw Hugh drive up early in front of the house in his mother’s green Ford. He sat in the car, waiting for the right time. Stacey reconsidered and went to her room and put on a pair of black underwear. She left a dog biscuit for Lucky in her room and closed the door. When he knocked, she opened the front door, and he stood there with a small bouquet held in both hands.
You didn’t need to bring flowers, she said, then leaned her head upward and kissed Hugh on the lips. He looked over her shoulder after the kiss, after his eyes opened, and he saw Sage sitting in his chair, taking it all in. Stacey leaned forward and kissed him again, only longer this time. Hugh followed her and the flowers into the kitchen, and she asked him to open the two beer while she put the flowers into water.
He doesn’t mind I’m here?
Don’t worry about him. He sits there just like he is now.
They kissed again and then sat down at the kitchen table and drank their beer. Hugh had shaved before coming over and had a small nick on the end of his chi
n. He kept putting the back of his hand there, as if he didn’t trust it. Stacey drank her beer fast, and he tried to catch up.
This is my first time, Stacey said. I want everything to be perfect. You only fuck for the first time once in your whole life.
I want it to be perfect too, Hugh said. I brought two safes with me.
Don’t worry about a thing. I have everything under control, but you have to do it just as I say or the whole thing’s off.
At eight o’clock, Highway to Heaven would be over. Sage liked the show, about an angel descending to Earth to help people out. It didn’t seem like the type of TV show he would like, but he watched it every week. Tonight, Hugh was her angel and would help her get what she wanted. The show ended, and Stacey turned off the TV.
First she turned off the overhead light and lit what remained of a Christmas candle she’d found in the cupboard. She sat on the couch and pointed to a spot where Hugh was to sit so he wouldn’t have to stare at Sage the whole time. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward her and kissed him with all her might. Hugh looked over his shoulder just once and then slid his hands under her blouse, and he soon forgot that Sage was in the room. Stacey helped him out and pulled her top over her shoulders. She undid the fastener on her bra and let Hugh do the rest. He leaned in and nibbled each of her breasts as if this was what someone like Morgan had told him to do. He paid attention to each breast equally, and Stacey thought that was fair. His hands slid up and down her legs, but he hesitated each time he touched her panties. After the third time, she stood up and slid them off and threw them onto the rug in the middle of the living room floor. She grabbed his right hand and guided him to where he needed to go. She told Hugh he should take his clothes off, and he did as she said. It was sticking up, pointing right at her from where she sat on the couch, but then Hugh turned to look at Sage one more time. Stacey offered a small kiss on the end of his penis. She wished he had two penises to pay attention to, but he only had one, so she licked it twice. She’d learned that get-ready trick from Amber, who had explained it as foreplay. He wore that scent again, and she stroked him, and all his attention came back to her. She slid onto a bath towel that lay on the thick rug in the middle of the room and pulled Hugh on top of her. Are you sure I don’t need a rubber? he said. Morgan told me—