Through Different Eyes

by Karen Charleson

  Monica was touched. Perhaps she had more feelings for Saul than she cared to admit. Then as she read Saul’s words a second time, Monica began to feel guilty. She had not told Saul that he was moving to Ottawa by himself until two days before his flight. That was just plain mean. She could have at least informed him earlier that she was considering staying in Kitsum. What kind of a person was she?

  After reading the letter a third time, it occurred to her that Saul very much intended for her to feel guilty. She knew how to read the subtext of Saul’s written words, and what was worse, he knew that she knew. Did he — a man of his intelligence — really think that making her feel badly about not moving to Ottawa with him was going to help restore their relationship? Did he not realize that the very guilt he was trying to create would quickly morph into anger? Saul’s same old arrogance was glaringly apparent. Monica could not believe that she had ever been blind to it in the past. The time she had spent apart from him had helped her to see him more clearly.

  She did not procrastinate this time. She sat down and wrote a letter of her own. Another man would not have stooped to such trickery. Did he really want to manipulate her into recommitting to their relationship? A relationship that would not even be based upon truth and honesty? The more Monica thought about it, the more she was convinced that Saul had ignored everything that she had said to him on the phone in Campbell River, and before that in Vancouver. She was through explaining to Saul. If she had any doubts in her mind earlier, they were now gone. The letter she wrote was concise and to the point. Millie could have understood it.

  She carefully copied Saul’s new address onto the envelope she got from Ruby. Instead of waiting for someone to go to the post office, she made the drive into Port Hope herself and paid for express delivery. This thing with Saul had gone on long enough. The sooner he admitted that it was all over, the better off they both would be. Monica did not expect to hear from him again.

  Monica was searching through the school’s supply room but she could not find the projector she was looking for. Frustrated and dusty from moving old boxes and bins — some of which looked as though they had not been moved in years — she began to shove things out of her way. Then she heard the door creak. Feeling like she had been caught doing something that she should not have been doing, she turned around. Linda’s daughter was staring at her and casually holding the door open with an experienced extended foot.

  “What you looking for?” Carolyn demanded.

  “Marge wants the projector for tomorrow. I can’t find it anywhere.” Monica tried to be polite; it was all she could do.

  “Try the old teacherage.”

  Only when Monica looked confused did the woman explain. Carolyn led her outside and around the back of the school building. She stopped at a door that Monica had assumed was an emergency exit no longer in use.

  “Check in here,” Carolyn directed as she selected one of her many keys.

  Monica had never gotten to know Carolyn well. Linda had married their Uncle Daniel after his first wife had died and their children had grown up. Carolyn and her daughter — that was Charmayne, the one who had caused all that trouble with Martin — had been living on their own then. She and Ruby saw her occasionally at big family birthday parties or dinners, but she could not remember ever exchanging more than a few words with her.

  During her short time at Kitsum Elementary, Monica had already noticed that the woman worked hard. There were two janitors for the school. Carolyn was supposed to concentrate on cleaning while the other janitor worked on maintenance and repairs. However, it was clear that she did most of the work. The railing outside the main school door had been broken since the Christmas holiday, yet the inside of the school was freshly cleaned, mopped, and tidied every day.

  Monica expected Carolyn to disappear after opening the door, but she followed her into the rooms. “It’s supposed to be a teacherage but none of the teachers wanted to stay in here. Too small, I guess. There’s just the one room here, plus a tiny bedroom and bathroom. Still, the lights and heat and water work fine. I just started putting extra stuff in here because nobody was using it for anything else. No point wasting space.”

  In the hard electric light, Monica looked around at the combination kitchen and living room. The only window was boarded shut. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling; the air was stale. No one had been in here for quite a while. She surveyed the school materials; there were a lot of old textbooks that could just as well be thrown away. The projector was easy to spot, sitting on what was intended to be a kitchen counter.

  When they were outside again and on their way back to the classrooms, Carolyn offered to carry the projector box. “How’s Brenda?” she asked as she took the heavy box from Monica.

  “Fine.”

  “She’s not in school anymore?”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “How come?”

  Monica remained silent.

  Once she was back in the classrooms and free of Carolyn’s questions, an idea began to percolate in Monica’s head. Ruby and Martin’s house was crowded. With Brenda home all day now, the place had seemed to shrink even further. For over a month, she had been sleeping in Tom’s room, forcing Tom to move into Junior’s bedroom. Surely the boys wanted some space of their own. What if Gary let her have those small storerooms? Carolyn did say that they had been intended as a teacherage. Monica could clean it all up, get the window replaced, and then she would pay rent if they wanted. She would still spend a lot of time at Ruby’s, but the privacy would be good for her. A place of her own — she had not had that for a while.

  The next day she broached the subject at lunch hour. She had been working for over a month by then; she was doing a good job and she was not going anywhere. Gary thought about her query only briefly before tentatively agreeing. He would run her proposal by the Band Office, and if they approved, he would do up a written agreement.

  THIRTEEN

  Monica left for Campbell River before the sun was up on Saturday morning. She had convinced herself that if she left for home early enough on Sunday morning, she would be able to beat the bulk of the forecasted snow. Over the preceding week, she had scrubbed and scoured, and then made a list of the things that her new place needed. She had vowed to not take too long to accumulate her own furniture and household goods and return all the items that Ruby had so generously lent her.

  Once she had checked back into the Highliner, Monica drove straight to the shopping mall. It was the exact same mall that she and Brenda used to make fun of for being so tiny compared to the malls in Vancouver. She loaded her car with a random assortment of goods: everything from thick, cream-coloured bath towels to a small stereo to a full-sized coffee pot to a yellow soap dish shaped like a duck.

  Next, she paid for a bed, and arranged for it to be delivered to Port Hope. They did not deliver to Kitsum, the salesman told her. Monica already knew that — Ruby had told her exactly how the furniture store operated — but she asked why anyway. She wanted to hear for herself the argument for a store “policy” that made no sense. Only when she knew that the flustered salesman was worried about losing the entire sale did she agree to pick up the bed in Port Hope. She would have to ask Martin for yet another favour, or borrow his truck again. Ruby claimed that the bed she had lent her was an extra one, but Monica knew that it was Tom’s. Her nephew had been sleeping on camping foam since before Christmas. She needed her own bed, and whatever she thought of the salesman and his shop, this was her best option.

  More than a little satisfied with herself and how the day had gone, Monica returned to the Highliner. She intended to eat in the café, and then watch television and read in her room. She was scanning the menu — with her newly purchased weekend newspapers waiting for her in the plastic bag at her elbow — when she heard his voice.

  “You’re here again.” Before she could reply, Michael Clydesdale slid onto the seat across f
rom her. “Are you eating alone?”

  She nodded and realized that, despite her trepidation, she was not unhappy to see him. A familiar face from Kitsum was always welcome amid the strangeness of town.

  “You hang out at the Highliner?” Michael made a sort of grimace to let her know that it was not a serious question, and then laughed at his own joke.

  “Do you?” Monica laughed back.

  By the time their meals arrived, they were speaking easily to one another. Monica spoke of buying things for her new place and told him how much she was enjoying working at the school. Michael talked about his work up at the new subdivision. It was almost as if the two of them were friends.

  “Kitsum can be pretty nuts on the weekends. Well, maybe not where you are, but at my Uncle Fred’s. I come to Campbell quite a bit. I usually stay with my old foster parents — Mitch and Allison. They’re pretty great people. Allison is Métis from Saskatchewan and Mitch is a carpenter. He’s always giving me tips on how to do things with the houses we’re working on right now.”

  When he saw that she was listening to him, he continued. “They’ve been to Kitsum, you know. They drove me out before my mom’s funeral, and stayed to pay their respects to my uncles and Auntie Ethel too. They took me in when I was a haywire punk,” he laughed. “Anyways, I forgot that they were going to be gone this weekend. I felt funny about staying in their place alone. I mean I know where they keep the hidden key for emergencies and all that, and they wouldn’t have minded me using it, but still, I never mentioned ahead of time that I’d be around, so it’s just easier if I stay here at the good old Highliner, too.

  “Yeah, the Highliner — I mean, all the best people stay here,” he added.

  Monica laughed and shook her head. Michael could be funny. This time, she had no difficulty eating her dinner. In fact, she felt famished. Between bites, she managed “I haven’t seen you around Kitsum.”

  “I work all day. I go home, eat, then go to sleep. That’s about it.”

  “Yeah, short days this time of year, too. After work, there’s no time to go anywhere.”

  “Not like the city, eh?”

  They talked about living in Vancouver. She was surprised to learn that Michael had lived there during some of the same years that she lived there. They finished their meals, drank more tea, and it seemed like their conversation had only begun.

  “You feel like going for a walk?” Michael asked her. “Help digest the food.”

  “Sure.” Monica answered quickly before she had time to think too hard.

  She could not have said how long their walk lasted. She only knew that it was twilight when they started out, and dark when they returned. Bundled up against the winter wind blowing down the channel, they walked along the sidewalk that bordered the water’s edge, and headed down to the docks. Unlike in Kitsum, the Campbell River fishermen’s floats were well lit. Michael pointed out the boats he recognized: Pacific Provider, Haida Warrior, and North Wind. She was keenly aware of the touch of his hand on her elbow and upper arm as he guided her across the few frosty sections where patches of ice might have formed. She dared not look at him then, afraid that he would see on her face what she could not admit to herself.

  Whenever Michael moved slightly ahead of her, Monica found herself staring. His black hair lay partially over his jacket collar. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow. He moved smoothly, at home in his own body. What was she doing? she wondered more than once, and more than once she refused to contemplate an answer. It began to rain. It was not a heavy downpour, but the large, slow drops were steady. The wind had not let up either. Monica had to brace herself to keep from shivering. They turned back toward the hotel.

  “You probably have plans?” Michael asked her.

  “Plans?” She did not understand.

  “Plans, you know, plans,” he said slowly with a smile. “Like what you were going to do tonight? You know, bingo, bars, plans.”

  “Me?” Monica laughed. In the last year or so, Saul had begun to give her strange looks when she laughed too loudly or too often in public. Here, it seemed that her laughter could flow freely. “I’m going to watch TV and read the paper,” she said firmly.

  The closer they got to the Highliner, the less they spoke. Words that had come so easily earlier in the evening now seemed to carry enormous weight. Monica could hear every step they took. She looked down at the sidewalk and watched their legs move, their strides equally spaced. Simultaneously, she dreaded and anticipated the bright lights of the lobby. The closer they got, the more she knew that she would invite Michael back to her room. From his lengthening silence, she sensed that he knew it too.

  Monica woke up smiling. She could see a dim line of light entering the room where the heavy drapes did not quite join together. Michael lay sleeping beside her, his bare chest gently rising and falling. She moved closer to him and he turned to meet her. When she awoke again, the crack of light was brighter. Michael’s eyes were open. He was watching her.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Not long,” he answered, and for no apparent reason, they both laughed. Monica felt like she could laugh all day.

  Once they had dressed, she opened the room curtains and saw all the snow. Her car was buried beneath a sea of white in the parking lot below. Every vehicle was now nothing but a mound of snow. The worry of getting home did not even hit her immediately; at first she just stared without comprehension.

  From behind her, she heard Michael. “We’ll take the truck. I’ve got good tires and chains. There’s plenty of room for your stuff. I’m sure they’ll let you leave your car here…considering.”

  They waited to leave Campbell River. They had to wait until they got news that the highway had been ploughed and the grater from Port Hope had gone over the length of road between the turnoff and Kitsum. It was now a matter of driving slowly and carefully. The long drive back to Kitsum — that even at the best of times would have made Monica nervous — did not worry her too much this time. Michael would be driving; she would be safe.

  Perhaps it was his having to pay extra attention to the driving that caused the uneasiness that entered their conversation. On the previous day, they had talked about their jobs and families, and about living in Vancouver and Kitsum. Today the conversation did not flow nearly as smoothly. Mostly they spoke in short snippets, commenting on the radio programs or the music. Three or four times, Michael told her jokes that made her groan and roll her eyes. Both of them, it turned out, liked to sing along with songs on the radio. Monica heard Michael doing it shortly into the drive. Then about an hour later, she caught herself doing the same thing. Just as she was about to stop, she heard Michael join in. Neither of them was very musical, Monica thought wryly, but then as the song went on, she gradually let her voice grow louder and louder.

  “Hey,” Michael said when the song ended. “We sound good together.”

  That made her blush. She could not remember the last time that she had felt her cheeks grow so hot so quickly. She did not dare say anything or look at him. Nervousness filled the truck cab. By the time Michael was helping her unload her groceries and purchases in Kitsum, they were being almost formally polite to one another.

  There was no sign of Michael — not for three days after he dropped her off. On the second day, Gary asked her if she was all right. On the morning of the third day, he asked her if she might be coming down with something.

  “Maybe I’ve got a cold,” Monica told him and actually believed it. As soon as the final school bell rang, she went straight to her place with the aim of taking Helen’s advice to drink lots of hot herbal tea and get more rest. She had barely slept the night before.

  She was awakened by a knocking at her door. Fully dressed, Monica sat upright quickly. It was already completely dark outside. She had no idea how long she had been asleep. She had sipped half a cup of tea and then she had
gone to lie down; that was the last thing she remembered. Squinting at the stove top, she saw that it was nearly six o’clock.

  “Coming,” she called in a still cloudy voice.

  Monica opened the door to Michael. Without thinking, still dazed by sleep, she stretched out her arms and nearly fell towards him. She hugged him hard, not wanting to let him go.

  “Hey,” he finally spoke. “I’m glad to see you too. You going to let me in?”

  “Sure, sure.” Monica spoke between chuckles. Somehow, this man made her want to laugh.

  “I brought you another lock,” he explained. “I’ll put it on for you. I noticed when we dropped off your stuff that you didn’t have a decent lock on the door.” From his jacket pocket he pulled out a new bolt and chain and a screwdriver. “You can’t trust the drunks around here, you know. Better to be careful.”

  Monica was waking up fast now. She was suddenly conscious of her rumpled appearance and the messy bed that was clearly visible through the open bedroom door. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Must have,” he mimicked, and she was laughing again.

  Michael stayed with her that night. Within a few days, they had established a new routine. They would wake and eat early, and then Michael would stop by his place to change and gather what he needed for work that day. Then in the evenings, he would drop off his tools at home and return to Monica’s for supper.

  Monica refused to think too much about what was happening. She only wanted to know how good it felt to be with Michael; she only remembered how horribly empty those three days had felt away from him. Things had never been this intense with Saul. In the beginning when she and Saul had seen each other once or twice a week, Monica had carried on with her classes and assignments, her readings and research, much as she had before they had met. It came as a complete shock to her now that whenever Michael was gone — even though she understood that he was at work or at home — she felt like she could not function properly. She definitely could not concentrate. She had to go through the motions of what she needed to do without being capable of really thinking about it. When Michael was with her, Monica was in a state of utter happiness. She could not recall ever having been so happy. She could not keep from smiling, laughing, and beaming.