by Freya North
He didn’t really need anyone to make his life better than it already was. Then Frankie came along on a day when he didn’t know where he was going.
‘Buddy.’
The dog looked up.
‘What’s going on, hey?’
Up in the sky he could hear a small plane. Was it Aaron, taking someone up there for them to bale out with a parachute on their back, the crazy fuckers? He couldn’t locate the plane for a while, then he saw it – a speck at 10,000 feet, too high to know who was flying. He glanced at his phone, no signal. He mused how he preferred his phone to be out of range than in but this last month, he’d never before checked it so regularly; hopeful of a text or a picture message, an email, a missed call, a FaceTime request.
‘Frankie.’
The word tasted good. Such a beautiful day up here, way up a hill, a soft breeze that wouldn’t reach his porch until much later. He thought about potentially seeing her next week. It excited him. There were commitments to rearrange – he didn’t want to cancel the kids he was mentoring and he had a meeting in Vancouver as well as Jenna’s appointment.
He rested his head against the tree and closed his eyes. Love was simple and life was complicated. Was that right? Was that how it should be?
His eyes snapped open.
Christ.
What the?
‘As I thought of Frankie, so I thought of love.’
Driving home, Scott decided to call in on Aaron whose door was always open to him. Friends since childhood, nevertheless when Scott drove through the Ĺíĺwat reservation at Mount Currie, he was aware that he was a white man on First Nations land. Some people waved because they knew him, others who recognized his truck might nod, but still there were some who looked away. He respected that. Though he knew this road, this place well, it was still humbling to acknowledge the disparity of wealth and circumstances in the valley typified by the different people who lived within it. He felt a little awkward driving up Aaron’s street in his shiny, expensive truck – even though he knew that when Aaron drove it, it was with pride and aplomb, kids and friends flocking to admire it.
The sight of Aaron’s home always raised a smile. Compared to Scott’s house, Aaron’s was a glorified trailer. In fact it was a trailer, because that’s what Aaron could afford ten years ago. However, it was soon rooted down, as stable and proud as a house costing a million dollars more. One summer, he’d helped Aaron clad it in cedar and a couple of years ago they’d built the porch out back too. Rose wanted a fancy porch – and a fancy porch was Aaron’s pleasure to provide. He’d changed the colour last year, painting it a shade of rich honey with the windows and porch picked out in white.
Rose was watering her pot plants, little Johnny was taking handfuls of soil from one area and depositing them in another. Tara was sitting on the steps, brushing the hair of a doll with a queue of other dolls by her side. Johnny was at the side of the car before Scott had turned his engine off, stroking the door because he loved the truck and he loved Scott and he didn’t stop to think about his muddy little hands. Scott noted that Rose glanced around before she welcomed him. It was another thing he acknowledged and took no offence at. Rose hadn’t known him her whole life like Aaron, only since she’d been married. She was Squamish who had married in to Ĺíĺwat. But aside from her heritage, she was quite simply a little shy.
‘Hey Rose.’ Scott waved. Johnny had slipped his hand into Scott’s and the small fingers moving rhythmically, and the grainy earth felt nice in the palm of his hand. ‘Hey Little Miss Tara – your barber shop open for business?’
‘It’s for my dolls,’ Tara said, glancing at her mother. ‘It’s for dolls,’ Tara said again, as if Scott was thick.
‘Aaron’s out,’ Rose said, still busy with her pots.
‘I might have heard him,’ said Scott, nodding to the sky. ‘Up there. I took a long walk with Buddy just now.’
‘Is Buddy here?’ Johnny asked, tugging Scott’s hand.
‘He’s in the truck. He’s sleeping.’
‘Can I see?’
Scott lifted Johnny up and Buddy opened his eyes. The dog liked small kids. They tasted salty, usually, and never pushed him away when he licked them.
‘Can I get him some water?’
‘I think he’d like that.’
Rose handed Johnny a tin tray and she poured in a little from her watering can. ‘Don’t spill it on Scott’s fancy truck, now.’
Scott helped Johnny place it inside the back for Buddy to lap. The dog was thirsty and Scott felt bad.
‘Aaron’s not in,’ Rose said again. ‘I don’t know when he’ll be back. But you can catch him at the airfield, most likely.’
Scott nodded. When Aaron was around, Rose relaxed; those were the times when she’d rib Scott and tease him and make him coffee and always put sugar in it, laughing privately at how he’d grimace, how he was too polite to complain.
‘Well – it’s good to see you,’ said Scott.
‘You too Scott.’
‘Can we come to your house?’ Tara asked.
‘Sure – any time.’
‘In your truck?’ asked Johnny.
‘Sure.’
‘Can I drive it?’
‘Maybe when you’re just a little bigger.’
‘My dad let me drive it.’
And Scott thought back all those years to having Jenna on his lap with her sticky hands clamped to the steering wheel believing that she was taking them home. Now, there hadn’t been a period of more than just a few months when she’d been safe to drive. She hated that halt on her independence more than anything. Thoughts of Paris raced across his mind like a darkening sky.
‘You OK, Scott?’
He looked up at Rose. ‘Yeah. I think so. I –’
‘You in love?’ She asked it deadpan but her shoulders gave the shake of a momentary giggle.
Scott hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans, kicked at the ground, looked at the sky.
‘You are,’ said Rose as if it was a fact as everyday as Scott having dark grey eyes, being forty-five years of age, having a dog called Buddy and owning one beast of a truck.
‘I can go to Europe again – next week – if I choose to,’ he said as if it were an expedition to the South Pole. She raised her eyebrow at him. ‘But I need to think of Jenna.’
Rose looked at him archly. ‘Not so good for a girl her age to be thought of all the time,’ she told him.
‘I’m all she’s got,’ Scott said defensively.
Rose whistled. ‘Mister Important! King of the World! Jenna’s got a life all her own. Don’t push your shadow over her sunshine – however soft you do it.’
He looked at her levelly.
‘Go to Europe, Scott,’ Rose said as she tended to her plants, the sparkling arcs of water seeming never to dry up.
As he drove home, Scott thought how he always found Rose’s spare way with words and the glimpses of wisdom refreshing. Had Aaron been home when he’d called by, there’d have been laughter and lively joshing. Are you kidding? Aaron would have said, giving him a punch, no doubt. Get on that plane – Jenna knows we’re here. We’ll keep an eye on her.
Jenna hated having the EEG, still finding it no less daunting over the years. There was a panic button for a reason; the noises from the machine, the aloneness, the anticipation of what the readings revealed. The procedure might only take half an hour but the effects lasted far longer; she hated having the pads pasted to her head, finding the stuff impossible to get out afterwards. Three, four, five shampoos, making her scalp sore and her temper frayed. She’d still be picking out little nibs of hardened glue all week. The first time Scott had heard her swear was when she was fifteen and, after spending all afternoon washing her hair she’d come down crying saying she looked like shit.
‘Not a good look,’ she said today, reluctantly brave, when she was wired up.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ said Scott. ‘You’ve seen those pictures of me in my high-school b
and in the eighties.’ But it didn’t raise a smile.
Afterwards, the neurologist discussed her medication, his aim always to find alternatives to polytherapy. She was currently on four different drugs and he was concerned about her weight loss since he’d last seen her a few months back. However, having been on meds not so long ago that had increased her weight dramatically, Jenna was more worried about her drowsiness and that sometimes her gums felt so sore.
‘There is a new drug,’ he told them. ‘Containing no carbamazepine – that’s what you were allergic to when you were a kid. But it’s being directed at sufferers a lot older than you. My problem with it is that it has idiosyncratic side effects – symptoms occurring in some but not all who take it.’
Jenna looked at her lap and her father took her hand.
‘Last time she tried new meds, she wound up in hospital for a week.’
‘I know, Scott, I know. Going on your past history, Jenna, and your intolerances, I wouldn’t be happy putting you on it.’
‘Can you lessen her doses?’ Scott asked.
‘Like I’ve said before, we risk the absence seizures becoming more frequent and possibly the tonic-clonic events lasting longer. Which we absolutely don’t want. I feel we ought to stay as we are – and I’ll see you in three months. Hopefully, you’ll have been seizure free.’
‘And the vagus nerve stimulator?’ Scott pushed.
‘Maybe next year.’
‘Jenna?’ Scott spoke to her softly.
The men looked at her, waiting for her to raise her head.
‘I’d really like to work out at this new gym some of my friends have just joined,’ she said, brushing away an angry tear. ‘I don’t care about alcohol – that doesn’t matter to me – but when I go to UBC in the fall, I want to go to the parties, go see bands, stay up late putting the world to rights. I want to be able to drive a bunch of friends home for the weekend.’ She paused, her voice creaked. ‘You know what? What I’d really like is not to have to always make sure I’m in bed early to get enough sleep. It’s so lame.’ She sighed very deeply. ‘I just don’t want to have to tell people.’
Jenna, who so much of the time smiled her way through her affliction, whose brave face on it all was as beautiful as it was painful to see, felt that her consultant’s room, with her dad at her side, was the one place she could truly vent. And they always let her.
‘Last time – a month ago – the headache I had afterwards was unbelievable. I slept for almost an entire day after, didn’t I, Dad?’
‘She was wiped out,’ Scott said.
‘Have you tried introducing caffeine back into your diet, Jenna?’ her consultant asked. ‘We’re now seeing that quite a few sufferers have found stimulants can actually help suppress seizures, as irrational as that sounds.’
But she hated coffee. She never drank pop. She didn’t like the taste of rich dark chocolate.
‘You know what I want most of all?’ She was now truly fed up. ‘I just wish I could be selective, I wish I could choose who I tell on a need-to-know basis – but the thing is, I have to tell everyone because it just doesn’t seem there’s ever going to be a time when the whole world around me won’t need to know.’
Scott took Jenna out for lunch in Vancouver even though she said she’d be happy to go straight home. Over the years, he’d learned that it was important to provide a diversion from the inevitable frustration of her appointments. Well we’re in Vancouver anyway, he’d say, so while we’re here why don’t we do something fun before we head home? When she was little, it was visits to toy stores, when she was a young teen it was shopping trips down Robson. Recently, he’d found lunches at lovely restaurants had managed to put distance to the disappointment and raise her spirits a little. Her favourite place was Bridges on Granville Island and there they sat on the warm, wide decking right on the waterfront, looking over to the glinting city and, beyond, the mountains. Scott knew she’d find that the sunshine-yellow parasols couldn’t contradict her mood for too long. Sometimes it broke his heart that her default was to be so determinedly positive.
‘You OK, kiddo?’
‘Well apart from the fact that I have to wear a baseball cap on such a lovely day because my hair is covered in glue – yes, I’m fine.’
‘Pizza? Burger? Fuck it, Jenna – let’s have the lobster.’
She always giggled when he swore.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘you have to go to Paris next week Dad.’ Over and above the movie her dad was thinking of taking, Jenna was intrigued by thoughts of Frankie. If her dad went over there, perhaps next time this Frankie would come over here. What was she like? What was her dad like with her?
‘I’ll think about it.’
Scott always felt an instinct to stay close to Jenna after she’d had her tests. The movie – maybe it wasn’t something he wanted to be involved with. Frankie – how he longed to see her. But he hadn’t told her about Paris. Not yet.
‘If you don’t go – it won’t be because of the movie, it will be because of me,’ Jenna said. ‘I don’t want that to be the case.’
‘I said I’d think about it,’ Scott laughed. ‘They want me to write music for some chick flick.’
That really made Jenna laugh.
‘Let’s eat lobster,’ Scott said, nodding at the waitress to come over.
Jenna didn’t want to stay at home, she wanted to go back to her apartment in Whistler and work the evening shift and meet Shelley’s new boyfriend properly. She hugged her dad and laughed at how slowly he drove away, knowing he was still looking for her in his rear-view mirror long after she’d stopped glancing over her shoulder to wave him away. Arriving home, Scott felt he could do with some company too, really, after a day like today. He could easily phone Aaron. Even the youngsters he was mentoring – but they’d have schoolwork and anyway, they’d had a session with him a couple of days ago. He could go down to the Pony – but he wasn’t hungry. He picked up one of his guitars, played for a moment, put it down. He opened the fridge, closed the fridge. He flipped through unopened mail. He thought about going for a run but actually, he was really tired. And he thought about Frankie. Hers was the company he wanted right now.
He looked at Buddy.
‘What would you have me do, pal?’
He phoned Jenna. She didn’t pick up. He left a message and phoned again five minutes later.
‘Dad – I’m at work?’
‘I think I will go to Europe next week.’
‘That’s great – you go. I said you should go.’
‘Are you sure though, honey?’
‘Will you stop worrying? You’re getting worse!’
‘But I can stay home – it’s no big deal.’
‘Oh my God, Pops – I’m hanging up now. OK? I’m hanging up. See!’
It was too late to call Frankie. She’d be sound asleep. Just gone five in the morning over there. Buddy was ignoring him. Scott took a different guitar and strummed thoughtfully. Romance slash family drama slash comedy. That pretty much summed up his life these days. If he couldn’t write for that, he’d better just hang up his guitars and sell the piano and do something else instead.
‘Looks like I’ll be going to Paris, then,’ and he listened hard as his words and his music spun through the absolute silence in his home.
‘It’s coming,’ Frankie tried to assure her agent. ‘Honestly. A couple more weeks. Two – maybe three.’
‘Author,’ he said sternly, ‘I do hope so.’
Damn you, Alice.
You’re the one neglecting me, Frankie. You’ve hardly given me a passing thought recently.
* * *
Frankie walked over to her wardrobe and opened the door, staring at herself in the mirror, moaning that she looked like shit. She peered in close. Were those jowls? Starting from her chin, she ran her fingers firmly along her jawbone, recognizing the tighter face it revealed more than she did the softer version when she took her hands away. And why were there lines under her e
yes if she wasn’t smiling or grimacing but just keeping her face neutral? And why was she calling them lines when she should be more honest and just call the bloody things wrinkles? And why was she wasting time looking at herself when it only depressed her and when she should be sitting down and trying to work?
‘I can’t meet you in Paris,’ she said quietly, repeating words she’d said on the phone only minutes ago. ‘It’s just too complicated,’ she said again. ‘Midweek, with the children, with work, with logistics, with finances.’
‘Paris, France, right?’ he had said to her. ‘Not Paris, Texas?’
There’d been a long silence.
‘We’ll find a way,’ he’d told her, but just then, alone in her room, this seemed a complex route with no map. She went over to the window and gazed out at the sky as if solutions were carried on clouds. She did love the fact that the view out over the land was now so familiar though the sky was never the same. There were no answers out there though, just the question of her children downstairs yelling up when’s supper Mum, we’re starving.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Sam asked. Sam’s tea was legendary in its awfulness but was always on offer.
‘I’m all right – thanks darling,’ Frankie said, though it was quite obvious to the children that she wasn’t. She’d pushed her food around her plate and they’d had to say everything twice.
‘Are you all right?’ Annabel asked.
‘Oh,’ Frankie said breezily, ‘yes and no. I almost got to see Scott again. Almost, but not quite. So I’m just a little – blue.’
‘Why only almost?’
‘Well, he’ll be in Europe next week.’
‘Whereabouts in Europe?’
‘France – Paris.’
‘But we’re neighbours – with the French.’ Annabel thought about this. ‘So near – yet so far.’
‘You know – we could all go to Paris,’ Sam said.
‘It’s midweek,’ Frankie told him.
‘I know. But we could make it – educational – go to museums, speak French all the time.’