In Between Dreams

by Iman Verjee

  ‘How does it feel?’ Marienne asked.

  Lynn looked at him and smiled. ‘Why don’t the two of you find out for yourselves? It’s about time, don’t you think?’

  When James looked over at Marienne, it was with a wry smile that made it clear he thought Lynn was joking. He blinked in surprise at the look in Marienne’s eyes. She was looking longingly from him to the bump under her traveling hand. His chest constricted. In the two years they had been married, they had never brought up the subject of having children. Even in the past six months, when it seemed that everyone they knew were starting their own families, Marienne had never approached him with the idea nor even hinted at it being something she was thinking about. So when Lynn’s drawling voice and motherly glow were gone, leaving a dark, hopeful seed to germinate in their wake, deep and strong in the organs of his wife, James was dismayed to find Marienne bent over a dirty teacup, her hand caught beneath her shirt, absently stroking her stomach.

  When he reminded her of her vow never to have children, she told him she hadn’t expected her body to change her mind. It was widening, she said, creating space for a family. All it needed was something to fill it.

  ‘Imagine,’ she whispered to him one night as they lay close together; having her in his bed had become a needed comfort and now he slept with his body curled around hers, pulling her close into the curving arch of his stomach. ‘It’ll be all ours, James. Just imagine.’

  He asked her to wait, trying to keep the rising panic from his voice, hoping that she would remember he had been enough for her once. He pretended to keep busy at work. A promotion had moved him into his own office, allowing him to stay in the building long after most of its lights had blinked off. Sometimes, he would catch his broken reflection in the window, tracking it as it blended into black trees, moving quick and low between slanted roofs; coming back closer and more unclear than before.

  At times like these, he would allow himself to think of what it would be like to give Marienne what she wanted. Although he had been happily married for two years, that stirring need inside him had not vanished and he felt it yawning now, rousing to the sound of his friends’ expanding families. He found these new babies to be a cruel invasion into the small, easy world he had built for himself; a reminder that no matter where he went, there was something inside of him that would always follow.

  When Lynn finally had her baby, Marienne had insisted they go over to congratulate her. He had hovered over the clean lawn, his finger barely on the bell. He was glad it was dark so that Marienne couldn’t see the expression on his face. She pushed his finger aside and pressed down hard on the bell. When no one answered, the sound of his heart racing with relief made his head ache.

  ‘Maybe they’re not home,’ he suggested hopefully. ‘You can come back another time.’

  ‘She said they would be here when I called.’ Marienne frowned and when she tried the door, it swung open.

  ‘We can’t just walk in,’ he snapped.

  ‘I can hear voices,’ she said. ‘Come on. There must be other people already here.’ When she took his hand, he wanted to pull away but at the same time, grasped her fingers tightly. The foyer was clean and empty.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ he tugged at her elbow. He felt like a sulky child; he almost stomped his feet and wanted to carry her out of there. ‘Come back during the week.’

  ‘Hello?’ Marienne called, ignoring him.

  ‘Marienne.’ His heart sank when Lynn’s voice came from around the corner. ‘We’re in the living room, come on in.’ A sound flushed with joy.

  Marienne followed the noise, leaving him standing alone near the messy rows of discarded shoes and an overnight bag she must have taken to the hospital. A series of oohs and aahs and he’s so beautiful, slipped out from under the door Marienne had opened, and she must have been holding the baby because the crying started up almost immediately, sharp and sweet and taking him by surprise. It broke something open in him; an idea, a long-lost dream of a beautiful family filled with pink ribbons and bicycles dropped carelessly by the porch steps; running laughter and small, excited bodies that never stopped moving. A soft hand he could put his lips to. Fleshy cheeks that would be hot and sweet beneath his fingers. He tried to take a step; backward, forward, anywhere, but the sound and its images held him firmly in place and all he could do was clench his fists and breathe. He heard Marienne calling for him.

  ‘James? I swear he was just behind me,’ he heard her say before turning around and rushing out of the door, walking hard and straight for the pink shadow of his tree, welcoming him home safe.

  When Marienne got home an hour later, she stood at the door of their bedroom, her arms crossed and waiting for an explanation. She wasn’t angry; he didn’t act that way often enough for her to be upset.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. He was on his stomach, the blanket pulled up to his chin.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so upset,’ she said, slowly undressing and padding over to the bed, clicking on the bedside lamp. He shut his eyes tighter against the glare of it. ‘I’m only asking you to try. That’s all I want.’

  He bunched himself up on his side of the bed. She touched his shoulder but he shrugged it away. ‘Please, not now.’ He felt like crying; not out of fear but because he felt alone. Desperate. He thought of how unfair it was that he should be denied something he needed—and resented Marienne for her easy life and simple feelings and for all the things being with her meant he could never have.

  So he knew it could never be done; he couldn’t give Marienne what she wanted without ruining everything else. It made him sad and angry to realize how little choice he had in the matter. He tried to distract her by taking her into the city; hoping to drive some of the impatience from her eyes with the thrill of young life; the promise of a marriage filled with a certain kind of freedom—to do what they wanted whenever they wanted to do it. Chocolates, earrings and bracelets twisted into necklaces, countless hours spent kissing and loving her so she wouldn’t have to think of the space flourishing inside her, tightly waiting.

  But she didn’t want those things anymore. When they would come home after a night out, his mind buzzing with city life and a few glasses of scotch, she would carefully navigate her way around his body, undoing his shirt and pulling down his trousers. He often got lost in her movements because that was when she came back to him as the girl he had married; easily pleased and dependent on him for something. But as soon as she pushed herself on him, he sobered up instantly and pushed her away.

  ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘You didn’t seem it fifteen minutes ago.’ There was a whiny edge to her voice he had never heard before, loaded with a disappointment fully aimed at him.

  ‘I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow.’

  He was afraid to touch her; certain she had a trick up her sleeve to get pregnant. He had seen her talking to Melissa Comack and that was how she had done it—by getting her husband blind drunk and then climbing on top of him when he couldn’t think fast enough to stop her. That was the story anyway, as told by George during one of the barbeques, while the wives were in the kitchen and the men gathered in James’s living room. George sat, miserable and tired, with his wife shouting at him from the other room, asking if he had remembered to pick up the diapers from the store.

  ‘You can’t trust them,’ he had said, flicking the edge of his glass with his forefinger and thumb. ‘Even after you’ve been married to them for years, they still do exactly what they want without even considering you.’

  ‘But now you have a son, surely you’ve forgiven her?’ James had asked.

  ‘I love my boy, don’t get me wrong,’ said George, swirling his drink in his glass, taking a long and final sip. ‘It’s the wife I’m not sure about anymore.’

  The paranoia that had been instilled in James from that conversation made him vigilant against his wife. Whenever she spoke to him, touched him, he would flin
ch away, terrified that this was some game she was playing, manipulating him into giving her what she wanted. The less they touched, the more they refused to communicate what was really troubling them, and the further they drove each other away until one day, he sat down at his kitchen table and hardly recognized the hopeless, worn-out woman in front of him. When he came home one night to find her crying in the bathroom, squeezed into the small space between the bathtub and the toilet, he made one final and desperate attempt to save them.

  ‌15

  ‌Whitehorse, Yukon. September 1992

  I lie on my back and trace my fingers against the low ceiling. I can hear Judy breathing; soft, girlish snores that won’t let me sleep. My finger pricks against a splinter and a hurried pain runs down my arm and settles around my face, relaxing it just a little. I try to think of him but he has already become unclear and the hazy image I have only makes me feel worse. I hold onto a pillow, my arms grasping at its softness, but its weight is all wrong.

  Getting up slowly, I maneuver around the desks until I am pushed up against the cold window pane. I put my forehead to it and my breath lets out, steaming up the glass. My fingers move against it and write his name in the circle of heat. Slowly, I open the window and it creaks. Judy is still snoring, having turned on her stomach, her face buried in her pillow and away from me. I push at the window until it’s almost fully opened and then I lean out. The air is sleepy and warm. Sounds like crickets and a dog somewhere far off are coming into the room, causing Judy to shift in her sleep and I know that soon the noise will wake her up. I make one final sweep of the field, just a hard, black carpet of neatly trimmed grass, and I’m satisfied there is no one around. I close the window and climb back into bed, waiting for her to settle down again into the irregular pattern of her dreams.

  Then, without allowing myself to dwell on my plan, I take off my pajamas and dress back into my uniform. I pull the thin sweater around my shoulders and push my pillow into my bed, tucking the blanket around it so that in the dark, and in a sleepy state, it could be mistaken for me. I slip out of the room and tip-toe down the hall.

  The house is asleep but I feel the floor waking up beneath my feet as I go down the stairs, hearing them strain and creak behind me. It’s almost completely dark except for a small light in the foyer. I pass through, open a door on the right and find that I am in the library. Shelves line the walls, spreading across the floor and grazing the top of the paneled roof. They are packed full of books, whose natural smell fills the room. I walk through the narrow spaces of the desks, following a path lit up by a hint of moonlight coming through the curtainless window that faces onto the veranda. It’s heavy and difficult to open, making the house groan with the weight of it. At first, my heart drops and I think that Victoria has tricked me into this; that it is just a cruel joke, but then with a sudden click, it pushes outward. I don’t want the noise to wake anyone, so I squeeze myself out through the thin space, balancing carefully on the ledge and sliding down, one leg at a time, onto the wooden floor of the veranda. I stay crouched against the wall until I’m sure no one has heard me and it’s all quiet. When I start moving again, I don’t stop.

  It feels good to be outside. The late summer air is cool against my cheek; a relief from the stifling atmosphere of the Academy. I walk quickly. Judy might wake up at any moment and, seeing me gone, tell someone. I reach the perimeter of the building and stop. Victoria never mentioned the gate; iron and tall, it surrounds the entire space of the Academy and it’s locked. But now that I’m here, I cannot let this stop me. I wrap my hands around the metal, feeling it dig pleasantly into my skin. I push myself upward over the fence and my ankles burn for some time after I reach the ground. I need to hear his voice. Even just a breath would be enough. I jog down the winding track, until I come out at the main street, but even that is deserted. I hadn’t realized how secluded the Academy was, tucked into its own little space, away from houses and other people; a masquerading prison. I keep walking straight and watch the road stretch invisibly and forever in front of me, wishing I had asked Victoria for specific directions. I look for the twinkle of lights, a payphone, or even a bus-stop—anything that will bring me closer to him.

  I look back and can no longer see anything I recognize. The darkness is still full and pressing; I am not getting any closer to any houses. I know it’s hopeless. Eventually, I will have no choice but to turn around and go back to the school, but still, I keep on walking. Every time I come to a change in the road, a dip, a small bend, my heart lifts and I think that soon I will talk to him and stop feeling empty.

  I hear a low rumbling and see a silver-blue car pulling up toward me. I slow my pace so that it will get to me faster and stretch out my hand, signaling for it to stop. I don’t know what I will do once I am beside it, but I wave my hand and even shout, hoping it won’t miss me. The window rolls down and Joseph is leaning out, one hand on the wheel, eyes straining in the dark.

  ‘Are you lost?’

  My first instinct is to stay hidden in the shadows, to turn and run, but the idea of a week stretching out ahead of me without speaking to him, forces me into the golden glare of the streetlight.

  ‘Frances?’ his eyebrows rise in mild surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’ When I don’t answer, he pushes open the passenger door. ‘Come on, get in.’ He waits until I have settled down before speaking again. ‘What are you doing out here?’ he repeats. I don’t answer, so he continues. ‘Does anyone know that you’ve left?’

  ‘No.’

  He starts the car. ‘Let me take you back, then.’

  ‘No—wait.’ The car is still running beneath us, purring and moving through my legs in insistent waves. ‘I just need to make a phone call first.’

  He laughs. He thinks I am joking—perhaps delirious from walking the empty streets half-asleep. He stops when I keep looking at him and my face doesn’t change.

  ‘And why couldn’t you have done that in school?’

  ‘Phone hours are over.’

  ‘Well then, maybe you can make that phone call tomorrow?’

  ‘It’s only once a week and I need to do it now.’

  He turns off the car and allows me to sink deeper into the seat, giving himself time to think.

  ‘And who do you need to talk to so badly that you’re wandering around alone at eleven o’clock at night in a place that you barely know?’

  I consider lying then change my mind. ‘My father.’

  ‘You really shouldn’t be out here alone like this.’ He tilts his head slightly toward me. ‘I’m sure if you ask at the school, they can make an exception.’

  ‘I have and they won’t. I just need to speak to him today—please.’

  ‘You won’t find a phone anywhere around here, Frances.’

  ‘Then take me to your house.’

  My bluntness shocks him and this pleases me. I want to stay in his car, surrounded by the tired smell of leather and artificial heat. I want to talk to my father and now that I have this chance, I refuse to let it slip away so easily.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’

  ‘Please. It’ll only be for five minutes—I promise, I’ll be quick.’

  ‘Okay. But only because I live just ten minutes down the road and if I drop you back you’ll probably just sneak out again.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The words speed out of my mouth before he has a chance to change his mind.

  We start to move and that is when it occurs to me; he remembers who I am. He hasn’t forgotten my name and the realization makes me grow hot, my smile steaming up the already clouded car.

  His house is warm and full of noise. He lets me in and I can hear a child shouting, and rising above it, the laughter of a woman. Go on. Look who’s finally home.

  A young boy runs down the cluttered corridor and Joseph is ready for him—arms open wide to catch him and throw him squealing into the air.

  ‘Hello, Alex.’

  I stand pressed against the piles
of discarded shoes and some toys and I watch as he covers the boy’s face in playful kisses before setting him back down again. Alex starts to run off but Joseph grabs him lightly by the shirt and tugs him back. ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to our guest?’ Dark eyes look up at me from behind Joseph’s thigh. I stare back, equally afraid. Joseph places a hand on Alex’s head and pushes him forward. ‘Come on, now. Where are your manners?’

  ‘Hello.’ The way he smiles makes me certain that he is Joseph’s son. Identical, small white teeth. The brazen stretch of his lips as if his face doesn’t know how to be any other way.

  ‘Hi.’ I look up at Joseph but he isn’t looking back at me. He is holding his son by the neck and grinning down at him, eyebrow cocked and a glow in his cheeks. I hadn’t expected him to have a family and I don’t want to be here anymore.

  ‘What are you doing up so late, anyway?’ he asks his son.

  ‘The new babysitter just left,’ a woman comes out behind me and I sink further into the coats. ‘She said she had trouble putting him to sleep and I just got home.’ There is a crossness in her voice but she is still smiling. ‘He said he was waiting for you. He wanted to show you what he drew in school today.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  The boy nods proudly and holds up a crudely drawn picture, crumpled in his small fist. Joseph takes it and unfolds it.

  ‘Genius!’ he exclaims loudly even before it’s fully opened, tickling his son until the boy is on his knees, laughing and trying to get away. Clearly, he has been waiting for this all night. ‘This is absolutely genius!’

  I can’t make out the picture but I spend time looking at it anyway, the sticky crayon lines, so that I don’t have to think about how sad I suddenly am.

  ‘And who might this be?’ the woman asks. Joseph walks over to her and kisses her lightly on the mouth.