In Between Dreams

by Iman Verjee

  ‘Let’s go down, shall we?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I stand up, ruffle his hair, feel his cold skin against my thumb and forefinger. He goes back down, subdued, and I want more than ever to see that smile again; that bubbling excitement that causes him to be everywhere at once.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks me and when I nod, she puts her arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she says as we make our way down the stairs, side by side, and taking our time.

  After lunch, Joseph asks Alex and me if we want to help him give Benson a bath.

  ‘We went into the forest yesterday and he really got himself dirty,’ he says to Nova. ‘Leon is coming back tomorrow, and I think I should wash Benson before he comes to pick him up.’

  ‘Where are you going to do it in this weather?’ Nova asks him.

  ‘In the bathtub?’ The look he gives her is almost cheeky and she can’t help but laugh. ‘It’s big enough to fit him.’ He kisses her nose lightly. ‘I’ll clean up after, I promise.’

  ‘If you promise.’ Her eyes shine and she leans into the arm that goes around her. I look away.

  ‘So are you coming to help me?’ he asks both of us. Alex screams yes, Nova tells him to be softer. That is the beauty of a young mind; every five minutes, it’s wiped clean and you can make new memories and never have to worry about the mistakes of the past. Though the food was tasty, I hardly ate, pushing the turkey into the gravy and pressing down on the mashed potato, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  ‘Do you need any help in the kitchen?’ I ask her.

  ‘That’s okay, sweetheart.’ She stands up and starts piling the dishes onto each other. ‘You can go help Joseph keep Alex in check.’

  ‘God knows, I need the help!’ Joseph has Alex in his grip, his arms loose around the small shoulders.

  ‘Wait.’ Nova grabs the two of us back and drapes cooking aprons over our clothes. ‘There. Now come back in half an hour—dessert will be ready.’ As I am leaving, she stops me. ‘Are you okay? You hardly ate.’

  She notices everything; she cares enough to pay attention. ‘Cramps,’ I lie, patting my stomach and making a face.

  ‘There’s so much left over, if you get hungry later.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Her kindness lifts my spirits and I feel lighter, taking Alex’s hand and helping him with the apron, which is too long for him. He trips over it several times but doesn’t notice because he is so excited.

  Joseph takes us out into his shed. This is where he does most of his sculpting and the air is thick with sawdust; beige particles swimming in the air. Everywhere you look, there are sculptures. A few finished ones, but for the most part, they are only half-done. They lie on the long work table that runs along the center of the room, from one end to the other. Some are piled up in the corners, one on top of the other. The heady smell of varnish makes my head spin. I have never been here before and I am excited to see this special, important part of him; it makes me feel closer to him.

  ‘There are so many sculptures here.’

  ‘Nova is always scolding me for that.’ He moves within the workshop, lovingly touching everything as if it is his first time in here too. ‘But I can’t help it—I’ll start on one and then I’ll get an idea for the next,’ he shrugs. ‘You know what they say about inspiration.’

  I hear a bark from the corner of the room and Joseph brings over the Labrador. I give him a tight hug, feeling him strain and whimper against me. Alex hangs back, hiding behind Joseph.

  ‘Come here.’ I hold my hand out to him.

  He shakes his head, grabs onto Joseph’s trousers. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ I promise him. ‘Look, I’ll hold his head and you can just pet him,’ I say, stroking the dog’s face and turning it away from Alex. ‘Come on.’

  Joseph steps aside and gives him a little push. He comes forward on tiptoes, arm outstretched. He touches the dog’s fur lightly and when Benson doesn’t move, when his tail starts to wag, Alex pets him harder and faster. He laughs and Joseph laughs with him.

  ‘See?’ I glow, knowing that I have made them both happy and when Alex comes to me and holds my hand, I never want to let it go.

  We trek back through the snow and, much to our amusement, Joseph gathers the huge dog in his arms and lifts him through the living room and up the stairs into the bathroom. I watch him, as I did that first day, moving swiftly and with ease, never faltering even when the dog starts to fidget and writhe in his arms.

  Once Benson is in the bathtub, Joseph hands me the dog shampoo. He asks me to hold the dog still while he rolls up his sleeves, tightens Alex’s apron around his neck and then checks mine. His hands touch my shoulders and burn through my clothes. I keep my eyes down and my heart is thundering in my chest. I pull away.

  ‘I can do it myself.’

  ‘Great.’ Joseph picks up the shower head. ‘Have you ever done this before?’ and his gentle face eases the tension in my chest.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘It’s easy.’ He turns on the tap and the water comes out in a forceful stream. He lets the water run over his hand until satisfied with the temperature. ‘Come here, Alex.’ He puts his son between his knees, lets him hold onto the shower-head and puts his large, steady hands on top to guide him. ‘I’ll wet him first and all you have to do is massage some shampoo into him.’ His eyes are mischievous. ‘It’s just like washing your hair.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ I pretend to be offended.

  He laughs at that. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alex and I say together.

  And then all I am aware of is the water spraying in my face, the shampoo foamy between my fingers and the tough, golden fur, Joseph’s hand showing me how to work it in. The way I accidentally catch onto his finger and it makes my heart jump but I also feel like it’s wrong, and that seems right.

  ‘Benson, no, stop it!’ his voice is loud and commanding but then collapses into a laugh as the dog shakes out his fur and covers us all in a fountain of soapy water.

  Later that night, I have borrowed some clothes from Nova; an old T-shirt and sweatpants and we’re in the living room, watching The Sound of Music.

  ‘It’s not a Christmas movie,’ Joseph protests.

  ‘But it’s my favorite and Alex loves the songs.’ Nova turns to me. ‘What about you, Frances?’

  ‘I’ve never watched it.’

  ‘What?’

  They stare at me as if they can’t believe it.

  ‘What kind of upbringing did you have?’ Nova teases. She must notice the look on my face, because she pats my hand and says, ‘I’m only teasing. You’re watching it now, so consider this a favor we’re doing for you.’

  And I take a sip of my hot chocolate and smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So when you have children, you know what to show them.’

  Children. It occurs to me that until she said it, I have never taken much interest in my future. I could never see my life outside of St Albert, apart from him. In my mind, we stayed this age forever and though the world might change outside, I never thought it was possible I would want to change with it. That was before I came here. Before I knew them. I look at the way Nova sits curled into Joseph’s arm and Alex is playing on the floor with Lego. I see her hand always stroking his hair, tickling his ear; I see Joseph watching them, unaware of everything else around him. They are laughing at something. I remember being that way once, but the memory is so hazy, so pushed down, that I’m not sure it’s me at all. It terrifies me to think that there might be other things I want. That no matter how much I love him, there could be something else I need more and for the first time, my bond with my father, that stronghold that has been the central force in my life, chokes me, and I have a furious urge to undo myself from him.

  ‘I think you’ve scared her,’ Joseph laughs, throwing a pillow at my head. ‘Oi! Calm down. You’re still young,’ and they all laugh and tease me until I giggle and thr
ow the pillow back.

  When the movie is over, he doesn’t have to ask me if I want to stay the night. I go upstairs and into the linen closet where I get the blankets and pillow myself. He has pulled the sofa bed out by the time I come back downstairs and Alex falls asleep beside me while Nova cleans up and Joseph is talking softly to her, sitting beside me. He is saying something about the farm but I don’t pay attention to the details. I let his sound wash over me; a voice that has the whole world in it.

  ‘Alex really does adore you,’ Nova says, when it’s time to go to bed. She picks him up, his head drops to her shoulder.

  ‘The feeling is mutual,’ I smile, sinking into the blanket. She bends to give me a light, warm kiss on the cheek and I close my eyes and let it heal me.

  ‌31

  ‌Whitehorse, Yukon. January 1992

  The phone rings for a long time before he picks up.

  ‘Hi.’ I am questioning, tentative. I half expect him to hang up on me.

  ‘Frances.’ Instead, he sounds relieved but lighter. Like a different person. I wonder if he senses a similar change in me and it’s painful and surprising to think that we are better off without each other. I push the thought away and feel for Joseph’s statue through my clothes. I have carried it in my pocket since the day he gave it to me.

  ‘How are you?’ I want to tell him so much but can only muster those words.

  ‘I’m alright. We miss you.’ We. I don’t mind that he includes my mother; being with Nova has diminished my anger for her. I almost miss her too.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t called.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologize.’

  We both grow quiet, lost in our own thoughts. Perhaps he feels guilty for forgetting about me too. ‘It’s good to hear your voice though,’ he pauses. ‘I spoke to Sister Ann. She told me what an improvement you’ve made. That you’ve started babysitting for a family down the road?’

  ‘Yes.’ To hear him say it, so ignorant of the true nature of my relationship with them, makes me feel disloyal.

  ‘I’m proud of you.’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to you in so long,’ I say.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That’s why you sent me here, isn’t it?’ I didn’t know it before talking to him but now it seems obvious. ‘You knew this would happen.’

  ‘Yes.’ He waits for me to speak and when I don’t, he asks, ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I feel sad.’

  I love him less now than I did before; perhaps because I have opened up some of that space for other people. Talking to him doesn’t bring that familiar ache; it’s a different one that hurts all over. The knowledge of something being lost, or slowly found out. I don’t want to not love him—it’s the only thing I have ever done truthfully.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘Why did you do it?’

  After a measured pause, he says, ‘You know why, Frances.’

  And he’s right.

  I think of Alex again, of the way he stood, exposed and unknowing in front of me. I had done nothing wrong and yet the room suddenly turned dirty, every object in it leaning in and leering. Don’t look! I had wanted to shout. You have no right—he doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand, but you do. You do.

  I don’t want to say it, but I have to. ‘What we’ve been doing,’ what you’ve done to me, ‘it’s wrong, isn’t it?’ I don’t want to know the answer. I grip the statue and pray.

  ‘Yes.’ He takes a deep breath, as if he has been expecting this all along. It quivers and shakes in my ear. I choke back a sob. ‘None of this is your fault.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Frances.’ He sighs, long and drawn out, as if he is tired, and I try not to feel hurt; try not to expect him to sound guilty, sorry.

  ‘Why did it happen? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Please, I’m sorry. I can’t explain it all now but it was wrong of me. What I did, what I’ve done to you for so long, it’s not right.’

  I can’t speak. I fall into a chair. My world shifts, as if it has been off-axis for fourteen years and has now only found its true course. Everything becomes a little bit clearer. I think back to my time at home, how I started to push myself at him, tried to seduce him in all the ways I had read about in books, copying the girls from school when they caught onto a boy they liked. I grow hot with shame—she must have known.

  ‘You have every right to be angry with me.’ I can picture him now, chewing his lip, his collar undone and his hair messy from a hard day at work. I will never know anyone else that way; as completely, like knowing myself. ‘I just hope you don’t hate me.’

  ‘I don’t hate you.’ It’s all too much for me—I can’t take it in. Despite it all, he loves me. That much I am certain of and I hold onto that for now. ‘I just wish it would all go away. I wish it had never happened.’

  ‘We can forget about it.’ He speaks hurriedly, as if he has been waiting to say this to me his whole life. ‘When you get back, we’ll put it behind us. You can come home now, if you want.’

  ‘Not now,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to come back just yet.’ The statue’s comforting presence burns into my side. It encourages me to go on. ‘The reason I called is because I wanted to tell you I want to finish the full two years here.’

  ‘Frances.’

  ‘It has nothing to do with you.’ I have never lied to him before. ‘This is what I want.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll speak to your mother.’ He sounds hurt but covers it well. ‘You take your time. We’ll start over when you get back.’

  I want to believe him. I want so badly to believe that we can, that I can have with him what Joseph and Nova have with Alex but I also know I won’t. Something dark has diluted our relationship. He is different to me now and I can’t stop the sticky feeling of betrayal speeding through my veins. More than anything, I am afraid of what this change will bring about. How can I go back to him after all this?

  ‘Okay,’ I say. I have never been able to disappoint him. ‘We’ll start over.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sounds happy, speaks as quickly as an excited child. I have rid him of his burden but mine is twice as full. I feel more alone now that we don’t share that.

  ‘I should go now.’ An ugly resentment is starting up in me and I don’t want it to. Hating him would be the hardest thing to do.

  ‘Alright.’

  I start to put down the phone but he says, ‘Frances?’ and his voice is quiet. I know what he is going to say before he says it. You can keep a secret, Frances, can’t you? ‘You—you aren’t going to tell anyone?’

  ‘No.’ I could never do that to him—the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. ‘No, I’ll never tell.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He hesitates before saying, ‘I love you. You know I do, right?’

  Tears spill over my eyelids. ‘Yes.’ The words feel wrong now; they burn like acid in my mouth. ‘I love you too.’

  ‌32

  ‌St Albert. 1980–1983

  She was standing in the driveway when he came down the street, returning home from work. Frances was on her hip, playing with her earring that glittered in the sunlight. He held his hand over his eyes and squinted, sure he was dreaming.

  ‘Five thirty on the dot,’ she said to him. ‘Some things never change.’ When he came closer, she kissed him shyly on the cheek. ‘Welcome home.’

  Overcome, he grabbed the back of her head and pressed his lips to hers, pulling the two of them to his chest. When he disengaged himself, he saw that she was flushed and he stirred with pride at the thought that she still wanted him.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he kept saying. ‘What made you come back?’

  She took his elbow and guided him toward the house. She stopped at the bottom of the step. ‘You took care of my roses.’

  ‘Yes.’ That first summer she had gone, and this one, he had carefully tended to her small patch of garden. This year, they were fuller and taller than the last; swirling, blood-red buds i
n a bed of dark, thorny green. It had made him feel better, less guilty, knowing that there was something important to her he was helping to keep alive.

  ‘This is my home,’ she said. ‘I planted those roses, we painted that fence, do you remember?’ and he said of course he did. ‘You’re my family—so how could I stay away?’

  He stopped her at the doorway. She was standing on the step now and turned to face him, the top of her head just under his chin; that wide-eyed, hopeful bride once again.

  ‘Hold on.’ He held onto her shoulders, his voice thick and pressing. ‘Stay there.’ He went back to the rose bush and picked one, held the long stem carefully between his fingers. He held it out to her. ‘Let’s make a promise to each other here.’

  She took it. ‘What kind of promise?’ bouncing Frances on her hip; it was an instinct that came so naturally to her, she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. His daughter’s head was lying on Marienne’s shoulder, her small hands tangled in the dark hair. It goaded him on. ‘That once we walk through that door, everything else gets left behind. Our past, all my mistakes—we start again, just you and me. Like we did six years ago.’

  ‘It’s different now, James.’

  He was disappointed, had been hoping for a different reaction. ‘You’re right. I know you could never forget, but if you could try to forgive me—’

  She stopped him by taking hold of his chin and turning it up. What she said next tore him up inside. ‘That’s not what I meant. This isn’t six years ago because we have a daughter now.’

  He tweaked Frances’s nose, saw her laugh and reach out to him. He kissed Marienne again. ‘Yes, darling, yes. We have a beautiful baby girl.’

  ‘The house has changed,’ she told him over dinner that night.

  His mother pulled a face. ‘Say what you mean. It’s a mess.’

  He had stopped noticing. ‘You get used to it,’ he tried to defend himself.