In Between Dreams

by Iman Verjee

  ‘I think it’s Diane’s.’ She took it from him, held his hand. ‘Are you alright? You look flushed. Maybe you’ve caught what Elsie has—she had to go and lie down after we cut the cake.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he murmured. ‘I think Frances is upset with me,’ he whispered, grinning ruefully. Some impulse had pushed the name onto his tongue and saying it made him feel a little rush of pleasure.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Marienne asked.

  ‘I caught her and Oscar under the stairs—I swear he was going to kiss her.’

  At this, Marienne laughed. ‘That’s our daughter—already a heartbreaker at five years old.’

  ‘Did you have fun today?’ he said, wanting to change the subject.

  ‘The best.’ She slid her arms around his waist and leaned against his shoulder. They stood watching Frances together and he hoped Marienne couldn’t hear the fast, confused beat in his chest. He held onto his wife tightly, staring down into her dark eyes, like swirling pools, and let them lift him up and wrap him in their warmth. He felt a little sad as he held her, but forced it away. Something was coming, he knew that with certainty, and he wanted to enjoy these last few, truthful moments with her before it did.

  ‌33

  ‌St Albert. 1983

  For a while, she was like a visitor in their house; a whirling dervish come to drive him mad. Nowhere and everywhere at once, he felt her laugh deep in his bones, those wide blue eyes swallowed him up in his dreams and the pink oval mouth spat him back out in the morning, sweating and gasping for air.

  He was afraid to touch her, to even look at her, and when she reached up on her toes to climb into his lap, he pretended not to notice her and watched with a boiling need as she retreated, confused, to her mother. He sat in the corner and marveled at the way she had turned out; white skin made golden by an army of freckles, and when she smiled, it was a thin and long stretch of teeth and too much gum and it caught his heart in its grip and burst it.

  No one noticed his behavior; they were too busy to see the change, and too content with the new family unit to want to. But he was different; altered in a permanent way. Marienne had been the temporary glue that held him together but Frances was his undoing and now he was broken and no one but her would be able to fix him. It felt strange to see his daughter this way; the little girl he had brought up with so much love. To see her as something else, something more—to ascribe desire to even the smallest thing she did. A twitch of her neck as she fell asleep in Marienne’s lap, the way she couldn’t stop talking when she was excited. Even a burp made him throb and shift in his chair. It had felt wrong at first, but the guilt wore off quickly. When you do something wrong often enough, it has a way of turning right in your mind and now he allowed himself to enjoy these new sensations; the fullness of them, the solidness. It was a feeling he remembered and he wondered how he could have ever let himself forget.

  He grew more irritated and short with Marienne and his mother. Suffocated by their presence, judged every time they smiled at him or put an arm around Frances; she was his and he didn’t want them touching her. So when he was sitting with Marienne one evening, watching Frances play with her dolls beside the television, he spoke without considering the consequences and said something that had been brewing in his mind for a while.

  ‘I think you should ask the hospital for your old job back.’

  She turned to him, confused. They had never discussed her going back to work and it was a rude jolt in their otherwise smooth life; a change when none was needed.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, Frances is in school now and you hardly do anything during the day—I thought it would be nice for you since you’re always saying how much you miss it.’

  ‘They’d probably give me the night shift,’ she said. ‘I was really the only one willing to do it.’

  It was so easy. She stepped gladly into the trap he opened up for her and he snapped her up. He looked at her almost sympathetically; she was so trusting, so unaware of what was going on inside him, and he almost told her to forget it. But then he heard Frances; she was lying on her stomach with her ankles crossed in the air. Saw the shape of her body under the white nightgown.

  ‘The night shift is better than nothing,’ he said. ‘At least you’ll be out of the house, interacting with people our age.’ He tried to laugh, tried to make it sound like he was doing this for her; tried not to make himself sound desperate.

  ‘When I met Tasha at the butchery the other day, she did say they missed me.’

  ‘And why wouldn’t they?’ he pushed her hair back, leaned down to press his face to the tight skin of her neck. He opened his mouth against it and she sighed and let him stay there for a second before she pushed him away, giggling thickly.

  ‘You really think it’s a good idea?’ she murmured against his ear.

  ‘I’m just thinking of you,’ he replied, dragging her toward him again by the collar of her shirt. He was burning up. ‘You really were good at that job.’

  ‘I’ll talk to them tomorrow.’ She gave him a kiss, slid her hand up his thigh and hooked her finger into the waistband of his trousers. ‘What do you say we put Frances to bed and take this upstairs?’

  Immediately, he felt a cooling in his chest; a hole opened up at the thought of not seeing her again that night. But he kept the smile on his face, took Marienne’s hand and pulled her to a standing position. She picked up Frances and took her to bed and when she came into their room, he pushed her beneath him and lay his body down on hers and kissed her one more time, long and hard, to be certain she was persuaded. And he did it all intentionally, yet never truly allowing himself to grasp the concept of what it would mean once Marienne was gone, his mother sound asleep in her bed, leaving him and his daughter completely and terrifyingly alone.

  The first night Marienne began her job, he stood at the window holding Frances’s hand and they waved goodbye to her, watching as she disappeared into the darkness. Frances had been crying and he had to pick her up and bribe her with some candy before she stopped.

  ‘Why is she going?’ she asked him as they sat at the kitchen counter and she popped jelly coke bottles into her mouth, placing the tip between her closed lips and pushing in the rest using her finger. He took the bowl away.

  ‘That’s enough candy for you.’

  ‘I don’t understand why she had to leave me.’

  ‘It’s her job, Frances.’ He was inexplicably annoyed with her. The sugar rush had made her eyes sleepy, her words fast and jumbled. She was agitated and so was he. After waiting so long for this moment, nothing about it was right. His heart hammered in his chest and his hands grew weak. He had to hold onto his teacup for a long time before he stopped shaking.

  ‘But she always reads me a story,’ Frances said.

  ‘Bubbie can do that.’ He stood, ready to leave her, relieved that it was so easy to walk away.

  ‘But she’s asleep.’

  ‘Then someone can read to you tomorrow.’ He took her hand and forced her off the stool. ‘Let’s go. It’s bedtime.’

  ‘I can’t sleep without a story.’ She dug her heels into the ground and threw her whole weight into his arm.

  ‘Frances, come on. You’re not a baby anymore.’

  ‘I want you to read me a story.’

  He sighed, turned back to his daughter. Saw the mass of curls spilling over her shoulders; the expectant gaze on her face. She had never been disappointed before and so to do it now, especially since she had done nothing wrong, would be cruel. ‘Fine. Okay, I’ll do it.’

  She clapped her hands, jumped around in a little circle.

  ‘But only a short one,’ he couldn’t help but smile.

  Once he had her tucked in—she had a specific way she liked to have it done, tight around the legs so that they wouldn’t move but looser up on top, in case she got too hot and had to free herself—he turned off the light and left a small one on her bedside table burning. He pulled up a small chair from her tea-party s
et and sat down gingerly. It strained under his weight and then settled.

  ‘Which one do you want?’ He held out two books that he knew were her favorites and had already opened the one she was going to choose before she had even done it.

  ‘How did you know?’ she laughed, her head tilted on her pillow to gaze up at him.

  ‘Magic.’ He winked.

  Then he started to read; it was a story about a young princess who went on an adventure to save her handsome prince and he moved through the changing scenes; an old, stone castle, his voice dropping into the middle of a forest with trees so tall they blocked out the sun, hushed and breathless as it tiptoed up the stairs of the dungeon, a stabbing shout to send the guarding dragon to its death, and when he looked up to see if she was following, he discovered she had fallen asleep. Her chest rose and fell steadily and her mouth was slightly open. He closed the book and put it beside her lamp. The thundering in his chest was back. He stood up to kiss her then stopped, his hand hovering over the blanket, ready to pull it back from her shoulders. It would be so easy; he would be so quiet, so light to the touch, that she would never know. He stopped and dropped the blanket. It was his daughter—not someone else’s. His flesh. To do something wrong to her would be the same as wronging himself. His hand refused to move and he felt a numbing sensation rise to his mouth and thought he would be sick. He quickly drew the blanket up to her chin and rushed out of the room and into the bathroom, dropping down beside the toilet. He gagged once, twice, and then the rush in his stomach settled and he lay down on the cool, tiled floor.

  When he got into bed, he pressed his hands and eyes closed, turned his face up to the ceiling, through it into the starry sky. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and didn’t stop praying until he heard the key turn in the lock and he sat up to welcome his wife home.

  ‘It’s just a weekend conference,’ Marienne said over the dinner table a couple of weeks later. ‘It’s not like I’ll be gone a whole month.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In Edmonton. Some Dr. Someone talking about something boring.’ She rolled her eyes but he could tell how excited she was.

  ‘A weekend is nothing,’ he assured her.

  ‘Exactly—that’s why I was thinking that Elsie could come with me.’

  His throat closed up but he kept his face calm. ‘I don’t know if she would be comfortable in a motel.’ He spoke quickly before his mother could say anything.

  Marienne turned to his mother. ‘When was the last time you went back home?’

  ‘Not since we left after the funeral.’ She put her fork down, looked up at him. ‘It really would be wonderful to go back—all those memories.’ She was already lost in thought and he couldn’t say no to her. ‘I would love to see the house again.’

  ‘We sold it, remember?’ he couldn’t help but snap.

  ‘I’m sure the new owners wouldn’t mind us taking a look around.’ Marienne cast him a strange look. He was always so patient and understanding that his sudden aggression had confused her.

  He looked at Frances, her shoulders barely skimming the edge of the table. She played with the peas on her plate, pushing them back and forth with her fork and knife. ‘Stop that,’ he said and then immediately felt chastised by the three faces looking back at him, injured at his tone. ‘Sorry.’ He tried to collect himself. After that night in Frances’s room, he thought that the feelings he had would go away, that he had stopped himself and with that action, killed whatever darkness was swimming within him. But the next day, he woke up to see that it hadn’t; that although his conscience had prevailed in that instant, it didn’t mean that it always would. To be left so alone with her for two days, made everything so much harder to resist. ‘I’ve just been so busy at work.’

  ‘It’ll be nice to have the weekend to yourself,’ Marienne smiled at him, thought she was doing him a favor. ‘You can invite George and some of the guys home for a few drinks.’

  He looked at his mother’s hopeful face, knew that if he asked her to stay, she would, but he could see how much she wanted to go and there was something goading him on to let her. He told himself that nothing would happen, that he was stronger than that. That he had done it before.

  ‘Yeah.’ He picked up his fork, cut into the slice of steak and pulled it forcefully apart. ‘It will be nice.’ And even though everything in him was in disarray, he smiled at the women in his life and they relaxed and grinned back.

  The weekend came too quickly. Saturday morning was sunny; clear and crisp blue skies. He had been so preoccupied recently that he hadn’t realized it was already summer.

  Marienne bent down to hug Frances and his daughter clung tightly to her neck. ‘It’s such a nice day today sweetheart,’ Marienne said into her hair. ‘Make sure you and daddy have a good time.’

  ‘Okay.’ The muffled voice against her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll miss you.’ She kissed Frances and he envied her, not for the first time, for her clean and good feelings.

  ‘Me too.’ Frances retreated back to him and he held her against his knees. She blew a flying kiss to her mother and grandmother as they waved and slipped into the cab taking them to the bus station.

  ‘So.’ He let her go once they were out of sight. ‘What do you want to do today?’

  ‘I have homework.’ She looked so forlorn, afraid almost, that he instantly wanted to comfort her.

  ‘We can do that tomorrow.’ He waved his hand in the air, speaking in loud, exaggerated tones. ‘Mom’s not here so we can do whatever we want.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Can we go swimming?’

  And his face dropped. But now he had said it and she was running around the house, her mother forgotten, her energy found, and words were spilling from her mouth and there was no way to say no.

  He took her to the local swimming pool, hoping that because it was a Saturday, it would be packed with families, that there would be someone there to distract him. But although it was early summer the weather was still unpredictable, leaving the place nearly deserted.

  ‘One hour,’ he told her, settling down on one of the beds. A floating device, towels, a beach ball, all came spilling out of his hands and onto the floor.

  She pouted. ‘Only?’

  He could never refuse her. ‘We’ll see how it goes.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He tried to avert his eyes as she took her dress off; tried not to notice the way the bathing suit stuck so closely to her, it could be blue skin.

  ‘Mom says I have to put the lotion on.’

  ‘Good idea.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  ‘She always does it for me.’ She held out the bottle of suntan lotion and his whole body froze.

  ‘I think you’re old enough to do it yourself now.’

  ‘But I can’t reach all the places.’ Her voice was reaching a whine; she was impatient to get into the pool.

  He sighed, took the bottle from her. ‘Sit.’ His voice was rough and strained. She placed her little body between his knees and he shifted a little further away from her. He squeezed some of the thick lotion into his palm, placed two cold streaks on her shoulders that made her squeal. Despite himself, he laughed. He rubbed it in across the span of her back, reaching down to the part that was exposed. What was it about her skin that made it so different from Marienne’s? It felt special under his hands, like magic. It hurt to touch but he never wanted to pull away. He knew that when she stood up, there would be a scar left upon his palm; that it would always feel empty, yearning, waiting for her to return.

  ‘Done.’ He shook himself out of his reverie, patted her skin and pushed her up. ‘You can go now.’

  ‘I need the floaters, Daddy.’

  ‘Right.’ His head was in pieces. He picked up an orange floater and opened it wide for her to slip her thin arm through it. He leaned down to blow into it, caught the girly scent of her, told himself that it was the flowers, the summer. That it wasn’t possible for a human scent to stir those emot
ions within him. When he was finished blowing up both of the floaters, he sat back. ‘Now go.’

  And she ran, leaped from the edge of the pool, gathered up her knees in her arms while in flight and dropped like a bomb into the water. It splashed around her, a couple of drops reaching his face and he was grateful for the cooling effect. He slipped on his sunglasses and watched as she bobbed along the shallow end, kicked up her ankles, fussing the water, and he felt like a little boy again; all those feelings, childish and irrational, refusing to listen to reason, straining to fly and fulfill their needs. They were greedy and selfish and taking him over and he, sitting beneath the new sun, watching his daughter’s fiery hair stretch thick and wet behind her like a mermaid’s, settled back, opened up his body and let them.

  She was in bed by six o’clock that evening. The swimming had tired her out and she had spent the rest of the day bleary-eyed and irritable and when he tucked her in, he was glad the day was over. It had been a long time since he had needed a drink but he was desperate for one now; a cold, liquid blanket to cover everything up. He went into the kitchen and searched through the cabinets, finding a half-full bottle of brandy, a remnant from Marienne’s birthday party.

  He took it out onto the porch swing and sat down. He drank straight from the bottle, running his tongue along the rim to acquaint himself with the taste before taking a full swig. It came up to the back of his eyes, pushing beads of sweat along his upper lip and dotting his hairline. He breathed heavily through his nose, feeling the unsettling presence of alcohol adjust in his bloodstream. The last time he had drank this way was at the bar with Gina and he reminded himself of what that had led to, told himself to stop. But then he remembered the wet, blue bathing suit, skin stained with chlorine, and he took another deep sip and the heat drenched his chest, pleasurable this time.

  It didn’t take long for his body to disengage itself from its surroundings as he felt the first effects of the brandy. He leaned back and sighed, letting it relax him to the point where he almost fell asleep and didn’t hear George coming up the steps.