Motherish
Page 18
The hatch-door opens, but no one appears. “Rae-Ann? Honey?”
His voice a surge of voltage on the line, a connection she didn’t expect. She listens, trying to hear over the sound of her harsh, uneven breathing.
“A lady from the school called all worried. Let me help you out of there. Come on into the house.”
Gentle. Not criticizing, not demanding.
But who phoned? Not Rick, a woman. The school had the number for next-of-kin emergencies, but she can’t imagine Sue or any of them caring enough about her well-being to call. They hate her. Don’t they?
Rae-Ann slumps against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Rae? Do you think you can come out? How about something to eat?”
She opens her eyes, expecting to see his face studying her. But the only part of him that’s visible is his hand gripping the edge of the portal to the everyday world. His hand is freckled, like his face. Like her face. Dark hair curls over his fingers; the nail beds are white from holding on so hard. He’s straining, staying outside so as not to startle her. Or else he’s afraid to look in.
“What about a nice warm bath? How does that sound?”
Beneath the calm words, audible fear. He’s afraid what he’ll find out about his daughter if he looks into the coop. She’s never known him to be afraid of anything.
Rae-Ann pats a cushion of straw around the failing hen, beyond her power to save, and contemplates the terms of her exit. Too many contradictory ideas throng her head. She tries to untangle knowledge and shame, hope and dread and sorrow, and finds that she can’t keep any strand separate from the others. If only she had a clear idea of what happens next. But clarity has not come to her in the coop. She’ll have to leave without it.
In weeks or months, she might be ready to begin fixing the humiliating damage, if it can be fixed. Right now, the only sure thing is that she’s entered a kind of limbo. Home for a rest. Surprised by kindness. Still lost, but also found, and there’s nothing in the world of chickens to describe it.
Acknowledgements
I am grateful to Melissa, Sarah, Sharon, and Jamis at Turnstone Press for their support and for the care they took with this book. Many thanks to Patricia Sanders, whose insightful commentary and sure advice made the editing process a pleasure. Thanks to the editors of publications in which my work has appeared, including The Antigonish Review, The Dalhousie Review, The Humber Literary Review, Kindred, The New Quarterly, Southword, and U of T Magazine. I especially want to salute The New Quarterly’s Susan Scott, Pamela Mulloy, and Kim Jernigan, superwomen.
The communities that writers create keep me going. Deep gratitude to workshop leaders and fellow participants at One Story, Tin House, and Write on the French River, and to Isabel Huggan, my mentor at the Humber School for Writers. Thanks to friends who read early versions of stories, for invaluable comments and support: Michelle Berry, JC Sutcliffe, Charlotte Beck, Frank Vitale, and Cathy Wilson. Jonathan Bennett has sustained my writing in important ways—thank you.
I am grateful to the Ontario Arts Council for Writers’ Reserve grants and to the Canada Council for a professional development grant.
Love and gratitude to my parents, Bea Parker and Bill Rock, for their unshakeable belief that a book would appear; and to Mary Rock, Bill Parker, Bill and Jennifer Rock, Tom Rock and Terry Cosentino, Bonnie Gaughan and the Gaughan family.
To Tim, and to our children, Molly, Sarah, Madeleine, and Joseph: all my love. You are light on the journey.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Half-Title Page
Good-Enough Mothers
Maquila Bird
Transit
Let Heaven Rejoice
At the Track
The Winnings
Me and Robin
Masters Swim
The New Kitten
Leaping Clear
Woman Cubed
Mother Makeover
A Flock of Chickens
Acknowledgements
Landmarks
Cover