The Feeder

by Gayle Siebert

  “It’s me, Lita,” I reply. I know she can see me through the peephole so her question is irritating. It’s all quiet inside and the door remains shut. After a moment, I say, “Carly? It’s me, Lita.”

  “Lita? How come you’re not at work?”

  “I had a couple of errands out of the office so I thought I’d stop by. I brought these,” I say, and hold up the Tim Horton’s box so she can see it.

  “Well, you should’ve texted first. You can’t come in! I’m sick.”

  “Oh no!” I say. “Well, I’ll stand back. I’ll just say hello and leave you these.”

  “No! I don’t need anything. I’m going back to bed now.”

  “Carly? Carly!” No response. I stand on the porch staring at the peephole, examining my feelings about what just happened and wondering what to do. I guess I’m pissed off, and then I tell myself I shouldn’t be since she is just being super careful not to take a chance on infecting me with whatever she has. With the pandemic still fresh in everyone’s minds, whenever someone coughs everyone immediately wonders if Covid-19 is back. But social distancing only means staying two meters apart. It doesn’t mean she couldn’t open the door.

  After a moment I decide to leave the muffins on the bench by the door. An apology for whatever I did that she didn’t like. Peace offering. Then go to my car and drive back to my office. At least it’s a pleasant day for a drive in the country.

  Eight

  Carly

  I’M DOING THE ironing, humming as the iron huffs out clouds of steam. Even though we’re well past summer and there’s a nice cool breeze from the open window, it’s hot work. There’s no one around, so I push my sleeves up.

  The bruise covers my forearm from wrist to elbow. It’s quite pretty, really, dark blue, purple, green turning yellow. I know the black socks always go on the left, brown in the middle, and navy on the right so he doesn’t make the mistake of wearing the navy ones with the black suit. I screwed up. I can’t blame him for being mad.

  Despite the heat, I’m enjoying the scent of fresh laundry. This is the last shirt, then it’s on to underwear. Boxers can’t be folded properly if they aren’t ironed, something Lita would never understand. She never even ironed her husband’s shirts. She thought being Perma press, they didn’t need it. She just doesn’t know how to look after a man. She hasn’t figured out yet that if you look after your man, he will look after you. It’s a two-way street. She’s had so many guys in her life and not one has stuck around whereas Derek and I just passed our eleventh anniversary. He has stayed with me even though I’m not perfect. He knows I’m trying, and I’m learning.

  Here I am, thinking about Lita again! I guess it’s not surprising my thoughts turn to her so often. I’ve long since lost touch with other friends; Lita’s the only one who is still a friend. Was still a friend. We were best friends since high school and really only split after Derek and I got married. It wasn’t a total split at first, of course, just sort of a cooling off. Growing apart. I realize now Derek encouraged distancing because she wouldn’t quit making passes at him. I’m still astonished I was oblivious to it all those years. I have half a mind to call her up and demand an apology. At least let her know he told me so she doesn’t think she’s gotten away with it.

  I haven’t had contact with Lita since she came for dinner back in August and went after Derek so brazenly. There was just that one time a couple of days later. Jennifer found the Tim Horton’s box of muffins on our doorstep and brought it in. It was sitting on the counter, open and with a couple of muffins eaten, when Derek came home. When I told him it was from Lita, he flipped out even though I assured him I had sent her away. Hadn’t even opened the door. I didn’t know she left it on the step.

  I don’t blame him for getting mad because not long before I had agreed to quit being friends with her. He was still very upset about the shameless passes she had made at him and a sign Lita was trying to worm her way back into our lives understandably sent him over the edge. I showed him our text exchanges, proof I hadn’t arranged to meet with her, but he didn’t believe me because I could have deleted the incriminating ones. I told him I didn’t even know it was possible to do that. I suppose I wouldn’t have believed that, either. Anyway, I have a new phone now, and a new number, but it’s just for us, our family, so Derek and Jennifer can get a hold of me if they need to.

  Even though I miss seeing the people from the café, I have to admit since I quit my job there I’m a lot less stressed, probably because I’m not as tired and have more time to take care of things around here.

  I know I was also spending too much time on the internet looking up recipes, in addition to the YouTube and Facebook and Pinterest timesucks. When he doesn’t take it with him, Derek’s laptop is in his study and the door is always locked, so I’m not tempted to waste time like that. I won’t be giving my new phone number to Lita so I’m freed up to take better care of everything.

  I miss my old phone, though. The new one isn’t really new, just an old dinosaur of a flip phone Derek had years ago that he had reactivated. All you can do is phone with it. Well, you can text, but it’s pretty tough since there are three letters on each number. I went down to the beach trail to where he threw my iPhone and found it, but it was smashed.

  With Lita out of our lives Derek has gone back to being the loving husband he was when we first married. And the sex! Even on the lounge chair on the patio and standing up against the railing on the stairs on the beach trail! At first I was reluctant to go along with it. What if someone saw us? But with such a steep drop-off to the beach no one can come near our house on that side, and with all the trees and bushes on the other three sides it’s all very private. Who could see us? I’m sure the neighbours could’ve heard him, though! Four or five ‘oh gods’ just like in the beginning! I feel myself blushing at the thought. Thankfully it’s too cold outside now. And this is new: he often wants sex before we get out of bed in the morning. He has even kissed me before I’ve brushed my teeth.

  Right now I have to finish up the laundry and then make sure the house is shipshape, because Derek has invited a big wig for dinner tonight. He is Mr. Ewan Finnegan, CEO of a multi-national with its head office in Toronto. Some of the other lawyers invited him too but he accepted Derek’s invitation so this is a real feather in his cap. If he lands this retainer, the corner office is a done deal for sure. It would be a good time for me to bring up the idea of me getting my own car again. So it’s important for Mr. Finnegan to be impressed.

  Derek dug out one of my old blouses from the back of the closet and said he wants me to wear it tonight. That really surprised me because I quit wearing it years ago when he said I looked like a hooker, showing all that cleavage. It does have a really low-cut neckline. I didn’t get rid of it, though, because I’ve always loved it; it’s filmy and delicate, with embroidery and tiny seed pearls on the sleeves and around the neck. I always felt like a princess when I put it on. For a while when no one was home, I would put it on just for an hour or so. Childish, I know, playing dress-up like that. I haven’t done that for so long I’d almost forgotten it and I’m surprised Derek knew it was in the closet. And it’s an even bigger surprise that he wants me to wear it. He said he wants to show off his beautiful wife! Imagine! Him calling me beautiful!

  Thank god I tried the blouse on this morning! I managed to get it done up but it was snug around the middle, so I carefully let the darts out and moved the buttons over as far as they could go. It’s supposed to be looser, more flowing, but that’s the best I can do. I’ll put it on last thing just before Mr. Finnegan is due, because the bell-shaped sleeves are so long they almost reach my knuckles and are constantly getting in the way. I don’t know who designs these things. Maybe I just have shorter than average arms.

  I wish I had something interesting to talk about when Mr. Finnegan comes, but I’ve never been a good conversationalist. I’m worried I’ll say something stupid and embarrass Derek. Derek says the men will have plenty to
discuss and me just sitting quiet and looking pretty is more than enough. Me, beautiful and now pretty!

  Derek’s been gone most of the day. He took Jennifer to swimming, then they were going to go out for lunch and then to the mall to get her some new clothes. She’s grown so much all her pants are too short. Then he’ll drop her off at her friend’s birthday party. It’s a sleep-over, so I don’t need to worry about her. I didn’t have to make Derek’s bean dish for him or anything for Jennifer for lunch, either, and we adults will have the dinner table to ourselves. It’s been such a long time since anyone but Lita has come for dinner or even a visit, and now a man, from Toronto! It’s looking like it will be a most excellent day.

  I hang up the last shirt and bring the stack of boxer shorts to the ironing board. It won’t take me long to get them put away.

  I’m making Chicken Kiev, risotto and asparagus spears with hollandaise sauce. Cherries Jubilee for dessert. At this time of year I could only get canned cherries, which isn’t the greatest, and I couldn’t get pitted ones, but I’ve got the pits all removed and everything else is organized too: butter sticks in the freezer; parsley minced; chicken breasts teased open, pounded just a bit and waiting in the fridge; eggs separated. I’ve modified the Chicken Kiev recipe a little, adding a cup of finely ground almonds to the Panko crumbs. I think it will be add a nice, subtle nutty flavour.

  I’ve even set the table already, cutlery perfectly spaced and napkins ironed and folded into fans. I’ll have plenty of time before I have to start cooking to shower and do my hair. I really want to look my best.

  Since Derek told me he was coming, I’ve been wondering what Mr. Finnegan looks like. Ewan Finnegan sounds like an Irish name. I visualize him with piercing blue eyes, dark hair greying at the temples, not too tall but definitely trim and handsome. I hope he has a nice lilting Irish accent, although I suppose I’m letting my imagination run away with me because it’s likely his family has been in Canada for generations.

  I was thinking about Mr. Finnegan when Derek and I were having sex last night. Is that cheating? No, it’s harmless. Still, I feel a little jolt of guilt mixed with desire as I think about it again, and fantasize Mr. Finnegan drawing me into his arms in a gentle, loving way. He doesn’t want sex although we’ve probably had it. He would have been gentle, no squeezing my neck or biting my nipples, and he would have made sure I was satisfied. But in this fantasy, he’s asking if it’s all right for him just to hold me. I feel a stirring deep inside.

  I hope he’ll like me.

  Nine

  Lita

  SO TODAY IS the big day. It’s official. I’m moving in with Nullah. I’m filled with apprehension at this big step, both wanting it and fearing it will ruin what’s been a really nice relationship so far. We’ve been dating for less than six months. I worry it’s too soon because we don’t really know each other. We’re both still so careful. So polite. Nullah still goes on fart walks. I thought we should wait at least until he felt comfortable enough just to let ‘em rip. Maybe it’s a case of be careful what you wish for.

  He pointed out he’s never heard me fart, either. He said he’s not really surprised, though, because women don’t fart; instead, they hold onto them. They end up stuffed with farts, the farts travel up the spine into the brain and that’s why women get shitty ideas.

  That is so sexist, I said. I wouldn’t have expected it coming from you! He said it’s not sexist, it’s just a fact.

  I told him at least women only have the occasional shitty idea, only when they’ve been saving their farts. Men get shitty ideas constantly even though they have no excuse because they don’t save farts. Also not a sexist comment because it’s just a fact. He said I’m awfully damned opinionated for a Sheila. I threw my slipper at him. Gently, of course.

  He should be back any minute. I’ve got most of my personal stuff packed and waiting in the entryway. I’m not moving my furniture or anything, not yet. We haven’t decided what to do with my place, whether we should keep it as is so we can stay in town if we’ve been drinking and don’t want to cab it all the way back out to Nullah’s, or if I should rent it. I thought about putting it up for sale but that’s definitely premature.

  I haven’t lived with anyone since I was married, so seven or so years on my own. It’s going to be quite an adjustment, getting used to living in someone else’s place. Nullah says from now on it’s not someone else’s place, it’s our place. We discussed a prenup, but talking is as far as we got. He doesn’t seem concerned, surprising, given how much he stands to lose if we split up after even just one year. He’s not a stupid man. He knows the risks. He’s willing to take them.

  It’ll be a big adjustment for Nullah, too, since he’s never lived with anyone, despite having had three what I would call long-term relationships: one for three years, which is as long as I stuck it out with my husband, and two of a year or so. So our relationship histories are pretty similar. I’m not sure if that bodes well for our future together and is the reason I won’t make a decision about selling my condo for a while. It’ll be my fall-back position. Nullah understands that and is good with it. Obviously if the wheels fall off our relationship, he doesn’t want to be stuck with me even short-term just because I have nowhere else to live any more than I want to be stuck with him for the same reason. I guess we’re a couple of rolling stones. Question is, can we roll together?

  I hear a vehicle and go into the kitchen to look out the window. Nullah’s truck pulls up to the curb and backs into the driveway. I go to the door and greet him with a quick kiss.

  “Is that it?” he asks as he surveys the pile of boxes.

  “Yup. For today, anyway.” I tell him. “I’ll need to unpack a few boxes and bring them back so I can get the rest of the stuff out of the freezer.”

  “Maybe all those frozen dinners can stay here.”

  “What? Don’t be silly.” I frown.

  He gives my arm a fake punch and says, “Just kidding. We should pick up a couple of pizzas on the way home.”

  Home? This is my home! But looking around, seeing the entry closet empty and my espresso machine missing from the kitchen counter, it already looks less like it.

  “Excellent plan. I’ll order them now.” I get my phone, go to the Pizza Hut website and place the order, then we pack the rest of the boxes, my laptop, a few more garments on hangars and a garbage bag full of shoes into the truck.

  ***

  WE’RE AT THE island in Nullah’s kitchen, pizzas in boxes open in front of us. I’ve eaten half the small feta and spinach one while Nullah has nearly finished the large meat lovers with pepperoni and extra cheese. Just looking at it, thick and shining with greasy melted cheese, makes my stomach contract. I’d be up all night if I ate anything that rich this late in the day, but he thinks it’s delicious. He can eat anything. He has a cast iron constitution.

  “I don’t have much left to unpack,” I tell him between mouthfuls. “Thanks for making room in your closet and in your dresser drawers, but there still isn’t enough room for everything.”

  “I’ll clear those shelves in the guest room. That should make enough space for another couple hundred shoes. And we’ll get another dresser. Or chest of drawers.”

  “Pfft! I doubt I have a hundred pairs of shoes.”

  “You’ve got nearly that many here and you still have some at the condo.” He shakes his head. “What is it with women and shoes?”

  “Like you don’t have dozens. Anyway, for dressers. I might as well bring one of mine.”

  “Makes sense,” he agrees as he picks up another piece of pizza and engulfs about a third of it.

  I watch in amazement as he manages to chew that big mouthful without even smacking his lips. Then I say, “Impressive! You didn’t even have to tamp that in.”

  “What?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. I was just thinking, it’s too bad we went ahead with this move the one weekend the big boss man was in town.”

  “It works out. He
spent the day making surprise visits at the clubs up island. We’ll spend tomorrow with him. He wants to do some fishing, so we’ll take him out on the boat first thing.”

  “He wants to fish? Or you do?”

  He grins and admits, “both.”

  “It’s kind of cold to be out on the boat.”

  “We won’t be out for long. Dress warm, or stay below and read if you want. We’ll hit the Dinghy Dock for lunch. Come back here in the afternoon. We’ll get a fire going in the firepit. Some of the others are bringing stuff, salads, appies and so on. We’ll throw steaks on the barbie. A fresh fish if we’re lucky. In any case, we’ll entertain him all day. Tonight, he’s had an invitation from someone else for dinner.”

  “Oh? I didn’t realize he knew other people in town.”

  “It’s more of a business dinner. Some lawyer. You know we’re looking for a local lawyer, right? Someone conversant with leases and franchising, anything else that might come up. Probably won’t find one here, it’ll likely end up being someone in Vancouver, but it would be a lot more convenient to have someone here in town. Our Toronto lawyers made some enquiries and gave us a short list. One of the guys from a firm we’re looking at invited him.”

  “You didn’t want to meet with him too?”

  “Well, I was helping a friend move.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. If he likes the guy, there’ll be plenty of time for me to meet him.”

  “I guess.” I drain my glass and toy with another slice of pizza, then decide against eating it. “I wonder if it’s someone I know.”

  “You’ll have to ask him. I didn’t catch the name. Dunno if he said the guy’s name, now that I think about it. He’s going to brief me later so I didn’t pay a lot of attention.” He takes another bite and washes it down with the last of his beer. “He asked why I hadn’t suggested you.”