I indulge in a little cry. My baby! If her father was out of the picture, maybe I could get her back. Would shared custody be a possibility? Would he pay child support? He’d have to, of course, but he’d make it as difficult as possible. I’d probably have to chase him for it every month.
Would he leave or would I have to go? Where would I go? How would I live? I could get back on at the café, or if not that one, another one like it, but pretty tough to live on a minimum wage. I could renew my insurance broker’s licence pretty quickly but even though the pay is better, I’d be starting at the bottom again in what’s always been a low-paying industry.
If I left, I’d be entitled to half the value of the house, though. No, that’s not right. It would be half the equity in the house. That can’t be much, since we bought it with a high-ratio mortgage and such a big chunk of each payment doesn’t reduce the principal but only goes against interest.
If he left and I got the house, the payments, even before he puts a second mortgage on it to buy that stupid boat, would be crippling. Although… What if I could convince him not to buy the boat? And we’ve been paying on the house for ten years. I think the interest rate went down at the end of the last five year term. How much are the payments now, anyway? Could I afford it if I rented out the basement? Or rented out the upstairs and moved into the basement myself? It already has a bathroom, a bar sink and doors out to the back yard. It could easily be made into a suite. I bet I could rent a basement suite for half the mortgage payment. Even more if I rented the upstairs.
I need to know how much the payments are. The mortgage documents are in Derek’s desk. Is there any chance he didn’t lock the door today?
I swig the last of my coffee, put the mug in the dishwasher, and go to Derek’s study. No luck. The door is locked. If there’s a key other than the one on his keyring, I don’t know where it is. He said the reason he put this lock on the study was to keep toddler Jennifer from messing with his things, but she hasn’t cared about going into his study for a few years now and he still keeps it locked. I’m not enough of a dummy to think it’s really Jennifer he wants to keep out.
I’ll have to find a way to ask him what the payments are. It’s risky asking him anything about our finances, but I might be able to work a question in when he’s talking about that boat, especially if I use it as an argument against taking on more debt. If he’ll even discuss it with me.
I go back in the kitchen and finish cleaning up. The compost bin is full, so I take it out to the compost heap behind the garage and empty it. As I’m coming back toward the house, I notice the window to Derek’s study is open. It’s supposed to rain today, and this is the weather side of the house. If the wind comes up, rain will blow in. Not a good day to forget to close the window!
I put the compost bin down and drag one of the Adirondack chairs across the patio to stand on. I take the screen off and lean it against the house. I’m about to slide the window shut when I stop myself. The window is big enough a person could fit through. I think for a moment. What if I could get through? Derek would kill me if he found out. I abandon it as a bad idea, slide the window shut, and get down off the chair.
As I slide the chair back to its usual position, I realize finding out about the mortgage is something I need to do, and getting into his office is probably the only way to do that. Is through the window the only way? He would never find out.
I look up at the window again. Did it latch when I slid it shut? I tow the chair back under the window, climb up on it and push on the metal frame. It slides. My heart thumps. If I stop now, I’m still okay. I can still say I was just trying to close the window so the rain couldn’t get in. I push the window shut.
Then I wonder, when will I have another chance? I push the window open as far as it can go. If he finds out…
I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t find out! In and out, five minutes and gone. Ten at the most.
Heart pounding, I put my hands on the sill and hoist my upper body over. I’m halfway in. Is this as far as I can go? It wouldn’t be so difficult if I’d ever been good at sports or anything physical, but as the sill digs painfully into my muffin, my biggest regret is the extra pounds I’ve packed on. I’ll have to somersault from here and there’s a risk I’ll break something in the process. Still, I’ve come this far. I have to try.
I work my way further through by pushing my toes up the stucco so my entire upper body is inside with only my legs outside. The hard edges of the sill dig painfully into the least fleshy part of me at the top of my thighs. I’m tempted to back out. But then I give another little push with my toes and now I can put my hands on the credenza. The pain isn’t as intense now. I realize my position is not all that different than Downward Dog. I’m surprised by the thought that although I didn’t like it much back in the day, I’d like to start going to yoga again. What a crazy random thought to have at a time like this!
I crawl my hands forward, get my knees up on the sill, and then one foot up on it. Now I’m practically doing a handstand. I lose my balance when my hand slips, my elbows collapse and my face comes perilously close to hitting the credenza. I recover, and hold still until the scream in my head quiets. A bruise on my face could be explained away by clumsiness, but if I fall and break something that makes it impossible for me to move, the injury would be the least of my worries.
I reach back, grab the window frame to pull myself upright and sit astraddle the window sill, one foot on the credenza. I bring my trailing leg up, tug on my knee to get it to bend enough so my leg fits through the window, and just like that, I’m standing on the credenza! I carefully climb down. I’m breathing hard and take a minute to catch my breath. I’ve left a partial shoe print. I clean it off with my sleeve.
I’m surprised to see Derek left his laptop on the desk. I have a momentary urge to see if I can log in, but the niggling fear that he might come home unexpectedly has my insides quivering. I tell myself he has no reason to. But what if he does? What if he remembers he left the window open and comes home to close it? He couldn’t phone me and ask me to close it since I’m locked out of this room. Maybe he’d tell me where the spare key is so I could get in and save him a trip? Don’t be crazy, Carly! focus on your mission and get out!
I can’t allow myself to get sidetracked. I open the file drawer. The files are in no particular order; I find the one labeled “Mortgage” near the back of the drawer. I pull it out, lay it on the desk and open it. It’s a thin file, containing just the title to the property, the original mortgage document and correspondence about the second term, interest rates and so on. The page I’m looking for is on the back of the third sheet. As I thought, the payments are substantial. I couldn’t afford to keep the house even if I could get a loan to pay Derek out.
And then I notice a document titled Canada Life Mortgage Insurance. I scan it quickly, then study-read. The house is in Derek’s name and he is the insured. I’m surprised he’s kept the insurance in force, but since it’s less than thirty dollars a month, he may not even have thought about it, or he thought it wasn’t worth the bother to cancel. I feel my pulse quicken as excitement surges through me. If Derek dies, the insurance covers the mortgage.
What am I thinking? He’s not going to die. He’s only forty, fit, and a non-smoker. An intense stab of regret that he’s not terminally ill followed by guilt for wishing him dead washes over me. I put everything back in the file, slide the file back where it was and close the drawer.
Out of curiosity, I open the rest of the drawers. The one over the kneehole is a keyboard tray, so nothing there. As you’d expect, the other drawers contain an assortment of pens and clips and rulers. Extra thumb drives. Cough candies. Breath mints. A stash of chocolate bars. I think nothing of the Altoids tin until I move it and it rattles. That’s not the sound of “curiously strong mints” the label claims it holds, so I open it. It holds an assortment of keys, mostly small, likely for the locking drawers on the desk and the credenza. One for the
cashbox in the left hand drawer. One big enough to be a house key. Could it be the key to the study?
I go to the door and try it, almost dissolving in happy tears when it works. I slip it into my pocket, go back to the desk and close the Altoids tin and everything else. I remember to close the window, leaving a gap just as Derek had left it. It’s his own damn fault if rain comes in and ruins the papers on the credenza. In fact, I kind of like the idea. I leave the room, pull the door shut and lock it. I jiggle the knob to check it just to be sure and go back to the kitchen.
I leave the rest of the breakfast mess and go upstairs to shower and get ready to go to meet Lita for lunch. I’m in a hurry now because I wasted time on the quest for the mortgage documents and I need to take the key somewhere to have a duplicate made before lunch.
Then I think, why bother? Just so I can get into his study anytime I want to? For what? Now that I’ve seen what’s in there, I’m curious about his other files. I didn’t even open the credenza. And then there’s that cash box. What if he’s got lots of money in there? When I have a key, I can get in and out in short order.
I’d never dare to steal any of his money and I’ve got no way of spending it anyway, but I could go into his private space whenever I wanted to. I could invade his privacy at will. I would have a secret. Is that worth the bother of getting a duplicate key made?
Yes! I’m going to do it, even though I’ve already found what I went in for. Even though I’ll never get the house. Even if Derek left, he’d want to be paid out for his share and I couldn’t manage that. The house would have to be sold. Property values have gone up since we bought it, but starting with just five percent down, there still isn’t much equity. Splitting it in half wouldn’t result in me getting much of a settlement. But there’s that mortgage insurance…
It would be better if he died.
I must be a very bad person, but I can’t stop myself from fantasizing about that. Maybe he could be killed in a car accident. Maybe from cancer. Or a heart attack! His father died young. Maybe he will too. Maybe in ten or fifteen years, the house will be mortgage-free and all mine.
I might not want to keep the house. It would be more convenient to live in town. Maybe in a condo development like the one Lita lives in. I could sell the house, buy one of those and have money left over. I’d be set. There would be no more bird houses inside or out, no messy bird feeder, no sorting socks or ironing boxer shorts. It would be hard on Jennifer for a while, but she’ll be out on her own by then.
I’ll get a job for sure, maybe in insurance, or maybe take a few self-improvement courses so I can work in another field. Get married again. No, not that. Between living at home, living with Lita, and living with Derek, I’ve never been on my own. Living alone sounds blissful. What a beautiful fantasy!
I close my eyes and think, wow, Carly! You climbed in through the window! And found the mortgage and insurance papers! And you’re even going to get that key copied. Super Sleuth Carly! You can go in there whenever you want. Check out what else he’s hiding.
Big deal.
But it is a big deal because even just thinking about doing something so devious—so daring and dangerous!—makes me feel as though my future holds promise.
And when I think about even just ten more years with Derek I realize what Lita meant when she said there are worse things than being alone.
Seventeen
Lita
I ARRIVE AT the Lighthouse Bistro a few minutes after twelve to find Carly already at a table by a window overlooking the harbour. She spots me, smiles, and gives a little wave.
“Hey, Carly!” I say as I slide into the chair across from her and nod at her half-empty wineglass. “How are you?”
“Good,” she says. But she only looks at me for a heartbeat before looking away.
“Looks like you’ve been here a while,” I observe, with a nod at her wineglass.
“Not too long,” she tells me. “You know I hate to be late.”
“I’m not sure how you put up with me always being late, back in the day.”
“It wasn’t easy,” she says, but she was always so easy going, I know it didn’t bug her too much. Or at least she put up with it and never said anything. She sips her wine, adding another red lipstick print to the rim of the glass.
The server comes to ask if I’d like a few minutes before ordering lunch, and if she can get me a drink while I’m waiting.
“I’ll look at the menu,” I tell her as I take the menu card she’s handing me. “While I’m doing that, I’ll have a coffee, just black, please.”
When the server leaves, I tell Carly, “I’m sorry, but I have to go back to work. So no wine for me but you can get totally blotto if you want. Oh! I guess you’re driving.”
“No. I came in a cab.”
“Still don’t have a car?”
“No need,” she says, and looks off out the window. I turn my head to see what’s drawn her attention but all I see is raindrops sliding down the glass and a couple of geese bobbing along beside a sailboat tied up at the wharf.
“But it must cost a fortune to get a cab all the way to your place.”
“Still more cost effective than buying a second vehicle,” she says.
“I guess so,” I agree. I can’t imagine not being able to get in a car and go where you want, whenever you want. How does she go along with it? I realize I haven’t seen much of her over the past few years, but should I have seen the change that’s come over her? Maybe I did, and maybe it wasn’t just Derek I didn’t like. We certainly don’t seem to have much in common anymore. Is a couple of years spent as roommates when we were hardly more than kids enough to cement a life-long friendship?
I spend a couple of minutes on the menu and ask Carly what she’s decided on.
“I’m going to have the fish and chips.”
“Again? Twice in one week?”
“Well, it’s different here. They do it with salmon instead of cod or halibut.”
“Hmm,” I shrug. Okay, I guess. When the server comes with my coffee, I decide I could have one glass of wine, and order a six ounce pour of house white along with a vegetarian quesadilla. While we’re waiting for our food, I break the awkward silence by asking what she’s done all week.
“Oh, you know, there’s lots of stuff to do.”
“Like what? You haven’t put anything on Facebook or Instagram for so long I’ve totally lost track of what you’re interested these days.”
“I’m not on social media anymore.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Too much of a time suck.”
“I guess it can be,” I agree. “I spend about an hour a day. Mostly in the evening, when I’m watching TV.” I take a sip of coffee. An awkward silence stretches out between us. Finally, I ask, “so, what do you do for fun? I know you talked about quilting.”
“I’ve decided to give that up.”
“Oh? How come?”
“What’s the point of making a bunch of useless quilts?”
“But even if you don’t want them yourself, people sell them, for big money. And what about wall hangings? Some of them are really beautiful. With your arts background…”
“Yeah, my useless education.”
“Carly! You’re really gifted! Now that Jennifer’s in school all day, you could take a graphic arts course and maybe even start your own business. Online, even.”
“I don’t know. I’m not like you, Lita. I don’t have a head for business. Besides, I wouldn’t have time.”
Why is she so apathetic? I study the pretty woman across the table from me and realize she’s a stranger. Finally she breaks the silence by saying, “you know, Derek really is a good lawyer. He would be a good choice for Nullah’s business.”
Okay, now I know what’s going on. The only reason she’s here is to promote her asshole husband. I catch my lower lip in my teeth to stop myself from saying something I might regret.
“He was really instrumental in that pulp mill
merger a couple of years ago,” she continues. “He does more work than any of the other guys and they often come to him when they can’t figure something out.”
She looks so earnest, I don’t know what to say. Fortunately the server brings our food, so I’m saved having to respond. I pick at my salad, decide to put the dressing on it after all, and drizzle the raspberry vinaigrette over the leaves. I realize if she really does nothing but look after the house, she’s become so uninteresting I don’t want to know what’s going on in her life. How much discussion about what bathroom cleaner is best for marble vanity tops or how far apart to hang your husband’s shirts can a person tolerate? If Derek is an abuser, I can’t save her. I’m not certain she’s being abused, anyway. It might just be that she loves her husband being a take-charge kind of guy, so it’s not necessarily all on Derek. After all, you can’t be a doormat if you don’t lie down.
I take a bite of quesadilla followed by a long swallow of my wine and decide that as soon as I’ve eaten half my lunch, I’m leaving.
“You know, Derek aced those exams…”
I can’t stop myself from thumping the table with the flat of my hand. “For the love of god, Carly!” I hiss. “I didn’t want to have lunch with you so we could talk about Derek!”
She looks so stricken, I regret my outburst. Until she babbles on, “but he’d be the best fit for Nullah’s company. That’s why he was shortlisted.”
“Carly,” I say more gently, “Derek is a chump, always bragging, always patting himself on the back, always running everyone else down. I see it. Nullah and Finn see it. And I think if you were honest with yourself, you’d see it too. They don’t like him. Abbo Fitness is not going to put him on retainer.”
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