by Vicki Delany
Pearl looked at Aileen as if she had grown another head. Her daughter grinned. “Daddy is perfectly fine, thanks for asking. He’s busy down in Ottawa, and we miss him. But the work of the government never ends, don’t you agree?” she asked Pete, straight to his face.
Without a word he pushed past the women and headed out the door. Jack dropped my arm and followed.
I leaned against the counter and sighed with relief.
“I’m sorry, Aileen,” Pearl said, “but we aren’t here for the police fund. Are they soliciting? I hadn’t heard. I was rather hoping that you might have something to contribute to the auction we’re holding in June for the women’s shelter. It’s a wonderful cause, you know. The poor women are…”
“I think we’ve come at rather a bad time, Mother,” the girl said. “Ms. O’Connor doesn’t look at all well. Do you need some help here, Ms. O’Connor?”
Aileen reached the front counter and me. She hugged me tightly and I hugged her back. Her thin frame quivered beneath my arms.
“No. Thank you. We’ll be perfectly fine. My friend had a bit of a fainting spell, which gave me quite a shock.” She smiled up at me. If you could call it a smile. “But she seems perfectly all right now.”
“Oh dear,” Pearl quivered in sympathy. “Pardon us for interrupting. So very sorry. But as long as I’m here… Can I count you in for a contribution?”
“Not now, Mom. Let’s go. I’ll come back later.”
Pearl withdrew reluctantly. The bell tinkled behind her. The girl looked at Aileen. “Would you like me to call someone, Ms. O’Connor? The Police Retirement Fund, perhaps?”
“Thank you, sweetie,” Aileen said, “but no. Please don’t.”
The girl left.
My legs gave way and with my back against the counter, I slithered to the floor like a vertical crab. My face throbbed like a punk-rock drummer on acid. Aileen scurried to the door. With a loud snap the lock fell into place before she collapsed beside me.
“Who were those women?”
“The dumbest woman in the district and her daughter, the smartest girl. Everyone says that she has the inside track to a full scholarship at Queen’s next year.”
“I trust they don’t collect for the Police Retirement Fund?”
“Don’t even know if there is such a thing.”
My mind wandered and observed us from above. We were babbling about inconsequentials, thus not having to face the facts. “The mention of the M.P. was a touch of brilliance.”
“Believe it or not, I didn’t make that up. Pearl is indeed the wife of the esteemed Member of Parliament for Huntsville-Bracebridge. Dammed if I can remember his name.”
We burst into gales of laughter. Which stopped all too soon. I rubbed my face—the throbbing wasn’t going down—and struggled to my feet. “There’s a police station only a few blocks from here.” Aileen crawled over to the shattered remains of the glass duck. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll go and get them,” I said.
“No.”
“Eh?”
“Don’t go to the police. I need to clean up.” She picked up a shard of glass, one of the duck’s lovely tail feathers. Aileen’s beautiful skirt formed a soft puddle on the floor around her.
“Of course I’m going to get the police. That jerk attacked me. Shit, it hurts like hell. They threatened you and your property. God knows what else they would have done if Mrs. M.P. and her clever daughter hadn’t arrived.”
“I don’t want to talk to the police.”
“Aileen, listen to me. We were saved by the bell, quite literally. They might try it again.”
“I don’t want Jim to know.”
“What?”
She gathered the pieces of glass up into one hand, and felt all over the floor with the other, searching for invisible shards. She cried, silently, the sobs shaking her shoulders.
I turned my back to give her the privacy she seemed to need and fingered the sign on the door. Closed. Let it stay that way.
“I don’t want the police involved in this. We have enough attention directed our way these days. We don’t need any more. And I don’t want Jim to know. He’ll go after them, Jack and Pete. He’s not a young man anymore. Jim forgets that sometimes.” She took a deep breath, straight from the diaphragm, pulling air into her back and shoulders. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“I might not be here next time, Aileen, not that I amounted to any help at all. But the Huntsville version of Superwoman might not be here either. And then what?”
“There won’t be a next time.” She looked up at me, crouched on the floor, her full skirt all around her, and held out her hands. Shards of glass sparkled on her palms. Only the tip of the duck’s tail was recognizable. “They’ll get the person who took Jennifer and then those two will leave us alone.”
The argument died on my lips. There was nothing I or anyone else could say to Aileen. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, I won’t say a word to Jimmy, or anyone else. But you’re wrong. Let me lay a complaint with the police against Jack. I won’t even mention Pete. That’ll leave you out of it. If the cops are onto it, Jimmy won’t dare go after Jack and Pete.”
“He will. He will. And the police won’t stop at a charge against Jack. They’ll want the whole story. And they’ll wonder what Pete knows about Jim.” She struggled to her feet and dropped the pieces of glass into a dustbin. The tip of her index finger dripped blood. She sucked at it without thought.
“Was that duck worth much?”
“No. It’s worth nothing.”
Aileen locked up the shop and we drove back to Hope River in silence. I gazed out of the window and watched the dark forest slide past my window. I had no doubt that if we told Jimmy about what transpired at the store this afternoon he would be after Jack and Pete before we even finished speaking. And that would probably end up putting him in jail, the severity of his stay depending on the injuries inflicted. That was the Jimmy I knew. Quick with his fists. Fight now, think later. Manly honor above all. It made me sick. Aileen and I would go on living with the facts of the assault and the threats, but we couldn’t do anything about it because Jimmy couldn’t deal with the idea. A lot of men would approve of any action he took. But not the law. So Aileen was right to be afraid.
My mind drifted. The forest rolled by. A deer watched us pass. I scarcely noticed her.
Jimmy. My brother Jimmy. Did he have anything to do with Jennifer Taylor? Aileen didn’t want to draw police attention toward her husband. Did she have reason to be afraid? In my mind’s eye, my brother smiled at me over his breakfast table. Handsome as ever, the crooked smile, the eyes as blue and as deep as the lake sparkling over his shoulder, hard muscles bulging under his hand-knitted sweater. But wrinkles were crinkling the edges of his eyes and pulling the skin down around his mouth. His hair was streaked with gray. He grunted softly as he got up out of a chair.
Jennifer Taylor. She was what? Seventeen years old? Young. Innocent. She knew Jimmy; she wanted to be a carpenter, just like he was. Some might think that a strange choice for a girl who might rather be expected to dream of being a movie star, or a pop singer. A doctor or a lawyer. Perhaps a firefighter or a cop. Maybe even an investment banker. But not a carpenter in a two-bit Ontario town. A town so insignificant that it wasn’t even marked on some maps.
Jimmy had never had to force a woman in his life. What with his charm and his looks, he needed nothing else.
That was the man I remembered. But how long ago was that? He was now over fifty. To me he is still heart-stoppingly handsome, but in a few short years I’ll be facing the dreaded big 5-0 myself.
What might Jimmy look like to a seventeen-year-old girl?
Like a joke?
Like an old man who couldn’t keep his pants zipped up?
Did she laugh?
I peeked out of the corner of my eye at Aileen. She was concentrating on the road as dark rain lashed at the windscreen. Did she know anything? Or did she simply fear everything?
***
“Home. We’re here.” Aileen shook my shoulder and I struggled out of sleep. The rain fell with its full strength, and the wind bent the trees until they moaned, begging for relief. The lake tossed gray and white waves, angry and restless. With nowhere else to go they headed for the shore.
Dad opened the front door to greet us and Sampson shot out, tail wagging, beautiful face open wide in greeting. I hurried to get out of the car, shaking sleep from my groggy head, fumbling with the seat belt release, tripping over the door frame, afraid that my dog would scratch the car’s paint in her eagerness to get to me and that Aileen would be mad at her. At me.
“Have a nice day?” Dad called from the doorway, all smiles and baggy pants.
“Wonderful. Except for this horrid rain.” Aileen waved cheerfully. “How was your day, Bob?”
“Fine, thank you, dear.”
“Have to run. Thanks for coming with me, Rebecca. It was lots of fun. See you tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a standard-shift car, but Aileen still managed to clash the gears as she pulled away. Cold rain dripped down my neck, and Sampson muddied my coat as I watched Aileen’s car pull onto the dirt road and disappear up the hill.
***
Saturday morning, I eyed myself in the mirror over the dresser in my room. Lovely shades of purple and green decorated one side of my face.
I hadn’t brought any makeup with me from Vancouver. Makeup, like high heels, power suits, and leather briefcases, was for business meetings. I’d have to drive into town as soon as the stores opened and get something to cover the bruise. Too bad I couldn’t walk around all day with a paper bag over my head. But even Dad would notice that. I struggled to think up a good excuse for my appearance. Walked into a door, tripped over the dog? A frustrating exercise. Why do women feel that they have to make themselves look like idiots in order to hide the evidence of men’s brutality?
Sampson whimpered, her nose held to the crack under the bedroom door. I crouched down and gave her a big hug. “You love me no matter what I look like, don’t you, dog? You don’t even notice. Could have used you yesterday. I won’t leave you behind again.” She squirmed out of the embrace. Dad was up. Kitchen cupboards were opening and closing. Sampson had more important things on her mind.
Ling and her husband had had dinner with the prospective clients last night. I told Jenny to give Ling the number here and have her call me first thing to let me know how it went. It was now 8:00 a.m.; the stores opened at 9 o’clock or maybe 9:30. If I went into Hope River I might not be back until ten. Which was seven Vancouver time. Ling has small children. She would be up early, even on a Saturday. I wanted to be here for her call, but decided to chance the shopping expedition. Even Ling would surely have breakfast with her family before calling me.
Sampson continued to whimper and was getting louder at it. The moment I opened the door she dashed out. Dad was making noises in the kitchen; he would let her out.
I picked two of my mother’s diaries off the floor and stacked them neatly on the night table. I’d fallen asleep reading through the selection that I’d carried up from the basement. They made for pretty tough reading, some of them, but now I was hooked.
I’d let Dad get the breakfast, wouldn’t that be a treat? I sat on the edge of the bed and returned to the page I’d been reading last.
When I looked up again it was almost 8:30. Time for a coffee and to head into town to be there when the drug store opened. The house was quiet; I assumed that Dad had taken Sampson out. Perhaps I should get him a dog. A big friendly mutt, a stray from the pound, a companion, something to keep him from feeling too lonely. He and my mother had been married for almost sixty years. Once I’d gone back to Vancouver and Dad’s life had settled into some sort of routine surely his loneliness would be unbearable at times.
I sighed. My nose twitched as it sensed something foreign in the air. Something wrong.
Smoke?
Smoke.
I threw aside the journal and ran.
Chapter 31
Waves of thick, gray smoke rolled out of the kitchen and down the hall. I burst into the kitchen, my eyes watering, my lungs already gasping for air. The smoke was coming from the stove. There was a frying pan on it and the element underneath shone with a fierce red light. Something black and unrecognizable popped and sizzled in the pan. A dishrag, placed on the counter with its tip resting on the edge of the stove, ignited with a whoosh as I stood stupidly in the middle of the kitchen, looking for something to use to pull the pan off the heat. I leapt back in shock.
Outside, Sampson barked. They were returning from their walk.
I arched my arm around the spitting grease in the pan and the fire-hot element, reaching for the knob. A few spots of hot fat splattered on my bare skin, but I managed to switch the element off before running to the sink. A drinking glass sat on the draining board. I filled it with water and threw the contents onto the dishcloth, now crinkling around the edges and releasing cheerful red sparks into the thick air. Not enough. The dishcloth continued to smolder, and another piece burst into flame. More water. The second glass did the job. I grabbed a drying-up towel from the rack and used it to cover my hand while I pulled the frying pan off the element, which was gradually fading from enraged red to dull, safe black. I turned the burnt scraps with a fork. Bacon. These were the charred remains of rashers of bacon.
“In you go, girl.” My father held the door open to allow a sodden Sampson entry. The dog’s thick coat bore testimony to the fact that it had rained all through the night. She tracked a trail of muddy paw prints across the kitchen floor as she made her way to her water dish.
“Morning, Becky. Sleep well?” Dad pulled off his raincoat and hung it on the hook beside the door. Only then did he sniff the air. “Smells like smoke in here.”
“Dad, what were you thinking?”
“About what?”
“About breakfast. Remember breakfast? Bacon cooking on the stove?”
“Bacon would be nice, thank you, dear.” He used his right hand to wave smoke away from his face, pulled up a seat, sat to the kitchen table, and unfolded the newspaper.
I propped open the back door with a chair, stopped to take a coughing fit, and then opened all the windows.
Sampson sneezed.
“Dad!” I cried, once I had regained control of my breathing. “Did you want to burn the house down?”
“What are you talking about, girl?”
“You left the bacon cooking, Dad. And a dishcloth beside the stove to top things off. If I hadn’t been here, the whole house would be in flames by now.”
He looked up from the paper and glanced around the kitchen. “No harm done. Have you seen the sports section? It’s not here.”
It was an effort, but I managed to control my rage. “I’m going into town to do some shopping. You can clean the dog while I’m gone, she’s covered in mud.”
He looked at Sampson. “So she is. Stores aren’t open yet. You have time to make us breakfast. Eggs would be nice. And there’s some bacon in the fridge. Leastways there was the end of a packet yesterday.”
“Dad. There is no bacon left. You started cooking it before you went out with the dog. Don’t you remember?”
“Sausages’ll have to do. Get some bacon when you’re in town, will you. There’s a good girl.”
I know when I’m beaten. On the bright side, I didn’t have to lie about the condition of my face. Dad hadn’t even noticed. With a good deal of ill grace I rubbed Sampson down with a towel and threw sausages into a fresh pan. The burnt one I’d stuffed into the garbage can, the handle sticking out, pointing back at me like an accusing finger. It could accuse all it wanted: I wasn’t going to make the attempt to salvage it.
I plopped the sausages onto a plate with two undercooked fried eggs. My father smiled at me. A genuine smile, full of appreciation for the food and love for me. I collapsed into the other chair. It was now well after nine.
“Someo
ne from my office might call while I’m out,” I said. “Can you take a message? It’s important. I need to know where I can reach her.”
“Isn’t it a Saturday? Why would your work be calling you on a Saturday?”
“What on earth does that matter? Can you take a message or not, for heaven’s sake? It’s important.”
“Don’t shout, Becky. Not in the house. Your mother never would abide shouting in the house. Of course I can take a message. I’m not completely an old fool, although everyone around here seems to think I am. I can be trusted to take a phone message.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Off you go now. Take as long as you like, dear.”
I checked that I’d remembered to switch the stove off. It was cold and nothing rested nearby that shouldn’t be there. Dad sipped his coffee and read the paper. I kissed the top of his head and he smiled up at me.
Sampson and I dashed through the rain to the SUV. At least I dashed. The dog took her time to chase a squirrel up a tree and sniff at a patch of grass. She was once again a sodden blob of good humor by the time she leapt into the car.
I made it into town before the store clerks did, and sat in the car cooling my heels for a good half hour before the lights of the tiny drug store came on and shapes began to move around inside.
Pulling my coat over my head I made a dash through the rain and tried the door. Locked. The clerk looked up at the sound of someone pounding for admittance. She scowled fiercely and tapped her watch. I pounded some more. To little effect. My own watch said 10:02. A small river ran down the sidewalk, soaking into my running shoes.
Realizing that any more attempts to gain entry would only get the clerk’s back up and then I might never be allowed in, I tried to find a bit of shelter from the driving rain in the lee of the building.
The woman drew her eyebrows together in the manner of a particularly ferocious grade school teacher as she pulled back the latch on the door. She looked me up and down, clearly unimpressed, and walked away without a word.
As quickly as possible, I tossed cheap makeup into a shopping basket. Get the job done and get out of there. Foundation, face powder, blush (too pink? too bad!) and brush. As an afterthought a chocolate bar for Dad joined the contents of the shopping basket. He always had a weak spot for chocolate. And what the hell! One for myself.