Algoma

by Dani Couture

  “And where is your son right now?” Officer Dore asked.

  “At my sister’s house.”

  The officer noted the table set for two in the kitchen behind her and made a sucking sound with his teeth. “I’m going to ask you again. Is Simon staying with you?”

  “I’m right here,” Simon said. He was standing at the bottom of the basement stairs, dressed only in a pair of jeans. “Just give me a minute to get my things.”

  “Simon,” Algoma said, but he’d already walked away.

  When he returned a moment later, he was fully dressed. He ascended the stairs to the side door landing where the two grim-faced officers stood.

  “I’m Simon Beaudoin,” he said. “I was wondering how long this was going to take you.”

  ______________

  6:49 p.m. 22°C. Wind E, gusting.

  Every door in the house thrown wide open.

  “What are you doing, Mom?” Ferd kicked at a pile of his father’s clothing that was strewn across the floor. In fact, there were piles of Gaetan’s clothing all over the house. Every closet, drawer, and box had been emptied.

  Algoma was seated on the bed in the guest bedroom, two of Gaetan’s sport jackets draped over her arm.

  “I’m making a dress.”

  “Can’t you just buy one?”

  Yesterday, Bay had left a message on Algoma’s answering machine asking her to be her date at a wedding the following weekend. “I just can’t bear to go alone,” she’d said. While Algoma was sure that Bay could get a date if she’d wanted to, she’d called back and said yes. Her sister seemed different lately, distant. A night out would be good for both of them. Maybe she’d find out what was going on. Even Port had seen less of Bay lately, and Bay had always been someone who wanted to be seen, even if only by family members.

  Lacking any formal wear that would fit over her pregnant belly, Algoma decided to make a dress. While not ready to destroy her own clothing yet, and still missing her own previously permanent date—her husband—she came up with the idea of making a dress out of his clothing. Even if he were to come back, she was sure he would not fault her a couple of destroyed jackets. It was probably to be expected.

  The night before, while Ferd slept below, she’d been up into the early hours sketching the dress she would make. Today, she was looking for the right fabric—something that was light, but had structure. Since no one piece of clothing of Gaetan’s would accommodate her new girth, Algoma was looking for several pieces of like colour to build her dress from. In the end, she settled on three twill suit jackets, clothes Gaetan hadn’t worn often, but that Algoma had on hand just in case they were ever invited to something nice.

  Ferd picked up a white T-shirt from the floor. “Can I have this?”

  “Sure,” Algoma said, not looking at him. She was ripping out the lining of one of the jackets.

  “If you’re making a dress, then why do you need a pair of jogging pants?” he asked.

  Algoma fingered the fabric on the grey jogging pants. They were well worn, and cut off at the knees. “I need the elastic.”

  Over the next week, Algoma spent most of her spare time at her sewing machine in the guest bedroom. From the living room, Ferd became accustomed to the hum of the machine, the needle going up and down, and his mother’s soft swearing whenever she made a mistake, which was often. She liked to make clothes, but was not especially gifted at it. He made dinners for both of them—sandwiches and soup—and offered to clean up afterward. He did not want to break the spell of his mother’s good mood. It’d been a week since Simon had left, and she’d been especially quiet since his departure. A new job, she’d said, on the other side of the country.

  When Saturday finally came, Steel came over to the house early to watch Ferd while Algoma got ready. The guest bedroom was an explosion of knotted thread and cut-up fabric, and it was where she chose to get ready, dressing amid the scraps.

  Bay pulled her car up in front of Algoma’s house and punched the horn three times. After five minutes of waiting, she leaned on the horn with her elbow until she saw Algoma’s hand in the window. Ten minutes later, Algoma emerged from the side door. Impatient, Bay tapped the top of her steering wheel while Algoma locked the door and put her key back into her purse. They were already late, which wouldn’t be so bad if they hadn’t decided to skip the actual wedding. “They’ll never even notice that we’re not there,” Bay had suggested on the phone the night before and Algoma had agreed.

  Algoma slowly walked toward the car, holding the wrapped wedding gift in front of her. Bay waited until the gift was safety tucked into the truck before asking her sister what the hell she was wearing. “I mean, where did you get the dress? The Shop? We can still swing by the mall if you want to change.”

  For once, Algoma was immune to her sister’s tongue. She was proud of her dress, everything about it. “I made it,” she said.

  Bay sighed. “Of course you did. What kind of fabric is that anyway?”

  “Jacket and jogging.”

  From the three jackets (each a different shade of brown) and the elastic band from the jogging pants, Algoma had sewed together a twill dress with a boat neck, short sleeves, and an empire waist that stayed in place because of the elastic band she’d built in.

  “It looks like a man built that dress,” Bay said as she sped through the streets.

  “Thank you,” Algoma said, and she meant it.

  Well after the speeches and hours after most people had left for home, Algoma and Bay remained behind. There were still twenty people going strong in the rented hall. Even the bartender was joining in on the festivities, downing shots with the best man at the bar. Algoma recognized the best man as the officer who had taken Simon away from the house. She’d been right all along: there had been no girlfriend. The police had been looking for Simon in connection to a series of heavy machinery and vehicle thefts at construction sites in and around Drummondville. When Algoma asked how the police had known her brother-in-law was staying at her house, he’d said they’d received a tip and refused to say more. Despite the circumstances, she wasn’t mad at Simon. Selfishly, she missed his company, the space he’d filled now empty again. She’d never had a brother before, never even considered the idea before he’d come along.

  “I need another beer,” Bay said, although she hadn’t even finished the one she was drinking. “This one’s warm.”

  “I’ll get you one,” Algoma said. “Just wait here.”

  At the bar, the officer was using his finger to stir his rye and cola.

  “Hi,” Algoma said.

  It took a moment for the officer to recognize her. “Simon,” he said quietly. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, the collision of his personal and professional life. He tried to stand straighter, to look sober, but his head spun with the effort.

  Algoma turned to the bartender. “One Molson and one ginger ale.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” the officer said. “About him.”

  “Thank you,” Algoma said, cradling the beer and her drink in her arms. She was about to walk away when she turned around. “Can I just ask you one thing?”

  “Sure,” the officer said, sounding unsure.

  “Who told you Simon was staying at my house?”

  He sighed, a defeated look on his face. “What does it matter?” he said, and walked away, leaving Algoma standing alone with her drinks.

  As soon as Algoma returned to her table, Bay asked her who she’d been talking to.

  When Algoma told her, Bay stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

  “I owe that man a dance.”

  By the time that Algoma pulled the car into the driveway at her house, Bay was fast asleep in the back seat, her mouth open. Algoma had never seen Bay drunk before. She rarely let go of her control of any situation, le
t alone in public.

  “Get up,” she said. “We’re home.”

  “Home?” Bay croaked from the back seat. She was sleeping on her side like a child.

  “Come on. Get up and come inside unless you want to sleep out here. I have your keys. You’re not driving home tonight.”

  Bay groaned and sat up. “Why did you let me drink that much?”

  “There’s Advil in the bathroom. Go take two.”

  While Algoma tried to be quiet when she walked into the house, Bay dropped her purse onto the floor and flipped her heels off into the corner where they banged against the wall.

  “You can sleep in the guest room, if you want.”

  Algoma went into the kitchen and put in two slices of bread to toast. She was already hungry again. She wasn’t used to staying up this late.

  As Bay shuffled off in her nylons to the washroom, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes, Algoma listened for Ferd. Nothing. He was asleep.

  Once the toast popped up, Algoma slathered it with butter and sat down at the kitchen table. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she saw Steel sit up on the couch.

  “You home?” she asked and yawned.

  “Bay, too. Why don’t you just stay the night?”

  “Mmm,” Steel said and pulled her blanket up to her chin. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Do you have bacon?”

  “Yes, we have bacon. Goodnight, Steel.”

  “’Night.”

  Algoma went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of cold milk. It felt good to have a full house, even if most of them were sleeping. She walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

  “You okay in there?” No answer. She tried again. “Bay, you good?”

  “Come in.”

  Algoma opened the door and found her sister sitting cross-legged in front of the toilet. Her nylons tossed into the tub.

  “I drank too much beer.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m just sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be.” Algoma walked around her sister and sat on the edge of the tub. “Did you take the Advil?”

  Bay nodded.

  “Then why don’t you just get changed and go to bed. I’ll put out some pyjamas for you.”

  Bay pointed at the right sleeve on Algoma’s dress. “Is that from Gaetan’s jacket, the one he wore to Christmas last year.”

  It was Algoma’s turn to nod.

  “Can you make me one? I mean, a dress?”

  Algoma laughed. “You hate this dress and you’ll still hate it in the morning. You really are drunk. Go to bed.”

  “I’m just going to stay here for a while,” Bay said, leaning on the toilet seat. “Just in case.”

  Algoma told her she would put out some clothes for her in the guest bedroom. “See you in the morning.”

  It was almost 1:00 p.m. when Bay woke up. She walked into the kitchen and stretched. “What’s for breakfast? I want coffee.”

  Algoma was doing dishes and Steel was watching television in the living room with Ferd.

  “It’s cold now, but you can microwave it,” Algoma offered.

  Bay yawned and opened the fridge. “I’m starving.” She grabbed the plate of leftover bacon that Steel had cooked and sat at the table with it. “I meant what I said last night.”

  “What was that?”

  “I want you to make me a dress.”

  “So you can laugh?”

  “Just make me one, okay?”

  “Okay,” Algoma said. “But it will have to be after the baby.”

  “I can wait.”

  Neither Bay, Steel, nor Ferd left the house that day, the sisters staying over a second night to watch movies. An extended slumber party. After a couple of phone calls, Cen, Port, Lake, and Soo arrived with sleeping bags tucked under their arms, the house filled with the people Algoma knew she would never really lose.

  “We should do this once a month,” Lake said. She’d already pulled out her pocket calender from her purse as soon as she came through the door.

  “You want to ritualize everything,” Cen said. “Let it go. Sometimes once is enough. Plan and you’re planning for disappointment.”

  Seeing the wounded look on her sister’s face she playfully punched her in the arm. “Or once a month until we’re dead and even after then, okay?”

  Standing in the kitchen, Algoma winced at the comment.

  “Oh shit,” Cen stuttered. “Sorry, I meant—”

  Algoma waved her off. “It’s fine.”

  The evening became one of lower-middle-income extravagance. Plans were hatched and several women were sent out into town for supplies: wine, take-out, and movie rentals. Soon, they were settled into their old places on the floor—the same configuration they’d observed as kids. Cen and Steel by the window, Algoma, Port, and Lake with their backs to the couch, and Bay and Soo on their stomachs facing the television. The couch was empty. It was where their parents would have sat. Ferd sat in his father’s old chair, legs draped over the arms.

  Algoma looked around at her family, what was left of it.

  “Ready?”

  ______________

  3:21 p.m. -21°C. Wind E, light.

  Snow like a never-ending blanket.

  Everywhere Algoma turned, there was noise. The sound of family members quietly talking to one another, the creak and slam of the side door as it opened and closed again and again. Too many times, Algoma thought. Too much. The sirens were piercing. She didn’t understand why they were still here. Hot red lights coloured everything. The emergency was over—over even before she realized it had begun.

  Bags of chips—an impromptu dinner—were being ripped open, gutted, and poured into glass bowls. Bay walked around offering them to the people standing around in the kitchen and living room. Cen was in the kitchen making dip out of leftover sour cream. Algoma stared. Why don’t you leave, she wanted to scream. The phone rang. Again. The sound grated against the inside of her skull. She was grateful when Gaetan picked it up and slammed the receiver back down. He ripped the cord out of the wall, walked into their bedroom, and slammed the door behind him. Someone was wearing heels on the wooden floorboards in the living room. Each step sounded like a gunshot. Outside, a dog barked. Its owner was likely standing at the curb in front of her house along with the others looking in, or trying to.

  Even Algoma’s own body was a grotesque symphony of unwanted noise. She swore she could hear each muscle sliding around beneath her skin like steaks in a plastic bag. Her knees popped like firecrackers when she tried to sit or stand, and she could not do either for any length of time. She rubbed her hands together, paper on paper. Her skirt sliding off her knees a waterfall of fabric. She tried to clear her mind using a technique she had learned years before. She had to focus on one object, every detail until everything else disappeared. Strawberries were her favourite. She pictured one, its contours, cleft chin tip. She counted each sharp brown seed and wondered how those small teeth did not tear your insides apart on the way down. Focus. The exact colour of the berry somewhere between a fire truck and a sunset over the river. How the sun reflected off the rippled water.

  Water.

  She couldn’t escape it. Most of her body was made of it. Part of the town surrounded by it. Her oldest son had just drowned in it. Focus. She pictured the river as she had seen it a thousand times in her youth, but now Leopold was in it. Leo. Algoma imagined a bump in the river like a child hiding under the covers, the negligible amount of water that his small body would have displaced. Focus. Summer evenings, the river looked like blackberry juice, thick and dark. There were no natural beaches along the shore, only softball-sized stones, mud, and marsh. Algoma always wore her running shoes when she
swam in the river, a barrier between her high-arched feet and the slick toupees of algae that covered every stump and stone.

  The length of the river was bordered by trees, a mix of deciduous and coniferous. Coniferous. She liked that word, so much like carnivorous that as a child she had feared all pine and fir until she’d learned the true meaning.

  Every year, a new person announced they would swim across the widest part of the river for a charity or cause. Algoma did it once a year for no one, only to know that she had, and would continue to do it. She was a good swimmer—above average with enviable endurance for someone who was not particularly athletic. Focus. Further down the river, it thinned, became narrow. A shallow marsh complete with a neatly defined food chain: dragonfly, frog, snake, pike. Who was feasting on her son now? Or had he—his body—made it all the way to where the river widened again, where it became fast and furious and joined a larger river.

  Focus.

  Accidents were part of the river’s history: a father drowning while trying to save his daughter who would later be rescued; a teenager who dove head first into submerged boulders; a drunk who forgot how to swim, or no longer cared.

  Focus.

  Gaetan came out of the bedroom and appeared behind her, placing two small white pills on the table in front of her. He swallowed the other two he had in his hand.

  Stones from the river.

  Algoma swallowed the pills with a long drink of water. Within minutes, her body was awash in inky river water that slowed everything down. Every movement exaggerated yet precise. Her heart thumped slower and slower until she wondered if she had to remember to make it beat. Around her, family, friends, and police buzzed themselves into a blur. The priest sat on the couch eating a butter tart off a dessert plate. There were empty paper cups everywhere like small burial stones around the house. The room was unbearably hot. Algoma clawed at her sweater, pulling the sweat-dampened wool over her head. Everyone else was too distracted by what they should do or say next to notice her peel off her camisole and nylons and drop them onto the floor. Her shoulders were slick with sweat. Half-dressed, her bare feet tapped out the seconds.