by John Cariani
And then she did what she had come to Almost to do. And she apologized.
“Wes! I’m—sorry! I’m so sorry!” she said to the sky.
And she was. So sorry.
Because she really did feel partly responsible for his demise.
And she really was sorry he was gone. And that they had parted on such strange terms.
And then she stood in silence as she took in the celestial phenomenon above.
And then she called out one more time, “Goodbye, Wes!”
Glory wondered if Wes had heard her.
And then the aurora seemed to pulsate, as if in appreciation.
And Glory felt sure that Wes had heard her.
And she felt like she had completed her mission.
And then she turned to the man who had said he could repair her heart. Because she felt like she needed to thank him. “East,” she began—but stopped, because he wasn’t there.
And his jacket and the pieces of her heart weren’t there either.
Glory looked around for him.
And found him a few moments later when the motion-sensor lights on the farmstead’s old barn came on and revealed East’s silhouette moving against the white of the snow and the white of the old barn until it disappeared through the side door and into the building.
And then she saw the lights inside come on.
And then she followed East. Because she wanted to know if he was doing what he had said he could do.
She crossed into the pool of light that the motion-sensor lights were throwing.
And she got to the door that she had seen East disappear into.
And opened it.
And she entered the old barn.
And she saw East place the slate shards that were once her heart onto a workbench.
And she watched him examine the pieces of slate for a while. He seemed to be contemplating how he’d be able to make the nineteen pieces into something whole again.
Glory almost stopped him. Because she realized that maybe she didn’t need him to make those nineteen pieces whole again. Because maybe her old heart didn’t need repairing anymore. Because it—or maybe her artificial one—was loving him just fine.
But she didn’t stop him.
Because she didn’t want to interrupt him.
Because he seemed so peaceful.
And he was. Because he liked fixing things for people more than anything in the world.
So Glory stayed where she was.
And watched this man named East do what he said he could do.
3
Ginette passed the old Gallagher homestead and thought about how sad her mom had gotten when East decided to stop growing potatoes on his farm.
And then she thought about how her mom had been talking a lot lately about how so much of northern Maine was full of things that were once something—but weren’t anymore. And that the forest was slowly taking them back.
Things like the ghost locomotives up at Eagle Lake.
And the general store in Dyer Brook.
And the abandoned trucks and farm equipment that can be found all over the northern Maine woods.
And farms—like the Gallaghers’.
As she walked, Ginette wondered if she and Pete were one of the things that had once been something—but now weren’t.
And she realized that maybe they were.
Because, while they were sitting together on the bench in their newly named love, Pete had said that he and Ginette weren’t close to each other at all—that they were actually about as far away from each other as they could possibly have been.
And now Ginette was getting even farther away from Pete with every step she took.
And that made her feel a kind of loneliness she had never felt before.
* * *
It was 7:55 when Ginette reached St. Mary’s, a small white Catholic church a quarter of a mile down the road from East’s house. St. Mary’s didn’t have its own pastor, so Father Tom from Sacred Heart in Caribou went to Almost to say mass once a week—on Saturday evenings at six o’clock.
There was usually a supper or a social hour after mass at St. Mary’s, and then Father Tom would look in on whoever needed looking in on.
And then he’d head back to Caribou so he would be available for Sunday morning services at Sacred Heart.
Father Tom had called Chad Buzza on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen, like he usually did. Chad worked part-time for St. Mary’s. He maintained the building and the grounds and the small cemetery behind the church. Father Tom was calling to make sure Chad had plowed the parking lot and that the church was prepped for Clair Gudreau’s funeral the next morning and for mass in the evening.
Chad told Father Tom he had everything under control.
And then Father Tom asked him why he wasn’t out doing something fun on a Friday night, and Chad said he had gone out to dinner with a girl earlier, and Father Tom said, “Good for you,” and then Chad realized he was going to have to go to confession, because he hadn’t gone to dinner with a girl. He was supposed to have gone to dinner with a girl. But she had decided she didn’t want to go to dinner with him at the last minute. So he didn’t go to dinner with her. And, instead, went to the Moose Paddy and got a burger for himself and a turkey club sandwich and a corn chowder for his mom. His mom was surprised to see him home so soon. And Chad said that his date had to cancel at the last minute because there had been an emergency—nothing too serious—and his mom said she was sorry but that she was happy to have him around for dinner and happier about her turkey club and corn chowder.
After dinner, he drove his old Dodge Ram over to St. Mary’s and plowed the driveway. And listened to some thrash metal while he did. Ginette heard a muted version of the loud, thrashy music as she passed by the church. And wondered why anyone would ever want to listen to music like that.
When Chad finished plowing, he shoveled the path to the front entrance of the church, poured some sand on the steps so people wouldn’t slip, and then went inside and made sure the heat was working. And then he swept a little and made sure the bathroom was clean and made sure Father Tom had vestments and that there were candles and that everything was ready for Clair Gudreau’s funeral the next morning.
When he was sure everything was ready, he closed up the church and headed outside to his truck and was about to get in and head home when a Ford F-250 pulled into the church’s parking lot. The F-250 belonged to Chad’s best friend, Randy Lowery, who got out of his truck and seemed agitated. Randy had a brown paper bag in one arm and a flashlight in his other hand.
“Hey,” called Chad.
Randy didn’t answer and turned and started heading toward the snowbank behind the church.
“You okay?”
Randy didn’t answer again.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” Chad asked.
“I need a beer,” called Randy. He had a six-pack of Natural Light beer in the bag he was carrying, and he didn’t want to drink it in the church parking lot, because that just didn’t seem right.
Chad grabbed his flashlight from his truck and followed Randy, who had climbed to the top of the snowbank and was climbing down the other side.
When Randy reached the base of the other side of the snowbank, he plunked himself down on a snow boulder, jammed the butt of his flashlight into the packed snow so it could serve as a torch, and looked out over the cemetery behind St. Mary’s—which looked no different than the potato fields that surrounded it, because the snow was deeper than the headstones were high.
Eventually, Chad plunked down on the snow boulder next to the one Randy was sitting on, jammed his flashlight into the packed snow, and asked, “Are you okay?”
Randy scoffed and looked out across the cemetery and into the Norsworthys’ potato fields.
“What’s up?” asked Chad.
Randy made a pshh sound and shook his head. “Things with Yvonne went about as bad as they coulda gone.”
“Oh. Sorry, pal.” Chad watched his best friend take a swig of his beer. “If it makes you feel any better, my date with Sally didn’t go so good, either.”
“Naw,” grunted Randy. “Don’t even. There’s no way it was anywhere near as bad as my night, so…”
“Mmm, I don’t know—”
“It was bad, Chad. Bad!”
“I hear ya, but—”
“Yeah, but you’re not listenin’!”
“No, you’re not listenin’, Randy, ’cause I’m tryin’ to tell ya that I had a pretty bad time, myself!” exploded Chad, surprising himself, because he wasn’t an explosive guy.
“Whoa, okay, relax,” said Randy. And he felt bad that he had been so wrapped up in how awful his own date had gone that he hadn’t bothered to check to see how his best friend’s date had gone. And, while he was sure that there was no way that Chad’s date had gone worse than his, Chad had just kind of lost it a little. So maybe it had gone worse. So Randy offered his buddy a Natty Light—and the proverbial floor—and said, “Let’s hear it.”
Chad cracked the beer open. And took a swig. And didn’t say anything for about a minute. He was really hurting. And Randy was concerned. Because Chad looked sadder than Randy had ever seen him look—sadder than he looked when his rabbit died. And when his grandpa died. And when his last girlfriend broke up with him. In fact, Randy hadn’t seen Chad hurt like he was hurting since he was eleven—when he burned half his house down when he was playing with sparklers indoors.
Randy felt his ears and his head and his neck get all hot, because he felt like Chad was going to cry, and he didn’t like crying. And he had dealt with a lot of crying that night already.
So he looked away from Chad and tried to figure out if he was going to stay or go—and he almost got up and left. But something inside him told him he needed to stay. So he did. And he looked at Chad and said impatiently, “What’s up, bud? What happened?”
Chad was about to answer when his breathing hitched. And a wave of sadness overcame him. But he quickly pulled himself together and began his sad story. “She said she didn’t like the way I smelled.”
Randy looked at Chad. And then furrowed his brow and screwed up his face and shrugged and asked, “What?!?”
“Sally told me she didn’t like the way I smelled,” repeated Chad. “Never has.”
Sally Dunleavy was a great girl. She was the receptionist for Visiting Nurses of Aroostook up in Fort Kent. She and Chad had known each other for years, but when Chad called to inquire about having a nurse come in to take care of his mom as she started breast cancer treatment, they really hit it off.
But a couple of months later, when Sally called to let Chad know that a new nurse named Pam would be looking in on his mom, she asked him out. Apparently she wasn’t seeing Randy’s cousin Tim anymore. And so they went out on a date on the Friday night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen.
And it hadn’t gone so well.
“Sally Dunleavy told you that she didn’t like the way you smelled?” asked Randy, flabbergasted.
“Yeah.”
“When?” Randy really wanted to know when you would tell someone you’re out on a date with that you don’t like the way they smell.
“Pretty much as soon as I met her.”
Well, at least she didn’t lead him on, thought Randy.
“I picked her up,” continued Chad. “And she got in the truck. And we’re backin’ outta her driveway—and all of a sudden, she started breathin’ hard and coverin’ her mouth and nose with her scarf and asked me to stop. And she got outta the truck and said she was sorry and that I was a nice guy—but she couldn’t go out with me because she didn’t like the way I smelled, never had.”
“What?!?” Randy winced.
“And she slammed the door and left me sittin’ right there in her driveway.”
Randy was stunned. “’Cause she didn’t like the way you smelled?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yeah.”
“Well what kinda…?” Sally was a really nice person. But telling someone that you don’t like the way they smell on a first date … is just not nice. And didn’t sound like the Sally Dunleavy he knew. “Well, want me to talk to her?”
“No.”
“I could talk to her.”
“No!” Chad really didn’t want Randy to talk to her because he’d probably just yell at her, because that’s how he dealt with people who crossed his friends.
“Jeez.” Randy sneered a little and got a little sad because he really liked Sally and thought she and Chad would make a great pair. Then he laughed a little and tried to make light of the situation. “I mean, I don’t mind the way you smell.”
“Thanks,” snorted Chad.
“And, you know,” continued Randy, “I don’t think this is about you and the way you smell. This is about her. I don’t think she’s ready, yet. For dating. ’Cause I don’t think she’s over Tim. It’s only been a couple months. And she’s tryin’ to get herself out there again, but she’s just not ready, you know. That’s all it is, pal.”
Chad didn’t say anything and just took a swig of his beer. And wondered if what Randy had just said was true. And decided that it definitely wasn’t and that Randy was just trying to make him feel better. “Whatever,” he shrugged.
Randy and Chad sat in the northern Maine silence and drank their beers.
And then Chad laughed a little and realized that he had actually come to enjoy telling Randy about his dating disasters. There had been several since they started dating again after their longtime girlfriends dumped them a couple years ago. Jenny Lovely broke up with Chad because she felt like she didn’t make him happy. And that didn’t make her happy.
And Kelly Clockadile broke up with Randy after they had a big blowout one night. She said she was tired of his temper.
So Chad and Randy found themselves single again. And they probably should have stayed single and done some work on themselves. But they weren’t the kind of guys who did work on themselves. Maybe because they didn’t like themselves very much.
So they started dating every chance they could. Because they thought they’d definitely like themselves better if they could find a couple of girls who liked them.
But none of them seemed to like them, for whatever reason—in Sally’s case, because she didn’t like the way Chad smelled.
“Anyway,” said Chad, “I told you it was bad.” He took another swig of his beer and belched impressively and then continued. “So, I’m guessin’ I’m the big winner tonight, huh? So … I get to pick tomorrow.” Randy and Chad went on most of their dates on Friday or Saturday nights. And they usually met up afterward to check in—and often to commiserate. And the one who had the worse date got to pick what they were going to do for fun the next day. And Chad was sure that his date had been worse that night, so he said, “And I pick bowlin’. We’ll go bowlin’ in Caribou, supper at the Snowmobile Club, coupla beers at the Moose Paddy, and just … hang out.”
He offered up his can of beer for a toast. And waited for Randy to toast him back.
But Randy didn’t.
So Chad toasted himself and chugged. And thought about how maybe he shouldn’t drink as much as he did. But it was the only thing that made him feel less sad. So he decided that he would think about maybe not drinking as much as he currently did another time. And he finished his beer and then tried—and failed—to crush his empty beer can on his head, because he had never quite learned how to execute that move. And then he got up and tossed his mostly crushed can into the brown paper bag that Randy had brought the beer in. And then he grabbed another beer and cracked it open and sat back down on his snow boulder. And he was about to ask Randy when he wanted to go bowling tomorrow when Randy calmly droned, “I didn’t say you’re the big winner.”
“Huh?”
“Did I say you’re the big winner?”
“No, but—”
“No,” interrupted Randy, staring out across
the cemetery and into the Norsworthys’ potato fields and out at the horizon. “All that’s pretty sad, Chad, and bad, but you didn’t win.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t win.”
Chad knew there was no way that Randy could beat what had happened to him with Sally, so he challenged Randy. “You can beat bein’ told you smell bad?”
“Yup,” said Randy, still staring off into the distance.
Randy’s calm confidence intrigued Chad. And he said, “Well, then,” holding out his hand and offering Randy the floor.
Randy took a deep breath as if he was about to say something. But instead belched more impressively than Chad had. And then he sighed. And seemed really sad—sadder than Chad was, even. And Chad was shocked. Because he had never known Randy to be sad. He had known him to be angry. But never sad.
And Chad was about to ask him if he was okay when Randy grunted, “Mine’s face broke.”
Chad heard Randy. But didn’t quite understand what he had just said.
“Huh?” asked Chad, screwing up his face.
“Her face broke,” repeated Randy.
Chad let his head drop and tried to make sense of what Randy had just said. And then he turned back to Randy and repeated, “Huh?”
“You heard me. Finally friggin’ get to go out with Yvonne LaFrance and her face breaks.” Yvonne LaFrance lived in Portage and worked at the general store there, and whenever Randy saw her, he’d ask her out, and every time he did, she’d say she was seeing somebody. And she always was, because she was pretty and kind.
But a couple of weeks ago, Randy was ice fishing on Portage Lake and when he stopped by the store for a coffee, he said he still hoped he’d get a chance to take her out someday and she said, “How about someday soon?” And that someday soon turned out to be the Friday night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen.
Chad tried to figure out what Randy had meant when he said that Yvonne LaFrance’s face had broken. “Her face…?” He couldn’t finish the question, because he was aghast.