by John Cariani
“Yeah!”
“You look great!” he said, happy to have finally come up with something else to say.
“Naw!” protested Sandrine.
“You look great!”
“Thanks.”
“You do. You look so great!”
“Thanks, Jimmy,” said Sandrine, a little put off by Jimmy’s enthusiasm.
“So pretty. So pretty.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said, putting an end to the ridiculous exchange—because Jimmy was starting to creep her out with all his compliments.
Jimmy smiled at Sandrine and admired her loveliness for a moment and then said, “Here, have a seat,” and he pulled the other chair at his table out and offered it to her.
Sandrine protested. “Oh, no, Jimmy, I can’t—”
“Aw, come on,” interrupted Jimmy, “I haven’t seen you in … well, months.”
“Yeah—”
“And months.”
“Yeah.” Sandrine was well aware that she hadn’t seen Jimmy in months and knew that she owed him an explanation. But she really didn’t want to have to give him one right then.
“And months and months and months and months and months and months and months.”
Jimmy wanted to make sure Sandrine knew exactly how many months it had been since he had seen her: nine.
“Yeah,” said Sandrine contritely.
“How does that happen—live in the same part of the world as someone and never see ’em?”
Sandrine shrugged and said, “I don’t know,” even though she knew full well how to live in the same little corner of the world as someone and never see them: duck and cover and run. Which she did any time she saw him anywhere.
And—she stopped going to the places he went. She started going to a different church—St. Thomas’s in Fort Kent instead of St. Mary’s. She went to a different grocery store—the Hannaford’s in Caribou instead of Paradis’s in Fort Kent.
Jimmy was aware that he was making Sandrine uncomfortable. But that was okay. He was owed an explanation. And he decided to make her more uncomfortable. And so he said with a smile, “I mean, I haven’t seen you since that night before that morning when I woke up and you were just gone.”
This was a cryptic way of saying that he hadn’t seen her since she left.
It took Sandrine a second to decipher what Jimmy was saying. And when she did, she knew she needed to sit down and explain why she had slipped out on him after he had fallen asleep on that spring night a little less than a year ago.
Fortunately, the table Jimmy had chosen was tucked away in the corner—but still had a good view of the front, so she’d be able to see if anyone she knew was coming her way before they saw her. Because she really could not have anyone see her there with Jimmy.
As Sandrine sat down, a pained look came over her face. “Listen, Jimmy,” she began. But before she could say anything else, a waitress breezed over to the table and interrupted her. “Look at you two, tucked away in the corner over here! Lucky I found ya! Are the man and his lovely lady ready for another round?”
Jimmy liked the idea of Sandrine being his lovely lady. “Sure!” he chirped.
But Sandrine emphatically set the record straight. “Oh, no! We’re not together!”
It was awkward for a moment. And they all heard the jukebox playing an old rock song about how someone was just what the singer of the song needed. And Jimmy realized that Sandrine was just what he needed and started to explain that he and Sandrine used to be together and were hopefully going to be together again someday soon, but Sandrine interrupted him again and urgently reiterated, “We’re not together.”
Then Jimmy tried to explain their unusual situation. “Well, we used to be—”
But Sandrine interrupted and made sure the waitress understood her: “We’re not together.”
“Okay,” said the waitress, puzzled. She looked at Jimmy. And then at Sandrine. And then back at Jimmy. And wondered if she should stay or go. And then decided to go, because it was pretty awkward. “Well, holler if you need anything,” she said as she left.
“We will, thanks,” called Sandrine.
The waitress stopped and turned to the unhappy couple, and said sternly, “No, really: You gotta holler. It’s busy up front. There’s a thing goin’ on up there, and we’re short-staffed, so—holler!”
“Okay, thanks,” said Sandrine, and the waitress was gone.
Sandrine turned back to Jimmy. And he was smiling a goofy smile. Because he was convinced that Sandrine really was just what he needed. And he was hoping that what Mrs. Roy had said was true—that he was a catch. Because he was hoping to get caught—and kept, this time—by Sandrine. But before he could get caught, he needed to make sure she wasn’t seeing anyone—so he could see if he should even bother trying to get caught. So he asked, “So, are you here with anybody, or…?”
“Um…” Sandrine looked down and then nodded toward the front of the Moose Paddy and said, “Just the girls.” She was telling the truth, but not really answering the question that she well knew Jimmy was asking. Because she just didn’t feel like it was the right time to tell the whole truth. Because she needed to apologize to him and explain why she had left him so unceremoniously before she told him anything else.
“Oh!” said Jimmy. He felt like he had just won the lottery, because if Sandrine was there with a bunch of her girlfriends—on a Friday night—well, then, she probably wasn’t dating anybody.
“Yeah. We’re, um—just … girls’ night out!” she chirped, feeling like she was lying even though she wasn’t, really.
“Oh! All right, then!” exclaimed Jimmy a little too enthusiastically.
“Yeah. We’re in the front,” said Sandrine, and then she decided to abandon any attempt to apologize and/or explain why she had left him. Because she wasn’t at the Moose Paddy to explain herself to Jimmy. She was there for a very different reason. So she got up and said, “And, you know, everyone’s going to be wondering where I am, so I should get back to them.” And she started to go, but Jimmy hopped up and almost aggressively blocked her path, preventing her from leaving. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said. There was no way she was going anywhere. Not without an explanation or an apology.
Sandrine was taken aback by Jimmy’s behavior—and Jimmy immediately sensed this, so he eased up and pleaded, “Come on! Please stay! I haven’t even seen ya. Your girls’ll survive without ya for a minute or two.”
The last thing Sandrine wanted to do was stay with Jimmy. But he was winning her over with those hangdog eyes of his—the same ones that had won her over when she met him at the Spring Singles Service at St. Mary’s last April. So she forgave him his quick eruption of aggression—as inappropriate as it was—and stayed.
“So … what’s been—here—” Jimmy offered Sandrine her seat again. “So what’s been goin’ on, whatcha been up to?”
“Well…” Sandrine realized it was now or never. She needed to tell him everything so she could leave with a clear conscience and never have to deal with him again. “Um—”
But before she could say anything else, Jimmy interrupted her to make sure she knew that he was still a catch: “Did you know I took over my dad’s business?”
“Yeah, I heard that,” responded Sandrine. “That’s great,” she added, making no effort to sound enthusiastic. And then she tried to steer the conversation back to what she wanted to tell him, but couldn’t, because Jimmy was already elaborating.
“Thanks, yeah. I run it now.”
“I heard that.”
“I’m runnin’ it.”
“Heard that.”
“Runnin’ the business.” Jimmy really wanted Sandrine to be impressed with him and his new situation.
“Congratulations. Good for you,” said Sandrine, genuinely happy that Jimmy was doing so well.
“Thanks, yeah, we still do heating and cooling.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, and we’ve expanded, too. We sell and mainta
in and service pellet stoves now.”
“Wow,” said Sandrine, unsuccessfully feigning interest. She couldn’t have been less interested in hearing any details about Jimmy’s heating and cooling business. Because she just wanted to come clean with him and leave. But she had missed her chance. And now she’d have to listen to him yammer on about how well his business was doing before she’d be able to find another one.
“Yeah, so, like I said, business is super good. Been busy. Real busy.”
“Good.”
“I’m on call a lot. Weekends, holidays, you name it, ’cause, you know, your heat goes, people die, it’s serious.”
“Yeah.”
“I was thinkin’ about makin’ that the motto, actually, of the company: ‘If your heat goes, you could die.’ But that’s a little dark, I think, maybe.”
“Mm. Maybe.” The reasons why Sandrine couldn’t be with this guy were all coming back to her. Even though they’d never really left her. Jimmy had great intentions. But, too often, they were misguided.
“Anyway, I do a lot of house calls. Like—I just was at Mrs. Roy’s. She had a problem with her pellet stove shuttin’ off outta nowhere, so I went over and it just needed a cleaning, and I had to recalibrate it and adjust the augur, and she’s good to go now.”
“Well, that’s really good of you, Jimmy.”
“Yeah, well, I have the time, you know, to help people. ’Cause I’m not tied down to anyone, so I can, you know, give the guys who work for me their holidays off—like I work Thanksgivin’, Christmas—so they can be with their families, since I’m all alone this year.”
Jimmy worried that reminding Sandrine that he was all alone this year sounded like a ploy to get her to feel bad for him. And then he realized it was a ploy to make her feel bad for him. Because he wanted her to feel bad for him. Or at least realize how bad she had made him feel. Because she had hurt him. And he wanted her to know just how badly she had hurt him.
Sandrine wanted to offer Jimmy some solace—she knew she owed him that. But before she could, Jimmy made sure she understood just how alone he was and said, “Yeah, I don’t have anybody anymore, really. I mean, my sister got canned, so she left town.”
“Right…” Sandrine had heard this. The paper mill in Madawaska had restructured and Jimmy’s sister had been laid off, but, fortunately, she had found work at a plant in Pennsylvania that made toilet paper out of recycled coffee cups.
“And Mom and Dad retired and headed south.”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“Vermont.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, winters there are a lot easier.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, and then Spot went and died on me.”
“Oh, Jimmy, I didn’t know that.” For the first time, Sandrine forgot how awful she felt about seeing Jimmy and became genuinely concerned for him. And genuinely sad for him. Because Spot was the fish Sandrine had gotten Jimmy at the pet store in Edmundston, New Brunswick, to celebrate their one-month anniversary. And Jimmy loved that fish.
“Yeah. He was old, it was his time.” Jimmy was almost crying—partly for Spot, but mostly because he was so sad about losing Sandrine.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy.” Sandrine was overwhelmed by how sad Jimmy was. Over a fish.
“He was a good fish, though,” added Jimmy. And then a couple of tears started to make their way out of his eyes, and they rolled down his cheeks. And Jimmy brushed them away—but not before Sandrine saw that he was crying. And she got extremely uncomfortable, like most people do when men like Jimmy cry. “But—so,” continued Jimmy, “like I said, I really don’t have anybody anymore.”
Sandrine said she was sorry again.
And Jimmy said thanks. And looked up at her. And Sandrine saw the sweet guy she almost fell in love with. And Jimmy saw her see that guy. And saw his chance to get her back—and took it. “So, listen,” he said, “I was wonderin’: Would you like to come over?”
“Huh?” Sandrine was stunned by the question, because that was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.
“It’d be fun!”
“Oh, no—”
“Yeah! We could catch up, hang out?”
“Jimmy—”
Sandrine was about to say no again when the waitress was suddenly at their table again. “So, I forgot to tell ya, don’t forget! Friday night special at the Moose Paddy: Drink free if you’re sad. So if you’re sad, or if you two are ready for another coupla Buds or somethin’, let me know, all right?”
Jimmy said, “All right!” at the same time that Sandrine said, “We’re good, thanks!” And the waitress only heard Sandrine and hustled away, calling, “Okay!”
Sandrine watched the waitress leave. And Jimmy watched Sandrine watch the waitress leave. And when Sandrine turned back to Jimmy, she was met with Jimmy’s hopeful mug and a question. “So … what do you say?”
“Huh?—Oh, um—”
“You wanna come over, for fun?”
“No, Jimmy. I can’t. I can’t. I really gotta get back with the girls.”
“Naw—”
“Yeah, Jimmy, yeah,” she said, standing. “I gotta. ’Cause, see…” She blew air out through her cheeks as if she was about to do something really difficult, like deadlift a lot of weight. “Oh, gosh.” She laughed a little and then continued. “I’ve been meanin’ to tell you this for a while…” And she looked her ex-boyfriend right in the eye and confessed, “There’s a guy, Jimmy. I’ve got a guy.”
Jimmy felt like he was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or both.
He had totally forgotten to consider the fact that Sandrine might have met someone else.
“Oh,” he said, trying not to let on how completely devastated he was.
Sandrine nodded apologetically. And she had much more to say. But she couldn’t say it. Because she didn’t want to hurt Jimmy any more than she felt like she already had.
And Jimmy didn’t want to let Sandrine know how hurt he was by this news. So he stepped up and forced himself to handle it like a champ.
“Well … good for you,” he said, mustering a smile, and quoting Mrs. Roy. “Gettin’ yourself out there again. Movin’ on.”
Sandrine said, “Yeah.” And almost left it at that. But that wouldn’t have been the whole truth. And she needed to tell him the whole truth.
So she did.
“Um—Jimmy,” she began gently. And then she paused and braced herself for what his response would be to what she was about to tell him. “It’s actually more than me just gettin’ myself out there and movin’ on. Um … this is my…” She looked toward the front of the Moose Paddy and then back to Jimmy, and then finally came out with it. “This is my bachelorette party.” She smiled and shrugged. And gestured toward the front. And Jimmy didn’t seem to be comprehending. So she added, “I’m gettin’ married.”
The words hit Jimmy like a slow-motion left hook to the face. And a right jab to the gut.
Sandrine smiled weakly and shrugged apologetically.
And then she showed Jimmy her engagement ring.
Seeing the ring hit Jimmy like a slow-motion right hook to the face. And a left jab to the gut.
And he felt like he was falling. Even though he was sitting.
And felt again like he was going to pass out.
Or throw up.
Or both.
And he looked so sad—like he was never going to feel any kind of happiness again. Ever.
And Sandrine couldn’t bear to see him looking so sad. That’s why she had left Jimmy by slipping away in the middle of the night. It’s really hard to tell someone who loves you that you don’t love them back. It’s easier to just disappear. So you don’t have to see their sadness. So that’s what she did. It was her way.
And it was a bad way to be.
“Wow,” said Jimmy, looking like he was going to cry again when he surprised himself—and Sandrine—and smiled and said, “Well, that’s great! Congratulations.”
&nb
sp; “Thanks.” Sandrine smiled with all her teeth. And Jimmy smiled back. And then his smile faded. And he just stared at Sandrine. And realized something. And said, “I thought you said you weren’t gonna do that. Get married. Thought it wasn’t for you, you told me.”
Sandrine stopped smiling and looked at the floor. And then looked at Jimmy and smiled again apologetically. And then shrugged her shoulders. And stopped smiling again. And looked at the floor again.
Jimmy got the message. “Guess it just wasn’t for you … with me.”
And then Jimmy didn’t say anything for a while.
And Sandrine didn’t say anything for a while.
And then Jimmy almost spiraled into a deep despair.
And he almost really let Sandrine have it for having disappeared on him.
And he thought about going up to the front and ruining her bachelorette party.
And then he thought about just leaving.
But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead he made like he was happy for Sandrine and all her good news and asked, “So who’s the lucky guy?”
Sandrine was aware that Jimmy was taking the high road and appreciated his kindness. “Um … Martin LaFerriere.” She smiled gleefully, because Martin made her so happy. “Do you know him? The, uh—”
“The game warden?”
“Yeah.”
“From Ashland?”
“Yeah!” Sandrine’s smile got bigger.
“Wow!”
“Yeah!”
“Well, that’s … awesome!” cheered Jimmy, through slightly gritted teeth. “He’s … awesome!”
And Martin was awesome. Jimmy had some looks. But Martin had all of them. He was tall. And his torso was shaped like a triangle. And his jaw was square. He actually looked like a superhero. Heck, he was a superhero. Because game wardens are superheroes. They do things like fight forest fires and save lives and stop drug trafficking into and out of Canada and make sure people treat the wilderness well. And come to the rescue when the wilderness doesn’t treat people well.
Sandrine agreed with Jimmy. “Yeah. He is. He’s pretty awesome,” she said, beaming.
“I mean, he’s a legend!” enthused Jimmy.
Martin LaFerriere was a legend. Last summer he made all the local papers—and even the national news—when he rescued a hiker who had gotten lost on Shepalojo Mountain. At night. During the forest fire.