Somewhere In-Between

by Donna Milner

  Troubles? She lets the trivial word hang in the silence. When his eyes finally meet hers again she chooses not to pursue it; instead she asks, “You didn’t think it was something that, he—you, for that matter—should have told me?”

  “I considered it, but decided against it when you voiced your opinion about keeping him away from you. I didn’t count on you two spending any time together.”

  Ignoring his statement Julie says, “I wish you’d told me.” Turning to leave she suddenly remembers their conversation about the dreamcatcher in Virgil’s window—well, her conversation, Ian’s ignoring. She is about to ask why he didn’t take the opportunity then to tell her, but changes her mind. It makes no difference now that Virgil is leaving. What does make a difference is the depth of Ian’s deception, and the revelation of how little she knows him.

  “So how did you find out?” he asks behind her.

  Without turning back Julie answers, “It doesn’t matter.”

  For the rest of the week she fills her days polishing and dusting every wooden surface inside the house, stacking wood and splitting kindling beyond what they will ever use, shovelling snow—making work, using physical activity as an excuse to keep her body moving in order to avoid thinking. It isn’t working. At night she lies sleepless wondering if they can go on like this forever. Forever staying in a relationship that has deteriorated so much that their marriage is nothing more than an ‘arrangement’ now. Forever pretending that they are anything more than two people occupying the same space, separate, yet together, bumping into each other coming around corners, mumbling apologies for the contact of strangers, forever sleeping in separate beds, separate rooms. They are less than friends, less than strangers, not in love, not in hate, worse yet, indifferent. She wonders if it’s easier for those whose marriage erodes slowly over time, instead of being severed in a moment like theirs was, severed while they still loved each other, leaving them unable to talk about the one thing that links them. Every night she battles with this one-sided conversation, coming to the same conclusion: forever is too long. But with Ian temporarily disabled, now is not the time to force the issue.

  When they head into town for Ian’s first visit with the doctor she still hasn’t told her family about the accident. In her email correspondences with Jessie she has avoided mentioning Ian’s broken leg. She doesn’t want to give her mother any excuse to come up to ‘help’ out. Somehow the woman always seems to know when things are kept from her, and Julie doesn’t want to put her sister in a position of having to keep a secret. Every day she dreads receiving a phone call about Christmas, which Jessie has warned her about, but so far her mother has been silent. Surely in winter weather, she would not just show up like she did this summer, would she?

  In town, after an hour’s wait, it takes the doctor less than five minutes to inform them that he is satisfied with the knitting of Ian’s tibia. Relieved, Julie drops Ian off at his office then heads to the car dealers. After picking up their new vehicle she spends the rest of the afternoon wandering around the stores. Christmas is only a month away, and she should start thinking about gifts, especially for her nieces. Last year she avoided the holiday altogether, sending no presents, and she vows she will not do that to them this year. Yet three hours later she has purchased nothing, and goes to pick up Ian, telling herself that she will order from the Internet and have the gifts shipped.

  At the office she finds Ian sorting through the contents of two cardboard boxes. Inside one are the first-aid kit and emergency tools, which had been thrown out of the back of the Jeep during the accident last week. In the other box, water-stained and wrinkled, are the lost statements from his banker’s box.

  “Where did these come from?” she asks.

  Ian shrugs. “Who knows? The receptionist found them outside the office door on Monday.”

  Ian doesn’t really need these hard copies, of course, he has everything backed up on the computer, but someone has gone to a lot of trouble retrieving all this from the accident scene. Saying nothing about her suspicion about who that someone might be, Julie glances around. Glad to see no sign of any other boxes she remains silent about them, too. She doesn’t have the heart to bring up Darla’s clothes.

  The day fades into night before they are halfway home. Julie drives below the speed limit, constantly scanning the roadsides illuminated by her headlights for any sign of animals.

  As they turn off the highway onto the dirt road leading to the ranch Ian breaks the silence.

  “I talked to a realtor today,” he says.

  As if possessing a mind of its own, Julie’s foot comes off the gas pedal. She catches herself before reaching for the brake. Forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road she asks, “A realtor? What for?”

  “About selling the ranch.”

  “Selling? Why...?”

  “We’re not ranchers, Julie.”

  “We don’t have to be ranchers to live out here. You said that from the beginning. We don’t need to run cattle, or put up hay. But we could. We could do it if you really want to.”

  “The place is just too much for the two of us.”

  Julie slows the car and glances over at his profile illuminated by the dashboard light. “Many people have made lives out here, ‘just the two of them,’” she argues, “in conditions, I’m certain, that are a whole lot less luxurious than what we have.”

  “It’s too isolated.”

  “Terri Champion says there are people living deep in the bush out here who never go into town.”

  “These roads are too treacherous.”

  “You think the odds of an accident are less in town, in the city? Come on, accidents happen everywhere, Ian. That’s hardly a reason.”

  “The realtor’s coming out next week,” Ian says as if she has not spoken.

  50

  Once, in Mr Emerson’s English class, we played ‘Six Degrees of Separation.’ He was discussing a John Guare play, based on the concept that every person on earth can be connected to any other person by six acquaintances or less. He ended up letting us spend the whole hour of class time experimenting with it one afternoon. He was so cool that way. When I told Mom about it, she said that she was familiar with the concept as ‘Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon.’ Anyway, if she wasn’t so hung up right now on Mr Blue being related to Levi, and his connection to me—two degrees of separation I would say— she might get that it’s possible to connect anyone on earth to me in just a few more steps, so what’s the big deal.

  Right now, I can see that by tomorrow, there will be only one degree of connection between Mr Blue and the people I love, Mom, Dad, and Levi. Tonight they all lie alone in their beds, none of them sleeping.

  Levi has finished building his sweat lodge. The small domed structure is hidden in the bush out at NaNeetza Valley, ready for the solitary sweat he has planned for tomorrow. Split wood is stacked by the firepit along with stones from the river. The problem is those stones. Unlike the Grandfather Rocks, which Virgil is the keeper of for his people, these stones are dangerous; they could easily explode in the heat if there are any cracks, air pockets or water hidden inside. Fortunately Levi’s mother has put a kink in his plans for tomorrow night. Marilyn Johnny knows her son. Levi is not a deceptive person, and lately he has been skulking around the house, disappearing for unexplained periods of time. When he returns, he avoids meeting her eyes. She doesn’t know what he’s up to, but she senses that he needs to see his cousin, Mr Blue, before he does something stupid.

  Just as Mom guessed, it was Levi’s mother and her friends who went back to the accident site and collected all the stuff from the hillside, then dropped it off on the porch at Dad’s office in town. Not all of it, though. Levi’s mother insists that tomorrow he is to take the rest, my clothes, which she has folded and packed carefully, over to Mr Blue’s to be returned to Mom. Giving away a loved one’s possessions is an important part of letting go, she tells Levi, and my mother needs to do it herself. Levi can’t deny his mothe
r. But tonight, with the boxes of my clothes waiting next to his bed, he can’t sleep. The nearness of my things only reinforces what he believes is his spiritual obligation to help ‘see me home.’ He lies awake thinking about his ‘vision quest,’ which he is now forced to put off for one more day. He wishes that Virgil could join him in his sweat, but he knows that he can’t ask his cousin again. So Levi has led Virgil to believe that his ‘vision quest’ was completed. Levi doesn’t feel that it is too far a stretch from the truth. He believes when he does his own sweat, he will find a way to help me reach my spirit home. Once he has, he promises himself, he will return to school, to hockey, to the real world. But right now, he lies wondering if tomorrow he will be able to look into his cousin’s all-knowing eyes, and keep this secret from him.

  At the ranch house my mother, too, is lying awake staring in the darkness. And down the hall from her my father does the same. Dad has taken a sleeping pill and will soon be able to quiet his mind—a mind full of chatter about selling the ranch, about their unfinished conversation in the car, and about me.

  Mom won’t sleep at all tonight. Convinced that the only reason Dad wants to sell the ranch is because of her, she is moving closer to the decision that she believes is inevitable. I hear the mental turmoil in her mind as clearly as if she is speaking out loud. She has to stop my dad from throwing away his dream. She has to find a way to fix this before it’s too late. And the way to do that, she believes, is to convince Virgil Blue to stay. In the morning, while Dad is once again ensconced in his office, she intends to go over to Mr Blue’s cabin and try to change his mind about leaving.

  If only my parents would talk to each other. But Mom and Dad have forgotten how. The longer they let it go on, the harder it’s become to find their way back to the place where they can. I don’t remember the last time I saw them hug, or kiss each other. Certainly not since I’ve been here in this in-between place. Not a long time for me, but too long for people who have forgotten that they love each other. If they’re not careful they might never remember.

  And Levi is so stuck in what he believes about my ‘spirit life’ that he’s stopped living his.

  Mr Blue is the only one who holds no illusions. Rising early, he now sits at his kitchen table in the dim light of dawn, writing his truths on yellow-lined paper.

  51

  Leaving the house proves to be more difficult than Julie anticipated. All morning it seems, a restless Ian has been underfoot. Every time she is set to head out, there he is, hobbling through the rooms on his crutches, on one errand or another, before finally settling in his office.

  Now, slipping out the back door, Julie closes it gently behind her. She stands on the porch for a moment and inhales deeply, breathing in the crisp smell of fresh snow in an effort to clear her sleep-deprived mind. The temperature outside has risen to just above zero, warm compared to the frigid temperatures of the last few weeks. An over-night snowfall has left the lake an untouched carpet of white, so bright it seems luminous in the late morning sun. The dry snow squeaks beneath her boots with each determined step across the yard. Pup, excited at the prospect of going for a walk, circles her, then bounds toward the north road, turning back after a few yards to be certain that she is still coming.

  She hurries after him, anxious to be out of view of the house before Ian realizes she is gone. Once on the road, and hidden behind the stand of trees, she slows her pace. Two sets of footprints in the snow, man and dog’s, tell the story of Virgil’s morning journey to the barn to feed the horses, and his return home. She follows the tracks to his driveway, where she hesitates, and for the first time contemplates his reaction to her arrival. Will Virgil even open the door to her? Invite her in? She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. She has treated him poorly. Ian’s right, the fact that Virgil is Levi’s cousin has nothing to do with their ‘trouble.’

  Pup, confused by her immobility, sits at her heel. He looks up at her, his head cocked to one side, as if asking her to make up her mind. Squaring her shoulders in renewed resolve, she says, “Come on.”

  Banishing the conflicting voices in her mind—arguments that she mulled over and over, in last night’s seemingly endless hours—she heads down the driveway. She owes this to Ian, to at least make an attempt to convince Virgil to remain, before it’s too late. Beg him if she has to. She will apologize, do whatever it takes to change his mind. She couldn’t save her daughter, can’t save her marriage, but maybe she can save Ian.

  Up ahead, Virgil’s dog starts barking, then a moment later appears at the side of the cabin. Pup bolts forward, yelping his own greeting. The two meet by Virgil’s snow-covered pickup truck and then, barking and playfully nipping at each other, race around to the front of the cabin. Well at least Virgil is getting fair warning of my approach.

  When she comes around the corner the dogs jump up from wrestling in the snow, shake the powdered white from their thick coats and watch her climb the porch steps. On the way to the door, Julie glances at the window, but sees only her own reflection in the glass. She can feel her heart racing, the blood pounding in her ears as she lifts a gloved hand and knocks. There’s no response, no sounds of movement inside. She waits for a minute then tries again, resisting the impulse to pound harder. She leans closer, turning her ear toward the door. Perhaps he’s in the washroom, or the back bedroom, and she should knock a little harder. She raps once again. When there’s still no response she has mixed emotions. A small part of her is relieved, a very small part. The other part is disappointed, saddened at the thought that Virgil may be sitting inside, deliberately ignoring her. She’s certain that he must be home. The footprints leading to his door, his pickup truck at the back covered in a few inches of new snow, are evidence enough. Well, he has no obligation to answer his door, no obligation to indulge me anymore. She’s no longer the man’s landlord, and clearly not his friend. He owes her nothing. Still she waits longer, hoping that he might change his mind. She considers going over to the window to place her hands on the glass and peer inside, and then imagines seeing him standing at the kitchen sink staring back at her. She starts to knock again, when it suddenly occurs to her that she has gone about this the wrong way. She should have taken a cue from him and written a note. Yes, that’s exactly what she should do, go home and explain everything on paper and then slide it under his door. Just as she decides to return home and compose something, the door creaks open to reveal Virgil Blue squinting against the light as he finishes pulling on a plaid flannel shirt.

  Julie takes a quick step back, less startled by the thought that she has woken him from a nap at this time of day, than by his appearance. He’s aged since the last time she saw him. It’s more than the fact that he’s lost weight. It’s the intensified weariness about his sunken eyes, the sallow complexion, which emphasises the faint remembrance of pockmarks on hollow cheeks.

  All of this registers in Julie’s mind during the seconds it takes for Virgil to focus on her and give mute acknowledgement to her presence. She opens her mouth to ask if he’s okay, but something in his eyes stops her. “Can I come in and talk to you, Virgil?” she asks, then adds quietly, “Please?”

  He moves to one side and allows the door to swing all the way open.

  “Thank you,” she says stepping past him. The musty scent of smoke-cured logs and barn odours, welcomes her inside. Virgil closes the door behind her. Buttoning up his shirt with one hand, he ushers her to the kitchen table with the other. Gratefully she pulls out a chair and sits down. Removing her jacket, she hangs it on the back of the chair as Virgil gathers up a stack of yellow-lined notepads from the tabletop. He takes the bundle over to the roll-top desk. While he stores them in a drawer, Julie takes the opportunity to look around the dimly lit interior. As Terri Champion had said, the evidence of a pending move is undeniable—the boxes stacked in the far corner, the bare walls. Even the bookshelves have been emptied, as well as the cubbyholes on the roll-top desk. A small, square, post-it note is stuck on the side of the de
sk. Similar notes are attached to other items of furniture, the recliner chairs, the side of the TV; there’s even one stuck on the edge of the table. She leans closer to check what’s written on it, just as Virgil turns back to her. She straightens quickly, feeling her face redden at being caught snooping. But Virgil doesn’t seem to notice. He goes over to the wood stove and feels the side of the blackened coffee pot. Satisfied, he removes two mugs from the warming oven above and places them on the table along with a bowl of sugar. He retrieves a jug of cream from the fridge and then pours the coffee in both mugs. While he does, Julie takes the time to compose herself, glad for the ordinariness of the ritual.

  When he finally takes his seat across from her, he brings an empty notepad and pen with him, placing them on the table. Sipping the bitter-strong coffee, Julie tries not to wince. She needs this. After last night’s long sleepless hours, her brain will welcome a good jolt of caffeine. Still, she adds more cream, and then cupping the mug in both hands straightens up in her chair.

  “I want to thank you for looking after Pup,” she says. “And for keeping the fire going in the house while we were in town after the accident. Well, for all you do for Ian, for us.”

  Virgil looks up from his coffee mug, and nods.

  “We saw Ian’s doctor yesterday,” Julie continues, forcing herself to speak slowly. This has to be done right. “Ian will be in a cast for a few months. If all goes well he’ll have a walking cast by Christmas. Sometime in January, February at the latest, he should be back on his feet. I came to tell you to, well, to ask you to stay. I...” she stops to watch Virgil take up the pen and write something on the notepad. He turns it to face her.