“I had a choice, I came back,” she snapped. “I came back.”
The tension and anger were building in the tight, restrictive space of the car and Paul found himself snarling. “Maybe you made the wrong choice. You can’t save this town. It’s cute that you’re trying so hard …”
“Cute?!” she shrieked and slammed on the brakes. “Paul Anderson, you are an inconsiderate, stuck-up jerk. Just because you live in the city does not make you, or your opinions, better than us. Thank-you for looking at the houses today. Now, if you don’t mind, you can get out of my car.”
“Fine!” He slammed the door and she took off. His first instinct was to run after her and apologize but stubbornness kept him rooted to the spot. He had never had anyone put him in his place so concisely, and without swearing. And he’d never had a fight with anyone who can leave such a sore spot in his mind, and on his heart.
Chapter 6 – Then
After Kaylee, he had tried again with Jennifer, the cousin of one of his co-workers and another blind date, but after five weeks it had ended the same way and Paul made up his mind not to bother with women at all. He didn’t need the hassle of dating and women were obviously not interested in him unless they could analyze his life and fix him. I don’t need fixing, and I don’t want marriage. But he’d already opened the door to sexual desire and he soon found it building to the point of distraction. And so he’d started dating Michelle, it lasted four weeks, and then Karen who broke things off after just a week, and then Emma who he couldn’t stand but stayed with for three whole weeks.
During the weeks between each relationship when he was single he would rant about women and their meddling ways to anyone who would listen. But slowly he’d grow quiet on the subject, and then he’d get moody, and then eventually he’d bring a new girl home. The time between each relationship got longer and longer until Stephanie, a perky, curvy blonde who hung on to him with the persistence of a lioness with her prey between her claws. Stephanie was full of life and dragged Paul on all sorts of dates. They went to movies, to the park, to the arena to go ice skating, to her sister’s choir recital, and on and on. She lived in the moment, hardly stopping to breathe, let alone question the past, though she could talk a mile a second when she was excited, which happened often.
But even Stephanie, with her beautiful eyes and a hint of Irish accent that came out when she was angry, was too good to last for long. Eventually, like his two previous long-term relationships, she began questioning his lack of a past and asking questions he didn’t want to answer. She was patient to a fault, promising to give him time, to give him space, but after four months she put her foot down.
“You don’t trust me,” she said.
“What is it that makes a woman equate distrust with the desire to leave the past buried?” he asked.
“The past made you who you are today. I can’t know you fully now if I have no idea where you came from.”
“Maybe I don’t like where I came from.”
“Maybe I don’t care.” She tapped her foot in that annoying way that signaled she was impatient. “Maybe I need to know, at least a little bit.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” he said and watched her walk out his door for the last time.
Chapter 7 - Now
Joe and Matt sat at the large dining room table finishing their coffee. Mrs. Barbour had been thrilled to hear that they were staying for a few weeks and had treated them to a huge dinner of roast beef with potatoes and carrots and a thick gravy that was so much better than any restaurant and then a huge breakfast of bacon and scrambled eggs with a heaping plate of toast and some good strong coffee.
Of course Paul hadn’t come down for either meal. No one had seen him since he’d stormed in an hour after Angie had gotten home and they’d both shut themselves in their rooms. Paul hadn’t answered anyone’s knocking and his door remained locked. When Mr. Barbour had asked Angie over dinner how the inspection of the houses had gone Angie’s answer had been brief and cold.
After dinner Joe had worked his easy charm on Angie, getting the whole story from her. But Matt was still in the dark since Joe, who rarely showed his temper, had stormed off after talking to Angie, only to resurface again at breakfast. He maintained his friendly front during the meal but Matt could see the tension in his brother’s neck and jaw.
Mrs. Barbour came in to give the table a wipe. “I didn’t expect you two to linger so long. How come that brother of yours hasn’t dragged you off to work on that house?”
From her tone Matt guess that she also knew what had transpired between Paul and Angie. I wish someone would fill me in, Matt though as he sipped his coffee.
Joe set his empty mug down. “Mrs. Barbour, could you get me the spare key to Paul’s room?”
“Is that a good idea?” Matt asked, wide-eyed.
“I guess I’m doing the dragging today.”
Matt stayed at the table, the worry eating at him. No one has ‘dragged’ Paul or ‘forced’ Paul since we left here. I’ve seen the few people who tried, they weren’t about to try it again. I hope Paul remembers Joe is family or this could get worse that ugly. He sighed and said aloud to the empty room, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Joe.”
~~~
Paul hadn’t slept. He’d come in angrier than he had been in Angie’s car and gone straight up to his room where he’d channeled that anger into the work he needed to do. On his long walk back he’d picked up several pads of lined paper and a pack of pens. He’d spent the evening writing up to-do lists and drawing up plans and fuming over his fight with Angie. Fights with his brothers hadn’t affected him like this, sure he’d felt bad afterwards, but there had been no hard feelings after a few gruff apologies had been made. He wanted to apologize to Angie but his anger kept telling him that she’d been wrong, not him, and she needed to make the next move, and his stubborn nature and wounded pride all agreed, far outnumbering the ache in his heart.
He didn’t hear the door open but he heard it click closed. Without looking up he snapped, “Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Joe snapped back.
Paul spun in his chair. “What do you want, Joe?”
“We’re going to be here a few weeks, the least you could do is try not to offend our hosts.”
“Worried about the availability of dinner?” Paul sneered.
“You may think you did such a great job of protecting me from Dad, but I still recognize that tone of voice and that sneer and I never thought I’d get either from you. Ever.”
Paul’s face softened instantly. “Joe, I’m sorry. It’s this place …”
“Oh cut it, Paul. It’s nothing but excuses with you. This town, our father, everything you claim they did or didn’t do, it’s nothing but an excuse and I’m sick of it.”
“What the hell do you want from me? I never even wanted to come back here!”
“And don’t we all know it! We didn’t want to come back either, Paul, but at least I’m making the best of it and Matt’s managing to be polite.”
“And I’m not?” Paul shouted.
“You’ve made it down to one of four meals Mrs. Barbour has prepared for us since our arrival, and you picked a fight with Angie!” Joe shot back.
“She picked a fight with me!”
Joe dropped down on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what happened.”
“Like she did?” When Joe didn’t answer, or show any signs of leaving, Paul sighed and set down the pen he’d been clutching. The poor thing had a definite bend in the middle but it hadn’t exploded ink all over his hand and would probably still write. “She accused me of walking out on this town, of giving up on it.”
Joe’s face was professionally blank as he said, “Didn’t we?”
“No, we did not. We did what they wouldn’t do; we got ourselves the hell out of a bad situation.”
Joe didn’t press the line of inquiry any further, he already knew the answers. Instead, he changed the subject. “Did
you really call Angie cute?”
“Don’t try to manipulate me, Joe. I said it was cute that she wanted to rebuild the town.”
Joe nodded as if all the pieces had suddenly clicked into place. “So you dismissed her life’s work, her goals, as a pipedream because she knows nothing of your childhood?”
That’s about it, Paul thought. He’d come to that conclusion sometime between getting out of Angie’s car and buying the writing supplies. It had only worsened his mood.
“She’s pretty upset,” Joe added softly.
“So what?” Paul said gruffly. “She gets to be the victim because she’s the girl? And I have to apologize?” He tried to stay angry because the anger hurt less than the guilt. “No thank you. We have work to do.” He grabbed his lists. “Let’s go.”
They collected Matt in the lobby and the three of them loaded into the car and headed for the house in silence. As Paul drove he thought about Angie. He could admit, had to admit, that he’d enjoyed the tie he’d spent with her. He hadn’t enjoyed an afternoon of what really amounted to work in a very long time, and though it couldn’t really be called a date, he hadn’t been that relaxed around a female since his mother.
Thinking about his mother always brought up a complicated mix of emotions. The memory of her was pleasant enough, her rare smiles, her love and pride for her sons, her frequent attempts to shield her boys from her husband’s anger. Paul had learned a lot from her, like how to fake a smile, how to bend the truth to match his father’s expectations, and what to say to redirect an insult of blow from the weakest person in the room to the strongest. He could still see the relief and gratitude in his mother’s eyes when he, at eighteen, had distracted his father and taken a blow meant for her.
He could feel his anger building from an icy lump that sat quietly near his heart to a rage that would have him ranting and snarling at everyone. I have work to do and Joe’s already cross with me. And Matt, Matt’s so quiet you never know what he thinks or how he feels.
He tried to push the thoughts of his mother away before the rage could finish building and then the guilt washed over him and the anger crumbled away before it.
I have forgiven her, he told himself firmly. There was nowhere a single mother of three from a small isolated town could have gone. We’d have starved, or worse.
But rational thought didn’t erase the guilt over the years he’d spent blaming her, being angry at her for staying, or blaming himself for leaving her behind. He was angry at the town, but even angrier at the church for trapping his mother with all its teaching against divorce, its teachings of respecting and obeying a husband who deserved neither, and its teaching of turn the other cheek. They had all turned the other cheek only to have it struck twice as hard every time.
As they pulled into the driveway Matt said, “Is everything okay? You ran a stop sign back there, and you were over the speed limit for most of the drive.”
Paul shoved the pad of paper at Matt. “Go over the lists and plans. I have something to do before we start.” He let himself out of the car and jogged around to the back door, not turning or responding at all when Joe called after him to wait.
He didn’t slow as he traced the familiar path through the kitchen and up the stairs, only stopping when he reached the door to his parents’ room. He opened the door slowly and for one breath catching moment he could almost see her standing by the window, staring out at the yard, She started to turn but the memory faded too soon. Had she been smiling? Crying? He’d give anything to remember and even more to see it again. He stared hard but the image refused to reappear.
He sighed then spiked into the empty room. “I’m sorry Mom; I should have taken you with us. I always said marriage was a trap and I could have gotten you out. I should be happy Angie and I have had a falling out. Better not to form attachments, especially not here.” He sighed again and closed the door, hoping his guilt over his mother and Angie would stay locked in that room and knowing full well that they wouldn’t.
He could hear Matt and Joe downstairs. They sounded cautious, their voices were hushed and their steps soft and slow. He thumped down the stairs hoping he had his emotions under control and all sign of them off his face.
“Alright, we have a lot of work to do today, and most of it involves lifting. All the furniture goes today. Joe, did you find us somewhere to put it?”
“What doesn’t fit out back in the garage can go in Mrs. James’ garage next door. She has extra space and doesn’t mind.”
“Good. We won’t need a truck then. We’ll start with the end tables, kitchen chairs, and other one man jobs. You guys take the main floor and I’ll take upstairs.”
Matt and Joe exchanged knowing glances as their brother rambled on. This was Paul’s world, fixing old houses, and he was used to being in charge. In this case neither Matt nor Joe minded letting him take charge. Paul retreated up the steps again. His division of labour had been an attempt to isolate himself, as well as an attempt to protect his brothers from the memories that lingered in those upper rooms and a hope that running up and down the stairs all morning would leave him too tired to remember or feel anything at all.
Chapter 8
The porch was taking longer than Paul had planned. He’d hoped that once they removed the roof, steps, and rotted floor boards they’d find the underlying structure was salvageable. Unfortunately even the support beams were soft with rot. They were on their third day, including the day they’d spent just moving furniture, and their second truck load of scrap lumber.
Paul tossed an armload of garbage into the back of the 4x4 truck they had borrowed from a friend of Mr. Barbour and stretched. “Do you two think you can take down the rest of the porch without me?”
Matt and Joe heaved a long 2x8 beam over the side and it thumped loudly. “Sure,” Joe said, clapping some of the dust and dirt off his leather work gloves. “We’ll even run to the dump when this is done.”
“We have to pass the bed and breakfast to get to the dump,” Matt said, dismissing Joe’s eagerness to work as an excuse to find a hot lunch. “Are you really doing this?”
Paul shrugged. “I kind of got trapped. I’ll be polite and I won’t be long.”
He got to the diner twenty minutes early and stopped at the washroom to get some of the grime and dust off his face and hands. He expected to have to wait, experience told him that people with children were almost always late, even if they weren’t bringing the kids along, but when he came out of the washroom Shirley was already sitting at one of the booths wearing a loose, long-sleeved blouse and a flowery skirt. Her back was to him and he took a moment to study her. She’d put her hair in a ponytail and he wondered if that was on purpose. Her foot was tapping out a nervous rhythm as she watched the door.
“I see I’m not the only one that likes to be early.”
She jumped a little and looked up at him. “Oh, Paul.” She bit her lip and glanced around the diner. “Well, sit. We’ll have some coffee.”
Paul sat, dismissing her nervous gestures. He felt pretty flustered as well and had worried all night that this meeting might be awkward. They hadn’t talked in nine years, what would there be to say? But Joe had made him promise to be polite, and everyone in town went to the same church and shared their gossip so if he had turned her down Mrs. Barbour would surely hear about it and think even worse of him.
The waiter brought them white ceramic mugs that looked just like they had when Paul had been sixteen. Paul took his coffee black but Shirley poured cream and sugar into hers until it was a pale caramel color. He could see her hand trembling as she stirred so he tried striking up a conversation to put her at ease.
“So, how long have you and Jeff been married?”
Her spoon clattered on the table. “Sorry.” She dabbed up the splatters of coffee with a napkin. “Uh, we’ve been married eight years now.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes the way he remembered. “They’ve been good years.”
“And you have two kids?
”
At the mention of her children she smiled for real and met his eyes for more than a fleeting glance. “We have four kids. The older two are seven, well almost eight now, and five, Tom and Andrew. The two that you met the other day are Isaac and Rebecca.”
“Beautiful names,” Paul forced himself to say. All good Christian biblical names.
“What about you?”
His eyes went wide. “No, I don’t have kids.”
“No wife? Or girlfriend?” she pressed, trying to keep her tone casual. She looked down into her cup as she took a long slow sip and waited for his answer.
“No, there’s no one,” he said. For a moment he thought of all the girls he’d dated since leaving Barnes Lake, how they had wanted to dig into his buried past until he’d shut down and they’d left. “It’s just me and my brothers.” And I like it that way, he thought firmly, putting thoughts of Angie out of his mind. Angie had never been more than a friend, and now they weren’t even that.
“Sounds a little lonely,” she said and sighed. “Of course it also sounds delightfully peaceful. I haven’t had a quiet house in eight years!”
“Well, Joe talks enough for two people so I’m not sure how peaceful our lives are.” He forced a smile, not sure what to say.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, of course, I mean there must be so much to do in the city; people to see, places to go.”
“I suppose. The three of us are pretty wrapped up in work.”
“I’ve always wanted to see the ‘Big City’. The furthest from home I’ve ever been is Moose Lake. Even that’s pretty small compared to where you live.”
She had a point. Barnes Lake had a population of a few hundred, Moose Lake was home to maybe a few thousand, and he lived in a city of easily ten or twenty thousand people. Not a big city as far as cities went, but huge compared to a town like Barnes Lake and only a four hour drive away if you didn’t stop for anything but gas.
OFF THE MARKET Page 4