One month was four more guaranteed weeks he could spend with them. American Thanksgiving was approaching, and they could have a big feast together. They could even decorate the house for Christmas; people normally did that around the beginning of December, didn’t they? Maybe one month would be enough. When it passed, maybe he would be ready to say goodbye.
18
The rest of the leaves grew tired of turning beautiful colours and fell to the ground in exhaustion. Bare tree limbs extended to the sky. Snow fell, cold enough to cling and turn them into vanilla gloves. A million gnarled fingers, stretching to the stars.
Violet looked out her bedroom window. It was December 19th, which meant it was time to go home. Each day, the three of them had eaten together, worked alongside each other and said goodnight before going to sleep. But each night, Violet added another notch on her bed. She marked each day bringing her closer to freedom.
Dusk weighed on the landscape, and the darkness allowed her to see Jeremy in the reflection of her window. With a start, she whirled around.
“What?” she asked, startled.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just about to knock. I was wondering if you’d like to help me start a bonfire out there.”
“Like a campfire?” she considered.
“Yeah,” he pointed out the window. “There won’t be too many more nights like this where we can sit outside and not freeze. I’ve got some chopped wood ready to go.”
“Okay,” she found herself agreeing. As the days got shorter and colder, they ended early with Violet alone in her room, Ben alone in his, and Jeremy off doing things she couldn’t see and didn’t care to. “What’s Ben doing?”
“He’s lying down in bed, and it didn’t seem like he was interested but you can ask him to come,” Jeremy said.
“I will,” Violet nodded. She removed herself from the window, passed Jeremy in the doorway and knocked on her little brother’s door.
“Hey Ben?” she said gently. “You awake?”
“Yeah, just resting.”
“Feel like coming outside for a fire?”
“Nah, I’m okay in here. Thanks.”
So polite. He rarely lost his temper and never forgot his manners. It was almost eerie. Violet walked over to his bed and sat down next to him. In a gesture that was more maternal than she’d intended, Violet brushed the hair off Ben’s forehead. It needed to be cut, badly.
“You sure you don’t want to come? I’ll bet we can even swing some s’mores.” She paused for effect, but didn’t seem to have any. “Not even tempted?”
“I’m just tired. I just sort of feel like being alone.”
Alone, as if he didn’t spend all his time by himself or in the company of only two other people. More alone time wasn’t a reasonable excuse, but she knew better than to push him. She shouldn’t force Jeremy-time upon her little brother. He’d be safe and sound and resting while she sat right outside.
She walked back into her room to grab her favourite mustard-coloured sweater; favourite in comparison with the two others she now owned. They included a black one Jeremy had picked for her and a long grey frilly cardigan she’d found in the dress-up closet alongside the mustard one. She almost welcomed the cold weather for the excuse to wear the yellow sweater. Its v-neck extended into a big triangular hood that fit around her head perfectly. Two u-shaped pockets with bunched openings sat right where her hands would first reach. Just the right fit, with a ribbed band along the bottom.
Sometimes it felt strange to think she was wearing clothes meant for someone else. How could anyone leave behind a whole wardrobe?
Violet had a nightmare once that the woman whose sweaters she had stolen had shown up at the foot of her bed, rotting and putrid, eyes eaten away, her bony hand extended and waiting for the return of her garments.
She shook the memory and walked downstairs. Jeremy waited patiently by the back door with a flashlight, some newspaper and a lighter.
“Ready?” he asked.
“You go ahead. I’m going to grab some snacks.”
He nodded and headed outside.
Violet walked into the kitchen and found some chocolate chips, whipped cream, and soda crackers. It was the best she could do. She was almost outside before she turned back for some foil. Marshmallows were meant to be roasted, but she couldn’t very well roast whipped cream. She could prepare the sandwich, wrap it in foil, then let it sit in the embers to toast.
As she walked outside, she saw the flashlight trained on the fire pit; a ring of rocks laid in the shape of a lopsided circle. Jeremy’s hands were the first part of him that Violet saw, assembling bits of kindling with newspaper in anticipation of the first spark.
“Can I help?” she asked. Jeremy jumped and she smiled smugly. It was nice for him be the one in fear once and awhile, she thought.
“No, it won’t take me long, you just sit and relax,” he said in his best attempt at chivalry.
Violet settled into a fold-up chair, happy she had worn full pants. The wintry breeze snaked around her ankles and snuck up her leg.
“I haven’t had a campfire in ages,” Violet admitted. “I used to go on camping trips when I was a Girl Guide, and every night we’d end up around a campfire, singing.” She mentally ran through all the songs she’d learned, ridiculous ones that only other Guides would ever know.
“We had these things called sit-upons, they were just little pillows that unfolded so you could put them on the ground and sit on them.”
She was rambling. Normally, she felt no need to fill the silence with Jeremy. Tonight, however, she wanted to nudge the issue of their homecoming, and was on her best behaviour.
When Jeremy finally created a spark, he threw in some extra newspaper, gave the fire a little nod of approval and sat.
“Shouldn’t take long for this to really spark up,” he said and Violet detected a hint of pride. She resisted the urge to tell him she could have had a fire going in a minute flat, and allowed him to keep his fiery glory.
Turning her head to the sky, Violet held her breath for a moment as she caught sight of the thousands of stars above her head. That was one thing she did love about this place; no other lights to interfere with the night-time show. She wondered if she’d be able to count the glowing dots, and if anyone had ever tried.
“Hey Violet?” Jeremy asked in a voice more gentle than normal.
“Mmhm?”
“Would you like a glass of wine? I don’t normally drink much, but it’s such a nice night and I was thinking why not?”
She was underage, but didn’t pause for a moment.
“Yes,” she replied. “I’d love one.”
Most of her wine drinking experience had come from family Christmas parties. Her grandparents bottled their own wine. She would be permitted one glass, which she would top up when no one was looking.
“Good girl,” they would comment. “It’s better to enjoy it slowly.”
A few times, Violet had even snuck down to the cellar to steal a bottle. The next time she went to a friend’s house, she’d bring it out and revel in the shrieks she was greeted with. They would pass it around from hand to hand and glug from the bottle. It hadn’t exactly made Violet feel grown up; in fact, the gesture looked a bit like a baby slurping from a sippy cup, but every time she pulled out a bottle, she was a hero. As much as she enjoyed it, she resented the way the other girls began to slur their words and start touching each other as the bottle’s contents depleted.
“You’re the best.”
“No, YOU’RE the best.”
“No, YUUUUUUUR the bessst.”
Violet was sure that one bottle of wine wasn’t nearly enough to get five girls drunk, but she participated anyway, passing along her love to whoever requested it.
Jeremy walked back outside, a glass of red wine in each hand, the bottle tucked under his arm.
“Do you drink red?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. No hesita
tion. She’d only ever tasted white wine before, but she’d give it a try.
Her first sip was dry and tart. It filled her whole mouth with a warm flavour she felt course its way down her throat when she swallowed.
“Thank you,” she remembered her manners.
“Sure,” he said. “Help yourself to more whenever you want it.”
“Jeremy,” she started, as she always did when she tried to extract information from him. “Can you tell me more about you? I don’t really know that much and we’ve been living here for so long.”
“Oh!” He seemed surprised at her continued curiosity. “Well, sure. Okay. What sort of things do you want to know?”
“Well, do you have a job? And if you do, when do you do it?”
Jeremy squirmed. He toyed with the idea of telling her. One more glass in and it would’ve been simpler, but the choice was still tricky in his sobriety.
“I’m a general contractor,” he said honestly. “I do odd jobs, mostly construction.”
“Are you working on anything right now?”
“Nope,” he lied. “Dry spell.”
“What sort of work have you done other than that?”
“Well, one time I did data entry for a computer company. I sat at a desk and inputted pages of data. It sounds boring, I know, but I didn’t mind it. I didn’t really have to talk to anyone.”
Violet wondered if this was a slight at her, a polite way to tell her to stop asking questions, but he kept talking all on his own.
“I also worked for a call centre. That was the worst by far. People hate you. They think it’s you that wants to ruin their meal, or interrupt them right when they’re trying to put their kids to bed.” He shook his head. “It’s like they believed I sat by the phone knowing exactly what they were doing, and waited for the most inconvenient time to call.”
“Well seriously, those survey people always call right in the middle of dinner! It really is like they have some sort of radar,” she argued.
“I know,” Jeremy defended, “but that’s only because the company knows people will be home then. Now when I get those calls, I tolerate it because I know what it’s like to be on the other end of the phone.”
“How long did that last for?”
“Only two weeks. I’ve never had so many people yell at me. You’d think it wouldn’t affect you as much because it’s only over the phone, but it really cuts into you,” he shrugged. “I started calling the same numbers over and over, the ones I knew were out of service or would just ring forever, so I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone.”
Violet stopped to think. “Yeah, I’ve never had a job at a call centre, but serving is a bit like that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, think about what a server actually does. They say hi to you, they talk to you, they take your order, check to see how you like the food, and then they clear your plates and give you the bill. They don’t always even bring the food out to you, and they certainly don’t cook it. Right?”
“Right.”
“But somehow, whenever something is wrong with the food, it ends up being the server’s fault. I’ve been screamed at before, just because some woman’s eggs weren’t cooked the way she liked them.”
“Do you like working as a waitress?” Jeremy asked.
It had been so long since Violet had worked a shift that she probably wasn’t even a waitress anymore. The mention of the job reminded her how behind she now was on her savings for school. She pushed the thought aside.
“Sometimes,” she said. “It depends on the day. Restaurants bring out the worst in some people, but the best in others. I mean, you say hello and give them a smile and it’s like you’ve handed over your heart.”
Jeremy blushed. He was thankful for the red glow of the fire that would prevent Violet from seeing. He knew the feeling, and could very easily see why people would want Violet’s heart after seeing her smile.
“At least they like you,” Jeremy said. “I mean, for the most part. At least you can smile at them and they’ll automatically like you.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Violet said noncommittally.
“I mean you,” Jeremy added. “I don’t mean waitresses specifically, I meant you have a really nice smile.”
It was a roundabout way to give a compliment, but the wine and the fire were warming him and he’d never really, truly given her a compliment before. He figured it was about time.
Violet smiled with her lips closed, a smirk but less sinister. “Thank you,” she said.
“Did you ever go to school?” Violet asked him.
“Well, I went to high school, which was awful. But then I graduated, and that was it. I didn’t have a lot of money, I come from a family” (could he really use that term?) “of a lot of kids, and I didn’t get a job early enough. The time just kept passing and I never got up the gumption to go.”
Violet smiled again, this time at his use of the word gumption. “Did you ever regret not going?”
“No. Well, sort of. I don’t know. It might’ve been easier for me to meet people if I’d gone on to school, but the thought of it … I’m not very good at making friends.”
“What would you have gone for?” She reached for the wine bottle.
“I don’t know for sure. Probably something with my hands. Maybe I could have been an electrician or a carpenter. I could’ve started my own business.”
Violet could tell they weren’t well-formed dreams. They came out of his mouth slowly and she sensed they weren’t ambitions he’d ever spoken aloud before.
“Well, with all the stuff you do around the house, it seems like you’re already pretty good with your hands.” She prayed, prayed that he didn’t interpret her words in a sexual way and held her breath for a second. Jeremy didn’t notice at all. She exhaled.
“Yeah, I guess I’m not useless.” Violet cringed at the wording.
“No, not at all,” she tried to make him feel better. “I didn’t go to school this year either. I graduated from high school last spring, and I’m waiting a year before I go anywhere.”
“Why did you wait?”
“Oh, you know. A bunch of reasons. Money. Indecision. Ben.”
“Ben?”
“Yeah. He’s still so young. And our mother…” She drummed her fingers on the chair’s armrest. “She’s amazing and we love her, but she’s not always the most present. She tends to get preoccupied with things. Like men. I sort of thought it might be nice to stick around for another year and make sure Ben was okay.”
Jeremy nodded. “But Ben seems like he’d be okay.”
“I know. I know. I wonder if it isn’t just an excuse because I’m too scared to leave. But I don’t think so. I figured I might as well take the year to save as much money as I could, maybe even apply for a couple of scholarships, and then wait until next September.”
“What would you take?” It was unbelievable that they had lived under the same roof for so long and not had this conversation yet.
“Journalism,” she replied with confidence. “I love to write.”
“Isn’t that the wrong reason to go into journalism?” he questioned.
“What do you mean?” She was caught off guard.
“Well, isn’t it more about the reporting than it is about the writing?”
“Oh. Well, yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“And it’s not exactly creative writing that you get to do.”
She hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know.” She felt a lump in her throat. “But I know I want to go to journalism school. I would write human-interest pieces, I wouldn’t be a hard-hitting, everyday reporter, that’s not what I would want to do.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to so fiercely defend her decision.
“Well, that’s perfect then.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to attack you. I don’t always know how my words will sound until I say them.”
She knew all about his social awkwardness, but it was nice to he
ar him admit it. The lump in her throat diminished a bit.
Jeremy continued. “I just realized that it might sound like I was discouraging you from going away to school but that’s not what I meant. I think you’d really regret it if you didn’t.” He spoke the words like he could tell what was best for her, and Violet wasn’t sure why she didn’t mind.
“You know what one of my biggest regrets is?” she asked.
“You’re fairly young to have big regrets,” Jeremy replied. “But yes.”
She ignored his comment. “I was in grade school when the Rwandan genocide happened. I’d never even heard of the country before, but I started bringing in my toonies to school from family and friends, raising money to send over there. We had a big jug to collect it all in, you know the water jugs they use in offices? And we would just pour our toonies in there and congratulate ourselves as the jug filled up. It took a long time, too. It took us a few weeks, and all we filled was this measly container with two-dollar coins.”
Jeremy nodded solemnly. “I remember hearing about how awful it was.” He didn’t understand her passion, but was glad to be experiencing it. “We’re so far away from it though. I have no idea what it would have been like.”
“Yeah, and I was a little girl collecting little bits of metal to send over so that the two sides could shake hands and call it a truce,” Violet said. “Go out and buy each other a beer with the toonies we’d collected. That’s deluded. Isn’t it? I mean, I understand I was young enough at the time so that I couldn’t even really understand what war was and wasn’t. But what about everyone else who was older and wiser and should have known better?”
He looked at her then and wondered what she thought she knew about war. Jeremy had fought his battles in other ways, but he always wondered if he could talk about war validly, giving it the credit and introspection it deserved.“What’s their excuse?” she was still talking. “How did grown, educated, rational people believe that slopping money over the situation from afar, throwing it out of helicopter windows, could actually work? It’s ridiculous.”
Jeremy was interested. He found words clouding his head with all the things he wanted to say. He started to organize them, put them into the order they should come out of his mouth. It was unusual. He normally grasped in the dark.
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