Audrey starts to snore. The rumbling grows louder, rises in pitch to an abrupt snort and then there’s silence. I look over to make sure she’s still breathing. The snoring starts again with a low wheeze, a gurgle, then a rumble, and finally, the crowning snort and silence.
I talk quietly to Shadow, “You must think we’re crazy old fools, eh Girl? I might even agree with you.”
I shuffle over to a chair in the dark, swing my arms around to be sure it’s empty and ease down into the cushioned seat. Shapes distinguish themselves in the dark. There is a heap of blankets that must be Audrey and a table near the door that holds a Styrofoam dinner container and coffee cup. Another easy chair stands beside mine, and the bathroom door is slightly ajar. I’m oddly at home in this unlit room. My headache subsides, leaving only a dull discomfort behind my eyes and the back pain that accompanies me always.
I was never alone when I was young—no room for such luxury with seven kids and two adults in one small house. I was in the middle, three older and three younger, and
I liked my place in the family just fine. I could be invisible if I wanted, lost amid the crowd, but if I wanted attention or needed help, there was always someone there. There weren’t a lot of brawls except when Gordon stole Bill’s girlfriend, or Wesley told someone that John was afraid of thunder storms; things like that. But later, we must have fallen out of touch.
I can’t remember getting together with my family after they all married and had children or even if the others married at all. Could that be right? Am I the only one who has an Albert?
I try to picture Albert now but can’t. I close my eyes. Nothing. I breathe deeply, trying to catch his scent. I wrap my arms tightly across my chest and hold onto my shoulders, completely alone.
I rest my head back in the chair and stare at the tile ceiling.
A phone is jangling—loud and persistent. My eyes follow the sound to the far side of the room; I struggle to get out of the chair. One of the beds is piled high with blankets. One flowered sleeve pokes out near the top of the mound. The phone continues to ring as I make my way toward it, hobbling between the pieces of furniture that support my weight. I only want to stop the noise from crashing into my head.
I pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear.
“Mom? Hello? Lillian Gorsen?”
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Mom, it’s Carol. I’m so glad you’re still there.”
“Of course I’m here,” I say, “though God knows where ‘here’ is.” I glance again around the room.
“That’s exactly why I’m calling. I had the phone company trace your call, and they said it was from a motel near Medicine Hat. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re still there.”
“It’s the middle of the night, Dear. Of course I’m still here.”
“Sorry. I forgot the time difference. It’s early morning here. Listen, I’ve booked a flight to Calgary and then a smaller plane to get me to Medicine Hat late tonight. I need you to stay there until I arrive. Do you understand?”
I’m speechless.
“Mom, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Is that man there—Rayne? Could I speak to him?”
I look around again, focusing on the face now clearly resting on a pillow near the flowered arm. “He’s not here,” I say, “only Audrey is here and she’s sleeping. Do you want me to wake her?”
“No. No, just let her sleep. Listen Mom, this is really important. You need to stay where you are until I get there. I have to leave for the airport to catch my flight. I’ll call you later. Do you understand?”
“Why do you keep asking me that? You want me to stay here until you get here, right?”
“That’s right. I’ll be there late tonight, around midnight.”
Shadow is now sitting in front of me, whimpering.
“I need to take the dog out,” I say.
“That’s fine, just don’t drive anywhere. Book the room for another night, okay? Stick around there today, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Why?” I form the word slowly and carefully.
“Because I’m coming to get you to bring you home. You need to get back, start taking your meds again, and settle into a place where you’re safe.”
“You’re taking me home to live with you?”
There is a brief silence, then, “Not exactly, we’re going to find you a nice nursing home in Toronto so I can be closer to you. We’ll talk about it when I see you. It’ll be better.”
“No. That’s not what I want.” I don’t know what else to say and I don’t want to listen to her anymore. I hang up the phone and stare at the metal-framed print on the wall—a snow-capped mountain scene with a lake beyond. It is so ordinary, so unexceptional and yet I can’t take my eyes off of it. Shadow nudges my leg and lies down, her chin resting on my foot.
I stand very still, leaning on the desk, my chest constricted, head throbbing. I’m not exactly sure where I am, but it’s safe and comfortable. Rumbling snores roll from beneath the blankets on the nearby bed and I know instinctively they belong to a friend. The weight on my foot reminds me of the connection I have with this beautiful pup, who seems always to be with me. My hand touches the phone and bits of conversation slam back. My daughter wants me to go to a nursing home in a strange city. It makes my legs wobbly and my palms sweaty. Where would Audrey be if I lived in Toronto? How would I get to work and how would my friends find me? And what about Albert—his job—no, he’s buried in Ottawa. I need to be near him. It simply won’t work.
A band of light plays across Shadow’s back. The first signs of dawn sliver in between the curtains.
Shadow rises and clicks toward the door, tail wagging in anticipation.
The pair of pants I wore yesterday is now draped over the foot of the bed. I pull them on underneath my yellow nightgown. I tug at the corner of a purple sweater buried deep in my pack and wriggle into it. The sleeves of my nightgown scrunch up inside, bulging like huge muscles so that I can hardly bend my arms, and I give up trying after securing the two middle buttons. I sit down to lace up my shoes.
“Whew, that was a lot of work,” I say to Shadow. “Now, where’s your leash?”
Outside, the sun is just visible on the horizon, turning the sky to denim, promising a beautiful day. Shadow squats immediately, then darts from side-to-side, straining at the end of her leash and pulling me along.
“Hold on, Girl. Slow down,” I say, gripping tightly with both hands.
Shadow eases back but doesn’t stop, sniffs the ground and air, leads me toward the trees and onto a path. The scent of pine and night-damp wood envelopes me and, I am in Algonquin Park.
Albert brushes past. He ducks inside a tent and opens the flap, calls to me, “Come see the surprise I have for you, sexy lady.” He flashes his buck-naked body at me, all pink and erect, ready.
I move toward him and stumble. The ground is uneven. I choose each footstep carefully, edging down the slope with the help of branches, stumps, and tree trunks, holding tightly onto the leash with my other hand. The muffled sounds of traffic hum in the distance.
“Albert?” I call. Where has he gone? “Albert, don’t let anyone else see you like that.”
At the bottom of the woodlot, a river swirls by, tumbling over rocks that lie visible just below the surface, crashing headlong into other, bigger boulders and a fallen tree. The water moves swiftly, eddying around the branches that still cling to the trunk of the tree whose roots must have recently pulled away from the bank and sent it crashing into the water.
I stand on a cushion of crunchy pine needles and brown matted leaves, a little way from the water’s edge. I am surprised at the river’s force.
Shadow tugs gently, stretching forward to drink. I teeter back and forth, dizzied by the swift movement of the wat
er. I take a step closer and lean against the exposed roots of the fallen tree. A heaviness settles back over me. It feels all wrong. I am my own person now with new friends, making my own choices, and it’s good. I’m on an adventure, and Carol’s call, her coming here to get me, is going to bring it all crashing down.
But she is family. I should always make time for my daughter. Carol isn’t here now though—or is she? Yes, she’s on her way. I could hide. There are plenty of places here that I could tuck into, and no one would find me.
We’re going to find you a nice nursing home in Toronto.
I don’t want to go back there—nurses wearing surgical gloves, scrubbing my armpits and privates with a scratchy washcloth, rinsing me off with a hose, a bed with railings, and Jell-O and pudding and green beans every day, and I don’t want to go somewhere new.
The sky is getting brighter. The air is still. The water is clear despite its churning motion, the riverbank along the edge a scree of stones and rocks, gray and brown with flecks of deep red and gold. It looks like the bottom drops off near the middle, partially hidden by swirls and reflections.
Shadow stands taut and ready to dive after anything that catches her interest, eyes riveted just below the surface of the water.
Bending over, I run my hand along Shadow’s spine, drawing the dog’s attention back. I smile at the intensity in her face. “You’re a good girl,” I say. Shadow’s tensed muscles relax and she moves to my side. I stroke her back again and again, soaking up the warmth in my hand and stopping to feel the heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her ribs.
I straighten up and look again at the river, my mind buzzing and addled, then suddenly calm and clear.
I wrap the end of the leash around one of the roots.
I lean over again and unlace my shoes, take them off, and set them side-by-side on the tree trunk, bright blue and yellow against the browns. I pull off my socks and tuck them inside the shoes, then stand and steady myself.
“Shadow, you stay,” I say, unclipping the leash from the collar. She remains seated. “Stay girl,” I repeat.
I walk several steps upriver to a place where the bank slopes more gradually into the water. I glance back at Shadow and hold up my hand in a stay gesture, then turn and step into the water.
At first the cold sends a piercing warning up my legs, and I have to maneuver to keep my balance on the loose stones. I stand for a moment in the frigid waters of Algonquin Park.
Part III
FLOWN
18
Albert calls out to me again. “Lillian, where are you?”
I twist around to see him. He isn’t there but Shadow is. I can see the window of the motel room where Audrey is resting. She trusts me. She’s so confused sometimes. I need to get out of this water and stop acting like a child; a defeated, compulsive child.
My feet start to cramp. I teeter on the slippery stones, unable to turn around, terrified of falling forward into the deeper part of the river. The current pulls at my thighs. From the corner of my eye, I see Shadow run toward me and leap into the water. Before she reaches me, she is carried downstream.
I hear a scream. I think it might be mine. I step backward toward the riverbank but lose my footing and topple. My heart crashes through my chest as the cold water surges around me, yellow fabric billowing around my chin, a purple woolly weight tugging my arms under.
My hip drags and bumps along the bottom. My head, like a buoy, floats above the surface, safe except for a few splashes and sloshes that fill my mouth and sting my eyes. The fallen tree stretches out in front of me. I swirl with the current, bobbing and spinning like a bathtub boat and crash to an abrupt stop, wedged in the crook of a big branch.
I hold on with all my strength. Breathe. The riverbank looks so close, twigs and dead leaves from the fallen tree are scattered there. Everything is bigger, stronger, clearer than it should be. I can smell the decay, the clay, the moss.
My fingers are curled around the branch, arms frozen here, clenched inside the sleeves of my sweater. The river pummels me farther and farther into the tree. I can see through the canopy of leaves above that the sky is now brightening toward dawn.
Rayne runs toward me. He doesn’t even slow down at the water’s edge, just wades in, untangles me from the tree’s hold, and pulls me to the shore. I’m amazed at his strength. He’s such a scrawny fellow, especially standing over me, soaked to the hide, vacuum-packed inside soaking wet clothes and hair.
“Jesus, Lillian! What the hell were you doing?”
I try to raise my head but it’s turned into a leaden cannon ball. I need to sleep. It’s all I can think about.
I’m in bed with blankets heaped on top of me. I can hear Rayne and Audrey. I know they’re there, but I can’t wake up. Rayne sounds frantic. He keeps shaking me, trying to make me open my eyes. I hate him for this. All I want to do is sleep.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bathtub and Audrey is helping me get undressed. She isn’t talking, just stripping off layers of wet clothes. I drag my legs up over the side; ease myself down into the warm water.
She touches my face gently with the back of her fingers. “You look like you were in a fight. You’re black-and-blue.”
“And red all over,” I say. She sits there forever while
I soak, and my blood starts to circulate again. “Help me out of here, please. The water is starting to get cold.”
In the other room, Rayne is very quiet. Shadow lies on the floor, not making a sound. I’ve let everyone down. I can tell. I don’t know what I was thinking, but it won’t happen again. We need to keep going.
“What are we waiting for?” I say. “Why is everyone so glum? Come on. Let’s pack up and get moving. We have things to see.”
Rayne piles everything into the van and helps me into my seat. This time I let him. Lightning bolts shoot through my hips and my arms hang like day-old balloons—the long sausage kind, deflated and dimpled in shades of pink and purple.
Rayne’s eyes are heavy. His shoulders slope downward. There is something hovering over him that I didn’t notice before: disappointment or maybe fear.
“I’m fine, Dear. Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I slipped. That’s all. I’m a little shaky on my feet sometimes.”
Along the highway, the air is hot and still in the van.
“Can you open the window, please?” I ask. With that, a warm wind swirls around me, catching my hair and whipping it back. I feel like a kid on a bike, legs stretched up and out to the sides, happy, wanting nothing more than this.
I want Audrey to feel it too. “Audrey, open your window and reach your hand out,” I shout to be heard above the roar of wind in my ears.
“I don’t want to,” she says.
“Don’t be like that. It feels great.”
She doesn’t look back. “I should have been there. Was it Terry that hurt you?”
“No. No, I slipped and fell. No one touched me.”
Audrey starts to cry. “I’m worried and scared. We’re too far from home. I don’t even know where we are.”
“We’re on the road, Honey. That’s where we are. We’re going somewhere,” I say.
Rayne reaches over and touches Audrey’s hand. “By mid-afternoon, we’ll be passing by Calgary. Keep watching and you’ll see the city skyline. I want you to look just beyond that.”
He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” My hips are screaming. I try to ignore them. “I’d like some butterscotch ice cream, please.”
“We’ll find some later,” Rayne says.
Hours and hours pass. I can’t tell if I’m sleeping or awake. My eyes feel scratchy and blurry in turns and then, don’t feel like anything at all. My heart thumps loudly through my eardrums and sweat pools in the center of my back. My cheeks burn as if I’d s
pent too much time in the sun. A cramp grips my belly, pulls me suddenly forward, leaves my head resting in my hands. A moan escapes from way down in my gut without warning.
Rayne pulls over to the shoulder of the road and jumps out. The side door slides open and he touches my shoulder, rubs in tentative little circles and bends over to see my face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You’re starting to scare me. Do we need to get you to a hospital?”
Audrey struggles with her seatbelt, cursing the whole time. She frees herself and twists around to look at me. “You’re beet-red!”
I’m feverish and dizzy. Rayne pushes Shadow into the back and helps me swing my feet up onto the seat. He tucks something under my head and I curl up on my side. The van swirls around me. My eyes refuse to stay open.
Someone is calling my name. A uniform stands at the door of the van with a wheelchair. One hand cradles my head and the other, my shoulder.
“Can you sit up, Ma’am?”
I try to push myself up, but my body is too heavy. My arm buckles under me. Heat swirls in from outside, the smell of hot pavement mixes with air conditioning.
Rayne’s voice is rising and falling with unconscious and fever and slipped and fell, Audrey’s with vacation and far from home.
“We live together,” I hear her say, “in Ottawa.”
Someone helps me into a wheelchair. My hips—no, just my right hip—hurts like hell. I’m wheeled into the Emergency Room, right past the desk, past people with grouchy looks on their faces, who turn their attention from the television screen long enough to gawk at me. Audrey follows us through.
“Please have a seat in the waiting room,” the uniform says to Audrey and Rayne.
“But she may need help remembering,” Rayne says. “She has Alzheimer’s.”
Flee, Fly, Flown Page 18