Darren Effect
Page 12
“Where are the eggs?” She had to raise her voice to be heard. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought they’d laid. Watch your step. They invest a lot of energy into those nests.”
“What nests?”
He pointed to the ground, near her feet. “They’re properly referred to as scrapes,” he said, and then she saw them: slight depressions the size of saucers and defined only by a change in substrate. Some were smooth sandy patches among pebbles, others a collection of pebbles among cobbles. They were delicate and obscure. At first she had an urge to say something cynical, that an autistic child could have done a better job, but the mild regularity of these surfaces made her think of skin, of the dips and rises of the human body, from the indentations on Benny’s buttocks to the oblong cups that formed in his armpits when he lay bare chested, his arms crossed behind his head.
Darren had left her and was ahead now, nearly to the parking lot. She watched him crossing the firmer substrate there and noticed for the first time his slightly odd way of walking: a light, playful bouncing. It occurred to her he was the type of boy who would have walked on tiptoe. This was once believed to indicate something, but she couldn’t remember quite what: a slow reader, above average creativity?
By the time she caught up with him, he was getting into his truck. He closed his door, then rolled down the window and asked, “Was that you got lost out on Cape Broyle Head?”
She was aware of him assessing her figure, perhaps speculating how long she had to go.
She nodded.
“They said two people. Was your husband with you?”
“I don’t have a husband.”
“No? Well, you’re some size, aren’t you?” He was shaking his head.
She guessed she wasn’t much more than a specimen to him.
He started the truck and pulled out slowly, giving her a perfunctory nod without eye contact. As she stood there, alone, it came to her out of the blue: The Bruce Effect. A crazy idea, yet she regretted not keeping her animal behaviour textbooks.
The following afternoon Heather was sitting in her doctor’s office, avoiding a gruesome photograph of mouth cancer in the anti-smoking poster. It was just to the left of Dr. Redcliffe’s head.
“My guess is you’re perfectly fine,” Dr. Redcliffe said, stepping back until she reached the wall.
Heather sighed. “I’m not myself.”
“You’re pregnant. All kinds of things are happening to your body. It affects your brain. Your moods. But we’ll order some more blood tests.” Dr. Redcliffe bent to scribble on a pad of paper balanced on a partly raised thigh. “Your blood sugar might be low.”
“It’s not my blood sugar.”
The two women stared at each other briefly. They were the same age and had embarked on their careers at roughly the same time. Heather was one of Dr. Redcliffe’s first patients and had witnessed her doctor’s changing hairstyles, the parade of receptionists, the metamorphosis from tolerant and chatty to harried and direct.
“I’ve stopped gaining weight. Could I lose the baby?”
“I don’t follow. The baby is healthy. The worst that can happen is a premature delivery, which, don’t misread me, can be plenty serious, but you’re nearly full term. So. Take it easy. Eat well and rest. Have you given any thought to names?”
“Something is wrong.”
“Heather, might I say something?” The doctor took a step towards her, giving up the support of the wall. “I think you’re reading too much into your symptoms. If you still feel this way after the birth, I’d be inclined to suggest an antidepressant.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Let’s wait to see how you feel after the birth.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Are you all right? It might be wise for you to talk to someone. It can’t be easy going through this all by yourself.”
“I can talk to myself.”
Dr. Redcliffe smiled slightly. “You know that’s not going to do you much good.” She retrieved Heather’s file from the examination table and pressed it to her chest like a schoolgirl. “Don’t leave those tests too long. We might be going on strike. The hospital will be a zoo.”
Heather waited in the room, though the door was open, inviting her to leave. She knew a throng of patients was anxious to be seen. Dr. Redcliffe was running an hour behind, which was better than usual. Heather found herself staring at the mouth cancer again but with less alarm. She was offended by the idea of antidepressants. What would Darren Foley think of that?
A woman carrying a baby in one of those things Heather had not yet bought was led into the examining room opposite Heather’s. The woman set the thing on the floor and gazed down tenderly at her baby. Heather couldn’t see the baby but she heard it begin to cough. It surprised her. It didn’t sound human. Weak, rasping, breathless. It sounded like a mouse coughing. Yet it went on. The mother looked worried. Finally the coughing stopped and Heather was relieved to see Dr. Redcliffe enter the examining room and close the door soundlessly, the way she always did, behind her.
But Heather’s door was still open and she could easily hear her doctor’s cheerful voice. “Any better?” Heather heard her ask the baby. “Oh, let’s have a look at you. You were supposed to get better. You were. His colour is good. This bug is going around. You need to let it work its way through his system.”
The baby began coughing again. This was followed by some silence, then Dr. Redcliffe saying, “If I hadn’t heard that cough . . . I want you to pop in at the hospital with him. He should have a chest X-ray for that. Hey, hey.” The doctor sounded like she was laughing. “You’re not going to fall apart on me, now, are you? The X-ray is just a precaution.”
Heather placed a hand over her belly.
She checked her watch. It was not yet noon. Perhaps she’d call Darren at work. Why bother stalking him now, when a relationship, of sorts, had been established? Why not simply invite herself along, a beginning birdwatcher keen to learn more?
They were still over an hour from town when Darren pulled into an empty parking lot beside a closed kiosk. Heather, who had taken her own car, had no choice but to pull in as well; she had no idea where they were. Darren had not warned her he was going to stop, although there had been that nervous, almost cocky manner in which he had taken charge of everything all day.
Heather got out of her car and walked over to his truck.
“Do you find many oiled seabirds here?”
He turned off his ignition. “Of course not. Come on, I want to show you something.”
“What about the loon?”
“It’ll be fine.” He looked at her. “It’s a bird.”
They passed a small sign announcing, “Geology Tours, Saturday, 10 am & 2 pm,” then took a path that meandered away from the parking lot and descended alongside a valley comprised of pancake rock slabs cut by small streams. As usual, Darren walked on ahead, then dropped suddenly from sight.
“Darren? Where are you?”
Here and there the streams slowed to form paper-thin pools.
The orange cap popped up. He waited as she approached. “There’s a bench here. Can you make it?”
A sitting area was just off the path beside a deeper pool. She lowered herself beside him.
“Did you notice the rock formation?” he asked.
“I did.” She tried to sound interested, and he launched into an explanation, as she knew he would. She heard conglomerate, ancient beach, volcanic cobbles, sandstone matrix.
“I thought it might have been concrete,” she said, joking.
“Christ no. It’s five hundred and fifty million-year-old rock.”
He grew quiet, perhaps disappointed. She grinned.
“What’s funny about that?”
“Nothing.” She saw that place of uncertainty in him again. The baby kicked and she automatically put a hand over her side, returning the pressure.
“Are you cold?” Darren asked. He moved closer to her. She sen
sed he wanted to put an arm around her. Was that why he’d brought her here?
Now would be an excellent time to ask if he was married.
She had already dated Benny twice, though they had not yet touched, when she learned he was married — he didn’t wear a ring. That would have been the moment to ask herself, Do you really think this is wise?
They were having lunch and discussing pollution — the world filling with diapers and refrigerators — when he mentioned his wife. My wife is enthusiastic about recycling.
“You’re married?”
He was halfway through the seafood pasta. He had said it was not that good. He laid his fork and knife across the plate and rested both his forearms on the table, enclosing his food. His arms were darker than her own, the knuckles pink.
He looked at her and said quietly, “I wasn’t sure if you knew. I didn’t want to ask. I’ve been a bit mixed-up about that. And guilty. I knew we had to get to this point eventually.”
“You’re married?”
“Heather, this isn’t about sex. Did you think this was just about sex?”
“Of course not.”
“Because it’s not.”
But when he leaned over to kiss her — an hour later in his car — she was relieved. It was, to some extent, about sex. He dropped her off at her office and she wandered into the dark building, dazed and happy. She had been longing to kiss him.
Two young girls lugging an assortment of handbags had emerged onto the rock bed above them.
“Are you familiar with the Bruce Effect?” she asked Darren.
She watched him look into the distance and squint as he searched his mental database. It was enjoyable to see. When he found what he was looking for, he looked puzzled. “The phenomenon whereby a pregnant female aborts her young when exposed to an unknown male?”
“Yeah. But I think it’s reabsorb. Not abort.”
“I think it’s either. Pregnancy disruption. And I think it’s chiefly been observed in rodents. Why do you mention it?”
She shrugged.
The girls’ chattering voices could be heard as they drew closer.
“So that’s why you were following me?” he joked.
It was the first time he’d referred to their previous meetings.
“I wonder if it’s painful?”
He stared at her.
“The reabsorption? I wonder if it’s painful.”
He looked offended. “You’re not reabsorbing that,” he said, indicating her belly with his thumb.
“It was just something I thought of.”
“You sound like you might not want that baby.”
“Forget I brought it up.”
They fell silent. Heather sensed Darren regretted his remark, though she already knew he was not the type to make apologies.
She turned and saw the girls standing only a few metres away, staring at them. It was obvious they had been heading for the pool. Surprisingly, they were wearing bathing suits.
“Heather, I want to ask your advice on something.”
“Mine?”
“There’s a young boy living next door to me. He’s a good kid, just confused I think. His mother — a single mother — she worries about him. She’s having a difficult time with him.”
“Your neighbour?”
“Yes. I thought with your background?”
“I don’t see children, Darren. And I’m on leave.”
“I don’t mean that you see him. Just observe him.”
“Where?”
“As it happens, the mother is hosting a barbeque next weekend,” he said. “It’s the Avalon Nature Club’s spring event. You could join us.”
“I don’t really think that’s my thing, Darren.”
“Anyone is welcome. It’s not a big crowd. And the club is always looking for new members.”
“Darren, that’s foolish. I’m not going to be able to tell you anything — or the mother — by simply watching him at a party. And I don’t see children.”
“He does some unusual things. I think he’d be easy to observe. He chooses not to walk, for example.”
The girls were engaged in a conversation that appeared humourless and unrhythmic, though Heather couldn’t hear a word of it. It was soft and padded, like rain on a cabin roof. They were removing plates and utensils and containers of food, a jug and two glasses. Heather began to suspect their conversation was entirely food related.
“He doesn’t walk? Do you mean he’s delayed?”
“No, no. He’s twelve years old and he can walk. But he crawls.” Darren shook his head, smiling, as though it were too wild to believe. “He sprained his ankle six months ago. The point is, the leg is fine.”
“But he doesn’t walk?” “Sometimes he gets up and walks, sure, but just as often he doesn’t. You’d also have the opportunity to meet more birdwatchers.”
“Darren, I don’t think I’d be any help.”
“By the way, where was the frostbite? Your ears?”
She turned quickly to him. He had been studying her ear, but now he was looking into her eyes. He would be justified in thinking her not only crazy, but ridiculous.
“My feet. How did you know about that?”
“Heard it on the news.”
“Oh, right.”
“So that wasn’t you they interviewed?”
“No, my sister Mandy. ”
“Mandy was also following me?”
“Yes. I’m really sorry about all that.”
“I know your sister, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe Mandy would like to come to the barbeque as well?”
They both knew she owed him. She looked back towards the girls, who were arranging themselves on beach towels, their naked legs sticking straight out before them with a demeanor girlish and prim. They slipped their bathing suit straps off their shoulders and then began fiddling with the height of their suits above their small breasts: a little higher, a little lower. They lay down, they sat back up, they adjusted their sun hats, they wiggled their bums on the towels.
“I can’t believe those girls are wearing bathing suits,” she said. “Surely they’re not planning on swimming?”
“Come on,” Darren said, taking her hand and shaking it. The touch surprised her. “You might like this crowd. You seemed enthusiastic about the crossbills.”
Yes, the crossbills. That was true.
This would have to be her last meeting with Darren, who may have been scheming to extract a free assessment of his neighbour’s child from her for some time. If he didn’t have a wife, he had this neighbour. And yes, she owed him. She had been a complete stranger, appearing out of nowhere in isolated areas. She could have been armed, she could have been a serious threat. Yet he had put up with her. What she didn’t get was why he would ask a pregnant nutbar for professional advice. Well, some people will take anything if it’s free.
And maybe it was a way to score points with this neighbour.
“So I can bring Mandy with me?”
“Absolutely. As I said, the club is always looking for new members.” He paused. “And I’ll be bringing my sister as well.”
Suddenly the girls stopped chatting. A third youngster had arrived: a boy alien-like in dripping wet socks and dry trunks, his naked chest pale and emaciated. The girls stared at him with disapproval and alarm, though Heather guessed they had been expecting him. He circled the girls without a word and then was gone at a run. The girls exploded into giggles.At the parking lot Heather found she was winded. She leaned against her car and a sharp pain clutched her lower abdomen. She breathed deeply and waited for it to pass. Darren stood close by, visibly worried.
“Maybe I’m finally starting to reabsorb it.”
“Finally?” he sounded as though he believed there was some truth to the idea. He pulled up the sleeve of his coat to check the time. “I need to get you back to town.”
“I need food, actually. I think it’s low blood sugar.”
“Sounds like a funeral home,” she said.
“Well, it’s not. It’s an inn.”
Darren explained it was just past the nursery but before the Esso station and reservoir. She couldn’t miss it. There was a short unpaved driveway on your left, maybe quarter of a klick, tops. They served dinner. She should go on, it was getting dark. After he’d checked on the loon, he’d be right along.
“Can you drive, Heather? I could leave my truck here.”
Heather assured him she was fine to drive. But as soon as she started the car, she wanted nothing more than to go home and get into a hot bath.
She was the one who had found the loon. She had already decided she was better than Darren at locating the carcasses. The bird, which she had thought was either a swan or a goose until Darren set her straight, was massive. It was lying in the sand with its neck and head fallen across its flattened back.
“Found one,” she had called to Darren, poking the thing with her boot. Its neck rose up and it stabbed her ankle and she leapt away.
Ten minutes later she drove past the entrance to the Pearly Everlasting Country Manor, braked and backed up. The name of the establishment was painted on a large elaborate sign, but it was partially hidden by alders. The driveway was not long, as Darren had said, but the potholes were savage and Heather drove slowly. Just before a sprawling grey building surrounded on both sides by larch forest, the dirt gave way to gravel and a circular drive. Heather parked beside a jeep and got out and glanced behind her, hoping to see Darren’s truck pull in. She approached the building. It was getting colder.
She was hesitating in front of a set of wooden doors at the front of the building, thinking it looked more like a terrible old orphanage than a place where you’d willingly pay money to eat and sleep, when the doors opened. A skinny woman wearing a red dress stood on the threshold. A paisley wrap, neatly folded lengthwise, hung over her shoulder as though over a clothes rack.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the Pearly something. An inn?”