Maxine

by Claire Wilkshire

  Remember when you didn’t know you had any games on your computer? He still finds this hilarious although he never plays them. They aren’t nearly as interesting as his own empire-building extravaganzas. He’s funny, Maxine has learned, and quite knowledgeable about all kinds of things. The Sumerians, for example. Joan of Arc, Genghis Khan, assorted Greek and Nordic deities. She helps with the details. (They’re e-leet troops, Ky. Not e-light.— Oh yeah.) There are lots of things he won’t talk about at all—try asking him what happened at school, for example—but once he starts explaining how to amass enough siege weapons to launch an attack on a castle, there’s no shutting him up. He is her Extreme Researcher, the one who trawls the web looking for contests and writing tips. He’s good at it.

  The Eiffel Tower, Kyle says. Sweet. This is the one.

  Maxine opens her mouth to explain the impossibility of it, but some part of her senses you’re not supposed to say that sort of thing to children. You’re not supposed to highlight impossibility or hopelessness. Maxine hadn’t quite realized how relentlessly negative her patterns of thinking were, until she started filtering them for Kyle. She feels as if she’s been given a second chance and she’d better not blow it this time. What are you supposed to say? If you work hard enough, your dreams will come true. Well she’s not feeding him that bullshit. Cindy worked damn hard and she wound up emaciated, bald, and delusional.

  Although that is perhaps not something to mention either.

  Can I print it, the entry form? Kyle has the mouse hovering over the printer icon. He’s turned his round face to look at her, his eyes big with the question, a fringe of light brown hair drifting down into his eyebrows, a smile so eager and ingratiating that she has to laugh.

  Ok, boy, I guess so.

  Great!

  Uh, Extreme Researcher, you’ve done a great job. But I’m not making a commitment here, OK? Why don’t you go look in the brown paper bag on the kitchen table.

  Maxine?

  Mm.

  I’m only asking, but did they have lemon squares?

  Dave has to buy Kyle skates for school. Maxine rarely sees Dave. Mostly they just say a quickHi as Kyle is passed fromone set of eyes to another. She’s been to the Larsens’ for Sunday dinner, Christmas Eve—the invitations she was unequal to the task of refusing.What she knows is what she has observed, and what Barb has told her. His voice is deep and Maxine sometimes has the urge to say Ssshh! as if a baby were asleep in the house. He works long hours downtown. Maxine doesn’t know any more about the investigation at work. She wonders if Barb could be exaggerating. Barb does tend to see things in black and white, and to have strong feelings about them. Maybe it’s amisunderstanding. Dave grew up in a small town where his dad had a store. They sold tools, seed, fertilizer, and other supplies to people like Barb’s parents, and indeed to Barb’s parents, and when it came time for high school in a slightly larger town nearby, all the young people in the area took the bus there together. The first year he pulled her ponytail. By the time they graduated he was carrying her books. They waited a long time for Kyle to come along and it was a tough birth.

  Today Dave’s a little late and Karen has already come to collect Maxine when he arrives. The three adults and Kyle stand in the street for a brief conversation. Maxine introduces Dave and Karen, and then Dave puts an arm around his son’s shoulders and draws him away. Maxine and Karen start down the street.

  Not from here, are they? says Karen.

  Prairies.

  That guy, his voice. It sounds familiar. What does he do? Karen has a bionic ear. She sings barbershop and doesn’t forget an accent.

  I can never remember the name of it. Some investment thing downtown.

  I don’t know his face but I’ve heard that voice.

  Go on. Mainlanders all sound like that.

  It would be nice to know if you were normal. If there were some easy test like putting a normalcy thermometer under your tongue and watching the red line creep into the range that says NORMAL in simple black caps, unadorned and reassuring. You could just carry on. But if the red line didn’t stop there, if it carried on into the ABERRANT zone, requiring who knows what, or maybe even worse, maybe into FUTILE... It would be better not to have had the thermometer then.

  The good thing about being hungover is that the remorse it produces may trigger significant change. Ever since her headache in the supermarket in December, Maxine has clocked in and out, ignored the phone, worked a concentrated five hours a day, evenings and weekends free. At first it’s weird, artificial, and excruciating, but gradually she’s gotten used to it. At the moment Maxine is on a lunch break and the guy in the pet store is telling her about dogs. Maxine waded through thigh-deep snow on the footpath that draws you in behind some long, thin back yards and spits you out into the Basilica parking lot. In the distance, on top of the Southside Hills, she could see evergreens outlined against the fragile winter sun like a chain of paper-doll trees. She came down the steep hill to the pet store to ask about a dog, and the guy has told her a number of things already and every timeMaxine looks on the verge of leaving the store he thinks of something else that could be useful. Often, what he has to say takes the form of a question. He is asking about Maxine’s life so he can make an informed assessment of how a dog would fit into it. He leans on the store counter and looks earnestly pleasant.

  So if it’s mostly because you want a reason to get out and that, well great, because he’d need a walk every day. You can take snowshoes if necessary or, you know, the trailer park is clear all winter, now that’s a nice little groomed loop up in the trees, in Pippy Park. Have you been up there? I might be going up there this weekend as a matter of fact, if you wanted a ride. You can rent skis or snowshoes.

  Maxine leans on the counter and then away from it. She shifts her weight fromone leg to another so her torso tips fromside to side like an erratic metronome. She scratches the back of her neck and then wants to unscratch it.

  When Maxine turns down onto her street, she can see Barb popping the trunk on the little black Mazda. Barb waves her over. Maxine can feel the snow compressing under her boots with every step. What has Kyle told her about karate, Barb wants urgently to know.

  Nothing.

  On Boxing Day a man was mowing his lawn farther down the street. Since then, it’s been two blizzards a week and the snowbanks are taller than Maxine. The roadways are narrow, with snow piled high on either side.

  I’m going to move him to a different programme, Barb says. That sensei is a nitwit. Kyle should have had his brown belt a long time ago. Dave doesn’t seem to care that he’s not advancing. I don’t think he’s getting enough one-on-one.

  How many kids are in the group?

  When a child in your class has a gift, you pay attention. You develop it. Kyle is an exceptional boy.

  Barb’s trunk has cardboard boxes to prevent the groceries from rolling around. She hands Maxine four plastic bags.

  Would you mind? Since you’re here. Barb hauls two big handfuls of bags up and out of the car. They climb the concrete steps together and set the groceries at the top. Barb opens the screen door. Thanks, Maxine. Coffee?

  Oh no, thanks, I actually have to—

  You know, I hardly see you these days. Barb locks Maxine in place with iron green eyes. I’ll have to kidnap you, she says, and drag you over for a glass of wine sometime soon.

  Sure, says Maxine, pushing the hair back off her face and ducking down the steps. Great. Bye, Barb.

  Sometimes it wouldn’t take much to give Barb what she wants, but she can be so pathologically single-minded thatMaxine sometimes feels she should be resisted on principle. Kyle is smart and funny and he knows plenty. He’s a nice kid, but he doesn’t strike Maxine as a genius. Barb clearly believes it, though, and not just about karate. She’s said other things. She wanted to have special testing done and the teacher said not to bother. Barb was furious. Maybe it’s something all parents have to believe, a Darwinian thing: my child is more interesti
ng/creative/intelligent etcetera than the others and therefore I will ensure that he gets special attention. If Kyle were starving in a famine, Barb would step on other kids’ heads to get to the front of the rations line. This would probably not be excusable even in the circumstances, but if there is no famine—if Barb just thinks Kyle might want a hotdog, say…Sometimes Barb tells Maxine about an argument she’s been in with a teacher or another parent. She smiles that smile that means she knows she’s done something bad and she’s proud of it. Behind the adult Barb, Maxine can see a two-year-old who’s poured a glass of milk over the kitchen table, grinning at her mother in a way that says I told you I didn’t want it.

  Kyle: OK, so how many words does your book have? I’ll look at the rules.

  How many words do I need, O Extreme Researcher?

  How many do you have?

  Quite a few.

  How many.

  Not telling.

  Kyle sighs and straightens his arms, rolling his chair backwards from the table and pulling himself forward again. He does this a couple of times as he reads the screen. Well, he says, a million words would be good, I think.

  A million? Let me see that.

  Actually, it doesn’t say that. That’s how many I thought would be good.

  Je—um, Jeesh. How many does it say you have to have?

  Maxine lies back on the couch using the armrest as a pillow. She closes her eyes and waits for the answer.

  Five with four zeroes to eight with four zeroes.

  Listen, Ky. It could be a long time before I finish this.

  Not necessarily. In her heyday, Enid Blyton was writing about ten thousand words a day, or a book a week.

  Well I’m not Enid Blyton and this isn’t my heyday.

  When was your heyday?

  I don’t think I’ve had one.

  Oh good, it’s probably coming soon.

  Gail’s taking a night course. She wants a better handle on businesss for when the catering takes off. Maxine reads over her term paper. Loss leader? Maxine checks it in the dictionary, but Gail was right. Maxine always thought it was lost leader, a phrase that brought to mind a forest, King Arthur wandering wanly in search of Camelot, Charlemagne trying to find his way back through the Basque country. The poignancy of the muddied hero. Accuracy can be so banal, so disappointing.

  Many people, Maxine has learned to her surprise, dislike the present tense. They find it pretentious. It creates a distance between the reader and the characters. It is, apparently, jarring, fancy, overused, and self-conscious. These things don’t bother Maxine one bit. The reason she prefers the past tense is that it’s safe. Whatever Frédérique did in the past is over and done with, unlikely to cause any ripples now. With the present, you never know where you are. Things keep happening—it’s disruptive and untidy. Furthermore, Maxine has discovered, tense isn’t just about verbs. It’s much bigger than that. She was fixing a paragraph, changing it over from the present to the past, and realized that Here she is now does not easily translate as here she was now. Somehow, here is no longer here once you’ve changed the verb; it’s more like there. Nor does now translate neatly into a past then. Place and time have swum around before your eyes. Substitute rhubarb for apple in the pie, and when it comes out of the oven you’ve got pot roast.

  Maxine is lying on her back on the living-room floor next to the phone, bum tucked against the baseboard, legs up the wall. Periodically she spreads them apart in a V, keeping them very straight, then draws them slowly back up together.

  I have one word for you. Listen up. The word is dingbat.

  I couldn’t help it, Gail, I just had to get out of there.

  That guy is totally cute. And he’s nice too. He wasn’t making you feel weird?

  No, no, it wasn’t him.

  Well then what the hell was your problem?

  I know, but it was something about the smell in the room, it was making my skin go all prickly. I felt like—something really bad would happen. If I stayed there.

  It’s a pet store. It smells funny because there are pets in it.

  Yeah, I know, but.

  This really nice guy is practically inviting you to spend the weekend with him—

  Ga-yul! A walk is not spending the weekend—

  —and you turn him down because your skin feels prickly—

  I had to get outside—

  What do you think would have happened, for Chrissake? If you’d stayed? I’m searching for enlightenment here. I’m on a quest. What is the terrible thing that could have happened?

  Maxine bends her knees and rolls onto her side.

  I don’t know, she says quietly.

  Frédérique slid out from under the duvet, pulled on a silk robe the colour of milky coffee, and left the room quietly. A few minutes later she returned, pulled the covers down on the other side of the bed and exposed a broad shoulder.

  “Jerome,” she said. “Jerome, time to go.” She shook his shoulder gently. He was so young. The skin of his shoulder felt smooth and warm. She shook him again, harder. “Jerome! You must go now. Get dressed.” Jerome sat up and yawned.

  “I’ve called you a taxi,” Frédérique said.

  “Why?What time is it?”

  “It’s five o’clock. I need to work now, and you will be a distraction.” She handed him a pair of boxer shorts. Jerome blinked. He looked like a dumb animal, puzzled at his mistreatment.

  “Aren’t we going to have breakfast?” He started to pull on his jeans.

  “You can have breakfast at home. The taxi is already taken care of.” Frédérique guided him through the small suite to her door. He still seemed dazed.

  “But when will I see you? Will you come to the shop today?”

  “I am very busy today. Maybe later this week, though.” Jerome looked as if he might burst into tears. “Darling. It has been so lovely to spend time with you.” She kissed him warmly.

  “What about the dog?”

  “I’ve decided against the dog.” At this Jerome looked so dejected that she hesitated. She kissed him again, on the cheek this time, and said, “Perhaps a bird. A little bird that would sing, or even a talking one. You will show me, later on this week?”

  “For sure. Any time.”

  “Oh there’s the taxi, goodbye darling!”

  It’s been an easy transition from friend to caregiver because they both feel pretty much the same to Maxine. All it means is that some of the time she spends with Kyle she now gets paid for, and she has a key for the Larsens’ car.

  You are crazy. You are already mixed up enough with those people.

  Gay, he comes over anyway. I like it—I like him. We’re talking swimming lessons or whatever. It’s no big deal. And it’s a few dollars coming in.

  Gail sounds dubious. Yeah, OK, they’re realizing your time is valuable, I guess that’s something.

  Barb had pounced when Maxine was taking out the garbage and forced her in for coffee. There hadn’t been a good moment for Maxine to say she doesn’t drink coffee because it kicks her heartbeat into the middle of next week so she’d fidgeted and tried to think of a polite way to interrupt and wondered how she could discreetly get rid of the coffee, could she pour it down the bathroom sink or would taking your coffee with you to the bathroom look too weird? She had actually tried—she’d said Barb, thanks, but I don’t want any coffee—just as Barb flipped the switch on the coffee grinder. None of this really mattered because Barb was focussed entirely on what she had to say.

  I can’t have any more you know, Barb said. (Maxine did, and it wasn’t a part of Barb’s life she wanted to explore.) I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss five minutes of him growing up. I’ve thought about home schooling. It’s hard to come here and set up a consulting business when you don’t know anybody. Everybody is someone’s cousin here. They don’t want to let you in.

  Her back was to Maxine as she measured. She gave each scoop a quick flick with her wrist to level the grounds. When she’d sw
itched the coffeemaker on, she turned to face Maxine. She leaned back against the countertop.

  But I have a good chance at this contract. Sit down, Maxine, please, Barb said, as if Maxine were Kyle. This is a huge contract. It would be a lot for me to take on. For a year or so, I’d be flat out. But after that I could take it easy. Work while he’s at school, stop when he comes home. I’ve been going over it in my head every day, half the night. Talking about it with Dave. We’re farm people, we worked all through school. I want to have money set aside so he doesn’t have to shovel manure when he should be studying. If I work like a crazy woman this year, I’ll meet everyone important in the business. I’d have the option to renew the contract with a reduced load.

  Barb looked at Maxine to make sure she was following, which she was.

  I’ve looked at this every which way. It’s a big sacrifice. I’ll miss out on a lot. I won’t be volunteering for the field trips and watching him take his belt test and all that stuff—I won’t have time. But if I do this for one year I’ll be set and then I can spend all the time I want with him. So that’s where you come in. I’d need someone for a year. Not all the time, but to help out, drive him sometimes, to swimming, birthday parties, drop him off, pick him up, be there after school, take him to a movie the odd time, that kind of thing. I can’t be with him as much as I’d like but I want to make sure he’s taken care of. You can charge what you like, we can talk about the details later.

  Barb handed Maxine a large mug of coffee.

  Maybe it sounds like I’m trying to dump my kid on you because I don’t want to spend time with him. That’s not it. I want to spend all my time with him. That’s why it’s hard for me to take this contract. But it means I can spend so much more time with him after this first year, I could work only while he’s in school. Dave’s professional situation is…uncertain. I have to make sure Kyle is taken care of.

  Maxine, I know we don’t know each other all that well but I trust my gut and my gut says Kyle is in a good place with you. And if you would do this, it would just be a huge thing for our family. It’s not a permanent commitment. I’m just asking you to think about it, OK, please think about it, don’t say no right now, take some time.