Under her direction, Ben parked the Thunderbird behind the barn near the end of the dirt road. “Need to take a whiz somewhere,” he said, swinging open the door. “Wish I had a raincoat, but this will have to do.” He reached for his hoodie in the back seat. “You need to go?”
“Not quite yet. Just go around to the lee side there, out of the wind.”
The muggy breeze escalated to a gale in a matter of minutes. Fortunately, it was still warm in spite of the gusts whipping up around them. As soon as Ben disappeared around the side of the old structure, her ears pricked up at the remote sound of a motor approaching. Quickly, she hunched herself down in her seat to avoid detection, listening as the faint rumble grew louder, then louder still. Sounds like an ATV. Could it be Leah’s?
She listened as the roar of the engine drew closer and stopped. She knew she must take a look before Ben became alarmed. Stealing a peek through her passenger window, she let out a gasp of relief. It was that familiar red quad with its owner, Leah, dismounting. She’d recognize that kooky helmet with its pink flower decals anywhere. She swung the door open and ran to her friend.
“Get over here, you!” she cried, throwing her arms around the small girl’s neck. For the second time since they arrived, her eyes misted over. Through a kaleidoscope of tears, she drank in Leah’s face: the bangs peeking out from under her helmet, the smattering of freckles, the wide, toothy smile, and her laughing eyes.
“Sammie! Where the hell ya been?” Leah cooed, her arms wrapped tightly around Samantha’s shoulders. They stood in an embrace, rain teeming down on them, soaking their clothes—neither of them caring. “I was so happy when you called this afternoon.”
“You called her? Today? From where?”
Samantha spun around to look into Ben’s crestfallen face. She saw the dreaded manifestation of her deception in his eyes. It nearly shattered her.
“From the Irving pay phone. I called collect and she answered. I would’ve hung up if it were anyone else.” She tore away from her friend to go to him, but he turned away. “Ben, simmer down. Leah can help us. Don’t you trust me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come to Calmer at all if I told you.”
Leah inched closer. “I brought some food,” she said in a small voice. “Ben, is it? Why don’t we get in out of the rain? Sammie, your poppy’s barn isn’t locked. Come on, let’s get inside.” She unlatched the weather-beaten door and returned to her quad to fetch several Tupperware containers from the storage box on the back of the vehicle.
Samantha linked her arm through Ben’s. He resisted at first, but allowed himself to be led inside.
Her grandfather’s barn wasn’t a place Samantha had frequented as a small child, but as an older youth and teen, she, Leah, and others had sometimes used it as a clubhouse and a hangout. The inside of the abandoned building was poorly lit, with only a small window visible near the peak above the hayloft. A musty smell hung in the air—a mixture of straw, dried salt cod, old farming tools, kerosene, and decades of dust. The threesome sat on barrels around a makeshift surface Samantha recognized as a fish-splitting table from years gone by. After removing her helmet, Leah reached into a dark corner, producing an ancient kerosene oil lamp. She set it down on the table, nimbly lighting its wick with matches she drew from her windbreaker pocket. The glow it cast on their faces was ghostly, yet comforting.
“I’ve got leftovers from supper if you get hungry,” Leah said, busying herself with the paper plates and plastic forks she had also packed. She spread a tea towel on the table. “I brought ham, corned beef, potato salad, coleslaw, and a thermos of tea, if anyone wants it. Oh, and some jam tart.”
“This was sweet of you,” Samantha said. “But won’t your momma miss all this?”
Leah shrugged. “Let me worry ’bout that.”
Samantha looked at Ben. He was being dreadfully quiet since her friend arrived. Most likely still disturbed because of the secret she kept from him. “We’ll be hungry before too long. Then we’ll tear into your buffet mighty quick. Thanks.” She winked at Leah, who smiled. “How’ve you been, since I left?”
“A bit lonely, but all right, I s’pose. I babysat Marylou’s youngsters most of the summer while she worked in the shop, but business isn’t good. I hear it’s closing at the end of September, just like the fish plant did last fall. Daddy found construction work in Corner Brook to supplement the crab and mackerel fishing, but it means he’s away a lot more. And Momma takes care of Aunt Emily too.”
“What’s wrong with your Aunt Em?”
“She had a hip replacement last month. Being right next door, Momma offered to help out when she came home from the hospital. It’s only a few dollars, but since the plant closed, it’s better than nuthin’. She’s still fightin’ with the government to get the aid package, but they’re tellin’ her she has to retrain. What does a fifty-three-year-old fish plant worker retrain for?”
“What about your brothers?”
Leah sighed. “Davis has gone to St. John’s to look for work, stayin’ with Uncle Wes. No luck yet. And Jimmy’s been doing nuthin’, only gettin’ into trouble. Momma can’t wait for school to open so she’ll know where he’s to.” She hung her head, tucking her straight dark hair behind her ears.
“Things are tough all over, aren’t they?” Samantha commiserated.
“So what are your plans? Why are you running away?”
Samantha stole another look at Ben. “Momma wants us to stay away from each other.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story. The upshot is, we’re not letting anyone tear us apart and spoil our happiness.” She reached for Ben’s hand, giving it a little squeeze.
Abruptly, Ben let go of her hand and headed for the door. “I’ll get our knapsacks. We need dry clothes.” Samantha watched as the door banged behind him.
“Did something happen?” Leah asked. “Your new boyfriend seems awfully moody. Hope he isn’t always like that.”
“He’s ticked off because I phoned you. And worried someone might prevent us from getting off the island.”
“On the phone, you said your life was a mess.”
“I’ll tell you all about it one day, I promise.”
Leah looked at her hands in her lap. “Your momma must’ve freaked out when you went missing.”
“She’ll get over it. Anyway, this is only temporary. We’re trying to make a point by doing this.”
“Listen, Sam. I’m worried about you. Hell, he’s cute as a basket of pups, but how well do you know this feller?”
“He needs me and I need him. We love each other. That’s all anyone needs to know.” Why was that so hard for everyone to understand?
She looked up at Ben’s face, pinched and unreadable, as he returned with their things. Stop fretting, baby, and start smiling again, please. We’ll soon be free to love each other, no matter where we are.
If I keep saying it, it will come true. It has to.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
An odd dream woke Samantha the following morning at dawn. Her father and Mr. Swift walked through her dream, calling to her, but that was all she could piece together. She turned over in the loft, high on the bed of scratchy hay she and Ben had slept on in their clothes. Yawning, she peered outside through the dusty, cobweb-laced window above their heads. The sky looked dull and overcast, but at least the thunderstorm had finally ended.
It had taken hours for her to fall asleep again last night, but for different reasons than the night before. Her brain had swirled with flashback images, making sleep elusive.
All a part of being so excitable, she knew. In the good times her deep feelings served as a gift, lending vivid depth to her perceptions and later reflections; a terrific asset when she took on an art project or grew absorbed in photography. But other times, when life took an unpleasant turn, it was a curse with the power to overwhelm, committing an enduring technicolour stain upon her spirit.
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br /> Ben hadn’t woken up yet. She thought she might close her eyes and grab a few more winks…
“Holy dyin’ shit. It’s after ten, Samantha!”
Samantha woke up with a jolt. “How the hell did that happen?”
Hair tousled and shirt tail flying behind him, Ben clambered down the ladder from the loft. “Come on, we have to make tracks fast or we’ll miss the afternoon ferry. Damn it!”
“Don’t forget our stuff!” Samantha shimmied down the ladder after him. She eyed the empty containers on the table from their late supper, knowing Leah would return later to collect them.
Within seconds, they were back in the Thunderbird.
Samantha remembered how Ben’s black mood had left her feeling isolated and alone last night in the hayloft, turning away from her and feigning sleep as soon as he lay down. To make matters worse, the thunder, lightning, and the wind shaking the entire old barn around them had made sleep for her impossible. If only he had held her! It disturbed her how he’d nursed his indignation for all it was worth.
She supposed he had good reason. She shouldn’t have kept the phone call to Leah from him. Perhaps it was wrong to call Leah at all. This was no way to build a relationship with the person she loved more than anyone else in the entire world, and they were in this together, after all. Why had she been so afraid to trust him with the truth?
Ben muttered something about possibly needing more gas before they reached Port aux Basques. Samantha wished she could see Leah again before leaving, but they had run out of time. The rain squalls persisted well into the night, so she had no opportunity to show Ben around her little town after all. If they’d gotten up early, they might have had time, but he said it was just as well. Someone would likely see her and spoil their whole escape.
She swallowed her disappointment in silence.
As they made their way back on the pothole-filled access road, Ben played an Oasis album on the car stereo—one of his favourites. Samantha let out a long breath, not realizing she had been holding it. She tried to make herself relax, but the prospect of their leaving Newfoundland filled her with renewed apprehension. She had never been off the island before. For the first time, she wondered if Ben actually knew what he was doing. Something occurred to her. Wasn’t it foolhardy and irresponsible to leave Mr. Swift’s beautiful, vintage convertible unattended at the ferry dockside?
“Are you calling your dad when we get to Sydney?”
“I already told you I was, didn’t I?” Ben snapped.
“How long are you going to stay angry with me?” Samantha asked, glancing at him with wounded eyes. She reached for the volume button on the stereo and turned it down.
“I don’t like you keeping important stuff secret, especially important stuff that concerns me.” Ben turned it up again.
The look of exasperation on his face kept her quiet until the turnoff onto the Trans-Canada highway was imminent. Anger swelled inside her and she couldn’t let it go. “Speaking of secrecy, you could certainly share more too, you know.”
Ben said nothing, his jaw clenched and twitching.
His avoidance of the conversation rankled her. “What about your mom? Do you think your father told her yet, that you are missing? I’m sure she must be worried too.”
Without warning, Ben broke his silence. He swore and slammed on the brake. Samantha’s heart hammered against her ribs as she let out a scream.
The car lurched to a rude halt, skidding on the road for a second before the tires ground to a stop on the gravelly shoulder. With the abrupt loss of motion, Samantha’s arms flew out in front of her, her torso straining against the seat belt. A strange new fear shot through her when Ben’s fist came down like a sledgehammer on the dashboard.
“My mother is not worried.”
“Please, Ben. You’re—you’re scaring me.”
“She never gave a fuck!”
“Why wouldn’t she care about you? Because of the divorce?” In spite of the anger she harboured against her father, Samantha thought Ben was being unreasonably hard-headed when it came to his mother. Cripes! Deal with it. You’re not the first person who ever came from a broken home! She bit back the words before they could escape her lips.
Something seemed to splinter and crack in Ben’s expression. Jabbing at the stereo, he shut off the music and turned, staring at her, his dark eyes wild, unfocused, with no trace of love in them anymore. Only anger. “There was no divorce.”
The air around them grew preternaturally quiet.
“So, they are only separated?” she managed to ask.
“She left us! She didn’t care enough to stay; not for my dad, and not even for me, her son—her only child.”
Samantha looked away, staring out at the sky through the passenger window. Dark, menacing clouds scudded across the horizon, gathering again, towering and heading in their direction. More unsettled weather was on its way.
Her father’s face flashed in her mind. “It doesn’t mean she no longer loves you, though.”
“But it does.” Ben’s voice changed, sounding strangely high, vulnerable and bordering on panic, much like it had when he found out about Veronica’s pregnancy.
But Samantha pressed on in hopes of placating him. “Divorce or separation doesn’t mean the kids are not loved or wanted. Sometimes it’s the only answer—”
“My mother is dead.”
Samantha stared at him, stone-faced. “What?” she whispered.
“Dead.” Ben fought to control himself, his hands frozen, locked on the steering wheel. “She killed herself. Ran herself a bath, got in, and swallowed the full bottle of antidepressants the bastards at the hospital gave her the day before when they discharged her. And have a guess who found her there.” His voice broke. He let out a long, quivering sob. “I tried to save her, but it was too late. She didn’t love me enough to stay alive.”
Painful answers clicked into place to questions Samantha had struggled with over the last two months. His mother had post-traumatic stress disorder. She’d quit her job after the bank hold-up and had never returned to it. And of course, Ben’s moods; his moments of withdrawal from her, his insolent outbursts of uncontrollable anger, the times he’d allowed only his fists to express all of the pain he held inside.
“Oh God,” she breathed. “When did it happen?”
“Last summer. Just before we sold the house in Mount Pearl and moved to St. John’s.”
“I thought that was your mother I saw visiting you. So did Kalen. The woman with your eyes. The striking resemblance.”
Ben wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. “My Aunt Valerie. My mother’s younger sister. She lives in Mount Pearl with her husband and kids.”
So that was the man she saw in the Taurus that day. Ben’s uncle. She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Ben.” She looked at his tortured face. “You should have told me. Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. I was ashamed you might think I wasn’t…that I wasn’t worth anything. How can I be, if my own mother didn’t want me? Why didn’t she try harder to get better?” Again, his voice faltered, his chin trembled, but his gaze never left hers.
Why didn’t she try harder to get better? It was a question Samantha asked herself many times about her mother’s alcoholism. Sometimes a person in pain chooses a different way to escape from life. Or to kill herself slowly.
“I’m still ashamed. And…I’m afraid of losing you too, Samantha.” He gripped her hand across the console, pulling it close to his cheek. He broke down, and for several long moments, he wept. She reached over and stroked his hair with tenderness, feeling her own heart breaking as fat raindrops hit the windshield.
After a while he grew silent, released her hand and slowly straightened up, regaining his composure. Putting the car in drive, he approached the end of the access road and turned onto the highway. As Samantha tried to process everything he’d told her, the Thunderbird clipped along in the direction of Port aux B
asques. He ejected the CD and popped in another. The earthy throb of a Metallica song filled the car interior.
The last thing Samantha wanted to do was upset him again, but she wished he would slow down a little, especially considering his state of mind. “Ben, do you think, maybe, we don’t need to drive this fast?”
“I’m not going that much over the speed limit. We’ve already wasted too much time.” As if to add emphasis to his words, he stepped heavily on the accelerator, swerving out and overtaking the black SUV, towing a large camper trailer in front of them. He didn’t decrease his speed even when he pulled back in the lane.
“Please, Ben, I’m nervous when you drive like this.”
He didn’t answer.
She tried to stay calm, willing herself to trust his driving ability. Consumed with what he had just revealed, she turned it over in her mind, trying to imagine the loss he had tried so hard to hide from everyone. Ben had been wearing a mask of his own.
She watched him do a double take in the rear-view mirror. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead and his eyes widened in alarm. She swivelled around in her seat to look through the rear windshield at precisely the same moment the urgent wail of a siren filled her ears.
Ben struck the steering wheel with his palm. “Fuck this!”
The siren screamed louder when the RNC police car—red and blue lights flashing—pulled out and passed the other cars easily. It was now on their bumper. For a second, Samantha thought she recognized the driver. Then she was certain.
“Oh God, no! I think it’s Officer Randy.” She wondered what it meant.
“What the hell is he doing out here? Or do I need to ask?” Ben clenched his teeth and threw her a devastated look. “Who else did you call, Samantha?”
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