Prerequisites for Sleep

by Jennifer L. Stone

  “Diane!” Her father opened the door with a broad-faced grin and scooped her into a hug. “What on earth are you doing here, girl?”

  “Just felt like coming for a visit.” She nestled her face into his shoulder and inhaled the familiar smells of his shampoo and shaving cream, along with something new. Body wash. One of those clean, manly, almost sexy scents that made her think of an athlete in street clothes; certainly not one that she would have ever associated with her father.

  “How long are you staying?”

  “Maybe a week, I don’t know for sure.” She let him usher her inside, then stepped back to survey his appearance. “So, how come the door was locked?”

  “Oh, you know how it is,” he said, trying to disguise the look of helplessness that had momentarily appeared on his face. “Can’t trust anyone these days. And with them always letting people out of the Burnside jail by mistake, a person doesn’t feel safe in their own home.”

  The toilet flushed and her mother stepped into the hallway, closing the bathroom door behind her. “Too many people in that jail, and too few guards. That’s what they say, anyway. Shouldn’t have jails so close to communities, in my opinion. Did I hear you say you were staying for a week?”

  Doris never changed. Her dyed hair and pencilled eyebrows had been part of her public persona for as long as Diane could remember. That and a brusque demeanour that Diane suspected her mother no longer dropped for her father, like she used to when they were younger and in bed and Diane could hear them through the adjoining wall.

  “Something like that. Hope you don’t mind that I didn’t call?”

  “We’ll have to get some groceries, that’s all. We don’t keep a lot in when it’s just the two of us. I see you came on your own. Surely one of the boys could have driven down with you.”

  “Liam is in university. And Sheldon couldn’t make it either.” Diane couldn’t bring herself to say that Sheldon had disappeared. She hadn’t told them when he had disappeared the first time, when he was fifteen and she and Blaine hardly slept for three months. That time, he had left a note. Mom, Dad, I’m just going away. Don’t worry. It was the only time that he had left a note. Every time after, he was just gone. She never told them.

  “Well, get yourself settled in. Your father and I will make a trip to Sobeys. Find your keys, Bill. I’ll get my purse.”

  Diane unpacked the charger and plugged in her cell phone. Then she wandered through the rooms, all dark from blind slats angled partially closed under her mother’s mandatory three-to-one ratio of gathered sheers and half-drawn insulated drapes. She returned to her own room to push back the curtains and raise the blinds. Opening the window and leaning on the sill, she peered out, searching the far corners of the backyard to pick out the mock orange and snowball bushes she had helped her father plant the summer she turned eight. Towering between them was the variegated maple. Somewhere, she recalled, there was a photo of Liam and Sheldon eating hot dogs while sitting in its branches, their bare legs dangling just out of her reach.

  “I bought a turkey,” her mother said when they returned. She was carrying two Sobeys bags, reusable green totes with pictures of enlarged blueberries on the side. Her father followed with two more bags. These ones had pictures of artichokes on them.

  “Mom, I really don’t want you to go to a lot of trouble.” Even as she said it, Diane knew that things were already in motion and picking up speed.

  “Nonsense, everyone was coming next weekend for Thanksgiving anyway. We’re just moving the date up.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, her mother bustled happily around the kitchen with an upgraded sense of purpose. Diane and her father donned sweatshirts and sat on the deck drinking beer. For dinner, Diane talked them into ordering takeout by insisting that she was craving a donair. Her parents preferred pizza, so she picked up a medium with everything except black olives for them. While she was out, she rented a movie, a family flick with a kid and a dog. By ten-thirty, they were all in bed.

  It was after eleven when she strolled into the kitchen the following morning. Her mother was already filling the turkey with handfuls of stuffing.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Get yourself some breakfast, then start the vegetables. We’ll all be wanting to shower later, so we need to do the dirty work first.”

  Diane put the leftover pizza in the microwave and poured herself a glass of milk.

  “You’re eating like a teenager,” her mother said.

  “No, I’m not. If I were a teenager, I would drink from the carton.”

  “You wouldn’t be eating like that if the boys were around.”

  Actually, thought Diane, I probably would be. After Sheldon started disappearing, she began reevaluating everything. When he was home, if he wanted to eat potato chips and ice cream sundaes for breakfast, she didn’t say a word. Often, she joined him, stealing a few minutes of his time while coveting more. She bought junk food and took up baking again, deliberately leaving things where he would see them, another one of her desperate ideas. The sad fact was that Sheldon wasn’t much of an eater. When he did eat, he was silent and picked at his food, and she studied his hands and thought about how much they were aging and of all the things they probably did to survive when he wasn’t at home. They were scarred and usually bruised. Concentrating on them kept her from imagining some of the other things he could possibly do for food or money.

  Everyone arrived just after five. Doris hustled them all into the dining room and began placing platters of food on towels, folded in quarters, in the middle of the table. Diane took the seat next to Julie and Allison, her nieces, while Barry and his wife, Caroline, sat on the other side and her parents took their usual spots on the ends.

  “The dishes are hot,” her mother said. “Diane, you scoop the potatoes since they are in front of you. The girls can serve the squash. Caroline, you do the asparagus, and I’ll manage the dressing. There is a platter of turkey at each end, and we’ll pass around the gravy and cranberries.” Doris belonged to an era where such tasks were women’s work. Holiday dinners meant that all the women, whether they were guests or not, were also expected to be in the kitchen afterwards. The men were allowed to smoke, drink or fall asleep.

  Diane had resented this in her teen years, but then did the same with her own sons, always wanting to do things for them, never expecting them to help out. On the other hand, she never expected help from other women either. Blaine always pitched in. It was one of the reasons she had married him. The only one she could remember, but the memory was vivid. The first time was when she was still at York University. They had only been dating a short time when he invited her to his house for Sunday dinner. It was so nice to get out of residence and eat a real meal in a real house. Diane almost fell out of her chair when Blaine stood up, without being asked, and started clearing the table. She could hardly contain her astonishment when he washed all the dishes that didn’t fit in the dishwasher while his father dried them. She wondered whether there were any men in Nova Scotia who would do that.

  “So, how’s the car business?” she asked Barry, piling his plate high with mashed potatoes.

  “A bit slow, but there’s always someone out there who wants to buy a truck. Prices are good these days, and even with gas being unpredictable, they can’t resist.”

  “Sell many hybrids?” She handed him his plate and watched as he doused everything in gravy until his dinner looked like islands in a mud puddle.

  “We don’t even discuss hybrids unless someone is specifically looking for one. Then it’s a special order.”

  “The boys will have to change their ways eventually.”

  “The boys,” Barry said, holding his fork like a pointer in midair, “have been my livelihood for over twenty years. Don’t expect me to start telling them what to do.”

  “Did I tell you about Eva Gibbons?” Doris said before
Diane could respond. Diane had wanted to say something along the lines of everyone needing to change, that the only way to survive was to adapt. She took her cue and remained silent.

  “Her husband Rob woke up to find her dead in the bed next to him. That was a couple months ago. An aneurysm. It’s so sad to see him getting groceries all by himself now. You remember Rob and Eva. You used to babysit for them years ago.”

  “I only babysat for them once, but yes, I remember them.”

  “Allison, how’s that floor hockey team of yours?” Her father’s jovial voice came from the other end of the table. Diane looked up to see him wink at his granddaughter.

  “We’re going to the provincials, Gramps. You’ll have to come watch.” Allison was a feminine version of Diane’s brother. She had his mouth and nose, and those damn long lashes that Diane always thought were such a waste on Barry. She had also inherited his athletic talents.

  “Thought I’d get a van from work,” Barry said. “Then we could all go to the games. Get a couple of hotel rooms if necessary.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said her father.

  “So, Julie, are you on any teams?” Diane lifted her glass to take a sip of water but set it back down after catching a whiff of chlorine.

  “I’m afraid that Julie takes after me,” said Caroline. “Not much of an athlete, but she is in vocals and band.

  “And I’m performing in the dinner theatre.”

  “Oh, wow! When’s the dinner theatre?”

  “Christmas,” said Julie, “right before our semi.”

  “What on earth is a semi?” Doris said. “Sounds like a truck.”

  “It’s a dance, Gran. You know, semiformal.” Julie laughed, and Diane could picture her easily fitting in with any group of carefree girls making s’mores at a sleepover.

  “I didn’t know they had a dance at Christmas,” said Doris. “I thought the only dress-up event was the prom at the end of the year. It’s so nice that you kids like to do that sort of thing. Diane never went to her prom. Wasn’t much for boys or going out back then. She was asked, though. Remember, Bill? Remember that poor bugger who showed up at our door all dressed up with a corsage in hand? Diane never even told us she was invited. Why anyone would just disappear instead of going, or at least telling the guy she wasn’t going to go, is beyond me. Now in my day, I loved getting all gussied up in satin and rhinestones. Had the boys falling all over me when I went to prom. Not Diane. She just took off. Didn’t come back for two days. Worried sick, we were. We called the police and they organized a search, then Diane shows up with the old pup tent we used to have in the garage.” Doris shifted her gaze towards her daughter. “Wasn’t that boy one of the Milligans? Ethan, wasn’t that his name? Whatever happened to him?”

  “He’s a police officer,” Caroline interjected. “His daughter is in Allison’s class.”

  “A police officer,” Doris said. She clicked her tongue and helped herself to a large slice of turkey breast. “You wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. Not if you saw him on our doorstep back then.”

  After dinner, Diane and Caroline were filling plastic containers with leftovers and stacking them in the fridge. “So, what are you doing tomorrow?” Caroline asked, snapping the lid on a bowl of gravy.

  Diane didn’t hear the question. She was busy thinking of Sheldon, and of his need to turn destinations into departure points, and of the excuses she would make in order to leave before the week was up. She wondered whether she was becoming like her son or if he had been like her all along. Years later, long after Sheldon had disappeared for good and Diane only travelled when Liam picked her up from the seniors’ home every other Sunday, she would still find herself pondering this more often than not.

  Chasing Rabbits

  The dog was off again. Jake could hear him racing through the weeds in Eugene’s yard, heavy panting mixed with the hissing of disturbed vegetation. “Einstein!” he called, directing his voice through the thicket of black spruce that separated the two properties.

  “Not too bright, that Einstein. Doesn’t look like he’s gonna listen.”

  The last thing Jake needed was Gene’s sarcasm. For eight years, Einstein had never left the yard. Then Eugene added pet rabbits to the equation, minus a cage. For the kids, he said, but the kids moved out west with their mother after the divorce last year. The rabbits couldn’t make the trip.

  Originally there were three of them: two grey, one tan. Sometime over the winter, one of the grey ones disappeared. Must have been a hawk or an owl. It happened in Jake’s driveway. Nothing left but red snow and bits of downy fluff. Whatever had gotten the rabbit, Jake kept hoping it would come back for another meal. He was getting tired of chasing the little bastards out of Maxine’s gardens.

  “That dog of yours gets a hold of one of my rabbits, I’ll shoot him,” Gene yelled.

  Jake couldn’t see him, but he had a pretty good idea where Gene was. When he was home, Gene was only ever in two places: in the front yard working on some wreck, or on the back deck downing a beer. Deck, concluded Jake, steering left and cutting through the trees to Gene’s yard. He took the time to brush spider webs from his face and hair before clapping his hands, mostly for effect. There was no way in hell the dog was going to stop until he was tired, and no way he would catch a rabbit either, not with arthritis in his hip.

  Gene was leaning on the deck rail, absently peeling the label off a beer bottle and wearing a look that Jake labelled as antagonistic pleasure.

  Jake sidestepped a discarded tire rim. “What do you expect? He’s a spaniel. It’s only natural for him to chase rabbits. I never thought he would actually get the opportunity or I would have included it in his training.”

  “Like I said, he better not get one of my rabbits.”

  At the very least, Jake wanted to tell Gene to put a cork in it. It was either that or the litany of expletives that remained on the tip of his tongue when Einstein chose that moment to end the chase and come romping towards his master, tail wagging full tilt and looking as though he was expecting a reward. Jake slipped his hand under the dog’s collar and retraced his steps to his own yard.

  Einstein wasn’t happy being kept in his pen. Jake didn’t care. He had things to do; running after a dog was not one of them. First, he had to shovel the pellets of rabbit crap off the lawn so he could mow, then he was planning on weeding the gardens. Why Maxine had to have so many gardens was beyond him, and how she managed to keep them looking perfect was another mystery. At least once a week Jake thought about filling them in with sod. A few days ago, he went as far as taking the measurements of the two larger ones out back before changing his mind. Maybe he ought to just sell the place and move into town.

  By the following week, the weather had changed. The air held the beginning of tropical storm season. Ever since the hurricane a few years back, this time of year made people uneasy. Jake strolled around the lawn, picking up branches that had come down in the previous night’s wind. “Damn rabbits,” he muttered, bending down to inspect the lower limbs on the lilac bush. He’d have to protect it with fencing, meaning a trip to Home Hardware. Jake, no different than any other male he knew, didn’t mind going to the hardware store, but this time he minded the purpose.

  The CD player in his truck played a single disk, The Guess Who, over and over in a constant loop. Randy Bachman and Burton Cummings. Jake knew all their lyrics. Nowadays, he just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, but when he was younger, he would imitate them, singing their vocals, using a beer bottle as a mike. That’s how he met Maxine, at a party, while singing “American Woman.” She shimmied up to him and asked what he thought of Canadian women. He could still see her in those slim-fitting Levis and purple halter. She even had purple shoes. It was the first time Jake saw someone wearing shoes that weren’t black, white, or some shade of brown. God, she looked good. He always wondered what she saw in a goofbal
l like him. Both only children, they didn’t bother to have kids of their own. Lots of people opt not to have kids these days. Back then it was a bit of an issue. Their parents never understood that it was a choice; never forgave them, either.

  Maxine always said that the plaza had everything you needed for a summer weekend. As long as you don’t need a new bathing suit. Then she would laugh. What had started as a lone grocery store had expanded over the years to include the hardware store, a liquor store, a pharmacy and a Tim Hortons. The parking lot, already too small before Tim’s moved in, was busy. Twice Jake had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting someone attempting to back out of a spot. He pulled his truck in on an angle by the gas station at the far end, then walked towards the hardware store, making a mental note to pick up a case of beer on the way back and to get some change for the Scouts selling apples by the door.

  Once inside, he passed the power tools and took a left at the gardening section, where he saw Darlene stacking bags of birdseed on the lower shelf. Eugene’s sister never quite appeared at home in the red polo shirt of her uniform. She and Gene were the type of people who had looked too mature at twelve and well-used by forty. One would guess Gene was closer to seventy than fifty-two; Darlene fared only a bit better. When she looked up, he acknowledged her by nodding in her direction, then slowed slightly with the intention of easing around her.

  “Hey, Jake, got a sec?” Darlene stood up and brushed off her hands on her thighs, bringing his attention to the creases created by jeans that were too tight.

  “Sure, Darlene. What’s up?”

  Jake had always considered Darlene loud, a bit tough, someone who made sure you could hear her when she called you an asshole. Today, he had to strain to catch her words. “Gene’s got cancer, got the word on Tuesday. It’s in his colon, but they also found a spot in his liver. It don’t look good.” She stared at the floor and wedged her hands into the front pockets of her pants, catching the denim waistband with her thumbs. “I was wondering if you could spend a bit of time with him.”