The Devil Made Me

by Lorena May

  The playful bar tender is back. “Hey! I missed your signal,” he says, winking at Em. She looks away.

  “I’ll bet you’re good at picking up signals,” Scarlett says, giving him an impish look, which he returns.

  “I’m always on look-out.” He winks, his eyes sparkling.

  They’re both masters, Em scoffs to herself. Perfect pair! He clinks an empty glass with Scarlett’s partially-full one and off he goes, swerving expertly amongst the crowd. Showing off. Em huffs.

  They sit and drink and watch the band. But Scarlett’s eyes dart around the room. She’s edgy. She alternates between checking her phone, playing with the silver locket around her neck, folding and re-folding a napkin and tapping her long, red fingernails on the table. “I might have to leave you for a few minutes again. Hope it’s okay.”

  “What’s wrong?” Em asks, surveying her older sister intently.

  “Nothing. Everything’s fine.” But Scarlett’s smile is forced, and her eyes are anxious.”

  “Is it Jed you’re worried about?”

  “Yeah. I guess so. Startling to see them after all these years.”

  Em nods. “It is. But he’s not interested in us any longer. Is he?”

  Scarlett isn’t listening. She’s staring toward the passage to the rest-rooms. She jumps up. “I’ll just be a minute.” Em watches her go, her strides long and hurried. Where is she going? Who is she going to see? Em can see no one. Her sister disappears into the passageway.

  As Em watches, the bar-tender is making his way toward her from across the room. His hair is dark brown, tousled and longish, a hint of stubble surrounds full lips; lips that curl into a constant grin. A roguish glint in his eye gives him a devilish look that jars her. She looks intently at the band as he approaches.

  With a flourish he sets a bowl of peanuts on the table in front of her. “Food for the beautiful lady.” He speaks almost in a sing-song. His accent is unfamiliar

  She rolls her eyes, managing a, “Pppuh!” before lowering them. Beautiful does not describe her. She’s more used to ‘different-looking’, ‘cold’, ‘grumpy’, ‘skinny’ . . . Never ‘beautiful’.

  “You don’t think so?” He raises a thick eyebrows. “Yes. Beautiful. Those eyes!” And for a moment she bestows him with a long look before turning to look intently at the band.

  “Thanks,” she mumbles, picking up a peanut, shoving it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

  He bows slightly, his good humor unabashed. “At your service.” And he walks jauntily away.

  Em watches him go. He’s brawny and lithe, and he walks with a sprightly kind of swagger. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s what Scarlett had her eye on. Where is she? She surveys the room. No red dress. Em’s eyes fall on the Christmas tree in the corner, and she’s taken back to happier times.

  CHRISTMAS, 1998. SHE awoke to see Scarlett crouched beside her bed, sleepy-eyed and disheveled, shaking her shoulder. “Em! Get up! It’s Christmas!” A jolt of happy excitement propelled her from her warm blankets, and the two sisters crept across the cold, wooden floor, down the thickly carpeted stairs into the living room. There, the stockings they’d pinned up to the curtains – a good substitute for a fireplace – hung stuffed with goodies. Plastic turtles with waggly heads stuck out the top. Em’s was blue and Scarlett’s pink. In the kitchen they could hear the scraping of oven racks. The warm, savory smell of turkey drifted into the living room.

  “Let’s get Mom and Dad and open our stockings,” Scarlett said, heading toward the kitchen.

  Their mother was bent over the oven, pouring juice over a fat, white turkey. Her long, blonde hair stuck to her face, moisture beading on her forehead. Carefully replacing the lid on the roaster, she turned to fix a smile upon her daughters. Her cheeks were rosy, her blue eyes smiling as she chirped, “Merry Christmas, my darlings!” She straightened slowly, placing her hands behind her waist. Her large belly protruded straight upwards, in Em’s memory; like a big balloon ready to pop. A new sister or brother was due any time now.

  It was a joyous day. Their father, home for the holidays, giddy with happiness, had brought gifts already wrapped, the night before. When he shuffled down to the kitchen, his curly brown hair a chaotic mop on his head, he was like a friendly giant, scooping his daughters high into the air, swinging them as they hooted, “Daddy! More, Daddy, more!” His large laugh bellowed, and he kissed his pregnant wife’s stomach.

  When Scarlett opened her gift from Santa, a bright, pink cashmere sweater, she squealed with delight, holding it high for all to see. Em’s fingers tingled as she opened her gift. Her heart raced with anticipation. Ah! There it was. A gleaming new telescope with which to explore the universe. Mom’s face lit up when she opened a tiny box and pulled out the silver locket her loving husband had brought home. Carefully, she pried it open, gasping with pleasure to see pictures of her two daughters in it. “What will we do about this one?” she asked her husband, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes.

  “We’ll just have to get you another one, Bea,” he said, smiling down at her. His eyes were full of adoration. Love.

  Em lay beneath the tree letting the twinkling lights, the dangling brightness of balls and spirals mesmerize her. A perfect day. It was the last Christmas tree they’d ever have.

  NOW SHE SWALLOWS HER beer and looks around. The band is packing up, still full of beans. Joking and laughing with one another. Though the numbers have thinned, those patrons that are left are settled in. Where is Scarlett? Em inspects her watch.1:30 am. The bar will close soon. Did her sister just take off? She’s nowhere to be seen. Sighing, Em pushes her chair back and stands. Wending her way through tables and boisterous patrons, she makes her way to the Ladies’ room. The atmosphere is lively. Groups of women fixing their make-up, washing their hands, chattering . . . fill the brightly-lit room. Em stands against the wall waiting. Maybe Scarlett’s in a cubicle. But as the inhabitants of the stalls emerge, one at a time, Scarlett is nowhere to be seen. After using the toilet herself, Em leaves and walks down the dark passage past “Staff Only” doors.

  ‘Scarlett?” she calls, feeling a little silly. No one answers. She pushes open an exit at the end of the hall, and is smacked with fresh air. “Scarlett?” Looking out onto the back of the tavern, she sees only glistening snow shining in the moonlight. Beyond is a forest, dark and forbidding, stretching toward cliffs and a swift-moving river.

  Quickly, shivering, she closes the door and hurries down the long hallway back to the noise and cheer of the pub. She stands in the entrance, and looks carefully around. Did she miss seeing Scarlett somehow? Finally, she is convinced. Scarlett’s gone. Is she outside? She wouldn’t have just left without saying anything – would she? Grabbing her jacket– noting that Scarlett’s is still slung over the chair she sat in – Em ventures out the front door.

  Small groups of smokers stand huddled together in the cold. Painstakingly searching the faces in each cluster, Em walks around gawking, searching for her sister. Aside from the odd, ‘What are you looking at?’ glare she is ignored. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she tromps on a little further.

  It’s a mild winter evening –warm for Alberta - and the deep blue sky is dotted with stars. A chinook ruffles Em’s hair as she tromps around the yard, occasionally calling out. “Scarlett?” Her voice sounds tentative and squeaky to her ears, and she kicks at the loose snow with the toe of her boot, standing in one spot, surveying the area.

  Where could her sister have gone? Scarlett disappeared down the hallway, apparently having seen someone she knew. Did she leave through the back exit? Em circles the groups of smokers in front of the tavern and wanders toward the back. No one is there, and the sound of voices drift away as she plods through deeper snow. It hasn’t been packed down here, but disturbances have churned it up. Animals? Scarlett? In the moonlight Em follows the tracks with her eyes. A deep, path of messy furrows heads toward the forest. Human foot-prints? No single print is visible. Em follows the path to the f
orest floor. But there, the thickness of the trees has sheltered the earth and the snow is barely visible. It’s so dark. Em stops to listen. An owl whooo whooos in the distance. Another answers. Em stands, mesmerized, as she eavesdrops on their exchange. She hears the rush of the river below. “Scarlett?” she calls. Her voice sounds hollow as it echoes throughout the woods. There is no answer. She stands there a while, unsure of what to do. Cars are leaving the parking lot now, doors slamming with shouts of, “Good seeing ya!” and “See you soon!” and “Take care!”

  She follows a path through the trees, peering ahead. A sharp branch jabs her shoulder. Evergreen needles scrape her cheek. Thunk! Jamming her toe against a root, she stumbles, her knees slamming into the frozen ground. Em sits, stunned, looking around. Coyotes howl in the distance; an ominous, chilling sound. Shivering, she pulls herself up. Is someone following her? A rustling, snapping of twigs resounds nearby. “Scarlett?” Her voice is barely a squeak. She takes a shuddering breath and tries again. Louder this time. “Scarlett?” But only the sounds of the forest answer. Scarlett can’t be here. It’s not like her to come in here. Em turns to go back to the pub. A faint light through the clearing. Her breath is bursting in and out now. She treads swiftly, anxious to be back in the bosom of civilization.

  Em rushes across the snowy yard to the front of the building, squeezing through the door as people exit, calling loudly to one another, bumping, brushing, jostling. She’s barely aware of them as she heads back to the spot she shared with her sister. The bar-tender is cleaning up as she reaches their table to retrieve Scarlett’s white faux-fur jacket.

  “Your sister’s not here?” he asks her.

  She stands there, looking bewildered for a moment. “No. Did you see where she went?”

  He stops what he is doing and looks around, his eyes troubled. “I only saw her earlier. Then with you.” He places a chair on the table, and holds out his hand. “I’m Luka. Let’s go find her.”

  Em follows him across the tavern. They walk through the kitchen. It smells of grease and spices; oddly comforting. They check the staff-room and storage rooms, furnace room and coat room. They look out on the grounds around the tavern. Everyone is gone now. Luka moves with a kind of frantic energy. Em follows, numb, disheartened, clutching Scarlett’s coat to her heart. Finally, he turns to her, his face twisted with anxiety.

  “She must’ve left with someone,” Em mumbles. It’s not totally unlike her.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” he says, touching her arm, guiding her to a little black beater-car. An old ford Taurus. He opens the passenger door and she slides in, flumping down on the seat, feeling like a turkey with the stuffing yanked out. She sits there, breathing deeply, her mind whirling. Damn Scarlett! Flighty, inconsiderate bird-brain! Here we are – me and this poor bar-tender – in a tizzy, and she’s probably off sucking face with some guy. Doesn’t even take her own coat. Fuck!

  Luka jumps into the driver’s seat after collecting his jacket, starts the car and turns to look at Em. His eyes bore into her. “You okay?”

  She nods. “Yeah. She’s like that. Probably off with some guy.” She looks up at him, grinning a little. “And you probably thought it was only you she cared for.”

  He laughs, a relieved little chuckle, placing his hand on his heart. “My heart is broken.”

  The car is warm and cozy with a pleasant, piney smell, and Em sits back in the seat mumbling answers to his volley of questions.

  “Have you lived near Rockydale long?”

  “No. My sisters and I bought this little house a few months ago.”

  “You have other sisters?”

  “Yes. A younger sister – just twenty. Her name’s Abigal.”

  “You like it here?” He gestures toward the window, indicating the broad sweep of hilly farmland, the mountains towering behind them.

  “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  She looks at him, trying to place his accent. “I drive a delivery truck in town. How long have you lived here?”

  “I’ve lived in Canada now three years. Rockydale only a year. Before I lived in Syria.” She glances at his face. For a moment he is sombre. Then the liveliness reappears. “It is beautiful here, uh?”

  “It is.” She points to her own driveway.

  “This your home-sweet-home?” he asks.

  It’s a low, rambling house, covered in brown siding, nestled in a valley, surrounded by poplar and evergreen trees. A German shepherd sitting on the plank step runs to greet them. Em jumps out of the car to kneel and hug the dog, burying her face in its soft, black fur.

  Luka emerges, standing by the driver’s door. He looks at the old house. It is dark and quiet. If Scarlett’s come home she’s not partying. He walks around the car to see Em kneeling by the passenger-door, nuzzling the dog that has run to her, and is now happily jumping at her, trying to lick her face. “What’s his name?” he asks, softly.

  She looks up at him, her eyes glossy. “Sheba,” she murmurs. “Her name is Sheba.”

  He bends to pet the shepherd. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she answers. “Thanks for the ride.”

  WHEN EM UNLOCKS THE door and enters the porch she’s met with a still silence. Kicking off her boots, hanging her ski jacket on a hook, she enters the kitchen with Sheba by her side. She listens to the hum of the fridge and sees moonlight streaming in through the large kitchen window onto the table. It is clear. No sign of Scarlett. No purse dumped there. No sandwich fixings on the counter. No high-heeled shoes dropped on the floor. Scarlett has not been home.

  Em tip-toes through the kitchen, hanging Scarlett’s jacket over the back of a chair, and creeps up the narrow stair-case. Peeking in Abigail’s room, she sees her little sister sleeping soundly, arms raised above her head, long, blonde hair splayed around her delicate face. Her breathing is soft and regular. Laying by her head is a bible. She must have fallen asleep reading it. The room is cold. Em reaches down to pull the covers up around her neck, and, leaving the door open so that warmth can creep in, she leaves to look in Scarlett’s room. Clothes are strewn about, covering the floor and the bed. Dresser drawers sit half-open, stockings, pant-legs and t-shirts hanging out. The room is cloyingly thick with perfume and the smell of powder and something else. A thick, unpleasant smell. Em sighs. Where is she? She looks around the room as if hoping her sister will magically appear. Pop out from under the bed with her hearty, familiar laugh. Or emerge suddenly from out of the closet.

  With soft steps, Em turns to enter her own room. It is sparse, tidy, with only a small book-case and a straight-backed chair besides the small single bed in the corner. Sheba lies on her bed looking up at her as if to say, ‘When are you coming?’. Folding and setting her jeans and sweater on the chair, she climbs into bed to lie in wait for the sound of her sister’s arrival. It never comes.

  Chapter 2

  – Darby~

  It’s Friday. Outside the window snow falls softly, creating a peaceful, cozy feeling within the local RCMP precinct. Sergeant Darby Greer perches on the corner of her colleague, Jill’s, desk, relishing the comfort and warmth of the hot coffee she holds in her hands. Her fingers are still icy-red. That’s what you get when you forget gloves!

  “I forgot my f____.” Her eyes glisten as she clamps her mouth tightly shut. “I meant to say, ‘I forgot to wear gloves.’ I always wear gloves when I ride my bike!”

  Jill tilts her head, looking quizzically up at the now-grinning Sergeant. “What? When did you ever worry about your potty-mouth in front of me? Any of us, for that matter.”

  “I’m trying to reform! For my new girl.”

  “New girl?”

  Darby turns and pulls a chair out from behind an empty desk. Plopping onto it, legs sprawled in front of her, she sets her cup on the desk and laces her hands behind her head. Her eyes glow. “I have a little sister. Skye. She’s fifteen. The sweetest kid! She lives in a foster home here in town because her
mom died. She has no father, and her grand-father is abusive. A victim of residential schools.” Darby’s face darkens, and she stares down at her boots a moment. “She’s been through a lot, but she’s tough. She’s a survivor.”

  “She’s your sister?” Jill asks.

  “Through the organization Big Brothers and Sisters. I applied a while ago, and finally got matched up with her. We’ve gone riding together once, and to the mall shopping. She can really ride!”

  “She’s First Nation?”

  “Yes. She lived on the reserve until a year ago when she lost her mother. So it’s been tough for her. We go out once a week, and she phones when she needs to talk.” Darby looks at Jill through misty eyes. “She doesn’t talk about anything very personal. Mostly about school and friends. Sometimes she’ll tell me, though, when others call her ‘Squaw’ or ‘Indian’. It hurts her. I’m f- -I’m amazed at the number of racist people even in this town so close to a reserve.” She shakes her head. “It’s . . .”

  “Hard to talk without the f-bomb, huh?” Jill laughs. “It’s okay. She’s not here!”

  A giggle bubbles from Darby’s throat. ‘But it’s such a f- It’s such a bad habit it just comes out. So I’m trying to break it.”

  “Ah, good for you,” Jill reaches over to give her a playful nudge. “A new, improved, Sergeant Darby Greer!”

  “Ta da!” Darby holds her hands wide, a playful grin filling her face. She glances at the papers on Jill’s desk. “Busy night last night?”

  “A break-in on a farm while the residents were just out in the barn,” Jill looks down at the papers in front of her, “and a stolen truck from another place.” She flicks through the reports on her desk. “A couple of drug over-doses at the hospital. They’re being treated. Disturbing the peace, impaired driving . . .” She nods. “Pretty busy, unfortunately.” Tilting her head to look at Darby, she asks, “And how about you? Any big plans for the week-end? Are you still seeing that nice Jim fellow who stopped by a while ago?”