by Jay Lang
We walk arm-in-arm into the house. On the table is a pretty setting with flowers, wine and two plates of Kraft dinner with tofu wieners. After I quickly change out of my constricting suit and into my robe, I join her at the table.
Out the bay window, a brilliant sunset paints the sky, making the room glow a soft orangish-red.
As we eat, Annie gingerly asks me about the funeral, my mother, and Denny.
“Let’s not ruin our evening talking about them,” I say, gently. “I honestly haven’t had time to process it all.”
She nods. “I’m here whenever you do want to talk about it.”
She finishes eating before me, then gets up and goes to the bathroom. A few minutes later I hear water running. I’m done my food so I rinse the dishes and go see what she’s up to. When I reach the bathroom, Annie is sitting in a steamy tub with lavender petals floating on top of the water and candles strategically placed around the room. “I made this for you, for us.”
After washing each other while we talk, we dry off and cuddle in bed. My mind wants to make love to her but my body can’t. I’m too exhausted. I spoon her tightly and we drift off to sleep.
In the morning, I call my boss and tell him I’ll be at work next week. Annie is up early and in the vegetable garden, weeding. I tinker around the house fixing the odd in-need-of-repair thing; tightening the faucet, securing mouldings that have come loose on the wall, and applying sealant around the tub. Just before noon, Annie comes in and washes the soil off her hands. “I thought we’d take some lunch to the beach and have a little picnic.”
I help her make sandwiches and then I fill the thermos with tea and slide on a pair of thongs. The beach in front of the cottage is pretty but rocky, perfect for our dock and boat, but not so comfortable to sit and have a picnic on.
About ten minutes down the beach is a sandbar. The warm sun brings flocks of gulls to the shoreline to feed on small fish and other marine treats. We spread out our small blanket. Annie sits in front of me and I wrap my arms around her as we sit quietly, looking out over the glimmering water.
Just down the beach from us are picnic tables on patches of grass. A man and women are attempting to eat while they bark orders at their two children, who are climbing off and on the benches. I hope they stay up there and don’t bring all their noise and chaos down here.
No sooner do I think this then I see the kids grab shovels and buckets and head our way. So much for an intimate lunch.
White and grey wings spread and take flight as the children run toward the gulls. Our focus on the sea and wildlife is soon lost and we’re watching the feral kids fling wet sand at each other. Their parents are yelling at them to play nice, and one of the boys picks up a rock then hurls it at a seagull, narrowly missing it.
“Look at those yard monkeys,” I say.
“Jade, be nice,” Annie says, laughing.
“What? It’s true. Those two are a great argument for birth control.”
“Their parents might hear you.”
“I’m not worried. It’s not like they aren’t thinking the same thing.”
She turns and gives me a look before pushing me backwards and planting a firm kiss. “You have to stop letting things bother you so much.”
She’s right. I’m way too porous. I get annoyed too easily.
I kiss her and pull her closer.
A warm breeze rolls over our bodies like a blanket. We are kissing passionately, lost in one another, until…a high-pitched voice extinguishes our heated moment like icy water.
“Are you necking?” the boy says.
“No, she is choking on her gum and I’m helping her.”
“Well, where is it then?” he retorts, his brother coming fast to join the unwelcomed intrusion.
“It’s…she swallowed it.”
“You shouldn’t swallow gum, lady,” he says to Annie.
The eldest of the two boys reaches us and stares. “Are you two lesbians?”
Oh great.
“Leave those people alone,” their mother calls from down the beach.
“Mom,” he yells. “We found some lesbians.”
Annie and I glance at each other, speechless.
“No, they’re not,” says the younger one. “This lady was choking on her gum and this one was helping her get it out.”
“No. I’ve seen a lesbian before and they are definitely lesbians.”
“This kid is an asshole,” I say, out of the corner of my mouth.
“Oh good,” Annie whispers, “here come the parents. Do you think we should go?”
“Hell, no. We’re not going anywhere.”
A woman about forty walks up to us. She has on white capris and a blue shirt buttoned up to the neck. Definitely upper middle class. “I’m sorry if my boys are bothering you,” she says, putting a hand on the younger boy’s head. “They were stuck in the car all day. They have a lot of pent up energy.”
How does that account for their lack of respect? I want to say.
Then, her youngest boy informs her of the gum incident. Her apologetic look turns to disgust and she ushers her children back down the beach.
“Have a nice day,” Annie calls after them.
“That poor woman,” I say. “Terrified that her kids are going to be infected by our gay bugs.”
“Who cares,” Annie says. “They’re the ones with closed minds. You should feel sorry for them.”
There she goes again. Compassion before resentment. Direct result of hippy parents. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her down on the blanket. “You know who I really feel sorry for?”
“Who?” she asks, laughing.
“You.”
“Why?”
“Well, being unsuccessful at getting your gum, I’m worried you still may choke. Maybe I should try again?”
“No, no. I think we’ve caused enough damage to our spectators.”
“They are already damaged,” I say, kissing her neck.
Annie squirms off the blanket and runs down to the water. “Come on.”
We spend the next couple of hours finding cool shells and looking for little crabs to hold. It’s only on our walk back to the cottage that Denny enters my mind.
“Are you okay, Jade?”
“Great. Why?”
“You got really quiet all of a sudden.” We walk in the door and she starts putting the picnic materials away.
“Nah, I’m good.” I sit on the couch. “Was just thinking about how much I love every minute with you.”
“Good answer,” she says, not believing my excuse.
I don’t usually lie to her, but I don’t want to tell her that I’m worried about Denny. He’s only met Annie once, when Dad and he came over to excavate on the property. While they were walking along the property, she made lemonade and offered it to them. My father drank it, only because it was a hot day, but Denny looked right at her and said, “Dyke juice? No thanks.”
With all the therapy he’s had for his mental problems, you’d think they would’ve taught him to be less of a prick. Then again, it’s not really Annie he hates, it’s me. Denny emulated everything my father felt and did. If Dad hated gay people, Denny did too. But, Denny’s disgust for me went far beyond my father’s.
Denny hated that I didn’t fit in to the status quo of our overprivileged, snobby little West Van community. In school he would spread rumors about me, causing me to get into fights. I’ve had my jaw broken, a scaphoid fracture and a scar on my arm where a girl clipped me with a searing hot curling iron. When I would tell my father, he would make excuses for Denny, saying that it wasn’t his fault, he has bipolar disorder.
It wasn’t Denny’s fault that he was bipolar any more than it was my fault I was gay. But it was his responsibility to manage his illness. He never did. He only went to therapy because the judge ordered him to—one too many charges for assault or drugs. Even though I’ve been away from the family for a number of years now, I don’t think he’s changed much; in fact, he�
��s probably gotten worse. With Dad gone, you can bet he won’t take his meds. Why would he? In Denny’s mind, there’s nothing wrong with him—it’s everyone else.
Annie nudges me and I put all my energy into not thinking about Denny for the moment.
“Do you want to go see The Flaming Kazifs in Vancouver next week?” she asks enthusiastically. She’s holding her phone and the concert details are glowing.
“I wish I could, babe, but I’ll be back at work.”
I can tell that she’s disappointed. She shrugs her shoulders and smiles, putting her phone back in her pocket. “It’s no big deal. We’ll just go next time they’re playing close by. .”
I want to tell her that I’ll call my boss and extend my time off, but the truth is, I really need the money right now. I’ve only got two more payments left on her ring. And, no matter how she feels about missing the concert, once I give her the engagement ring, she’ll forget the disappointment. I hope.
For dinner, I take her to Silva Bay. The marina is beautiful. There are tons of sail and power boats tied to the wharf and anchored in the bay. We order fish and chips and sit on the patio overlooking the water. Light willowy clouds turn pink and red as the sun sets over the cove. Annie kicks off her sandals and pulls her feet up on the seat of her chair with her long skirt covering her legs. She’s so different from the people in West Van that I grew up around. If I sat like that at the table, I’d get knocked into next week.
She really wants to run a yoga studio here on Gabriola. I think she’d be great at it. She loves people and is right into the whole mind, body, soul vibe. I can’t wait until she quits modelling, though I understand her need to do it—it costs money to live, and to go back and forth to her parents’ place on Quadra. A while ago, her mom was diagnosed with arthritis. Apparently, it’s gotten so bad that she can’t manage everyday chores.
When we were young and they lived here, I would go into the kitchen and talk to her mom while she baked. She was a warm lady who was always cheerful. Her father was much the same—kind and accepting. They originally came from California and always said that they would one day return there. From what Annie told me, they were a huge part of the peace movement in the late sixties. When I was young, I wanted to stay in that house and never go back to mine.
I still haven’t cried about my father. Maybe I never will. I suppose I am grateful that he died quickly. My mom told me about the minutes just before the accident. They were driving on Marine Drive after having dinner. Apparently, my father was having yet another affair and my mom made an offhanded comment about it. My father told her to shut up, but instead of obeying him—her usual response—she said she was going to leave him. His temper flared and he stepped on the gas. Up ahead, there was a moving truck crossing the road.
It wasn’t even the accident that killed him. Right before the impact, my father suffered a massive heart attack. He died en-route to the hospital. Mom was lucky to escape with only minor injuries. She was kept in the hospital for observation.
I’m not sure if she’s cried over Dad, either.
* * *
Over the next few days, the weather turns hot as spring gives way to summer. Annie is spending most of her time working in the garden, reading yoga books or writing in her journal. I am keeping busy on our dock securing cleats to tie up the boat. I bought an eighteen-foot K&C a couple of years ago, nothing fancy, just a skiff I can use to go fishing or to just boot around on.
After we have dinner and play cards for a couple of hours, we go to bed. She reads with a book light and I drift off to sleep.
A loud bang from the front room wakes me up.
The digital clock says 2:00 AM. I look over at Annie. She’s asleep, her book resting on her chest, with the book light still on. Carefully I slide out of bed, so as not to wake her. Tip toeing across the floor, I grab my housecoat and wrap it around me as I exit the bedroom.
The only light to go by is the moonlight coming in from the bay window and pooling on the floor. Annie sometimes forgets to close the kitchen window. The banging noise is probably the wind catching the shutters and slamming them against the frame. I quicken my step to the kitchen so I can close the window and go back to bed.
As soon as I reach the window, I see that the latch is locked. Weird. Maybe there’s another window left open.
As I turn to leave the kitchen, I see a tall figure standing in the doorway. I gasp in but get no air.
The moonlight, acting as a cover, doesn’t touch the person.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
The figure laughs in a deep croaky voice. Barely able to move, I back up a few steps, still staring at the intruder, I run my hand up the wall until I find the light switch. I flick it on and see Denny standing in front of me with a grin and squinting, bloodshot eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Denny?”
“What do you mean?” He holds up a key. “This is my place, too.”
“No, it isn’t. You know damn well that Dad gave it to me. I’ve been the only one living here for five years. You hate the cottage.” I try to keep my voice low. The last thing I want is Annie waking up and seeing Denny in our kitchen.
“Maybe I do, but it’s not under your name, it’s under the family name.”
His eyes are red road maps. He’s definitely high on something.
“Okay, so if you won’t leave, I’ll just call the cops and let them decide who belongs here and who doesn’t,” I threaten.
“Oh no. Don’t call the Gabriola police on me. What do you think they’d use for handcuffs, seaweed?”
The truth is, I won’t call the cops. I’m too afraid of what Denny would do, now or later. “Piss off, Denny.”
There’s a loud rap at the door.
“Ah, that will be Robbie.” Denny goes to the door and opens it.
The first thing I see is a bottle attached to an arm then the rest of his friend stumbles in. “Hey, is that your sister, the lesbian?”
Robbie is about five foot ten with a medium build and jet-black hair. He walks into the kitchen light and raises the bottle to his lips. I see a star tattoo on the back of his hand. One of Denny’s West Van pals, no doubt hanging around him because of the wads of party money he now has access to.
They both sit on the sofa.
“Please leave, Denny.” A thought occurs to me. “How did you get here?”
“My boat.”
“You don’t have a boat.”
“He does now,” Robbie says, raising the bottle. “He’s got a sick ski boat.”
Great. He’s already diving deep into my father’s pockets. As much as I resent my father, I still cringe at the thought of spending his money this soon after he is buried. “You came across the straight in a ski boat? In the middle of the night? Are you crazy?”
“What are you, my mother? Shut the fuck up.”
“Will you please keep your voice down?”
“Why? Is your little dyke sleeping?”
“Shut up.”
No sooner do the words leave my lips than Annie is standing in the doorway to the front room. She rubs her eyes. “What’s going on in here?”
“Looky, looky,” Denny says standing up. He’s brawny and wide but there’s not an inch of fat on him. He has blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. He’s very attractive to women; easy for him to get close enough to hurt many. “Annie, right?”
“Yes.” She looks at me, confused and worried. “Why are they here?”
“Whoa, is she one, too?” says Robbie, looking her up and down.
“Yeah. They spend their time trying to fuck each other but neither one of them has a cock.”
“That’s got to be frustrating.”
“Why are you here?” I ask Denny again, fighting to keep my tone level.
“Maybe I’m here to collect the rent.”
“I’m not paying you shit.”
“No? Well, maybe your little girlfriend will.” He grins at Annie. “How’s about it, Anni
e? How’s about you and me go into the bedroom and you can work off the rent.”
“Leave or I will call the cops.” I’m not bullshitting now. My fear of him quickly diminishes as he focuses on Annie. I walk over and stand next to her.
“Oh, look. Team Carpet Muncher.” They both snicker.
“Denny, have you been taking your meds?”
Denny stops laughing. His eyes immediately turn wild. “What did you say to me?”
Robbie looks at him, puzzled. Denny stands up and glares at me. His face is quickly turning red and he’s clenching his fists. I inch closer to Annie, wishing she hadn’t come in here.
Denny lunges toward me, and I shove Annie aside. The next thing I know, Denny has me by the throat and he’s pushing me up against the door frame. Our eyes lock. I grab at his wrists and try to loosen his grasp on me. Annie screams and grabs on to his arm, pulling. He won’t budge. I try to gasp for air but I can’t.
“She’s turning red. Stop it. Stop it.”
A look of power comes over Denny’s face and he grins, spit shooting from between his teeth with every shallow breath. This is where he thrives, where he is happiest—in control over someone weaker.
It’s only when Robbie staggers up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder that Denny’s fixation breaks, his grip loosening enough for me to take a gasp of air.
“Come on, man, mellow out. You’re ruining my buzz. Who cares about her? Come on, man.”
Before letting go he gives my neck a quick thrust, causing my head to slam into the wood behind me. I bend down and cough. Annie puts her arm around me, squeezing my shoulders.
“Come on, man. Let’s blow this place,” Robbie urges.
When Denny turns away, Robbie looks at me and winks.
All three of us watch Denny; his eyes are still wild. He walks over to the mantle and with one arm swipes its contents off the narrow shelf, sending everything crashing on the hard floor. The small glass vase that Annie made for me. A picture of her and I on the beach. A bowl of potpourri.