Hush

by Jay Lang

  “Yeah, let’s go,” Denny says. “I told you it was boring as fuck here.”

  “You were right, man.” Robbie gives a convincing laugh.

  They head for the door. Just when I think we’re almost free, Denny turns back and walks towards us. This time, his attention isn’t on me. He grabs Annie around the waist and pulls her tightly into him.

  “Let her go, asshole,” I try to yell, and my throat sears with pain. I grab his arm and he shakes me off, almost causing me to fall.

  Robbie opens the front door. “Denny, let’s go.”

  Denny slides his hands over her ass and squeezes. “Try not to miss me while I’m gone.” He lets go and heads for the door again. Robbie closes it behind them.

  I run to the door and lock it, though there’s really no point now that I know he has a key. I turn back to Annie. She’s staring at me, but her eyes are glazed.

  I walk over and gently hug her, then coax her to the couch and we both sit. Silently we stare at our reflections in the bay window, waiting for the sound of Denny’s boat. A moment later, we hear the engine rev and get quieter as the boat leaves the dock.

  “See, it’s okay now,” I tell her. I try to minimize the croakiness in my voice. “It’s over. They’re gone.”

  “Until when?”

  Her question catches me off guard. How do I answer that? Denny is bat-shit crazy and as much as I want to tell her that he’s gone for good, I can’t. I can’t predict what he’ll do anymore.

  “Annie, we’ve been together for two years and this is only the second time you’ve seen him. I think that’s pretty good odds that we won’t see him for a while.”

  That look in his eyes told me that he wasn’t done. He gets bored easily; this is something new for him. This is a new power he has over me because I’m living here at the cottage.

  “I’ll buy new locks as soon as the hardware store opens,” I continue.

  She nods but says nothing.

  I look around the room, at the debris of the vase and the frame and the potpourri. Our perfect space feels violated.

  We stay up for the remainder of the day. The rain is coming down in buckets outside, so Annie sits at the kitchen table writing in her journal while I drive to the hardware store and buy a new lock for the front door. We don’t say much. A few times I try to reassure her that we’re safe and that another impromptu visit from Denny probably won’t happen for a long time, if at all. But as soon as she hears his name, she says that she doesn’t want to discuss it. There’s this new look on her face that won’t go away; cold and unsettled.

  Chapter Four

  It rains for the next two days, but today is beautiful. The sky is blue with only a hint of wispy white clouds. I have to go back to work the day after tomorrow, but for now I’m trying to secure the windows and doors in the cottage so that Annie feels safe when I’m gone. If I don’t have to work over time, I can easily make the last ferry from Nanaimo to Gabriola. If I miss it, I’m stuck sleeping in the truck for the night and will have to turn right around and go back to work the next morning. I pray that doesn’t happen because I have a feeling that Annie is nervous being alone now, even in the day. I don’t want her alone at night.

  In the afternoon, I take a break from securing the windows and we go for a walk on the beach. I help her collect shells and little pieces of driftwood in a bucket to make her windchimes. As we start the walk back home with me carrying the bucket, she grabs my free hand. I squeeze it, hard.

  At home, she rinses the shells and wood in the sink and I boil water for tea. I’m pouring the water in the teapot when her phone rings.

  She answers it and talks while setting the table with cups and a saucer of cookies. I sit down to watch her. There’s one thing that always confuses me when she talks on the phone, her voice always goes up a couple octaves and she acts all giggly. It’s almost like she changes who she is when she’s talking to someone else. I’ve never mentioned it to her. I don’t want to cause tension.

  After she’s finished her call, she joins me at the table. “That was Tom,” she says. Her agent. “He got me work on The Vancouver Summer Fashion Show this upcoming week. I can stay at Sandy’s in Yaletown.” She’s smiling—the first smile I’ve seen in days.

  I know I should be happy for her, but it’s hard. I don’t want her to go to the mainland for a week, even if I’ll be working most of the time. What if she meets someone that she jives with and decides that she doesn’t want to come back to me or our home—especially now that Denny has shaken our security here?

  I give her my most sincere fake grin. “That’s great, babe. I’m so happy for you.”

  “No, you’re not. Don’t lie.” She touches my hand.

  I sit back in my chair. “Can’t I hide anything from you?”

  “Nope. You’re an open book.”

  She’s right. She knows me too well. Either that, or I’m just a really bad liar.

  “Okay.” I take a breath. “I don’t like the fact that you’ll be away for the week, and I don’t like that you’ll be hanging around the vultures of that industry.”

  “So, you’re jealous?”

  “Jealous? Yeah, right.”

  She tilts her head as if to say, “Oh come on, Jade, you know you are.”

  She’s right, of course. I look down at the table and say nothing. Normally, I would fight to defend myself, especially when it’s about something that makes me look vulnerable, but not this time.

  I’m being silly. I should be relieved that she’s getting out of her funk. That she’s smiling.

  “Come on,” she says, in a sultry voice. “Let’s go to bed.”

  She leads me into the bedroom and kisses me. “I love you, Jade. I never want to be with anyone else but you.”

  Her words melt me. “I love you too.”

  I’m not sure if it’s because of the tension we’ve experienced lately or what, but for the next few hours, we have some of the most primal, raw sex we’ve ever had. Every touch of her lips and hands send electric waves over my skin. When it’s my turn to please her, I let her guide me, first to her lips, then to her supple breast before moving down.

  I love to watch her when she orgasms—the arch of her back on the bed, her hands grabbing handfuls of the sheets. Finally, we collapse in each other’s arms, exhausted. After taking a few minutes to catch my breath, I go to the kitchen to get us some water.

  When I walk into the front room, I hear a tapping noise on the window.

  I can’t move, I can’t even breath. I turn my head towards the bay window. I see a faint reflection of me. I slowly walk towards the tapping. Denny, you prick.

  Then, I see it. A branch the size of a pencil is hitting the window. I bend over with my hands on my knees, smiling and shaking my head. After I get the water and return to the room, I’m too worried that Annie will think about Denny again and start to panic, so I don’t tell her about the tapping sound on the window.

  * * *

  Monday morning comes too quickly. We both rush around the house packing what we’ll need for work. Annie packs miniskirts and stiletto heels. I pack work boots and a breathable t-shirt. I can’t believe that she’s leaving for the whole week. In the past, when I’ve come home from work and she’s not here, the house feels lifeless.

  When I’m done filling my packsack, I sit on the bed and watch her. She packs everything—her hair products, her yoga books and scented candles. I laugh to myself at the thought of bringing perfumed candles to the salmon hatchery. I’d never hear the end of it.

  When we’re both ready to go, I carry her heavy suitcase to her little red Datsun and put it in the backseat. I can’t help but feel the same way I always feel when she goes to the city - sad and a little sick. I’m no stranger to low self-esteem. It’s the result of those years of combat with my family over my sexuality. I’ve always felt half as good as other people, and it’s hard to believe that someone half-worthy deserves someone as perfect as Annie .

  On the ferr
y, I hold her hand tight and she promises to call me when she’s not working, then reassures me that she’s only going to Vancouver to work and not to party. I nod and smile and feel my heart sink to my stomach as the boat docks in Nanaimo.

  The first day at the hatchery is arduous as hell after time off. The weather is shit—lots of rain and overcast, making my duties less tolerable than usual. I grade and record the fish, do water quality checks, operate the forklift, clean floor drains, and feed the fish. As crappy as the weather is, I have to remind myself to be grateful that it’s not winter. That’s when it’s so cold and wet the nets freeze to your hands.

  With Monday done and gone, it’s evening and I’m in the ferry line up waiting to go home when my phone rings. It’s her.

  “Hi, baby. Whatcha doin’?” she asks. It’s dead quiet in the background. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “You have good taste,” I say, smiling. “How’s the gig?” Pushing back my tiredness from work, I try to sound energetic and not dull.

  “Same shit, different venue. My agent decided to get drunk and hit on me last night after the show. It didn’t go well for him. I told him that even if I were single, he’s not the right guy for me.”

  What the hell does that mean? Not the right guy? I mean, I knew about her relationships with guys in the past, but that was a long time ago. For the past two years, she’s represented herself as lesbian, not bi. I fight the urge to ask her for clarification.

  “Wow,” I say. “Pretty gross that your agent was hitting on you. I’m glad that you made it clear that his behavior was unacceptable.” I sound like a robot. I try to loosen up. “When are you finished the show?”

  “Thursday night. I’ll be on the ferry first thing Friday morning. I can’t wait to see you.” Her voice is soft and sincere. I wonder if she senses what I am not saying.

  I want to tell her that when I get paid tomorrow, I’m planning to make the second to last payment on her engagement ring, but I bite my tongue. I’ve managed to keep it a secret for this long—I can wait another month.

  On the ferry, I shake off the funk that Annie’s statement about her boss had put me in. I tend to make mountains of molehills. It’s often the cause of arguments between us. I’m sure her offhanded comment was nothing more that.

  As the road winds towards home, my mind drifts back to the last time we made love. Her beautiful face, her body writhing in ecstasy. I can’t imagine there being a man or woman who wouldn’t trade places with me at the drop of a hat. Again, I shake off the thought.

  * * *

  The weather clears over the next few days. My co-worker, Tim, has been ill, so I had to cover his work as well as my own, which makes catching the last ferry a challenge every night.

  Finally, it’s Friday morning. On the ferry, I sit in the truck with my laptop and make my second last payment on Annie’s ring. I hope she loves it. It’s simple—white gold with two small diamonds on either side of a ruby. Personally, I’ve never been into jewelry. In my West Van elementary school, I remember the diamond earrings and gold bracelets of some of the girls. My mother would never let me touch pricy jewels, let alone wear them, which suited me just fine. As a result, I was a bit lost in the jewelry store. Thankfully a girl that worked there helped me pick out Annie’s ring.

  * * *

  My boss looks at me when I walk through the door, and points to the clock on the wall. Shit. Traffic was terrible, I’m already behind, and with Tim’s workload I’ll be running to catch up all day so I can make the ferry home. Fridays are easier—the last ferry is at 11PM—but there’s no way in hell I want to get home at midnight. Not when Annie is coming home.

  I’ll have to forgo my lunch break and work right through. I decide to give Annie a quick call to make sure she’s on her way to Horseshoe Bay.

  “Hello?”

  It’s not Annie. I frown and press the phone tighter against my ear.

  “Hi, this is Jade. I'm calling to speak to Annie, please.”

  “Oh, hey, Jade. This is Sandy. She’s staying with me while she’s over here working.”

  “Yes, I know. Why doesn’t she have her phone?”

  “She forgot it. She was in a hell of a hurry when she went out.”

  Noises in the background get louder—laughter, people talking over each other and music.

  “Where did she go?”

  “One sec, I’ll ask.” Sandy yells in the background, asking if anyone knows where Annie went. I hear a female’s voice say, “She took off with Raj a couple of hours ago, didn’t she?”

  I thought I heard someone go shh. Then Sandy’s back on the phone. “Sorry, hun, nobody seems to know for sure. But I’ll let her know that you called.”

  * * *

  Nothing at work is going well. The pumps aren’t working, and I’ve got to stop what I’m doing while the slow-as-hell technician putters around, trying to solve the issue. I keep checking the time, which is whipping by at Mach speed. I try to offer my help to the tech, but he quickly senses that I’m trying to rush him. “It’ll be done when I get it done,” he tells me, irritated.

  I bite my tongue, holding back what I feel like telling him. He’s in no hurry. He probably goes home to a case of beer and the TV.

  By the time Mr. Slow As Fuck gets his shit together and fixes the pump and I complete Tim’s and my jobs for the day, I’m running way behind. The moment I’m finished, I sprint out the entrance and to my truck, the tires spraying gravel before I even get the door closed.

  As I drive, I notice my hands on the wheel. They’re covered in sludge and dirt. That’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll have time to clean up when I’m on the ferry. Poor Annie. She’ll go from the sight of glammed-up fashionistas to the sight of me, ponytail mussed and loose, looking and smelling like a river dweller in my coveralls and hiking boots.

  When I lean forward to get my smokes out of the glove compartment, the truck swerves a little and hits the edge of the road before I correct it. About a minute later, I notice the truck is veering. Great. What now?

  I stop the truck and quickly run around to check. On the front passenger tire, I see a huge bent nail, half buried between the tread.

  This can’t be happening to me right now. It’s already 8 PM. The last ferry leaves in three hours and I don’t have a spare tire. I think about limping the truck back to the hatchery, but it’s too far to try and make it with one tire compromised. I’m on my own, miles away from any shop.

  I get back into my truck and spark up a smoke, trying to figure out what to do. The only thing that comes to mind is to call Tim. He’s the only co-worker I can think of that has mentioned knowing anything about cars. I’m not sure how ill he is, so I’m not feeling too optimistic.

  I scroll down my contacts until I see his name and push the call button. After three long rings, a raspy, weak voice answers. “Hello.”

  “Tim?”

  “Hey, Jade. What’s up girl?” I detect a slight slur in his voice.

  “Tim, are you pissed? I thought you were sick.”

  “Well, I actually am sick. I decided to chase it away with vodka. Drown a flu. So far, I’ve gotten some pretty good results. I feel a lot better.”

  “Tim. You’re an ass. You literally picked the worst time to make me cover your responsibilities at work.”

  “I’m telling you, I should be a doctor. I am almost completely cured. I’ll be ready for action on Monday, I promise.”

  I want to light into him, but I don’t have the time. “I’m in a bit of a jam,” I say, before filling him in. To my surprise, he offers to come by—his roommate Hank will drive. I thank him profusely and then hang up, a spark of hope blossoming in my gut.

  As I wait in my truck, I decide to call Annie to find out if she’s back and to tell her that I’ll be taking a later ferry than intended. I dial her number and wait. It rings five times before an automated recording comes on and tells me to leave a message. I think about the call that morning, but I push it away. She’s probab
ly driving or stuck in a ferry lineup. It’s always crazy before a weekend.

  I jack up the truck and take my tire off, trying to do as much as possible before Tim shows. It takes another half an hour before Hank and Tim show up.

  Tim gets out of the passenger’s side of an old white pick-up and staggers my way. Hank follows behind, much steadier on his feet.

  “Thanks for showing up,” I tell them. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  “Nah, we were just at the Fog Head, having dinner and a couple of beers.”

  Tim is about sixty and skinny as a rail. He wears his hair however it falls in the morning and always looks like he’s slept in his clothes, but he’s got a great heart and he’s been my pal since I started working at the hatchery. Hank is much younger and fat. By the look of his dirty, worn clothes and unbrushed hair, they share the same fashion consultant.

  Hank rolls my tire to the back of his pick-up and hurls it into the box. “We’ll take it down to my cousin’s, he’s got a shop in his garage.”

  I hesitate. For some reason, I picture an old farmhouse with broken down ringer washers and old car carcasses out front.

  “You might as well come with us,” Tim says. I grab my bag because leaving it in the truck would just invite someone to break in.

  The three of us squeeze into the old relic and head north on the highway, the opposite way from the ferry terminal. The truck is cluttered like a grandmother’s living room; the floor is packed with stuff that crunches under my feet, and the dashboard is laden like a fireplace mantle. I’m distracted by this, because every time Hank turns, the debris shifts and rolls off into my lap or onto the floor.

  Two minutes into the drive Tim and Hank get into an argument about Sasquatch. At first, I think they’re joking, but after a few more minutes it becomes painfully obvious that they’re serious.