He had a feeling in the airport. He was lighter. It was good to be home. With Ruth. They had held hands on the airplane. Most of the way over. Things had changed. They definitely had. He and Ruth together in every sense. A vacation. He had heard how going away could help. Take your mind off your troubles. Give you perspective. He knew that word. He liked it. The more he said it in his mind. Perspective. There were plans in his head now. Plans he could see with everything in perspective. He was going to set up trust funds for his children. Like the lawyer had suggested. For Caroline. Even the boys. Try to make amends. Then maybe travel again with Ruth. He wanted to be with her. Heading home. He wanted to leave again. Right away. What would happen with his wife? He would have to split everything. Leave it to his lawyer. Stay out of it. His wife wouldn’t know what to do with the money. It’d be gone and she’d be looking for more. He’d have to invest it. Like the lawyer said. All in time. He saw how it would be. There was no question. Always something to deal with. The years running on. Tangling.
The air was sweet outside the airport. Spruce trees at the edge of the parking lot. Cold. He wasn’t expecting it. Didn’t have on a coat. The chill cut through him. His skin still smelled of Spain. The taxi drivers spoke in a way he recognized. People he had seen all his life. Faces born there.
They got a taxi to her house. He had presents for Jackie and Caroline. Lots of little souvenirs in his suitcase. From here and there. A story to every one of them. Where each one was bought. A small village. A seaside resort. A religious shrine on a hill. Photographs of the different places. He couldn’t wait to get the film developed. Doubles. A set for him. A set for Ruth. To show Jackie and Caroline. He called their house. The new number. The house he had bought for them. The house they had agreed to live in. Anxious to talk. To tell Jackie what it was like. She would appreciate it. What he was feeling. She would understand. There was no answer. He looked at the clock in Ruth’s kitchen. 4:15 P.M. What time was it in Spain? It all came back to him. Vivid. The white houses. The beach. The castle wall. A fortress. The leg of meat. Larry. Larry’s wife. Who do you think you are? And Ruth on that hostel bed. Bits of memories he would go through for years to come.
He heard a sigh from Ruth and saw her in the living room. Threw herself on the couch. “Tired,” she said when he came in.
He was in her house. This he noticed. He was back there. Where did this house come from? It was someone else’s. Like his wife’s. Maybe Ruth would let him pay for half of it. Would that make it better?
“When do you have to work?”
“Monday morning.”
He thought through the days of the week. It was Thursday. What would they do until then? He wanted to move around. To explore like they had done in Spain. Find places he hadn’t seen before. There didn’t seem any point. To standing still.
Later. He called the number again. There was no answer. 5:10 P.M. Maybe they were out for supper. He worried a little. He’d been away. There was always the worry of bad things. It was with him. Sat with him. Slept with him. It came up big and black in his head. The slightest suspicion. The fingerings of dread. Something must go wrong. No. He shut it off. Shut it down. Stopped himself. But it came back.
“What’s the matter?”
He sat next to her on the couch. Looked at the piano. The suitcases next to it. Unpacked. Let’s go, he said in his head. Let’s go, now. Quick. Let’s hurry out of here. Let’s get a plane.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not saying much.”
“I was calling Caroline.”
“No answer.”
“No.”
In a while she got up. Cooked dinner. 6:35 P.M. He called the number again. His heart knew something. Smothered panic. Fear fit his body. He’d been away for two weeks. Those were the two weeks when anything might happen. When he was away. It would be his fault then.
“Food,” Ruth called out.
He ate a little. He wasn’t hungry. His stomach was burning. Sour and bitter in his mouth. Ruth with her eyes on him. Knowing something bad would happen. Not might happen. But would. She always knew. Like when they were together first. Wasn’t that why he left her? He remembered now. One of the reasons. That look. He could do with a beer. But it wouldn’t do any good now. One beer. Twenty beers. He looked at the telephone. His arm hurt. Went weak. Then a little numb. He squeezed his hand into a fist. Held it that way. He wondered if it was just fear. Or this place. This house.
7:10 P.M. He called again.
“Why don’t you go by?” Ruth knew. She knew.
He was contagious.
A thought struck him. He got up and called his wife’s number. His wife answered. He could barely hear her. It was full of static.
“Where you been?” she asked. His fault.
“Is Jackie there?”
“No. Where you been?”
“Toronto,” he said. That was all he would say. It was the truth.
“What for?”
“How’s Caroline?”
“I had to keep checking the money.” This said with a strange laugh. Like someone was with her. The laugh for someone else. Her voice crackling. “Thought you ran …”
Her voice was lost for a while. Then it came back, “I’m on my cellphone. Got the number put through. I’m in my new car. A Cadillac. Got a driver. On Slattery Street. By the supermarket. Going to bingo.”
“I was calling Jackie’s house.”
“Wha’? You’re breaking up. Hell—”
“I was calling Jackie’s house.”
“The … new one?”
“Yeah.”
“I can hear ya now. Willis wrecked that one.”
“Wrecked what?”
“Where are they?”
“Back in the old house. Nothing the matter with—”
He hung up. He wouldn’t look at Ruth. She was near. She saw his face. He turned away. Dialed the old number. Jackie answered. She was tired. He could tell. Tired at 7:15 P.M. Worn out.
“Jackie.”
“Dad?” Worried. Why? Because he was gone? Or for herself?
“What’re you doing?”
“Where are you?”
“Here.”
“You okay?”
“Okay? Sure. How’s Caroline?”
There was a moment. Not a good one. “Fine.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Her wet voice. A teary bubble in her throat.
“Let me talk to Caroline.”
There was silence. A hand over the receiver. The angry voice of a man, muffled: “Who’s that?” He could hear it through the hand that tried to cover it over.
“It’s Poppy.”
“Hello?”
“Caroline.”
“How are you?”
“Okay.”
“I bought you a present.”
“From where?” A bit of excitement. But not like her. Not enough of herself.
“I was on a trip.”
A roar from the man’s voice.
“Okay. I got to go now.”
“Hello?”
Jackie back on. “I’ll see you.” She hung up.
He waited. He stood there. He breathed out all the breath he had. His head ached. His jaw ached. He watched the floor. It was a while before he breathed again. He hung up. He looked at Ruth. Her eyes changed when she saw what was in his face.
Ruth drove him to the house. She was talking. She was telling him things that were meant to hold him back. He never said a word. Along the way. All the space before his eyes. Just staring. The space pressing in on him. More and more as they went ahead. Piling up on him. The streets. The houses. The trail back to there.
The car stopped.
“Don’t wait,” he said.
“What’re you doing? What’s—”
“Go on.” He got out of Ruth’s car. That’s one of the things they had taught him about inside. Ownership. Respect other people’s property. Other people’s lives. No one has the right. People who have worked hard for what they have. Ruth’s car. He got out of it. Ruth should drive away in her car. She should take what was hers and leave. Take what was his.
In front of him. The door. Willis’s house. He turned to see Ruth still parked there. She drove ahead a bit. Stopped. Turned her head. Leaned a little to stare at him. Don’t.
He opened the door to Willis’s house and went in.
Calm down. Calm.
“Hello?”
Jackie came out of the kitchen. Wondering who it was. What might happen. Both eyes black. Black and sacred purple. Speckles of bright red. Her hand to her mouth. Her lips. Her fingers there. Just touching. Checking her lips. One arm in a sling.
“Dad?” Her voice broken up.
He stood next to her. A holiday. Tears spilling down his cheeks. A fucking holiday in the fucking sun. His tanned fists.
“Where’s Caroline?” He did not know what to expect. He did not want to see. He did not want to know. He thought he might slap his hands over his ears. He did it. He shouted. He kept his hands there. He roared. His knees buckled. He came apart. He came apart. Piece by piece. He came apart. The house shook. Every wall. Every window. Every glass in the cupboards. Every plate. Things tipped over in the house. Things broke in half. He turned with his mouth open. His eyes open. He snorted. Took his hands from his ears. He snorted ahead. Up into the kitchen at the back. No one.
“Caroline?”
In the living room. She was on the couch. Told to sit there. Told not to move. A bruise on her face. One eye swollen shut. Hands tucked between her knees. Tears blurring everything out of sight. He rushed to her. Picked her up in his arms. Held her. One hand on her hair. On the back of her head.
You’re not hurt.
“Poppy.” Her voice so small. She weighed practically nothing. Light as a feather. Just a little girl. He carried her out to where Jackie was in the hallway. Her feet bouncing in mid-air.
“Where is he?”
Jackie shook her head. Her eyes flinching. Upstairs. She couldn’t help but give it away. Her eyes flinching toward upstairs. Toward the sound of the bathroom door closing. Locking. He went past Jackie. Reached for the front door. Opened it. Stood Caroline on her feet. On the curb.
“I love you,” he said to her. Bent down. Watching her face. Trying to remember. Her unmarked skin. The purity. How it used to be. The difference there now. The blackness. The seep. His teeth grinding together. He didn’t know what his face looked like. He couldn’t help it. He said it again. Tried to make it better. So she would see. He wasn’t all bad.
Big wet tears in Caroline’s eyes. Nodding. Fat tears spilling. “I know, Poppy.”
“You’re the only thing I ever loved in this world.”
Jackie there behind him. Coming slow. Walking slow because it hurt. She stopped there in the doorway. Watched back. Didn’t know if she should leave. Didn’t know if she should go. Could go. Could step out of that house.
Get out.
Ruth’s car backing up. The sound of reverse. It stopped right next to him. Ruth’s car. Ruth’s life. He opened the back door.
“Get in.” He put Caroline in there. She was shivering. On the seat without a coat. Safe. Protected. “Turn up the heat.”
Jackie still in the doorway. Staring out. Staring at him. Staring down at the concrete step. Staring back in. Her good hand coming up. Reaching out for Caroline. Her face a mess of not knowing. Lost. Adrift. Maybe it was like that. Or maybe she wanted his help.
He went to her. Took her arm. Trembling. Her trembling. Him trembling. Two of their bodies like that. Barely bodies at all. Coming out of themselves. Trouble stepping down the concrete stairs. Trouble walking toward the car. Trouble bending down. Trouble getting in.
“Take them,” he said to Ruth. She nodded right away. Shook her head. Who did this? Tears in her eyes too. She saw what was happening. What had been done. “Drive.” He slammed shut the door. Hard.
Caroline’s eyes on him through the window. Trapped. Her eyes saying: Who are you? What is this? I’ll never understand.
Jackie watching ahead. Ashamed. Shame. Guilt.
Ruth. His name from her mouth behind glass. Barely in his ears. The moment of conception.
Shut it down.
Ruth had felt it, she said. The exact moment of conception. When they were together in bed. Five nights ago in a foreign country.
Shut it off.
She had told him in the car. On the way over here. To this place. The time to let him know.
“Go,” he yelled. So she’d turn her eyes away. So she would not see.
He looked at the open door to Willis’s house. He checked to see the car was far enough gone. Slowly rolling more. No one knowing what to do. At the stop sign up ahead. A second later. Around the corner. Three female faces turned to see. A memory of him. A good memory of him. Please.
Then he went back inside.