2

Della was only nineteen when she married Willy Hoffner and Sage stood as the best man at her wedding. Willy had arranged a honeymoon at Lake Louise but hadn’t told anyone where they were going, so it was three days after the wedding before Della found out about the tragedy. Her parents, who were divorced but had agreed to travel to the wedding together, had been killed in a collision with a transport truck a few hours after the reception.

The honeymoon had some highlights Della would never forget, but Willy stayed drunk most of the time and acted antsy when sober, so it was her memory of the wedding ceremony that kept her company when they drove back to Vancouver to find out about the disaster that had struck her family. The funeral was a formality. No one knew where Della’s sister was, and no one in Vancouver knew her parents. The deaths wiped away any sense of happiness Della had planned to harness in marriage; in a strange way, it was as if the marriage hadn’t taken place. Two days after the funeral, Willy’s friend Sage got himself a job on a cargo ship, and despite Della’s pleas that if ever she needed her husband at her side it was right then, Willy joined him.

Two months after his departure, Della received a phone call. The reception was poor. Della, it’s me. Willy. We made a mistake. You and I both did. We should have never got married. I should have said something, but I knew you really wanted to. So I didn’t. Say anything. I’m sorry.

Willy, you must be drunk. Or on drugs or something. Get yourself back here so we can do what we said we’d do. Have kids. Raise a family. Willy? Are you listening to me? There was a silent pause before the line went dead. Della intended to ask him if he’d met someone, but she knew he hadn’t. Willy wasn’t ready to commit to Della. He wasn’t ready to commit to anything.

A week later she received a short letter stuffed with some American money, and that was the last time she heard anything from her husband. Della couldn’t remember how long she’d held out hope that Willy would return and they could get back to normal. It may have been months or years. She was completely on her own, not a relative in sight, and depression settled like smog, making time difficult to account for.

Della moved around every few years and had a few acquaintances but no close friends. She was married only in a technical sense but didn’t walk around feeling single either. She existed in a confusing purgatorial state that resulted in a shallow social life, and she rarely attended parties of any kind, but it was at one such party, more than nine years after her marriage, where she met up again with Sage Howard. He had grown a mustache but otherwise looked the same, and she told him so. Sage offered no such sentiments when he saw Della after the superseding years, and for good reason. Della had never considered herself beautiful, but for a time a certain grace of form lived within the shadow she cast upon the Earth. Since then she had gained about thirty pounds, and while it wasn’t difficult to coax a smile from her, she no longer exuded optimism. She felt like a forty-watt bulb coated with dust. She had worked at a fish processing plant for a while and once overheard some co-workers describe her as dour. Dour Della, they called her. Della thought she knew what the adjective meant but looked it up when she got to her apartment to make sure. Grim and surly. That’s how people saw her. Della worked hard at smiling after that and imagined herself as upbeat and sanguine. She asked herself why she’d let herself go but found no answers, except possibly the notion of hopelessness. Still, wherever Sage had been and whatever doorways had opened and closed over the intervening years, when they finally met again, Sage looked at Della like she was as good as he would ever get.

I just want to get one thing out in the open, Sage said. I know nothing about what’s happened to Willy, and at this point I don’t care. I don’t know where he is. The last time I saw the bastard was in Panama eight years ago. He owes me money. He owes me plenty.

There were only a few suitors pestering Della before Willy came along and not many that weren’t drunk after he left, and the emergence of Sage after so many years felt like a blessing or possibly a trick of fate. The two of them never mentioned Willy Hoffner again, and while the party progressed inside, they found seclusion in two hammocks in the backyard. The night was clear, and a sliver of a moon, that looked like a hammock in the sky, shone down on the two of them lounged between the willow trees.

Do you do weed? Sage asked.

Sometimes I do.

Could this be one of those times?

I think it could, Della said.

The two hammocks were about four feet apart so Sage suggested Della settle into his hammock, as it was the larger of the two. Do you think it will hold us both? she asked.

If it doesn’t, Sage said, we’ll crash to Earth together.

It was a relief that Sage didn’t want to discuss the past, only the future. The way he described his vision of the time ahead of him, his confident tone of voice, gave Della the sense that she might be included if it suited her. The weed Sage smoked was the most powerful she’d ever experienced, and she saw more stars out that night than she knew existed. She and Sage giggled like two kids late into a sleepover, and Sage excused himself and went back to the party for something good to eat. That’s when Della noticed the smell of him, when he up and left, and while she didn’t want to say so out loud, Sage smelled like sage, and she was sifting through whether he had always smelled like sage and that was how he’d got his name, when a sniggering Sage returned with four apple fritters wrapped in a paper towel, and they settled into the hammock again.

Is Sage your real name?

Yeah, why?

Just wondered. I like the name Sage.

Della didn’t know the couple that owned the party house, but Sage did. The man let his dog out for a pee, and he bounded out to the hammocks and licked the remnants of apple fitter off their hands. Soon the owner, Bobby, came to the backyard with two beers.

Thought you two would like something to drink, he said.

Thanks, Sage said. What’s your dog’s name again?

Barker, Bobby said. He’s just a pup, can you believe it? He’s still growing.

The man didn’t have anything more he wanted to say and took his dog inside, and Sage and Della lay there drinking their beer. Too sweet or something, it didn’t taste like beer to Della, and halfway through drinking hers, she said, I’ve got to pee, but I don’t want to go in there.

Sage didn’t want to go back inside either. He only had one joint left, and he wanted to keep it for the both of them. Pee over there, Sage said. Behind the tree.

It’s easy for you being a man. You just pull out your extension cord whenever you need it and you stand on your feet.

You don’t stand on your feet when you pee in the house, do you?

No.

Well, then. What’s the difference? Just pull off your panties and squat like usual. Come on. We’ll pee together.

The two of them peed in earnest and then giggled again. They lay in the large hammock and smoked Sage’s last joint. A late summer breeze pushed its way between the houses and trees and gave them reason to snuggle closer together. I like that dog, Sage said.

This has been a good night, Della said. The best I’ve had in a long time. Their voices grew soft and mellow like they were engineering something that was no one else’s business.

Doesn’t it feel like a long night, though? Sage said.

It does. I feel like I’ve been lying in this hammock for the last ten years.

I’d like to go on a road trip, Sage said. Do you want to come on a road trip with me?

Where are you going? I’ve got to work on Monday.

Las Vegas.

Las Vegas? What will you do in Las Vegas?

I’m getting married.

Married? What do you mean you’re getting married?

I’m getting married, that’s all. I want to marry you. Della started laughing out of control. She could hardly breathe. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? If you don’t say yes, I’m going back into that party and I’ll find someone else.

But I can’t get married. I’m already married. Technically anyway.

Hell, that won’t matter. This is Vegas we’re talking about. If you’ve got the money, they’ve got the show. Maybe I’ll marry the damn dog. I’m leaving early. Eight in the morning. You coming or not?

Most of what happened for the rest of the night Della could not fathom. She woke with sore hips in a double bed in a room she didn’t recognize, the smell of coffee in the air. A note on the bed read, Shower if you want to. Gone to get supplies for the road. The car is packed.

She got up and looked out the window. A light rain had been falling for some time by the look of it. They would be driving away from the rain. Away from the rain and into something else.