24

Having sage home required reconfiguring the rhythm of life Della and Stacey had grown accustomed to. The spectacle of a man sitting in a wheelchair in the corner of the living room watching Sesame Street every morning bothered all three of her clients. Matty, the two-and-a-half-year-old, cried the first three days whenever she looked at him. After a while, Sage blended in with the furniture as far as the kids were concerned, though Matty turned around when something funny happened on TV, as if unsure whether laughter was allowed. Sage never laughed. He sat there like a sentinel.

Patient and tractable when he had to be, Lucky nevertheless liked kids less than Della did. The dog had been owned by two elderly people for years, and he wasn’t used to poking and prodding. Della left him outside for most of the day and brought him in for his afternoon snack. The kids got to pet him for a minute, and then Della parked him in Stacey’s room for the rest of the day.

Most nights Hart wheeled Sage to Fort Whoop, and Stacey felt the most comfortable then. In the mornings or after school or during the odd evening that Sage remained at his post, Stacey slid from room to room pretending that he wasn’t sitting anywhere in the house. She had become a big fan of nurse Belle because she scoured the tub with bleach after every session with her dad, but she was never home when the nurse arrived to deal with him. Listening to Della’s description of what went on—his bath, his limited exercise routine and the military treatment that came his way with nurse Belle in attendance—was more than she wanted to consider. Fantasizing that he no longer existed allowed her to cope. When Della left the house, she took a different approach.

Every year when the first hint of spring entered the valley, Della liked to get outside, and she preferred to walk by herself, meditatively, with a cigarette. Stacey agreed this would be okay even if Hart didn’t come to pick up Sage. Trapped indoors with three kids and an invalid all day, her mother needed the break. Once or twice a week, Stacey loved to take a book and sit in the bathtub until her toes wrinkled. With her mother out for an hour and Sage watching TV, her behaviour changed. She would pull herself out of the tub, dry off and saunter to her room wrapped only in a towel, having left her change of clothes in the bedroom. The first time she did this, she didn’t look his way, but the second time, she walked even more slowly and kept an eye on him watching her.

Every week or ten days, Hart didn’t come to fetch Sage, and these were nights she looked forward to. If it were raining and Della hesitated about going for her walk, Stacey encouraged her to take the car out and have a coffee somewhere to break up the routine. With each passing episode, she revealed more. She would wrap a towel around her midsection and walk into the living room ostensibly to consider the offerings on the bookshelf. She wasn’t a big fan of hair dryers because Morgan said they emitted too many positive ions into the air and made you lose energy, so for two years, it had been her habit to dry her hair with a towel and let evaporation do the rest. One night while she stood in a tentative pose in front of the bookshelf, Lucky, who followed her everywhere, wanted to play tug-a-war and grabbed a corner of her towel in his mouth and pulled until the towel sat like a puddle around her feet. She retrieved the towel and vigorously dried her hair, leaving the rest of her anatomy open for inspection. She did so nonchalantly at first, as if Sage were not sitting there, but after a time, she looked at him looking at her and turned around so that nothing was left to his imagination. His sibilant nose-breathing grew louder than usual. She wanted to tell him if this was what he’d been after all these years, well now was his chance. But Stacey didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. She had for months imagined herself as Greta Garbo in a silent movie, and she would carry out her role to perfection.

One night, Amber came over to work on a history project with Stacey while Amber’s mother hosted a Tupperware party. Stacey said she could come but warned her that her dad would be sitting in a wheelchair, his one glazed eye taking everything in. Amber knew all Stacey had been through, and Stacey worried her bias would prevent her from just coming over like in the old days, but if Amber held a grudge of any kind on behalf of her best friend, she hid it.

Hello, Mr. Howard. Do you remember me? Amber? I’m working on school stuff with Stacey, and we’ll be working in the kitchen. Do you need anything before we get started? Sage took his pen and pointed to the word water. Amber got him a glass then met Stacey at the kitchen table.

Imagine having to sit in one place all day long, Amber said. Reliant on people to bring you a glass of water. I don’t know if I’d want to live if I had to live like that. Do you have to help him to the bathroom?

Hell no. My mom and the nurse do that. I changed the channel for him once. As if to prove this were true, Stacey went into the living room and changed the channel to Miami Vice, which was just about to start.

Amber was big on lip gloss, maybe from all the kissing she did. They had both stopped using lipstick because Morgan said most lipstick contains barium, which contributes to breast cancer. She got a tube of gloss out of her purse and coated her lips, still not ready to start their project. I guess as long as your mind is working, she said, you’ve got a reason to keep on living. If your mind went blank but your body stayed good, then you wouldn’t know the difference if you were living or not. Or maybe you would. Maybe you would be like a chicken, able to walk around and live your life but never burdened with history reports, but then when it came time someone grabbed your feet and put your head on the chopping block, it would matter to you. I’m guessing there are all kinds of ways we want to keep going. What do you think?

Stacey had everything ready to begin. She had two pens and two pencils for Amber and two of each for herself. Two clipboards filled with loose-leaf paper for them to make notes. That way they would both have a copy of what took place.

I think he still gets something out of life, Stacey said. Imagine if you were in solitary confinement in prison, stuck in a small, dark room all day with nothing to do, and then someone gave you a break and let you watch a half hour of TV once a day. You’d look forward to that, maybe because it reminded you of your life before you were in solitary confinement, and it would give you plenty to think about for the next twenty-three and a half hours. He’s way better off than that. He gets to see all kinds of things during the day, and people talk to him and bring him water. Just what he sees around him with his one good eye gives him more than enough to think about.

She not only went to the school dance, she stayed until it ended and a little bit more. The Environmental Club had offered to clean up and recycle the refuse, and the group thought it would be just as easy to get it out of the way and not have to come back into the school on a Saturday morning. Stacey danced with Hugh as she promised she would. Three times. The first time out of a sense of obligation, but Hugh wore an earthy, captivating scent, so the second and third dances took place because she wanted to get close enough to smell him.

They went to Morgan’s after, and because of the late hour, Stacey phoned home to explain. Morgan’s house had a basement and a room they could call their own, so they played Twister there. Amber volunteered to manage the spinner while Stacey, Morgan and Hugh became contortionists. Stacey was wearing a skirt, and when her next move required her to be compromised, she pretended to slip and was disqualified. Morgan and Hugh kept going until Morgan said he couldn’t do it anymore. He had to pee.

Morgan and Amber then cuddled on the couch while Stacey and Hugh lay down on the rug in the corner. As usual, the lights were off, which made it difficult to maneuver intelligently. Stacey let him kiss and fondle her. His scent captivated her, and she wanted to know the name of it but didn’t dare ask in case he thought it was the main reason she lay beside him, which it was. His hand gently rubbed the inside of her leg, and the sensation, happening while he kissed her, overwhelmed her. His hand slid up her leg, and at first she felt separated from that leg, and she lay there curious about what might happen next. The higher the hand worked, the more evident it became that the leg belonged to her and she had a visitor, not one she wanted to let in the front door, but one she might be willing to visit with on the porch. Hugh wanted to be like Morgan, everyone could see that he emulated everything Morgan did, and one thing Morgan had going for him was a steady girlfriend who invited him in once and a while. Hugh kept his hand on her leg and moved his lips from her lips and whispered in her ear. Stacey heard him whisper but didn’t respond because she needed to take in what he had said. Hugh thought she hadn’t heard him so he repeated his request. I think we should do it sometime.

Stacey had been enjoying herself, and she wished he hadn’t said a thing. Sometimes words only got in the way. I’ve got to go, she said and stood up and traced her hand along the wall to find the door.

I’ve got to go too, Hugh said and got up to follow her. By the time Hugh made his way out to the street, Stacey had disappeared, which made him think she hadn’t walked home but had run.

During Sage’s second monthly checkup, the doctor, for the first time, expressed concern. After month one, his vital signs had remained the same as at the hospital, but after month two, he had high blood pressure once again. The doctor directed his comments to Della more than to Sage because she was the one, he felt, who could do something about it. Sage was not overweight and never had been. If anything, he had lost weight since his stroke. Exercise would help, and while nurse Belle put him through his paces Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, for the rest of his week, his exercise amounted to shuffling to the bathroom and back to his chair. He told Della to guide her husband, whenever possible, around the living room before he went back to sitting in his wheelchair. Della asked if a walker would help, and he said it might but she would need to be constantly at his side, as his balance and coordination were poor and having him rely on the walker might pose more risks than benefits. He said to find a squeezable rubber ball that would allow him to strengthen his left arm. Then he mentioned salt. Della said Sage liked salt on everything he ate and always had. This practice had to stop immediately. The doctor prescribed a regimen of diuretics and beta-blockers that would help. He asked if anything had changed in his daily routine, and since Sage had made nightly visits to Fort Whoop almost from the beginning, Della said she didn’t think so. Stress is a major cause of high blood pressure, the doctor said, so Sage should avoid scenarios that might trigger tension in his life. After they left the doctor’s office, Della thought her leaving the house nightly had been one change from month number one, but she couldn’t imagine Sage getting worked up because she needed to get away for an hour a day. When they got home, she asked him if her evening outings bothered him, but he grabbed his pen and pointed to no. The doctor had also asked if Sage smoked, and she had answered no for cigarettes, but his sessions with Hart were smoking and she thought she should have mentioned it. It wouldn’t matter in any case. Sage would learn to get by without salt because she would see to it, but if anyone suggested he stop smoking pot, it would be a sure source of instant tension.

Della left Sage in the car when they stopped first at the drugstore and then the hardware store. She found only a few toys there but bought a small rubber ball that had some give to it. Next she took Sage out for coffee and a treat and had to load him into the wheelchair one more time. She could tell Sage didn’t like having his clipboard away from the wheelchair for the trip. She thought he might not want to appear helpless in public, but she carried on with her plan anyway. He didn’t want a treat of any kind and drank only half his coffee. A few people came up to him in the restaurant and said polite, innocuous things to him to which he nodded his head.

Molly had been minding her kids through it all, and the outing took longer than expected.

Is everything all right? Molly asked.

I think so, Della said. The doctor’s concerned his blood pressure has gone up. He prescribed some drugs that should help.

Molly helped get Sage back into his wheelchair, which made that easier. Later, when Della took him to the washroom, he pointed to the bedroom. Della didn’t know how much exercise the doctor thought Sage capable of, but he tired and fell asleep before she closed the bedroom door.

Della knew Oli Hardwick from church, a member of the congregation from when she first attended, and he never missed a Sunday. Rose and Molly had filled her in on most of the congregation over the last few years, and because of her fastidious informers, Della knew Oli as a widower. He’s a gentleman, Rose said. A stamp collector, Molly said, one who spent his days bent over his hobby or walking his dog. He’d retired young, having sold his lucrative sign-painting business, and Molly said sometimes he wished he hadn’t sold when he did. On several fronts, he seemed a lonely man. One fall, Hart had taken a trip without Molly, a search for artifacts for Fort Whoop, and Oli Hardwick and gone with him. Hart said all the way there and back, he talked about how much he missed his wife.

One night, due to heavy rain, Della took the car downtown for coffee, and Oli Hardwick sat at a corner table reading the newspaper. Not the local paper but a thick one from out of town. He looked deeply involved in it so Della didn’t bother him, just ordered a coffee and sat by herself. Oli looked out over his newspaper and saw her there and suggested she bring her coffee to his table and join him. She did.

Oli had heard about Sage’s fate. Everyone in town had. Despite this, he had Della explain the chronology of her husband’s condition, and he listened intently to all the details as if he wanted to pass some later quiz with flying colours.

You’ve had a tough go of it, Oli said. When he spoke these words, Della felt the impulse to mention Sage was the one who had it tough, but then she thought about it and realized Oli identified with her circumstance because he too had an assumed part of his life wiped out. And he was right. Life would never again be what it once was.

They both ordered a second coffee, and Oli offered to buy her a Nanaimo bar. Della said she had better not, and Oli said if maintaining her figure concerned her, she had nothing to worry about, and he ordered a Nanaimo bar for them to share. Della told him she knew he was a stamp collector and wondered what that entailed. Oli came to life then, you could see the spark in his eyes when he spoke. He’d attended the Great Western Stamp Show in Richmond last year, and he was planning a trip to Bayside, New York, for an even bigger show coming this summer.

I collect stamps from anywhere I can if I think they have value. That doesn’t just mean older stamps, it means rare stamps. My collection focuses on Canada and England, but I dabble in American stamps too, mostly to trade. Next year I’m thinking of going to England. They have huge stamp shows there, and I haven’t been back for over twenty years.

Oli went on about stamps for close to an hour. Della imagined such a thing might bore her, and it might have if she were reading about it, but Oli’s enthusiasm made it sound like a thrilling adventure.

Years ago, in England, Oli said, mail cost a fortune to send and was sent “collect,” and since it often required a day’s wages to receive it, thousands of letters would travel the country with no hope of being delivered. Then they adopted the penny stamp, which made it cheap for anyone to send a letter, and the stamp worked to send a letter anywhere in the world. I have three or four at home in varying condition. Stamps aren’t just items, you see. They bring with them a sense of history.

My dad had a collection, Della said. A small collection, nothing like yours. There’s a lot more to stamp collecting than most would think. I can see that now.

One more thing I’ll bet you didn’t know. The Queen has a stamp collection.

You don’t say?

I do say. And John Lennon collected stamps as a boy.

Well, I’ll be.

You’re welcome to come over and view the collection sometime, Oli said.

I’d like to do that, Della said. I’d like that a lot.

This happened on a Wednesday, and Della went back to just walking around the neighbourhood for the next while, but when Wednesday rolled around again, she took the car and went back to the coffee shop and saw Oli, newspaper in hand, as if he’d been waiting for her all week. This time they each ordered their own Nanaimo bar. Oli’s hair looked different, and she saw he had it combed over to the side with what looked like a wave-set. They talked again. For a long time. Not just about stamps but about the church they attended and Fernie and what the future might hold for the town. Della had ended up in Fernie because of Sage’s job, and they’d stayed put partly for the anonymity of the place, so she hadn’t considered the town’s future but thought maybe she should. They talked about some of the people in the church and some, like Hart, that didn’t attend. Oli said he envied Hart because of his passion for collecting things and because he had a wife who didn’t object. When Della heard this assessment, she thought maybe Oli’s stamp collection had begun in earnest after his wife died. A natural progression, that was. When something that substantive in your life falls away, something is bound to take its place.