Hugh kissed me awake the first day of school. “Rise and shine,” he whispered, getting up.
I lay watching dust motes jig in a ray of sunlight. “Be ready for a fight.”
Rolling out of bed, I tugged on my clothes. Stumbling into his, Hugh put both hands on my waist as if to steady himself.
Sonny shocked us, padding downstairs in his jeans and a T-shirt he’d shunned all summer. He looked tanned, his eyebrows sun-bleached, and he was smiling.
“Whatever,” Hugh muttered, as Sonny helped himself to some stale Corn Flakes and downed a mugful of juice.
“Good luck,” Hugh called out, going up to shave.
Sonny had grown a good two inches since spring, but I tried not to think about that, or about the clouds scudding over the horizon as we set out for the pier. You could still see the moon, a pale eye overlooking the marsh. The sea rolled like dice over the sand, murmuring gently, and we didn’t talk, cutting through the wet woods. It was barely seven-thirty, yet he behaved as if this were a trip to the grocery store. I dared not open my mouth; maybe all this was harder on me than on him, the wrinkle school put in our routine.
Wayne was waiting in the boat, drinking take-out coffee. He looked hungover as usual, but he took Sonny’s backpack as Sonny climbed in. When we reached the other side, he tapped Sonny’s shoulder.
“Have a good one, bud,” he said, pointing out the bus stop. It was just across the road, on a flat stretch beside the Kwik Way. Leaving the engine running, he downed his coffee, pitching the cup overboard.
“Comin’, Willa?” he hollered. I’d gotten out, and was tailing Sonny to the roadside. “Yo!”
I turned once and waved.
Sonny marched ahead as if I wasn’t there, his thumbs hooked in the straps of his loaded-down pack. God knows what he had in there, besides an empty notebook of Hugh’s and a couple of sandwiches I’d slapped together.
There were a couple of kids waiting, a teenage girl with a Walkman, and a boy half Sonny’s size. Sonny stood with his back to us, kicking the gravel. “What time is it?” the girl asked, and there was a funny sound. I turned to see Sonny throwing up into some goldenrod.
“Gross me out!” the girl sneered, just as the blue-and-white bus rounded a curve, lights flashing. I scrabbled for Kleenex uselessly, corralling Sonny and touching my wrist to his brow. He knocked my hand away, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The bus stopped, the door swinging wide, and without glancing back, he climbed in.
“Wait!” I yelled. The driver must’ve seen Sonny’s face, because he waved me aboard. Falling into the first empty seat, I could feel the eyes on me, especially Sonny’s, full of disgust.
“Where to?” asked the driver, a scrawny man with a comb- over. He looked pissed off and amused.
“I’m sorry,” I babbled, “but—”
“Don’ worry about it.” Then he clammed right up, as if I were one of the kids. The kids, meanwhile, twittered like Hitchcock’s birds, a clamorous chirping that foretold disaster.
“Slow learner, are ya?” the driver shouted after a while. A joke.
Fifteen minutes and five stops later, we pulled up in front of the school. Damn, if Sandi (what was her last name?) wasn’t there with a flock of women.
Sonny stomped past me, eyes locked on the kid ahead.
“Far as I go, dear,” the driver said once they’d all shoved and stumbled their way off. The bus felt lighter—a whale after giving birth.
“Thanks.” Hoping it sounded sincere, I took my time on the steps.
It was like being dropped on the moon; the beaten-down schoolyard with its rusty swings and view of the base, those houses clumped together as if for protection. The air smelled of diesel and trampled weeds.
“Willa?” I imagined a voice like Sandi’s calling me back to the fold, in exchange for news. Information. But neither she nor her friends had budged. Maybe I’d turned invisible? Sonny had beelined to the playground, throwing off his pack. He was shaking a pole, causing the kids on the swings to shriek. One of them was Derek.
I turned away, walking quickly down the hill with no clue where I was headed. But at the highway, instead of starting back towards the Passage, I crossed the railway tracks and, passing through the open gates, headed towards Avenger.
What is wrong with you? chorused through my head as I marched along the cracked pavement past those faded, look-alike houses. Reaching Number 12, I almost kept going. It was like seeing something dead familiar, watching some aspect of your tiny life on TV. My heart pounded as I glanced up and down the street. Joyce LeBlanc was dragging a tricycle out of her driveway. A radio burbled faintly from somewhere, and the whine of a vacuum cleaner.
The Dodge sat in the driveway, backed in. The lawn needed cutting. The drapes hung crookedly in the picture window. My key lay in a pocket of my pack. What was I thinking? Who knows what I’d have done had Charlie been there.
Something made me walk up and let myself in. It was so simple, it was scary: the key turning, the door opening.
Inside, it seemed brighter than I remembered, despite the drapes. The sun breaking in was like beaten yolks, shockingly cheery. Feeling like a burglar, as if any second an alarm would sound, I scooted to the kitchen. The counter was even cleaner than I expected: spotless. Somewhere, a tap dripped. In the bathroom? The tap in the kitchen was turned off tightly. I checked. The toaster gleamed. My note, penned so exactingly that last morning, was gone, of course.
Moving down the hall to the bedroom was like watching my feet in a movie. Any second the scene would shift, lifting them from the carpet.
The bed was made, an inside-out pair of Charlie’s jeans slung over the foot. Apart from this, nothing looked out of place. It was like being in a museum. A film of dust coated the dressers, nothing serious. A few of my clothes hung in the closet, like items in a new-to-you store: worn, but by whom? I flipped through them without much interest, careful not to touch Charlie’s things hanging there too.
Steeling myself, I crept to the bathroom. I don’t know what I was hoping to find: evidence of someone else? Maybe some hint of habitation—a mess. Hairs in the sink, a razor on the edge of the tub, strange deodorant.
Nothing.
I went and found some plastic bags—in the closet, right where they should’ve been—then tiptoed to Sonny’s room. The door was shut tight. What lay behind it clawed at me. The carpet had lines from the vacuum, and Sonny’s Lego airbase was set up. Not as he’d left it, with crashed planes and limbless men, but intact, possibly upgraded. And on the desk, below the window, was a shrine with Sonny’s school photo and that picture of us on Family Day, the Sea King in the background, and Sonny’s dodge ball and bike helmet.
I imagined Charlie touching these things: his pained smile. His smell, for heaven’s sake—of engines and aftershave and a hint of sweat. And his voice: accusing, judging. Bitch. Then softer, younger: Willa? You seen my socks? My shaving soap?
I pictured him squirting WD-40 on Sonny’s bike chain. And I thought of the morning Sonny and I had left, the sky’s pale blue before the fog set in.
I wish there’d been something to tidy. But nothing needed attention, except maybe the dressers, and I couldn’t bring myself to re-enter that room. It was too full of Charlie; not just his things, but the buzz of him—or my memories of it. The way he’d shivered sometimes in his sleep; the effect of spending too much time around engines, the jittery pull of those dinosaur helos? “Think of your favourite old car,” he’d said once, explaining the allure of his job. It had meant nothing, because I didn’t have one. Sighing, he’d moved on.
Charlie was so many shades of a person, it struck me, as many blues as the ocean. What colour did that make me, a sponge absorbing each hue? I tried not to think about it, emptying Sonny’s drawers and scooping clothes into bags. God knows why, since he’d outgrown most of them.
I didn’t take anything for myself. Oh, there were things that might’ve come in handy, like some old binoculars Charlie never used, on a shelf in the bedroom. But there was nothing I needed, and I’d finished with that room. The time jogged me. The clock on the stove, ever reliable, said ten-thirty, and I wondered how Sonny was making out, hoping his stomach had settled.
Grabbing my collection of bags, I locked up, leaving everything exactly as I’d found it. Still, I wondered if Charlie would know I’d been there, if he’d pick up my scent. How could he not?
It was a long time till school dismissed at three, too long to stick around. So I started walking again, turning onto the highway in the direction of the Passage. It had to be a good five-mile hike, with cars and trucks whizzing past. A couple of drivers seemed to slow down and stare; I could’ve been a tramp carrying a bundle on a stick. But nobody stopped or even waved, and after a while I felt invisible again. A chopper rumbled overhead, coming in for a landing. Hugh would be wondering where I’d got to. Nobody had mentioned me going to school.
Traffic stirred whirls of dust, clouding my head with the stink of exhaust. My heels burned, but by noon I’d left behind the busiest stretch of road and the air seemed cooler, fresher. That grey and white house, where Hugh’s friends’d had the party, came into view and I quickened my pace. Paula was getting her baby out of the car. I could’ve used a drink or a visit to the bathroom, but she either didn’t see me or didn’t recognize me going by. Maybe it was my baggage.
Outside the Kwik Way, I set everything down and went and bought a Popsicle. It melted faster than I could eat it; most of it fell on the road going over to the wharf. Wayne’s boat was tied up, but he was nowhere around. I went back to the Kwik Way to use the pay phone. Hugh would be worried.
He sounded as if he’d just woken up, vague and far away. My voice was sure to sound different on the phone.
He seemed confused when I explained about waiting for the bus, both of us catching a ride with Wayne.
“Listen—it’s okay. Take as long as you need.”
“Save him the extra trip, right?”
“Yeah? Oh. Sure. Okay. See ya.” No miss you or don’t be long.
Hanging up, I went inside and bought an apple—lunch—and went back to the wharf to eat it.
A good three hours to kill.
The roof of Wayne’s house showed through the skinny trees. By now I really needed to pee. Reenie won’t mind, I told myself, walking up the road and knocking. I felt a bit weird, especially after passing Paula’s. Though it’d been just as well, her missing me. Being around little kids would’ve reminded me too much of Sonny and his morning’s ordeal.
Reenie took forever coming to the door. She looked a little shocked, but kind of glad to see me.
“Willa?” She eyed all my stuff. “Been shoppin’, or what?”
She seemed more dressed up than usual—the two or three times we’d met. Her brows looked freshly plucked. She had an interview at a bank—for a job, she said, flitting around in search of her cigarettes.
“I won’t stay. It’s just…well, I’m kind of stranded, and…” oh, hell. “Can I use your bathroom?”
She pointed the way. I thanked her.
“Don’t worry about it.”
When I came out, she was in the kitchen lighting a cigarette. She nudged her fingers through her permed hair as she puffed.
“Wayne’s around somewheres. He could take ya right now if you want. Not trying to rush ya or nothing. I was you, they’d hafta drag me over there. Dunno how you hack it, really, stuck on that goddamn islant.” She made a face, though who knows what it meant through the haze of smoke and all her nervous primping. But I got the distinct feeling she pitied me.
I thought of Sandi and Paula, and felt this sudden urge to talk, this longing just to shoot the breeze. Between filing her nails, Reenie sipped what looked like cold coffee from a Garfield mug. She could’ve been a total stranger, could’ve been anybody. There was nothing there to invite my urge.
“I went home today,” I spoke up, pointing at the bags parked in her hallway.
“Okay?” she said suspiciously.
Tell her, I thought; what’s the difference?
“You know I left my husband.”
She shrugged, as if people told her this sort of thing every day. Why was she applying to a bank? She looked like a hairdresser. Despite its hardness, her face had that open yet distant look.
She sighed, inspecting a nail. “Well, I guess if you done that, you had good reason.”
My turn to shrug. My neck felt hot. I’d given this away for nothing.
Or maybe not. “Having a kid and all,” she murmured, “and Hughie ...”
“Yes?”
“Ah, nothing. I was just gonna say he’s…well, Hugh’s like a big kid himself, that’s all.”
“Oh?” Which is why I love him, I thought, and why things’ll never be how they were with Charlie. Something in her eyes kept me from blurting it out.
“Nothing,” she said, scrabbling through her purse.
“You guys’ve known him for a while, I take it.”
“Huh? Oh, Hughie and Wayne, they go way back.”
She flipped car keys onto the table. I stayed put.
“Yeah?”
She started digging again.
“He’s never told you?”
I shook my head, a little confused.
“They grew up together. They did time together, sweetie,” she said, deadpan. You could imagine that voice at the circus: please, clap now for the bearded lady!
“You didn’t know?” She fluffed her hair up off her neck, glancing at the door with its tole-painted Welcome attached to a tiny, twee birdhouse.
My cheeks felt hot. I should’ve just thanked her then and left. I mean, anyone with eyebrows like that is not to be trusted.
“Nothing serious. Possession,” she crowed, a smile cracking her made-up face. “Don’t tell him I said. It was just a bit of hash. Frig! Nothing to get pissy over.”
“Who’s pissy?” I quipped, going along with her, even if it wasn’t funny. She had a weird sense of humour.
“They were just kids, him and Wayne. Oh, mother.”
“The music,” I cut in, and rose to gather up my stuff.
“They been at that forever, too.” She pushed her hair back primly, showing a pimple coated with Erase. She said something about a record, her voice sarcastic. Her mouth tightened in a little line. My time was up; she’d run out of patience.
“Listen. Keeps ’em out of trouble, eh?”
“Right,” I said, as she followed me to the door.
Wayne was outside peering under the hood of his truck. “Good luck with the interview,” I called as she got into her car. It looked quite new.
“Easy on the clutch in that Tie-oughta,” Wayne hollered without looking up. “Now, I s’pose you want a ride.”
“It’s okay, I can wait for Sonny.”
I lugged those ridiculous bags back to the dock and found a patch of grass and flaked out. But I wasn’t in much of a mood for sunbathing. Watching the clouds, shivering every now and then at the chill off the water, I wondered about Reenie, why she had it in for Hugh. The chill moved up my arms. Were there things he hadn’t told me? Drugs, shoplifting—I mean, who didn’t do crazy things as a kid? A teenager, I mean. I pictured myself, a younger, skinnier version, toking off a crumb of hash on a pin, pinching the odd chocolate bar, a pair of flip-flops. With no mom and my father on some other planet, there’d been no one around to notice. I pictured a younger, shorter Hugh rolling a joint, stealing candy, maybe an album. An eight-track tape.
Reenie is nuts, I decided. She’s jealous.
The coolness spread through me. Consequences. Punishment. I’d never got caught doing those stupid things; who knows how Dad would’ve reacted? Something would’ve come to me, though, some excuse, some good reason.
I wanted to call Reenie and tell her she had it wrong, whatever it was about Hugh.
An eye for an eye ran through my head: tit for tat. But as the wind churned up whitecaps, an image of Charlie came to mind. Items from the news he liked quoting, stories from the Middle East, or wherever it is people get their hands chopped off for stealing. Stealing what? A wife and son?
Sick, the stuff that plays through your mind when you’re hungry and maybe a bit dehydrated and just want to get home. Especially after seeing someone like Reenie, never mind your kid barfing in a ditch and the house you’ve left suddenly as spotless as if it were inhabited by Mr. Clean and The Man from Glad. Now there’s a couple; anything’s possible these days.
There wasn’t much you could rule out, really.
I shut my eyes, felt the sun pulse through the lids till everything swirled orange. When I opened them, my watch said two-fifty. Sonny would be here any minute; we’d have lots to talk about.
But when he got off the bus twenty minutes later, he scowled past me, barely saying hi to Wayne, who hobbled towards us, checking his watch. He was breaking up his day for this, after all. As he mumbled something about his ignition, I asked Sonny, “So how was it?”
He just fired his pack into the boat, keeping silent the entire crossing.
“Six minutes and thirty-five seconds,” Wayne brayed as we nudged the dock. You could see why he and Reenie were a pair. “Good thing Hughie’s not paying me by the hour, wha’? Ah, I’m just arsing around. Tell him I’m putting you on his tab.”