MARY TAKES HER place at the table in the dining room. Sunlight streams through the bay windows.
“Lovely morning,” she says to the two other guests, already sipping their coffee. They smile politely, introduce themselves—Carla and James, from Ontario.
“Is this your first trip to the island?” asks Mary, trying to sound flat and even, like them.
The wife replies, clearly the talkative one.
“Oh no, we come to Cape Verde often. And we always stay with Mrs. Dodge.”
“You must really like it out here,” says Mary, banally.
The wife unfolds her napkin, looks pleased with herself. “Actually, we’re thinking of buying a house on the island. To get away from Toronto, the pollution, the traffic…”
Doesn’t she know that’s a conversation stopper? thinks Mary.
Before Mary came out to Cape Verde, her friend Barb had filled her in about the big controversy on the island.
“Emotions are running high,” she’d said. “Cape Verders are up in arms about the old houses being sold off to outsiders. The island is divided. And it’s bitter. I grew up on the Cape and I know what they’re like out there. They’re clinging to the past. Those houses are like shrines. They think the place is blessed. Some kind of foggy paradise. And now they have to go off the island to look for work and can’t afford to keep up the old family homes. The locals are taking it hard.”
“Here you go now, my dears.” Mrs. Dodge plonks the classic B & B breakfast on the table: eggs, bacon and toasted homemade bread, served on flowery Victorian dishes, blueberry jam in little crystal jars with silver serving spoons.
She gives Mary a hard stare, as if warning her not to say anything unwelcoming. “That’s a good thing for this community, people buying up the old abandoned houses. What else are you going do on an island like Cape Verde with the fishery gone?”
Mary turns to the taciturn mainland husband.
“These old houses are beautiful but they can need a lot of renovation.”
He aligns his knife and fork carefully on the plate, then gives her an awkward little nod in agreement. But not a gig out of him.
Mary smiles to herself. He reminds her of Charlie, so shy and boyish, she always had to rescue him socially. At least she doesn’t have to do that anymore.
Sure enough, Carla, the chatty wife jumps in. “You’re right. Fixing up a house is going to be a challenge. But it’s very exciting thinking about all the possibilities.” She glances at her husband. “Isn’t it, James?”
Another couple appears in the doorway. The wife is very done up for so early in the morning. Hoop earnings and a bright orange and yellow blouse over her ample bosom.
“Good morning!” she sings out to the room. She’s lively, confident. Blond hair in a flip, pretty.
Her husband comes in behind her. Mary sits up and takes notice. Wow! Tall Dark And Handsome, he’s got it down pat. There’s something exotic about him—toasty skin and fine features. Maybe a touch of Beothuk, Mi’kmaq? Must be a musician, artist of some kind. Not often you see a man with a ponytail out in Notre Dame Bay.
They sit down and the wife takes over the table. “I’m Judy and this is George. We came over on the night ferry. Mrs. Dodge hired George to tear down her old back porch and put on a new one. I’m just along for a little holiday. Can’t let him be out here wining and dining with you crowd without me.” She laughs at her own joke.
Mary’s wondering about the handsome husband. Strong silent type? She throws a comment in his direction. “That’s going to be a quite a job, pulling down that big old porch.”
Judy makes several quick hand gestures to George, including the sign for house, fingertips touching in the shape of a pointed roof. Mary recognizes the sign language from her teaching days. George signs back, tapping his lips lightly with his thumb, his face animated, his gray-green eyes talking to Mary.
“George says old porches are full of carpenter’s secrets. He’s looking forward to the job.”
Mary bypasses Judy and addresses George. “Carpenter’s secret? Sounds intriguing, I’d like to see one of those.”
Now the mainland wife gets in on the act. “Do you come out to the island often?” she asks, also directing her question to George.
He’s a magnet, thinks Mary.
Judy is quick to answer. “George can’t get enough of it out here. He does a lot of work on the island. This is where he grew up, see.” She looks at him lovingly, like it’s endearing of him to be from Cape Verde. “He’s always looking for an excuse to jump on the ferry and cross the tickle…even though it’s just a bit of old rock out in the middle of the bay.”
George is signing to his wife, his face full of laughter.
“George says a Gander girl married to a Cape Verde boy goes up in the world. There’s high culture out here.” She laughs, a rich, happy chortle.
Mary is curious. They seem like the perfect couple. That woman’s crazy about her husband. Will I ever go back to being like that with a man?
The way you were with your husband, the way you are with men now. Around the dinner table, Mary and her divorced friends have been over that ground.
“How can you not be bitter?” says Barb. “It’s a hard old statistic—a certain percentage of men simply dump their long-time spouse for a new, younger model. It’s so unfair. But that’s the way it is. Men will wander.”
Mary shrugs her shoulders, defeated. “I never saw it coming. I thought Charlie and I were still in love. I just can’t get over it. I’m awake in the night, inventing dialogues, angry rants.”
“Why don’t you have a nice little affair with some guy to boost your ego?” says Doris. “I’ve been with a few men since the divorce. Nothing serious. Just for fun. And I’ve learned a lot about myself.”
“Go on, Mary, get out there,” says Linda. “Fifty’s the new forty—you’re still young and fit. And you’re no shrinking violet.”
Barb shakes her head. “Just don’t go falling in love. I know what a romantic you can be. Too soon, too fast. That would only lead to more disappointment.”
“Romance is the last thing on my mind right now,” says Mary, her brown eyes intense. “I’ve decided to get away from St. John’s. I’m going out hiking on Cape Verde Island. Have a good think about it all.”
“That’s perfect!” Doris exclaims. “You never know who you’re going to meet out there. Some unsuspecting hiker. Don’t pass up any chances.”
“Chance encounters on that godforsaken island,” says Barb, laughing. “Not a hope in hell.”
“I’ll just put on a fresh pot of coffee,” says Mrs. Dodge.
No one’s in a hurry to leave the breakfast table. It’s all titillation—George and Judy gesturing, everybody laughing at George’s jokes, teaspoons clinking in coffee cups, Mrs. Dodge coming and going.
George is having a big chat with the mainlanders now. Judy’s fingers are going like knitting needles. She’s enjoying herself, a warm pinkness creeping up her cleavage.
Carla-from-Toronto is elated, and her husband has even cracked a smile.
Mary is amused. There goes George, a deaf mute, fulfilling the mainlanders’ image of the funny, friendly Newfoundlander. He sure knows how to play to the gallery.
“According to George, the island is multicultural,” says Judy, with delight. “Every little settlement out here has its own ways, its own dialect.”
“But surely, that culture’s all gone now,” interjects Carla in a nasal, know-it-all kind of way. “There’s nothing left out here. This place has gone to seed.”
George gets a dark look on his face. He sighs and starts signing.
Judy scrambles to deal with the change of tone. She shakes her head apologetically. “He says to tell you you’re wrong. This island is brimming with life—lobster in the water under the rocks around the shore, partridgeberries thick on the barrens.”
George motions to her to keep going.
“And it’s not gone to seed. There’s no end of beauty—the light on the hills in the morning, the coves at the bottom of the cliffs…”
“Yes, but you can’t really make a living out here,” says Carla, determined to keep speaking from her own sensibility. “I know it’s a paradise when we’re here in summer but how would you handle the isolation in winter?”
George crosses his hands on his chest, then taps his forehead with one finger.
“Okay, he says to tell you he loves this place,” says Judy, lowering her voice in embarrassment, “more than any outsider could ever imagine.”
Carla takes a gulp of coffee.
Mary’s eyes meet George’s. She looks away quickly.
My God, I’m pulled by him.
Mary’s out walking the cliffs of Cape Verde. The day is sunny but windy and wild, waves crashing on rocks. She stops to take a long look at the light glistening on distant islands.
Glorious, breathtaking, bigger than me and my little troubles.
“Try to heal yourself,” the therapist had said. “Open a new chapter, step away from that story.”
But how to step away. It’s embarrassing, really. Stereotypical. Classic B movie. True love betrayed. A fifty-year-old divorcee, jilted. Heartless husband remarried to a young thing with firm flesh, wrinkle-free face.
Sherrie. No flies on her. She moved into Charlie’s life like a hurricane. And he flew right out of our marriage—our life of thirty years, ripped up from the roots. I wonder if that Sherrie feels guilty about being a husband stealer. Not likely, by the look of her at Pam’s wedding. You’d think she was mother of the bride, hanging off Charlie’s arm in the family photos, done up in a cheap, too-tight dress. And me, skinny and gaunt from hardly sleeping or eating for the past few months, trying to look serene and motherly in my tasteful linen shift.
Carla appears at a turn in the path. Out picking wildflowers, watching for whales.
“Did you hike all the way to the end of that rough trail?” she says. “Are you sure it’s safe to go out on those cliff edges on your own?”
“Not to worry about me. I’ve got lots of experience on these old rocks,” snaps Mary, impatient with the motherly concern, as if she needs guidance because she doesn’t have a husband.
Carla changes the subject. “Oh! That George is right, you know. Cape Verde is gorgeous. We’re so lucky. We’re going to love it here. We’re not supposed to say anything yet, but we’ve just bought that lovely old house out on the point. I know it’s sad people have to sell their family property. But we’re going to respect and look after it.”
She looks at Mary, as if for approval.
“It’s a tough old dilemma, having to sell an ancestral home,” says Mary, not giving absolution. “How did you manage to get hold of that place? Prime location on the island. Sheltered by that gorgeous rock face. Facing out to the western sea.”
Carla gets a dreamy look in her eye. “Oh, it’s all thanks to Mrs. Dodge. Did you know she’s got her real estate license? What an amazing woman! Besides running the B & B, she’s busy selling houses.”
That’s not a B & B, thinks Mary, it’s a trap.
“Apparently, the family that owned the house couldn’t agree on whether to sell, but she convinced them to go ahead with the deal. It all happened in a whirlwind. I don’t think the For Sale sign ever went up. Mrs. Dodge only gave us a few hours to make up our minds.”
The dreamy look goes out of Carla’s eyes.
“To be honest with you, I had a really rough time with my husband. He almost made us lose the deal. He thinks it was too hasty. James is the cautious type.” She raises her eyebrows. “But I insisted we go ahead. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity! And Mrs. Dodge is even taking care of arrangements to get the place fixed up.”
Barb had filled Mary in about Mabel Dodge. A real piece of goods. Came to the island from Grand Falls in her youth and married a widower from a merchant family. The old merchant died years ago. Once he was out of the way, she plugged into the new tourism, got her real estate license and started buying and selling houses. There were lots of beautiful old places available because the fishery was going down and people were leaving. She even managed to get hold of the McGrath mansion—with all its fancy fixings, it turned out to be the perfect B & B.
Mary had watched Mabel at breakfast. A short, heavy-set woman, she’d ploughed around the mahogany table setting down the food, listening intently to the conversation and throwing in her own two cents whenever she could.
“That’s all well and good, snug little coves and lobster traps,” she’d flung at George. “But you can’t live in the past. Cape Verde has become a tourist destination,” she’d pronounced, “and that’s that.”
They’ve started ripping down the old porch at the B & B. An elaborate structure for a back porch, long and wide with a big pantry on one side and, on the other, a comfortable seating area with winged chairs, picture windows and a view of the hills. George has a helper, Clarence, a cousin of his who lives on the island. He’s got George’s good looks and strong build. And nice manner. The young man knows sign language. They’re chatting away. There’s lots of laughter as they nudge at the woodwork with their crowbars. The building site has become a centre of attraction. Everyone dropping by to say hello, see how the work is advancing.
Mary goes out there.
I shouldn’t do this. I’m looking for trouble.
She props herself in the doorway of the porch. “I’ve come to see the carpenter’s secret.”
George is only too happy to show her. He points to the window frame. Clarence interprets. “George says a carpenter’s secret is to make your work invisible. Disguise how you do things.”
“Isn’t that a form of cheating?” says Mary, openly flirtatious.
George flirts right back with a gorgeous smile. He signs to Clarence.
“For George, it’s an art form,” says Clarence, enjoying the banter. “Look at that window frame. You don’t see joining and finishing like that anymore. All flush and smooth. We’re going to save what we can of it. That’s our grandfather’s handy work. See, George and I come from a long line of Cape Verde builders.”
George looks around the porch. Wooden crossbeams, flared mouldings, trim work on the windows and doors, hand-hewn banister on the worn steps leading into the house.
Mary sees love in his eyes. Thinks, I’m like a girl getting a crush. “Too bad you have to tear the porch down,” she offers.
“No choice. It’s the wood rot,” explains Clarence. “Can’t you smell it?”
George gets a wry look on his face and gestures.
“He says to tell you it’s like a lot of things, beautiful on the surface but rotten underneath.”
Carla’s husband, James, comes by. A petite, stiff man, impeccably dressed in khaki safari clothes, he’s a contrast to the two big jovial carpenters in overalls. He peppers them with questions, writing their answers down in a tiny notebook.
Mary notices his neat, tight, handwriting. I bet he’s a stickler to deal with. I see what Carla means. She must have her work cut out convincing him to do things her way.
“George will make the new porch look exactly like the old one,” says Clarence with a look of pride. “He can reproduce all those fixings.”
James looks up from his notebook. “Well, I might be needing—”
“So this is where you’re hiding, James.” It’s Mrs. Dodge, turning up sharpish out of nowhere. “I’ve got tea brewed for you in the kitchen.” She gives Mary a pointed look. “And you can’t spend all day standing around watching these workmen. You’ll be covered in dust and dirt. Come in now, the two of you, and we’ll sit to the table for a nice chat.”
Feeling admonished, Mary goes along to the kitchen.
Mrs. Dodge pours the tea, then pulls up a chair next to James.
“As I told you the other day, best not to go talking too much about the house for the moment.”
James removes his Tilley hat, displaying his baldness. “I was just thinking that these two carpenters—”
“Early days yet. No need for people like George and Clarence to know the details. We won’t be hiring them for the renovation job at your place, you see.”
“I don’t see why not,” says James.
Mary smiles to herself. I see what’s happening. Mabel’s got a programme and James is not complying.
Mrs. Dodge passes around a plate of warm scones and jam.
“You see, James, I’ve gone and hired some workmen from St. John’s to fix up your house. Cape Verders get insulted about outsiders doing work out here. As I say, best not to mention anything.”
“But George is a real heritage carpenter. Skilled and knowledgeable.”
“So it’s heritage carpenter he’s calling himself now. I wouldn’t get too drawn in by that heritage racket if I were you.”
James pushes his chair away from the table. “I’m not drawn in by anything. I can see for myself the quality of his work. I’m going to insist that we hire him to do the restoration.”
Mrs. Dodge wipes the nice look off her face and the friendly cup-of-tea moment turns on a dime. “That would be a breach of contract,” she barks. She starts clearing the tea dishes. “You signed on the dotted line with what I arranged.” She wipes the table vigorously. “There’s no going back now.”
James stands up. “Well, we’ll have to see about that,” he says, matching her bullheadedness with his own. “I’m not the push-over you might think I am.” He leaves.
Mrs. Dodge turns to Mary. “Don’t mind any of that now, my dear. These mainlanders come out here acting like they own the place. But really, they haven’t got a clue. We have to let them know who’s boss sometimes.”
Mary gives Mabel a distracted nod. Her mind has already gone to George. If he’s a heritage carpenter, why didn’t Mabel offer him the job to renovate James and Carla’s house?
Mary is the last to sit at the dinner table. The first thing she does is take a glance at George. He’s not in the limelight tonight. Judy’s keeping the chat going, all on her own. She’s bonding with Carla.
“You’ll have to come visit us in Gander. We have a split-level bungalow in the new subdivision.”
Mary’s trying not to look at George.
I wonder how he likes living in a bungalow in Gander. It’s like any marriage, I suppose. He feeds off the good parts, puts up with the bad parts. She takes a quick glance at him. He has a way of listening, watching. He must be lip-reading.
“We’d love to visit you in Gander,” gushes Carla, looking at James as if to say, “Join in and be enthusiastic.” But he’s sour, scowling with his thin lips.
Judy forges ahead. “We’ll show you some hospitality, cook you a real Jiggs dinner. Gander is worth a visit—we have an aviation museum—Gander used to be the crossroads of the world, you know.”
Mary digs in her mind to remember the sign for work. She interrupts the Gander conversation. “How’s the demolition advancing?” she ventures, shaping one hand into a fist and tapping the other wrist.
George emits a little grunt and gives her a soft look.
James pipes up. “I’ve been watching the care they’re taking with the job. George and Clarence are first-class woodworkers. Mabel Dodge is lucky to have them working on her house.”
The kitchen door flings open. Mabel marches in. “Oh! I don’t know about lucky. There’s no shortage of good carpenters.” She places a platter of whole baked cod on the table. “Workers come and workers go.”
James opens his mouth to speak, but Carla squeezes his arm, shutting him down.
“Now, enjoy your meal,” says Mabel, declaring the subject changed. “’Tis the milk of the sea I’m serving you tonight.”
She puts her hand on George’s big square shoulder. “You get that down ya. You need your nourishment. I want that porch demolished and rebuilt before the season ends.”
George leans forward to escape her hand.
Silence around the table.
“By the way, everybody,” says Judy, bringing the tone back to sunny and bouncy. “There’s a dance over to the church hall tonight. A fifties revival. Live music. George and I love to dance. We should all go.”
Carla picks up on the bounce. “Oh! that would be fun, wouldn’t it, James?”
James is deadpan.
Mary’s mind goes back to Charlie. He used to get in funks like that, refuse to answer. And I’d be like Carla, trying to keep cheerful, patch things up.
At the dance, the B & B group cluster in one corner, waiting for the music to start up. The local men, ruddy faces clean-shaven, muscular torsos in freshly ironed shirts, stand in the doorway smoking. The women sit on chairs lining the walls of the church hall.
“It’s so quaint,” says Carla. “Look at the women waiting to be invited to dance.”
“Stop talking like that,” snaps James, liquored up on his third rum and coke. “Don’t you know it’s insulting?”
Carla gives Mary a nervous smile. “Don’t mind him, he’s a little drunk. Maybe you and I should sit along the wall and see if someone will invite us to dance.”
“George and I just love to dance,” says Judy, repeating herself with her usual enthusiasm.
The band strikes up. The first song is a jive, “Wake up, Little Suzie.’’ George and Judy hit the floor. He’s the one with the artistry. He leads her around, swinging, pushing and sloshing. Light on his feet. Full of music. Mary can’t keep her eyes off him.
“Very impressive,” slurs James. “This guy is a miracle. How does he catch the rhythm if he can’t hear the music?”
“I’ve read about this,” says Mary. “It’s the vibrations. George can sense them—the room is full of them, in the doors, the walls, the floor.”
Mary’s itching for a dance. She spots George’s cousin Clarence standing in the corner with the single men and beckons him over.
“I’m sure you’re a good dancer like your cousin,” she says, hooking his arm and bringing him onto the dance floor. The band is playing “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” Clarence moves smoothly.
“Where did you learn to dance so well?” asks Mary, looking over Clarence’s shoulder at George and Judy, clenched in their slow waltz.
“George taught me. He taught me everything I know.”
“He’s quite the man,” says Mary, still taking in how George and Judy are moving in sync, hips touching.
All those years of dancing with Charlie. Familiar skin on familiar skin. I wonder what it would be like to dance close with George?
Judy catches Mary’s eye. Flashes her a big happy smile.
Mary gives her a weak smile back. What am I doing? That’s her husband for God’s sake!
Another slow dance starts up—“You Always Hurt the One You Love.”
James invites Judy to dance, whirling her off with exaggerated arm movements.
From across the room, George talks to Mary with his eyes. Then he signs to her—two fingers pointing down at an open palm. Mary nods in agreement. Over he comes and she finds herself waltzing in his arms.
He’s a big man but his touch is light. It’s excruciatingly slow, this dance. Mary starts talking nervously. “Cape Verde seems to be a real hotbed of dancers, everyone’s up on their feet...” Then she catches herself, embarrassed. George winks at her and pulls her a smidgen closer. She lets herself slide into his deep, slow turns. Oh God! He really knows how to lead. Don’t let anyone see how good this feels.
The song ends. George holds her for a minute. She can feel his heart beating. What now? she thinks. I don’t want to let go. The next song is starting up. He gives her hand a tender squeeze, steps away and returns to his wife.
Judy’s husband, thinks Mary. Judy’s husband.
Intermission. Mary’s eyes follow George and Clarence as they join the men in the corner. James trails along after them. The men pass the rum bottle. James is red-eyed and he’s talking to the other two, intently, haranguing. Mary moves a little closer, but in the din of the hall, with people chatting and laughing, chairs scraping, she can’t catch a snippet of what James is saying. Clarence is interpreting and George is nodding his head at James, smiling, indulging the drunkard. Then, suddenly, George goes sombre, pained, like he’s just been told the worst news imaginable. He looks dramatic, a silent film character in distress. Clarence looks shaken too. He’s explaining something to James. Over the noise, Mary hears James shout, “...that bitch Mabel Dodge.”
Judy is with George now and they’re signing away, hands flying. George is twitching and sighing. Clarence keeps patting George’s shoulder.
Mary’s tempted to go over there.
I wonder what’s happened. Poor George! He’s devastated. Barb was right—it’s all drama out here on this god-forsaken island. Oh! for heaven’s sake, stay out of this one, girl.
Mary’s back at the B & B, perched in the rocker on the front veranda, glass of chardonnay in hand.
The night sky is laden with stars, moonbeams catching the tips of the waves out in the bay.
Keep looking at the bigness, she says to herself.
There’s the squeak of the screen door opening.
It’s Judy.
“George is gone to bed. Thought I’d join you.”
As she sits down in the other rocker, her overly sweet perfume wafts over Mary.
“I admire you coming out here hiking on your own. I’d be lonely without George.”
She pauses before asking the inevitable question: “Do you have a man in your life, my dear?”
“I’m divorced. Freshly.”
“That’s too bad. Big adjustment, I guess. No wonder you need time to yourself.”
Mary pours Judy a glass of wine.
“Your husband seemed tired when we left the dance,” she says, as casually as she can. “Must be working hard.”
“George has a big sulk on tonight.”
Mary is surprised by the sharing. “Did something go wrong today?”
“Ah! I wish he didn’t take things so hard. It’s that house those mainlanders bought here on the island. It actually belonged to George’s Uncle, John Grimes. George loves that old place; it’s full of childhood memories. His two cousins inherited the house, and planned on selling it. But they promised George they’d let him have first dibs. George has been scrambling to raise the down payment. But tonight he found out that Mabel Dodge convinced the two cousins to go ahead and sell the house to James and Carla—for a much higher price then George could ever pay, of course. You see, George misses out on stuff because of being deaf and dumb. People take advantage.” Judy downs her wine. “He’s hoppin’ mad with those cousins. We don’t need that old broken-down house, I keep telling him. But he gets so emotional. He says Mrs. Dodge is a real snake too. She never breathed a word to him about this. But I can see why she wouldn’t. She’s got a business to run. George has got it in for her. He’s thinking about revenge. He can be the devil when he wants to, you know. I’d say he should keep on the good side of her. Sure, we’ve got our nice house in Gander…”
Mary is trying to hide her indignation. Poor George! All she can think about is her bloody bungalow in Gander. She interprets for him but wants to override his feelings. Cape Verde is his lifeblood and she couldn’t care less!
“Well, I’m off to bed,” says Judy. “With all the socializing, and now this big fuss tonight, me hands are worn out from talking. Himself is probably snoring it off by now. I’m sure this will all blow over by tomorrow.”
Mary lies in bed.
It’s all George now. He’s chasing Charlie out of my mind. Am I that fickle? Maybe it’s because I’m so lonely. And George must be lonely too. Walled in by silence. Depending on Judy to connect with the world. But the whole thing is ridiculous. Another classic B movie. The sensitive man with a wife who doesn’t understand him. The wounded divorcee falling for a handsome green-eyed stranger. The cunning businesswoman pulling strings to make things go her way. The money-laden outsiders stealing the locals’ heritage.
Through the wall comes Carla’s voice, shrill.
“You’re going to ruin everything, James.”
“I never should have let you snowball me into this, Carla. I’ll be damned if I honour the contract with that Mabel Dodge.”
“What’s wrong with you? Do you have some kind of thing for that George? And, anyway, we shouldn’t get involved in local politics. Mabel has a lot of influence. We don’t want to fall out with her. We might need her sometime.”
“Forget Mabel. George is our man.”
“I can’t stand it when you’re like this, James. I’d just as soon go back to Toronto.”
Mary remembers those arguments. Charlie always stuck to his guns. If she didn’t give in, there was no way out. In the heat of the moment, she’d feel like walking out of the marriage. Then she’d get over it and carry on, wounds and all.
Next morning at breakfast, James looks grey.
Carla has put on her red lipstick. And she’s back on course. “I don’t know how you manage, Mabel. This beautiful house, wood polished, silver shining. And so much home cooking, all so good.”
“That’s only the half of it,” she replies, shooting a look at James. “I’ve got a lot of business going on the island, you know.”
“George has something to announce,” says Judy, in a one-note drone. She closes her eyes, as if to disassociate herself from the message. George is impassive, letting her do all the work. “This will be his last day on the job. He’ll remove the rest of the wood trim but he won’t be finishing the demolition or building the new porch.”
Mrs. Dodge folds her fat arms over her chest. “Well, I don’t see why the paying guests should be party to this. And what’s this new trend now, not honouring contracts?”
“I can’t blame him,” says James, out of a woolly head. “We’ll be checking out of here ourselves, tomorrow morning. And for sure, we won’t be using the St. John’s contractors to renovate our house.”
“But let’s enjoy our last day,” chirps Carla. “I’ve got a bottle of bubbly for tonight. It’s our wedding anniversary. James and I were married 10 years ago today.”
James gives a “not now” wave of the hand to Carla and turns to Judy. “Please tell George I’ll be counting on him for the renovation. We can go over there this morning and I can give him an idea of our plans.”
Judy fiddles with her napkin, lets out a sigh and makes a few signs to George.
“Let me bake a nice anniversary cake for tonight,” booms out Mrs. Dodge, giving Carla a false smile.
“I’ll help decorate it,” says Judy, joining the women’s cabal in a wobbly voice.
James beckons to George and mouths his words slowly, “Let’s go find Clarence.”
The two men leave the table.
Judy jumps up. “I’d better see what George is up to, I suppose.” She rushes out the door, high heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
“I’m ever so sorry, Mabel,” says Carla. “My husband can be very difficult.”
“Not to worry,” says Mabel with a menacing look. “It’s all George’s fault. The only reason he’s offering to help your James with the house renovation is to get back at me. George does some building and restoration, but he’s only a small-time carpenter. Take it from me, he’s not equipped to take on a big renovation like that, especially with the grand plans you and James have, marble bathrooms and all.” Mabel pats Carla’s arm. “I know what can and can’t be done out here. Your husband will be back, cap in hand, looking for those St. John’s contractors. You mind my words.”
Before dinner Mary pours herself a glass of wine and heads for the front veranda. Another long gaze out over the miraculous bay.
Through the open kitchen window she hears Judy and Mrs. Dodge chatting as they decorate the anniversary cake.
“We’d better add some more icing to stabilize that plastic bride and groom,” says Mrs. Dodge, with a wicked chuckle. “They remind me of Carla and that husband of hers. About to topple over.”
“George is not coming back to Gander with me tomorrow,” says Judy in that way she has of spilling things out. “He’s staying on the island to help James with the Grimes house.”
“I’d say he’s getting way in over his head with that project. And he should know better than get involved with the likes of that James,” says Mabel. “A hothead if I ever saw one.”
“Maybe after that he’ll come back here to build your porch,” says Judy. “When the dust settles.”
That’s out and out betrayal! Mary whispers to herself.
The screen door to the veranda opens slowly. It’s George. He’s finished work for the day, has showered and changed. He motions to the other chair, inviting himself to sit down. Mary notices the grey flecks running through his dark hair into his ponytail. She takes a gulp of wine.
I’m nervous like a teenager. How can I talk to him?
But he takes over, slips a notebook out of his shirt pocket and writes,
You’re a good dancer
Mary writes back,
You too
He points out to sea—the bank of dark storm clouds sitting on the horizon. Mary points at the new moon, a faint slither, low in the sky. They start a pointing game—the lean in the crabapple tree shading the house, the irises pushing through the rocks, the fading imprint of a galloping horse on the door of the old rotting shed…
Then a pause.
George emits a little moan, takes her hand.
Judy’s husband, thinks Mary, Judy’s husband…