Between

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Between Page 30

by Angie Abdou


  after a cursory goodnight. They have made progress today, of a halting

  kind. “For your mother.”

  LiLi’s willingness does not surprise Vero. Conversation on the front

  step must be a welcome alternative to the empty basement. Nobody

  should spend a beautiful early fall evening like this one underground.

  Although Vero and Shane rarely sit outside, they have placed comfort-

  able chairs here that face out onto the range where Shane often bikes.

  The nights are cold in Sprucedale, and the trees have already started to

  turn, peppering the hillside with vibrant orange and golds. Vero feels no

  sadness at the impending end of summer, only a hint of hope offered

  by the fresh beginning of fall. She thinks of sending Eliot off to junior

  kindergarten and remembers Joss telling her, “Never make any major

  decisions about your relationship until both kids are in school. Until

  then: survive.”

  That freshness is in the air tonight, the smell of autumn. Vero brings

  blankets, places one over LiLi’s legs as she hands her a glass of wine.

  So much time passes before LiLi lifts her glass to her lips that Vero

  has started to suspect she will not drink the wine at all. LiLi swallows

  carefully and smiles her response. Her eyes have that familiar oh, oh, oh

  look, and Vero wonders if this is really the first time LiLi has tried wine.

  “Shane bikes up there,” Vero points to the steep slope. “On Cardiac

  Hill. Joss and I run the lower section. Used to. ” The moon rises above

  it even though the sun has not quite set yet. As soon as Vero hears her

  own words, she realizes she does not want to talk about Shane, about

  biking, about geography. She doesn’t not even want to talk about Joss.

  “Where are your friends tonight? We don’t see them lately. The one

  who used to come here…Cheska?”

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  “She has a…” LiLi sways her head side to side like she has water in

  her ears. “…like a boyfriend.”

  “Where did she meet him?” Vero is surprised. These girls seem to

  stick to themselves. She hasn’t imagined that kind of social opportu-

  nity for them. A boyfriend would be nice for LiLi. A happy ending.

  If she and Shane can do that for LiLi—can have brought her here

  where she could meet someone with financial means and start a good,

  easy life—that would be something, a kind of redemption.

  “She meet him on the Internet, I think.” LiLi raises the glass to

  her lips. Drinks deliberately. “Just because someone do something for

  money does not mean she do not like it. Too.” LiLi pulls the blanket

  tighter, her eyes on the moon. They’ve left the front door open so they

  will hear the boys if they wake. As it gets darker, the light from the

  front hall casts a shadow across LiLi’s face. Vero can only see half of

  her features.

  Vero does not know what LiLi means about money. The boyfriend

  pays Cheska? Vero wonders if LiLi is cryptic on purpose, leaving

  these spaces for Vero to fill as she likes.

  “I made a friend in Jamaica. She looks like you. The same dark eyes,

  especially.” Vero fingers the edge of the blanket in her lap, picking at

  imagined lint, wonders why she’s decided to tell LiLi this, now. “It’s

  weird. I miss her. We became close in that short time. I guess I don’t

  have many friends like that anymore. When the boys were little, I

  became…inward. This friend, she pulled me outward.”

  “Bernie…she became a friend like that to me when you and Shane

  is gone.”

  When LiLi finally drinks the last of her single serving of wine,

  Vero lifts the bottle to refill her glass, but LiLi covers it with her hand.

  “No, this is enough for me. I go to my bed now. Goodnight, Vero.

  And thank you. For the wine. For the company.”

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  “Thank you, LiLi. For today. For your help.”

  LiLi holds Vero’s eyes for a moment and then she’s gone.

  “Goodnight,” Vero says to the empty doorway.

  ◊◊◊

  Vero does not fill her glass with LiLi gone. The taste of wine bores

  her. She moves into the living room, switches off the TV, and listens

  for sounds of life in the basement. The boys do not need her. They

  have both been quiet for hours. But Vero is not ready for sleep yet

  either. She listens for the hum of LiLi’s television in the basement.

  She imagines padding down there in her pyjamas and bedroom slip-

  pers, bearing popcorn and tea, laughing with LiLi at all the canned

  punch lines. The basement is quiet, though. Nothing but the gentle

  hum of a bathroom fan.

  Vero walks in circles—kitchen, living room, dining room, and

  back—she does not know what to do with herself. She’s too aware of

  her own body: the prickle of air against her skin, the thrum of blood

  through her veins. She cannot sit. Her body insists that she move. She

  circles the kitchen again, running her fingers along the clean granite

  countertops, and then opens the liquor cabinet, pours herself a shot of

  rum, straight up like scotch, and takes a sip.

  Maybe LiLi’s bored. Maybe she’d appreciate a visit. Vero strains

  her head down the stairwell. It’s not completely dark down there.

  She circles again, fingers dragging on the shiny countertops, stops

  to listen at the upstairs hallway. There is no sound at all, as if her

  boys have evaporated. She circles again, this time stopping to look

  downstairs. There is only the slightest hint of light. What does LiLi

  do down there, every night alone?

  Vero will go see. She will just say hi.

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  Hi, I wondered what you’re up to.

  Hi, we’re both awake anyway, thought we could chat!

  Hi, feel like some company?

  Something like that. LiLi will appreciate the gesture. She will

  be kind in response to Vero initiating this development in their

  friendship.

  The stairwell is dark, and Vero grips the railing, taking each step

  carefully, feeling the carpet with her toes before transferring her

  weight, imagining the embarrassment of a somersault to the bottom.

  Well, hello! Blood spurting from her nose. Have a first-aid kit handy?

  Ligaya’s bedroom door is closed, but a faint light shines through

  the crack at the floor. Vero flicks on the hallway light. She can’t be

  fumbling around in the darkness like a criminal, in her own home.

  She rests her knuckles on the wood of LiLi’s door, thinks to knock,

  but that feels absurd. It is her house. She needn’t knock. She cups her

  hand around the doorknob. She simply wants to say hello, one lonely

  woman to another, what could be wrong with that?

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  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ligaya puts on her nightgown with nothing underneath.

  Usually she wears at least her undergarments, sometimes wool socks

  and sweat pants too, so that Shane will not scold her
for turning the

  temperature in the basement too high.

  But tonight, she wears only the new nightgown, soft against her

  bare skin. As she sits on the edge of her mattress dressed for sleep, she

  does not feel tired. She even considers going back upstairs. She could

  visit more with Vero. To fill the time. To do something with this rest-

  less energy that has overtaken her. It has been an unusual day in their

  house, she and Vero hard and cruel with each other one minute, and

  then approaching friendship the next.

  It is better Ligaya calls an end to this strange day and stays

  downstairs.

  Now is the time of the month she misses Pedro most. That timing

  could also explain her restlessness, as well as her edginess with Vero.

  Ligaya is fertile. She learned to read the signs back home, after the

  birth of Totoy. She and Pedro could not have another baby. They knew

  that. When Ligaya wanted Pedro most, that was when she could not

  have him, so they found other ways. Thank God for that small bit of

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  planning. Otherwise the two of them would bear the guilt of even

  more deserted children.

  The box of pictures in Ligaya’s bottom drawer pulls at her. She

  yearns to go to the drawer, spread the photographs in her lap, hold

  their smooth surfaces to her cheek. She fights the urge.

  She can keep her mind hard against Pedro some of the time, but

  she has less control over her body. There has been nobody else. Pedro

  is still the only man she knows, and it is his body alone that she

  imagines on hers.

  But Pedro has moved on. Nanay has told her so. Ligaya wonders

  if it is one of the younger women in the neighbourhood, a girl whose

  family has not yet sent her packing off to Hong Kong, who holds his

  attention now. Ligaya does not wish to think of his calloused hand

  spread across Analyn’s curvy hips or his fingers open on Maria’s slen-

  der waist. I babysat Maria, she thinks, I babysat her, Pedro. But Ligaya

  knows she will have no occasion to have this conversation with Pedro.

  She falls back onto her pillow, stares at the ceiling, lets her hands

  rest on her own waist, no longer so slender. Not anymore. It is not fair.

  A child’s thought, she knows. But still, it isn’t. Ligaya is the one who

  has moved, but she cannot move on. With whom would she? The only

  men she knows are Lito and his friends from the coffee shop. They all

  have children back home. Children and wives.

  Ligaya has not touched a man for a year here in Canada—a year

  next week. There was another full year before that in Hong Kong.

  And no man has touched her. How many times did she take Pedro’s

  hands for granted back home? How many times did she shoo him

  away as he nuzzled her neck over the washing bin or tried to pull

  her into the trees when she was meant to be raking leaves. Now,

  alone in her room, Ligaya thinks of Pedro coming to her while she

  raked leaves, pulling on her hand, whispering warm promises close

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  to her ear. Ligaya wishes someone would pull her into the trees now.

  Anyone.

  She pulls up her nightgown and holds her fingers to her own

  warmth. Ligaya cannot satisfy herself the way Pedro once could, not

  quite, but she can come close. In her time away, she has learned, out

  of necessity.

  ◊◊◊

  A single, dry finger rested across Ligaya’s lips wakes her. Not a hand

  pressed hard into her mouth, holding. Just one finger, soft, tracing

  the outline of her mouth. “Shh,” the sound so close to Ligaya’s ear

  that she feels it more than she hears it. “Is this okay?” Ligaya thinks

  to pull her blanket around her body. But it’s not her blanket. Not her

  bed. Nothing in this place belongs to Ligaya. She pulls her nightgown

  down over her naked hips and lets her arms remain loose at her sides,

  pliant. Warm skin slides in next to her, the blanket pulled tight until

  it cocoons both bodies.“Is this okay?”

  Again.

  A real question then.

  No, that’s the word Ligaya sees in angry red. No, how could this be

  okay? But her body tells a different story.

  It has been so terribly long.

  Teeth glance her bare shoulder, but there’s no pain. Harder, Ligaya

  wants to say, but since leaving home, she’s learned to swallow her

  words.

  Go, that’s what she should say. Go away. But this presence in her

  bed—it’s warm and soft. Ligaya feels no fear—that particular flap-

  ping bird caged in her chest sleeps soundly. How could Ligaya be

  afraid of fingers in her hair, hot breath on the shallow dip in her

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  throat, the promising hint of tongue at her earlobe? Ligaya’s nipples

  rise to the warm skin above her.

  Yes, says Ligaya’s body, more. Yes, it is okay. Please. God, yes.

  But Ligaya, she says nothing.

  ◊◊◊

  Vero opens the door to Ligaya’s room slowly, the same way she

  opened Eliot’s door this morning, quiet against the creak. A candle

  flickers on the nightstand, Ligaya’s body is visible only as a slight

  rise underneath her comforter. Ligaya does not turn to acknowledge

  Vero’s entrance. The blanket remains still.

  Vero steps close, weight on her toes, and rests a single, dry finger

  across Ligaya’s lips to wake her. Not a hand pressed hard into her

  mouth, holding. Just one finger, soft, tracing the outline of her mouth.

  “Shh,” she makes the sound close to Ligaya’s ear so that Ligaya will

  feel it more than hear it. “Is this okay?” She doesn’t want for Ligaya

  to be scared, to feel forced. Ligaya fiddles with the blanket at her

  chest, toys with her nightgown under the sheets, but then lets her

  arms fall loose at her sides, so that the blanket opens, making space

  for Vero.

  The skin of their bare ankles and calves slides together, warm, and

  Vero pulls the blanket tight until it cocoons both bodies.

  “Is this okay?” She says it again, needs to be sure.

  Vero’s voice doesn’t sound loose anymore. Her tongue does not

  fight with the words. The world is clear around her, though dreams

  can be clear too. She has drunk herself sober. Ish. She likes that rush

  of sound past her tongue. Isshhh.

  Post-drunk.

  Post-gay.

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  Vero releases a giggle into Ligaya’s hair, feels Ligaya’s body quiver

  in response. A quiver of pleasure?

  It must be.

  Ligaya does not smell of coconuts like Danielle. Ligaya—Vero

  loves the roll of the name on her tongue— Ligaya smells like Dove

  soap and strawberry lip gloss. She smells real, Vero thinks. And then:

  No, she smells like a teenager.

  In the dark, Vero can make out a hint of silver glitter across

  Ligaya’s cheekbones. Ligaya and her friends have been spending

  their mo
ney at the Walmart again. She imagines Ligaya down here

  alone at night, playing with makeup in the bathroom mirror. “You

  don’t need to live like a teenager,” she says. “You are a woman.” Still

  Ligaya says nothing.

  Ligaya’s nightgown sleeves are short. Vero pushes one up to bare

  a shoulder. She kisses it and then scrapes her teeth against the soft

  skin. She liked when Danielle’s teeth pressed a line into her bare

  skin, the roughness of it, the way the teeth acknowledged a need and

  bit into it.

  I am here.

  Vero thinks she feels Ligaya pull on her clothes, tugging as if she

  wants Vero’s teeth to press harder, into her skin. So Vero presses.

  It’s comfortable in this underground room. Cool and dark like

  a secret. What happens in the basement, stays in the basement. Vero

  snakes her hand under Ligaya’s nightgown and strokes the length

  of body from Ligaya’s underarm to her hip. Sometimes she forgets

  Ligaya’s age—the way she cares for the whole family, she seems older

  than she is. But the softness of her skin reminds Vero that Ligaya

  is still young. She has her whole sexual life before her: a suitor, a

  husband, children. For now, her body and her life remain simple. She

  has packed everything into this one small room, like a college dorm.

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  The thought excites Vero. To imagine a life that could be so easily

  contained, so light.

  Vero rolls on top of Ligaya and is met with no resistance. This

  melding of bodies seems inevitable, now. Someone was bound to

  come down here, one of them, Vero or Shane. It’s only right that it

  should be Vero who has found herself in the basement, in the under-

  ground room of this lonely woman. Vero has tried the hardest. With

  LiLi. From the beginning.

  “I care about you,” she says, smelling the alcohol on her own breath

  where it hovers between her mouth and Ligaya’s cheek. “Ligaya, I

  do.” But then that doesn’t seem enough. “I love you,” she tries again,

  hears the drunk college girl in it, all those late-night I-love-you-

  guys! slurred in the pad above Shane’s parents’ garage. Vero wants

  Ligaya to know that it’s not alcohol speaking. I must show her.

  Still, Ligaya says nothing. She barely moves. But she does not

  object. She does not tell Vero to leave. It is consent of a kind. Vero

  will take it as such.

 

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