Would I Lie to You

by Mary Lou Dickinson

  “What an incredible woman she is,” Sue said. “She pushed me to look at some things about my past I’ve never acknowledged before.”

  “How would she know about them?”

  “That’s what I mean by incredible. Intuition, I suppose.”

  There was silence at the other end and Sue continued. “What do you know about what happened, Maggie?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know.”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “About when I was sent out of town as a teenager.”

  There was a pause and then her sister’s measured voice. “There were kids who said you ran away with the circus and for a while I chose to believe that, I think.”

  “Why have we never talked about it?”

  “You never brought it up.”

  “Come on. You’re my older sister. You could have said something.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you if you’re going to attack me.”

  “You could have been there for me.” Sue simply did not understand how two sisters could have lived their entire lives without ever mentioning something so important. Surely, Maggie must have been curious.

  “I suppose you think I didn’t want to be. All I knew was that it was a girl and that Mum told me never to say anything, never to bring it up. She said she would handle it with you.”

  “Oh, so you did know. You never really believed the story about the circus.” She was baffled. “I can’t believe it,” Sue continued. “And guess how Mum handled it.”

  “Well, I can imagine that she gave you bloody hell and told you not to sleep around and…”

  “No, none of that,” Sue said. “She eventually made some restrictions about dating and stuff. But do you know what she did?”

  “No, I don’t know. I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

  “Oh, get off your high horse.”

  At that point, Maggie slammed down the receiver with an abrupt bang. Sue felt as if she had been struck. “Bitch,” she said, even though in the next breath she knew she wanted to talk to her sister. She dialled the number again.

  “Hello,” Maggie said.

  “Don’t hang up on me, okay. I don’t like it.”

  “Well, all right. But don’t start in on me. I’m on your side.”

  “So this is what she did, Maggie. She never said a word. She told me never to bring it up. Just like she told you. And after that, until this week, I never have. I didn’t even tell Jerry. Can you imagine? I had a child and I never told my husband. I never told one single soul,” she said slowly, emphasizing the last three words. Then she continued. “But Florence knew there was something. Florence got me to talk about it. Hans, too. He said there was something I needed to look at.”

  “Hans?”

  Only then did Sue remember she had not told Maggie about Hans. “You and I have a lot of catching up to do,” Sue said.

  “You have a man in your life. I can’t believe you haven’t told me.”

  “If you lived here I likely would have.”

  “Do you know, I’m not so sure about that. We’ve been trained so well to keep things to ourselves.”

  “Well, he doesn’t really qualify as a man in my life. We might be friends as time goes along. I don’t know.”

  Sue could hear Maggie’s sigh. Then the words, “I don’t think that’s the point.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so. My baby is the point. But I have been involved with Hans, too.” Even if now there was no future in it. “Everything is complicated. Except this woman, my child, wants to see me. Are there things about you that you want to tell me?”

  “Oh, there must be, but nothing as momentous as either of the ones you’ve just mentioned. And I’m about to leave for the dentist. I’ll call you tonight. Will you be there?”

  *

  After a long conversation with Maggie later in the evening, Sue slept deeply. She was awakened by the ringing of the telephone. The time on the alarm clock sad it was six ten. At that hour, she thought it could only be Hans, but he had said he couldn’t handle seeing her. Since then he had not called. She reached for the receiver.

  “Do you believe in magic?” Hans asked.

  “What? Swans and things?”

  “I’m calling from in front of your house.”

  “Oh, come on.” Why was he doing this when he was the one who had called a halt to seeing her.

  “I’m sorry I woke you up, but could I come in for a cup of coffee?”

  “I want to go back to sleep,” she whispered.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll hang up and leave.”

  She let the receiver fall onto the bed and her head sank into the softness of the pillow again. She was so tired. Her eyes closed. What was he doing in the city on Friday morning? He did not see clients then. And how did he know she had the day off and would be home? She picked up the receiver again, knowing that whatever was going on that she did not yet understand, she still wanted to see him.

  “I’ll unlock the front door,” she said.

  “I can make coffee and have it ready when you come downstairs.”

  “I don’t want coffee.” She knew she sounded cranky, but she was still too groggy to figure out what she wanted. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, she began to think again about her daughter. Would she look as much like her as Thomas did Jerry? It was a lot to absorb so quickly, even though it had been there, underlying everything, for most of her lifetime.

  Hans leapt up onto the porch as soon as she opened the door. Reaching for her, he gave her a big kiss on the cheek. Then, he threw his jacket on a hook and sat in the armchair in the living room that had belonged to her father. It was covered now in a plain corduroy material.

  “Can I sing?” he asked.

  She looked at him in disbelief, no longer crabby, but not full of energy and enthusiasm either. Sing? His timing felt peculiar. Why was he here at all? Why was he acting as if very recently he had not been able to handle seeing her.

  “I couldn’t reach you last night,” he said. “I tried for two solid hours. Your line was busy every time.”

  “So,” she said. “It’s not as if I was expecting you to call. Why are you acting as if I would have been? As if we saw each other the day before yesterday?”

  Here he was as if he belonged with her. It was too much to grasp. Everything kept on changing. She recalled that after a visit to the north, Maggie had told her that the mine was gone. She said they only did open pit mining any more, that all the buildings on the surface that had supported underground mining that were once so familiar had been razed.

  “They can’t do that,” Sue had said. “They’re tampering with our childhood.”

  The nerve, the gall. Maggie had agreed, but there had not been anything they could do about it. She supposed everyone had that proprietary sense about their childhood, a feeling that extended into their lives, making most change difficult.

  “I had second thoughts,” Hans said now, hesitating.

  “Men,” she said. This was about what he wanted. Not what she did. “Right?”

  He dropped his head contritely. “Well, men are different from women,” he said. “But the truth is that I care about you. I like walking and talking together and going out to lunch with you.”

  She noticed the newspaper he had put down on the stairs. “Is that the Sun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t tell me you read that lousy newspaper.”

  “I already read the Star this morning. In the doughnut shop while I was waiting to drive over here.”

  “What about your horses and all those other animals?” She wondered, had she asked him to come at this hour, if he would have. “And what are you doing here on Friday?”

  “Friday is the day I woke up in t
he middle of the night and knew I wanted to see you,” he said.

  “Is that so?”

  He put his arm around her.

  “You know what?” she said. “All of a sudden you’re moving awfully fast.” She wanted him to stop so she could get her thoughts sorted out.

  “Do you want me to slow down?” Hans asked.

  “I want you to be who you are,” she said, even though she would prefer him to do what he had suggested “But I am who I am. And I don’t want to feel only that I’m along for the ride. I need time, at least, to catch my breath.”

  “Well, all right then,” he said. “That’s doable.”

  “I told Maggie about you yesterday.”

  “You did?” His tone expressed surprise.

  “I did.”

  “What did you tell her?” He looked nervous, as if her sister might talk to someone he knew, or someone who knew Heather.

  “Oh, nothing much.” It struck her that there would have been a better time for this conversation. Almost any time but this moment. “Is that why the line was busy?” Now he sounded relieved.

  “Yes,” she said. “There were a lot of things I hadn’t told her.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Well, not really. My life is like yours. All hidden and divided into compartments. How can I know what I feel?”

  “I know what I want.”

  “And what about Heather? Did your psychic knowing discover different realities in the last few days?”

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “You don’t think so? Is she still in England?”

  “You’re impossible. But yes, she’s there. I’ve told you that.”

  “Oh well,” she sighed, wondering if Heather’s long absence meant separation. A whole retinue of characters, from parents to friends to Jerry, perched on her shoulder, watching and judging, and found her wanting. It was not at all how her relationship with Jerry had developed.

  “My love,” Hans said.

  She did not say anything, but she let him hold her and they found their way to her room. Afterwards, when he went into the bathroom, she pulled the sheets off.

  “I don’t believe this,” he said when he came back into the room. “Aren’t we going to cuddle at all? Are you just going to dismiss me like that? I was just getting rid of the condom.”

  “I know,” she said. “Help me turn the mattress, will you?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  In her reading, when he had said he saw something new in her personal life, there had not been anyone or anything she could think of. How could he not have realized he would be the man he was talking about? And why were they performing such a complicated dance?

  “No,” she said. “I’m not kidding. It’s time for you to go. I have other things to do. But I will tell you that I can’t think of anything that I want more, other than to meet my daughter, than to spend time with you.”

  For a moment, his face was suffused with a grin. “Hallelujah,” he said. “But even so, you’re not going to make me eggs and toast with jam, or coffee?” He chuckled. “Or, at least, let me make some.”

  “None of the above.”

  “You are kidding.”

  “Well, yes, I am, but as soon as you eat, you can take your Sun and run.”

  He put some bread in the toaster and buttered a slice as she poached an egg. When he was finished eating the toast, he stood up and grinned.

  “The ‘Sunshine Girl’ is on page 3,” he said.

  “Very funny. Just take it and get out of here.” She shoved him gently through the door and closed it behind him. She almost needed to pinch herself to make sure this incident had not been just another dream.

  *

  Crumbs from the toast Hans had eaten cascaded onto the floor tiles and dishes were spread out on the counter. Sue sat over a cup of coffee, looking out the window. What was she supposed to do now? She had hustled Hans out of the house with the intent of going to Kensington Market, her list on the table with two cloth bags to take to the small stalls where she often bought fresh produce. She could have waited until Saturday morning even though she liked shopping when the area was less crowded. Now it seemed ludicrous not to have let him stay, not to have basked in his presence.

  The telephone rang and she tried to ignore it. The house next to the rocks and bush where she had spent her childhood flooded her mind. Sometimes she longed for the solitude of a cabin in the wilderness. That she had decided to rent out the one she had shared with Jerry now struck her as foolish. When she’d spread his ashes and planted a tree in his memory, she had been distraught. How silly she had been, not able even to spend the night there on her own. She had driven out to the highway and taken a room in a motel before driving back to the city the next day. A week later, she had put the cabin up for rent. Yet there were times she still longed for the quiet, thinking she was ready to handle it. Maybe there would come a time when she could go to the cabin with Hans. She finally picked up the receiver just before the answering machine would have taken the call.

  “May I speak to Mrs. Reid, please?”

  “Speaking,” she said.

  “The social worker has made contact with your daughter,” the woman’s voice said. “Yes,” Sue said.

  “She’d like to meet you. If you’re willing, I’ll give your phone number to her.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Her name is Gwen Bennett.”

  Sue did not know what to say. She could not imagine naming her baby Gwen, but she would have to get used to it. She had given up her right to name the child. She had given up everything.

  “She’ll likely call you in the next few days. Is there a time that is better for you?”

  “Evenings usually.” An easy question to answer. But what would she say when the time came?

  “I’ll let her know.”

  “Thank you.”

  For the next few days, Sue hovered over the telephone, expecting that as soon as she left the house the call would come and she did not want to miss it. Forty years after the momentous event, she would receive a call from this woman who was out there somewhere, connected to her even though the umbilical cord had long ago been severed. Even if Gwen looked like her, Sue could not picture her. Whenever the telephone rang, her hand shook as she picked up the receiver. It was just as apt to be a stranger’s voice as it was to be someone she knew. This time, it was a man offering a free estimate on some painting. She put the receiver down again, wondering what kind of woman her daughter was. Why had she waited so long to do this? It felt unnatural not even to have been curious, not to have told anyone until now. She hoped Gwen had been raised in a home that cherished her. She hoped her daughter would be forgiving.

  When it was time to leave each day, Sue walked out of the house reluctantly. It would be hours until she was back again. She would check her answering machine, but she was afraid if she did not take the call herself that this woman might give up. As it turned out, in the days that followed, no call came from Gwen Bennett. Sometimes, Sue wondered if she had been dreaming about the whole thing. Until, one night, there was finally a woman’s voice on the answering machine and Sue listened to it a dozen times, trying to memorize the unfamiliar tone. The lilt.

  It was a short conversation when she reached the number.

  “I’d like to meet you,” Gwen said.

  They agreed on a café on the Danforth for the upcoming Friday.

  “I don’t remember the name of it,” Gwen said.

  Sue wrote down the directions and checked her calendar, silently rearranging her plans for after school that day. No matter what, she would be there. It would not be a day off for her, but the time Gwen suggested was after school let out. Sue was almost afraid to ask any questions. Or to say how odd it was that they presumably lived within a few subway stops of
each other. It boggled her mind to think that was possible, that they had likely been that close and never encountered each other. It was likely more appropriate for Gwen to do the asking and commenting. She hoped this unknown daughter would bring pictures of herself at different ages. The whole forty years was blank and she wanted to know something about the life Gwen had led. It seemed unlikely she would ever tell Gwen that some of the children Sue went to school with as a teenager thought that for those five months she was hidden away, about to give birth, she had left town to join the circus.

  That night, Sue scarcely slept. She rehearsed what she would say. She did not imagine that when the time came she would wait for over half an hour, frantic that she might be at the wrong café with no way of getting in touch with Gwen. And if Gwen had run into some snag in her plans, she would not have a way of reaching Sue either.

  “Are you Sue Reid?” a polite voice asked as Sue pored over her calendar to make sure she had marked the right date.

  Startled, she looked up to see a woman with slightly greying hair leaning toward her. “Yes,” she said.

  “I’m Gwen Bennett. May I sit down?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Gwen wore a gold band on her left hand, a smooth hand with a few freckles. Sue looked from it to eyes the same hazel colour as her own, flecked with small dots like honey. Otherwise, there did not seem to be a resemblance. The younger woman was quite stylish in a dark suit with a red patterned scarf at the neck, her glasses modern with lightly tinted lens.

  “I think I got the times confused,” she said. “I’m glad you waited. I’ve wanted to find you for such a long time. I can’t imagine that I could have almost bungled it.”

  Sue was at a loss for words. The juxtaposition of the memory of lying in the hospital knowing she would never see her baby’s face, never hold her, and the face of this woman who sat down across from her left Sue reeling. She felt nauseous and dizzy. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she held them back. This was the most important interview of her life and she was wholly unprepared. She wanted reassurance, a sense of herself as a worthwhile person. This woman had the power to give that or deny it.