by Mimi Flood
A group of people, most of them smoking, was gathered outside. Making my way through them and their clouds of smoke, I walked into the house via the opened French doors that lead into the den. There were a few faces I didn’t recognize but the majority were immediately familiar. As if I had travelled in time, I saw many people I had known in high school but luckily for me, most of the guests seemed too enthralled with each others’ conversations to realize I was even there or acknowledge my presence.
In the hallway, separating the den from the kitchen, I stopped in front of a large, framed picture. It made me laugh. It was a drawing I had made for my grandmother when I was seven. It featured my parents, my grandparents and myself, standing in the orchard, surrounded by extremely bright green trees filled with disproportionately sized red apples. The sun was yellow and had a smiley face. Everyone in the drawing had their stick arms stretched out, holding hands with their neighbour. I was at the centre, my grandparents on either side of me.
All too aware of the many people surrounding me, most of which were strangers, I swallowed the ball of emotion that rose up in my throat and continued toward the kitchen.
The room was the epitome of country style, with a large butcher-block island dead centre and copper pots hanging above it. The immense and fully functional old-fashioned range still stood against the white brick backsplash wall, as if it was proving just how mighty it was. Various plants were scattered throughout the kitchen, the perfect example of Dolores’ green thumb.
A long table had been set up against the window that looked out onto the orchard. On it was a wide range of appetizers, all of which had been ordered a few days before and prepared by Marie and Roger, or rather by the staff at their restaurant. The food looked so decadent and delicious, I found that I was a little hungrier than earlier so I filled a small plate with mini quiche and some vegetables.
I took my food to the bay window seat, sitting down and observing the small crowd that walked in to replenish their empty plates. They were laughing and being much louder than one would expect people to be at a vigil. I felt like this was definitely more like a party than a solemn wake. In the middle of the group, I spotted a woman who was getting all the attention; Nicole Ratté. She had been the popular girl in high school. She was my age and much to my dismay, she had also been Devon’s girlfriend on and off for years.
I watched her, loathing simmering under my calm exterior. Her wavy auburn hair glistened as it always had. Somehow it now seemed even more full and beautiful than it used to be. She was laughing that silly, girlish laugh, that had always made the boys hover and the girls roll their eyes.
Was it possible I still hated her?
Surely I had grown out of it and was too old to still be jealous of her.
“Ellie?” a blond-haired man asked, stepping in front of me, blocking my view of Nicole. It took me a second to place him—he had changed so much.
“Brian?” I asked, accepting his hug. I felt myself stiffen, ill at ease.
Brian Thomas had been my best friend at school. We had been nearly inseparable but once I had decided to move to Montreal, we slowly started to grow apart. So much so, that once I was in my second year of university, we had stopped speaking entirely. I had always felt that I was entirely to blame for not maintaining our friendship, and now, the seemingly forced hug he gave me seemed to confirm he felt the same.
He pulled away and I took him in. He had lost at least one hundred pounds since the last time I had seen him, but he looked fit and his platinum blond hair remained unchanged. He introduced me to the tall, dark-skinned man he was with, who happened to be his fiancé, Marc, and they both offered me their condolences.
“She really was a great woman, wasn’t she?” Brian said while Marc nodded sympathetically beside him.
“She was,” I agreed, trying desperately to ignore the sound of Nicole’s laughter in the background. “So, when is the wedding?”
I had hoped the question would get him going and it did. Soon, Brian was divulging all the details and drowning Nicole out as much as possible.
“We were so excited about it but I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,” Brian said, overcome with apparent disappointment.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Do about what?”
Brian looked hesitant and Marc tugged on his arm.
“Honey, this isn’t the place to talk about it,” Marc said.
“Talk about what?”
“See, the thing is, a few months ago, Dolores had offered to let us use her home for our wedding,” Brian explained. Marc couldn’t help but show his disapproval.
“And?” I asked, still not understanding why they were so uncomfortable.
They exchanged looks with one another and then returned to me.
“Well, now that she’s gone, we’ll have to find a different location.”
“Which is completely fine,” Marc added.
“Oh, yes, completely fine,” Brian repeated. “It’s just a shame she won’t be around to see the wedding. I know she was excited about it.”
Again, I found myself unawares.
Was my grandmother lending her home out for a wedding?
It was like I didn’t know her at all. And here was yet another person who had been present in her life, had shared something with her, and I had known nothing about it.
“I’m still not getting where the problem is. Why can’t you have the wedding here?”
Brian looked at me as if the answer was obvious. “It doesn’t seem right to, now that she’s not here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are more than welcomed to have it here.”
“But we couldn’t impose, not now,” he looked nervously at Marc as if begging for some backup. Marc kept his eyes on me.
“No, really, I insist,” I said to the both of them. “She’d want it this way. And this is apparently my place now, so it’s really up to me.”
“Your place?” Brian asked.
I explained about the inheritance. They seemed relieved they would still have a venue for their wedding, but Brian seemed to be hiding something.
“What is it?”
“I guess I’m just having trouble seeing you stick around and manage all this. I mean, it’s kind of bizarre that Dolores would trust you with it.”
Marc cleared his throat. “Brian, don’t.”
Brian looked at him and then became the image of sympathy and understanding. “No, don’t get me wrong, I am sure you can do it. I just meant…never mind, it’s not important.”
I let out a nervous giggle, trying to ignore the blatant undertone of criticism Brian was throwing at me. I guess my assumptions had been right and he wasn’t entirely over how I’d failed him and our friendship. He was still holding onto some hard feelings and to tell the truth, he was absolutely right to.
Brian continued, “Marc, did I ever tell you how obsessed Ellie was with that guy?”
I knew who he was talking about, but spun my head around anyway. Nicole partially blocked my view, but her hands were all over the man in question. Immediately, I spotted Devon’s familiar frame. My heart began to race and that unpleasant feeling had returned. I watched Nicole put her greedy hands all over him. I had no idea what they were talking about but it seemed obvious that whatever Devon was saying was making Nicole laugh a little too hard. She was wrapping her arm around him, leaning her head on his shoulder and worst of all, he was letting her. His smile said so much.
It became obvious to me that there was something going on between the two of them and a huge part of me started to get angry that he hadn’t mentioned it the night before when he had clearly tried to make a move on me. Even today, by the lake, he had never mentioned a girlfriend. Nothing serious, he had said.
Turns out I had been right—Devon was still a player. I felt so stupid. And after that morning, after the closeness we had shared, how could I have let my guard down so quickly and foolishly? And more importantly, why was I letting this bother me so much
.
“God, he’s so gorgeous,” Brian said.
“Watch it,” Marc warned playfully, taking his boyfriend’s hand and squeezing it.
“Are they dating?” I asked.
“I see some things haven’t changed,” Brian teased, winking at me. I shook my head at the implication but he didn’t seem to notice. “This week, who knows? Those two are like Ross and Rachel.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they are perpetually stuck in a will-they-won’t-they world.”
“So then nothing has changed since high school?”
He shook his head and laughed. “No, not really.”
I knew I shouldn’t feel jealous, but at the same time, I could feel small parts of me lighting up with insane and illogical envy. Brian and Marc continued talking, leaving me on the outskirts of the conversation. I nodded along occasionally, but deep down, all I wanted was the chance to get Devon alone and find out the truth for myself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The noise from the party was getting to be a little too much for me to handle. I didn’t feel at ease in such a crowded space, receiving condolences from people I didn’t even know or care to remember. I began to feel trapped and so I went upstairs, at first just trying to get away from it all but eventually finding myself walking down the hall toward my grandmother’s room.
The door was slightly ajar and I nearly knocked from habit before realizing there was no reason to. The room was dark, but the smell was the same—my grandmother’s lilac perfume subtly lingering as if she had just been there, spraying some on her wrist as she always did. I hesitated before walking in, still feeling like I was doing something forbidden. Shutting the door behind me, I flipped the switch on the wall and the lamp in the corner turned on.
Everything was still, unmoved, and again I felt as if my grandmother had just stepped out for a moment. Her things were strewn across her vanity table, a brush left haphazardly next to some lipstick and cream. Her bed was made—not surprising since she never left the house without making it. I knew this was how she had left it on her last day, obviously unaware that she wouldn’t be back to clean it up and certainly not knowing I would be traipsing through it.
I sat on the bed, feeling the softness of the quilt beneath me, breathing in her scent or at least what was left lingering. I looked around the room, seeing how little it had changed over the years. It was still the room I had shared a bed in, during those many sleepovers.
As I had gotten older, I had moved to my own bedroom down the hall, but I could remember the times I would come meet Dolores in her room and we would spend hours chatting, eventually falling asleep next to each other. She had been more than a simple grandmother to me, and as the memories flashed through my mind, I forced myself to step away from the deep chasm of sadness I felt approaching.
Downstairs, I heard something crash to the floor—something made of glass—and shatter. I cringed wondering what it could be and what idiot had broken it?
Walking to the window, I looked out over the orchards, to the lake below. Across the water, I could see my parents’ house, all dark except for the small lights that lined the stairs to the veranda. No matter how I tried to stop it, the sight of the house brought back one specific memory from years before and soon, I was overtaken by it.
The bus dropped me off after school in the same spot it always did, but instead of walking home—the last place on earth I wanted to be—I turned in the opposite direction and walked toward my grandmother’s home. Its white walls, its grey-tin roof, and red shutters all calling me to it. I walked across the wide, open yard, and knocked.
My grandmother opened the door, slightly surprised to find me there, but welcomed me in with a smile. Her house smelled of lilacs, apples, and cookies—always like cookies.
“Rough day?” she asked, seeing the tears pool in my eyes. I had managed to keep them at bay the entire ride home, but now in her presence, they were begging to spill over. “Come, let’s have some tea.”
She led me to the kitchen where she filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove. I sat at the table, my head in my hands.
“It’s so fucking awful, Grandma,” I cried.
“Watch your language,” she reproached me, walking over, placing her hand on my shoulder. “What’s so awful?”
“Everyone is talking about it. I can’t believe it,” I said. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Ellie, I can’t exactly help you if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about,” she said, walking back to the stove.
Removing the whistling kettle, she poured the water into two prepared teacups. I took a deep breath, preparing to confide in her. Surely she wouldn’t like what I was about to tell her.
“I was in the cafeteria, talking with Brian and then Sabrina and Emilie walked over and said they’d seen Mom making out with Mr. Cormier, that fat real estate agent.” I cringed just imagining my mom and him together. “I’m sure it’s bull—sorry,” I quickly corrected myself, my grandmother casting a warning glance. “But then Emilie said that everyone already knows about Mom and that she’s having an affair!”
I looked at my grandmother, expecting her to console me, to tell me it was all nonsense but instead I found her eyes full of unwanted awareness and shame.
I felt the earth open up.
“It’s not true, right? Please tell me it’s just gossip.”
“Elizabeth, listen,” she began, but she didn’t have to say anything else. Her hesitation told me everything I needed to know.
“Don’t,” I snapped, standing up abruptly. “How long have you known?”
“Not long.”
“And why haven’t you said anything?”
“It’s none of my business. And it’s none of yours. Your mother is an adult. She can make her own choices.”
“So you’re fine with her cheating on your son? How can you just let this happen?”
I looked out the window, at my house across the lake. I could imagine my dad coming home, wondering where I was. My mom would be home a little later. Would I tell her I knew? Would I make her tell my dad?
“Because you’re upset, I’ll forgive your rudeness,” she said, putting me in my place.
“But Grandma, what am I supposed to do with this?”
“You’re not supposed to do anything, Ellie,” she was back at my side, handing me my cup of tea. Reluctantly, I took it but didn’t drink. “You’re still a child and this shouldn’t have involved you. I am sorry you had to find out this way.”
Tears ran down my face.
The sight of a few people running out of the house and into the trees below brought me back to reality, but my heartfelt stiff from the memory that still felt fresh.
My mother’s affair had been the hardest thing I had ever gone through and the fact that my grandmother had known about it had only compounded that fact. Things weren’t ever quite the same between us after that and the fights between my mother and I had only grown exponentially. My father had found out eventually—I had nearly forced my mother into telling him. They had fought, a lot. They had spent time apart. But even so, my father had eventually taken her back. They made up and now acted like the perfect couple.
I turned eighteen soon after my mother’s infidelity and wasted no time in moving out. I couldn’t stand her and the hurt she had caused him or me, for that matter. To make things worse, I couldn’t stand my father for being so weak and for forgiving her so easily.
I started feeling that old, unresolved anger brewing and so I decided I needed some air.
Downstairs, the crowd had dispersed quite a bit, but without the buffer of the large crowd, I now felt out of place and conspicuous. My parents were sitting on the sofa, speaking with friends, but I felt absolutely no desire to join them. Weighing my options of either staying in the house making small talk with people I didn’t even know or going for a walk outside, I chose the latter.
I stepped out into the crisp, clear night, and took a
deep, cleansing breath. The stars were brighter than I had ever seen anywhere else, especially when compared to the city. The full moon cast such a bright light it almost felt as if it was daytime. I began to walk, realizing there was only one spot I truly wanted to be at that exact moment and headed through the orchard.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Reaching the bottom of the hill, I saw the fire pit off in the distance—a shoddy construction my grandparents and I had built over twenty years prior, but amazingly was still standing. At least twenty people could sit around the circular, brick and stone behemoth and not feel cramped. There had been no logical reason to make it so big, but as always, Dolores had gone ahead with one of my crazy ideas.
In all its existence I had never seen more than a dozen people sit in the surrounding chairs. Tonight, however, nearly every single chair was taken. I recognized several people from earlier, all sitting by the roaring fire, chatting.
A man was strumming a guitar and singing, flanked by a woman holding two toddlers. His name, Martin Lepage, popped into my mind as if it was yesterday. He had been our school’s hockey team captain and one of Devon’s best friends. I began to wonder if he was still as much of a prick as he had been in school. Arrogant, macho and rude, he was one of my least favourite people back then.
But now, while I watched him in the company of what appeared to be his wife and children, he seemed kind, pleasant, and the complete opposite of what I had known him to be. Maybe my preconceived notions were wrong and needed to be rethought. After all, if I had changed after so many years, or at least I thought I had, then wouldn’t it be fair to assume he had too? The more I thought about it, the more I realized how all my long-held beliefs had been flipped on their heads over the past twenty-four hours.
Martin’s voice was soft and melodic, bringing forth a surge of memories. I stared into the large bonfire, letting the past catch up with me. I was fifteen and I had gone to a party that Brian had dragged me to. Devon had been there, and I had been hopelessly in love with him. I could remember how it ended with me running home, crying. Every detail was clear as day, from the smell of the open field to the sound of Devon and Martin singing by the fire. I recalled the heat of embarrassment when Devon had spoken to me for the first time, and how I had been in such shock, I had stared at him, unable to speak. It had been my one chance to possibly be more than just his neighbour and instead, I had let my nerves get the best of me, ruining everything.
