by Freya Barker
Of course then the damn car stalled just as I reached the top of the hill, and I almost disappeared in my second panic attack of the day. Except Jared knocked on the window, and without knowing it, pulled me back from the brink by being kind as well. My ogre of a neighbour, whom I’d developed an almost instant dislike to, was nothing but friendly. And I’d been an asshole to him.
I think of Rueben’s painfully true assessment earlier this week. I can’t continue to pretend I’m an island, to stand by on the sidelines while everyone and everything rushes past. If anything, this week was proof that sometimes you just need to grab onto the hand someone holds out. There’s nothing wrong with that.
“I’d like that,” I simply say to Steffie, but with it, tell her much more than the just words. Steffie knows it, too.
“I’ll do my very best,” she says softly before hanging up.
Wiping the silent tears from my eyes, I turn to the dog, who is napping on the love seat.
“How about it, big guy? Want to come out for a bit?”
Griffin doesn’t need telling twice, he’s up off the couch and standing by the front door before I can get out of my chair. He’s a good dog. I got him right before I moved here and he’s as loyal as they come. He’s never taken off on me. Not even when in the first weeks of spring, a black bear had wandered onto the property. Griff stood on the steps at the front door, growling incessantly and eventually the bear took off.
I open the door for him and he leaps out, completely missing the two steps, while I grab my gardening tools. Time to get off my ass.
-
I’m wrestling with my old-fashioned push mower on the far side of the cabin, when I hear Griff barking from the driveway.
The sun is low in the sky and I’m starting to get hungry, realizing I’ve skipped lunch. On the plus side, my vegetable patch is completely weed free, and I’ve pulled off a couple of zucchini I’m going to use for a zucchini lasagne.
Giving up on the angled slope I’ve been trying to mow for the last forty-five minutes, I push the mower in the direction of the shed, only to find a familiar Lexus SUV blocking my path.
“Steffie!” Abandoning the mower, I rush to where my dog is laying on his back, getting a two-handed belly rub from my friend. “What are you doing here?”
She stands up and brushes off her pants, that now sport a decent collection of Griff’s fur, before wrapping me in a hug.
“Delivered a baby at noon, called Doug to get his ass home, so I could pack and drive up to see my bestie,” she mumbles in my hair.
I hug her a little harder while fighting those damn tears for the second time today. “He came?” I hear her snort before she takes a step back and looks at me with a glint in her eyes.
“He knows what’s good for him, or he won’t be coming any time soon,” she deadpans. “God, Mia—every time I forget how absolutely, disgustingly perfect this place is,” she says, spreading her arms wide as she turns to the lake and breathes in deeply. “Christ I needed this.”
I hide my smile, I know she’s only partially telling the truth. She may have needed this, but she’s here because she knows I needed her.
She sits at the kitchen table, drinking wine from the massive bottle she unearthed from her overnight bag, while I put together my zucchini lasagne. Her constant flow of chatter about the clinic, patients, Doug, and most of all her kids, soothes my soul like a balm. She doesn’t care that I don’t say much, she never has.
“So I told Doug we had to find a cottage near here, before the kids won’t want to go anywhere but the mall anymore.”
“You know you’re always welcome here, right?”
“I know,” she says, smiling at me. “But I also know that you get fidgety when my whole family is here longer than one night.”
I’m a little embarrassed to admit she’s right. I do get fidgety. I love having them around, but after a full day, I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Doug is a quiet guy, in perfect contrast to Steffie, who’s a bundle of energy. The kids take after their mother and can’t sit still to save their lives. And yet I love having them.
“Anyway,” she changes topics. “Tell me about that hottie neighbour of yours, flexing his muscles over there.”
I can’t help it, my head instantly swivels around to see Jared pulling himself out of the lake, water sluicing off his broad back. The impressively sculpted muscles I hadn’t really noticed before—maybe because I was busy looking at his tight ass—span the width and length of his back, and I can’t help wonder what they would feel like under my hands. A giggle snaps me out of my scrutiny.
“Careful,” Steffie warns, teasing. “You’re gonna burn him with your eyes.”
I harrumph and turn back to shove the two trays into the oven, ignoring her.
“What’s he like?” she asks, walking up behind me to refill my glass. With my wine in hand, I lead the way onto the screened-in porch and curl up on one side of the couch. Steffie does the same on the other side.
Then I tell her everything.
Jared
“Are you okay with chicken?”
Jordy’s stomach has been queasy all day. I suggested she call her new doctor in Bracebridge, but she just laughed at me. I admit, I freaked a little when she came back from her first visit there earlier in the week, to tell me she was apparently already two centimeters dilated. I don’t want to know anything about my sister’s vagina, thank you very much, but the knowledge that bump in her belly was actually going to result in a baby, and apparently soon—that got me good and nervous.
Jordy’s all cool and collected, going about her business like she’s not about to drop my nephew, and I just want to drop her off at the hospital so they can worry about her. Apparently that’s not done, although for the life of me I can’t figure out why they’d make you wait until labour is already well under way.
No—strapped safely to a hospital bed, where she can’t do stupid shit like climb on a stool to dust the tops of the kitchen cabinets, is absolutely the way to go.
Now she’s nauseous.
“I’ll try the chicken,” she calls from her bedroom. I almost had to arm-wrestle her into taking a damn nap.
I grab some chicken from the fridge, season it only lightly, for Jordy’s sake, and take it out to the BBQ, where I already have some veggies roasting. Glancing over at the log cabin, I notice that the car I saw pull in earlier is still there. I didn’t see who was driving it, but have wondered. In fact, I’ve caught myself checking, from time to time, to see if I could catch a glimpse, but no luck so far. This time I see her dog lying on the dock and instead of the kayak, the canoe is missing. Before I obsessively start scanning the lake, I shake my head sharply and turn my back. Idiot.
“It actually smells good,” Jordy says when she joins me on the deck, a few minutes later, a beer and a bottle of water in her hands. The beer she hands to me.
“Did you sleep?”
She’s turned to the water so I’m looking at the back of her head when I ask, but I can still tell she’s rolling her eyes before she answers. “Yes, brother dear—I slept. I actually feel a bit better.” She steps up beside me and slides an arm around my waist, giving me a sideways hug. “Thanks for forcing me.” I look down in her upturned face and try very hard not to display the smugness I feel.
“Welcome, Pipsqueak,” I tell her, bending my head to kiss her forehead. “For future reference, it’s easier to just listen.”
Immediately she pulls away from me and socks me in the arm. “Men are pigs,” she proclaims, before stalking off to one of the deck chairs.
“Ahoy the shore!” I hear a woman’s voice call over the water.
“Ahoy the boat!” my silly sister yells back.
I turn around to see Jordy waving frantically at the canoe, carrying Mia and her visitor; a blonde woman, who is equally excitedly waving back at my sister. Not quite sure if it’s that or the fact Mia’s visitor is a woman that has me smiling broadly.
“Why ar
e you smiling like an idiot?”
I look at Jordy, who is squinting her eyes at me, then turns her head slightly to look at the approaching canoe, before turning back to me. “I knew you were interested,” she says, suddenly looking smug.
“She’s strange,” I counter.
“You’re still interested,” Jordy fires back. “And the fact that the car in her driveway, which you’ve been glaring at for the past couple of hours, actually belongs to a woman who makes you smile.”
I chuckle. My sister is like a terrier; give her the smallest bit of information and she’ll yank at it until she pulls the entire truth from you. “She intrigues me,” I admit, to which Jordy waves her hands dismissively.
“Just a fancy way of saying what I’ve been saying for the past week. You’re curious about her.”
“I am. I mean, a good-looking woman, living alone, and virtually off the grid, with just her dog for a companion, it makes a person wonder.”
My sister looks like she’s fighting a smile. “Does it make you wonder enough to consider that blonde woman in the boat with her might be her lover?”
She’s teasing, I know she’s teasing, but she’s also got a point. My head immediately swivels around to watch Mia and her...visitor, climbing from the canoe and subjected to an enthusiastic canine greeting. I never even considered the possibility she might be gay.
I didn’t realize I said the last out loud until another solid punch lands on my shoulder. “Ouch!” I turn to my sibling to see her with her arms crossed, resting on top of her substantial belly and squinting at me once again.
“I’m teasing, you idiot. How would I know if she’s gay? I’m just saying it to make you feel better about her not instantly falling for your charms.”
“I never had a chance to show her my charms,” I return.
“Ugh—like I said, men are pigs.”
After throwing me a disgusted look, Jordy disappears into the house and I have chicken, that is crisping a little too much, to tend to.
It’s after we’ve eaten—she manages to get down half the chicken breast and some vegetables, and we’ve watched some sappy movie which had Jordy in tears— she doubles over as she gets up.
“What’s up?” I ask, putting my hand on her back. “Junior kicking?” She told me these last few weeks the baby’s seemed restless, especially at night.
“Braxton-Hicks,” she says, making no sense.
“What?”
“Braxton-Hicks contractions. It’s normal,” she adds, seeing my panic at the word contractions.
“Sure?”
“Absolutely.” She seems very sure, but I still urge her to go lie down and to leave her door open, just in case.
I do the same with mine, but still I don’t sleep a whole lot that night.
FOUR
Mia
“Sure you’re gonna be alright?” Steffie asks, rolling down her car window.
We had a great time last night, going out with the canoe, with Steffie already half in the bag. Thank God, I managed to get her into a life jacket, because the way she’d been flailing around in the boat; she almost tipped us over a few times. Of course she embarrassed the shit out of me when she started hollering and waving like an idiot at the couple on the dock as we were paddling back home. The woman had returned her wave, but he’d just stood watching. Unsettling.
By the time we rolled into bed, it had been after one and we were all caught upon each other’s lives. Still, it took me a while to get to sleep, a gnawing emptiness in my chest as I thought about the life I’d left behind. I’d loved my job. My calling really. Midwifery was truly a labour of love, both in giving and receiving. Who wouldn’t feel privileged, being witness to the miracle of life on a daily basis. Humbling and fulfilling in a way nothing else makes you feel.
“I’ll be fine.” I smile at Steffie, grabbing the hand she sticks out of the window to give it a squeeze. “Thank you,” I tell her sincerely. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this. Love you.”
She pulls me closer and sticks her head out of the window, kissing me smack on the lips. “Love you too, sweetie,” she says, tearing up. “Any time you need me to come drive you crazy for a bit, let me know. In the meantime, stay in touch this time? Let me know you’re doing okay? I know you can manage on your own,” she quickly adds when she sees me getting ready to throw up my defenses. “That’s not the point—that’s not even in question—the point is you don’t have to. I’m always just a phone call away.”
Now she has me swallowing down the lump in my throat, and I quickly lean down to give her a final hug through the car window.
“I know,” I concede, rapping my knuckles on the roof before stepping back. “Drive careful and let me know when you get there.”
“Will do,” she calls out through the open window as she backs up the car. “And you, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“Then what’s left?” I yell after her, snickering as I hear her laughter disappear around the bend.
Gone.
I stand in the drive until I no longer hear her car, just the familiar sounds of the water and woods, before I turn back to the cottage.
It’s still early. The sun is up, but still partially hidden behind the tree line on the other side of the inlet. The lake is quiet. No boats out this early, just an occasional splash of a cormorant diving for fish just outside the shore and the odd guttural grunts as they call to mates across the lake. It had taken me a while to recognize the difference between a loon and a cormorant, but their calls are distinctive. The piglike grunts of the cormorant are much less appealing than the haunting call of the loon.
Before I walk in the door, I throw a last glance at the house across the bay, half wishing he’d be having his morning coffee on the deck, but it looks quiet. They must still be asleep. I quickly shake my head and resolutely step inside.
The rest of the morning, and into the afternoon, I spend on my computer.
I scroll through my emails, most of which are immediately redirected to trash. A wide variety of ads, from a new brand of dog treats to the latest fad in skin care. All the result of some innocuous surfing I did when I first got set up with Wi-Fi. Creepy, really, to know that somewhere, someone is keeping track of your online movements through a cleverly constructed maze of algorithms. Enter a search or hit a certain website, and the information dooms you to years of related promotional crap, filling your inbox daily. I’m actively deleting when one email pops up. A Toronto client I’ve done work for before.
Years ago, I started toying around with Photoshop when we needed some artwork for the clinic’s website. It was more of a hobby than anything else, and I enjoyed doing up the occasional ad or flyer. It had been something that kept me somewhat occupied after I left the clinic. Something I could do from the safety of my home that would keep my mind engaged. After I moved up here, it became a way of creating a little income to sustain my meagre needs. Since I was able to buy the cottage outright, from the proceeds of the sale of my half of the clinic, and my divorce left me with a decent-sized chunk of change after the sale of our marital home and division of properties, I only needed a little for my day-to-day expenses. The rest of the money is tucked away safely. A little nest egg, which I rarely need to tap.
The client, a small publishing house, wants a revamp of their logo, and therefore all of their print materials as well. Business cards, letterheads, website art and social media promo. I’m smiling huge; this means work for next few weeks and probably a big enough paycheck to last me a while. Without any hesitation, I email them back, letting them know I’m willing and able to start right away. For the next little while, the world around me disappears as I create three new logo mock ups and email them to the client for review.
When Griffin starts whining, I close my laptop, and stretch my body, before getting up and letting him outside. I watch him bound off into the trees, when my stomach starts growling. Closing the door, I head straight for the kitchen. I haven’t had a bite t
o eat since breakfast. I’m shocked to see it’s already closing in on four o’clock; much later than I thought it was.
One of the benefits of living alone is that time is yours and yours alone. Although, truth be told, it’s probably as much of a curse as it is a blessing. It’s easy to forget, or frankly care about, mundane things like getting dressed or showering when it’s just you. Especially when you’re busy, meals tend to get skipped. I’m not in the mood for a big meal, so it’ll be cheese, crackers, and an apple.
When I take my plate out to the porch, my late lunch or early dinner immediately seems inadequate, when the smell of BBQ hits my nostrils. Sure enough, my neighbour is out on his deck again, manning the grill, and sending mouth-watering aromas my way. At least, I think it’s the smell of grilling meat that has me near drooling, not the shameless and, for the record, shirtless man wielding an impressive set of tongs. My mother always said that there’s no harm in looking as long as you don’t touch. So I look, while quietly munching on my apple.
By the time he is joined by the very pregnant brunette, my plate is empty and my belly full. Maybe that’s why I feel slightly nauseous when I see him wrap an arm around her and kiss the top of her head. Ugh, I bet she smells nice. A little disgusted with myself, I get up and head inside, dropping my plate on the counter, and walking straight into the bathroom for a much-needed shower.
I feel a lot better once I’ve got on a pair of clean cutoffs and tank top. I grab a flannel, men’s shirt to ward off the slight chill coming in from the lake, before making my way outside to the dock.
“Stay, Griff,” I tell my pooch, his tongue is hanging from his mouth in his eagerness to come out on the water. I’ll sometimes let him come when I take the canoe, but I’m taking the kayak tonight. He whimpers pathetically as I push off and start paddling, trying hard not to look over, but still noticing the obnoxious speedboat missing from the neighbour’s dock.
Jared
“Are you done?”
Jordy hovers over me, her hand outstretched to grab my plate as I’m still chewing on my last bite of steak. She’s been jumpy all damn day long, almost bouncing off the walls. To my surprise, she corralled that energy into an uncharacteristic need to clean. That is usually my MO, walking around behind her picking up the mess she leaves behind. All day she’s been like this, restless and short-tempered.
