by Jo Owens
“We have to pray for that girl.”
I am doubtful.
“She has many sorrows. She works two jobs, you know.”
I did not know that.
“When she’s done here, she goes to another place and works until nine.”
No wonder she’s so short with us.
“I worry about her son. The sister lives with her, but…from what she said, I gather that’s another burden.”
Ruby’s eyes are kind but very serious.
“If she had faith and community, her life would be easier.”
I look at Ruby with new respect. Could it be that Blaire confides in Ruby? Goodness knows it sounds like Blaire needs a friend.
* * *
I know I didn’t treat you well after Angelina went missing. Pain makes a person selfish, that’s a fact.
You were such support during the first couple of years, while we were still hoping, fearful and anxious, for any word at all. You were as absorbed as I was, not only out of concern for Angelina but because of the toll her disappearance was taking on your Chris. I leaned on you, and you leaned on me. For a long time, no other subject could interest us in any meaningful way, and we went about our work mechanically.
But you moved on, and when you did, I buried myself in work.
I always found it easier to work than to feel. Client problems have solutions.
It was work or take up drinking seriously, and I couldn’t do both.
So I worked.
You called. “I made fresh poppyseed bread, come for coffee.” Or “There’s a show I want to see, let’s go together.”
“I can’t, business is thriving, I’m buried. Let’s get together soon.”
Finally you showed up on my doorstep, a bottle of wine in a bag hanging from your wrist.
“I am trying to help you, but you must help yourself or this will kill you. I need you. Chris needs you. You must keep on living.”
It was a much-needed slap in the face, and we drank the wine, all of it, plus another bottle that I had stashed away for emergencies. I had a terrible hangover the next day, but I worked for sixteen hours anyway.
It took me another six months to act on your advice. I’m surprised you put up with me that long. I called you up and said that I valued our friendship, that I was sorry I hadn’t made time for you. I lied and told you I could imagine having zest for life again, someday in the future, and you said, “That’s the first step.” It turned out that you were right.
I made myself stop thinking about what might have happened to Angelina. But that didn’t mean I stopped thinking about her.
Many times over the fifteen years since Angelina disappeared, I hoped I had her tucked away, only to find that, because of some new experience, every memory of her screamed to be re-examined.
I think about her as though she is some kind of puzzle, and if I could only drop the pieces into the right place, there would be a loud click, and something mechanical would abruptly whirr into action. I think about my daughter as though by thinking about her, someday I will find the switch that I need to pull to reach into the past and make the whole freight train go down a completely different track.
I made myself stop thinking about what might have happened to Angelina. But I can’t forgive myself. Her time was so short, and even though I tried, I know I didn’t help her to become, as Michi puts it, the best that she could be. For years and years after she disappeared, I believed in my heart that she’d come back and I’d get another chance to get it right with Angelina.
Shikata ga nai.
CIRCLING
Lily comes dancing into our room with a face like sunshine. Both Michiko and Blaire look up, start, and drop what they’re doing. They bounce over, trampoline joyful, matching her mood.
You got it!
I got the position!
You’re one of us now.
Oh my God, it’s going to be so great. No more daycare hassles.
You’ll have steady, predictable income.
And benefits.
Oh my God, benefits.
And sick time.
Oh, Lily. This is going to make such a difference to you.
I know. Oh my God.
Michiko sounds a little wistful. I’m going to miss working with you, Lily.
Oh shoot, that’s right…
You’ll be doing my days off…
I’ll be following you…
But I’ll see you when you’re down the hall…
You can leave me nasty notes saying “What kind of loser puts the toothcare stuff right under the soap dispenser?” and “Who took the last damn brief and didn’t replace the package?”
Yeah, you watch it, I’m gonna ride your ass.
Michi and Lily hug, and Michi holds her tight.
Oh! Michiko loves her. I guess it’s no surprise. It’s Lily, after all. I just never noticed before.
Blaire hugs her too, smiling.
I’m so glad, Lily.
Oh, Blaire. Me too.
Lily bounds over and throws her arms around me. I can smell her shampoo. Lavender. How delicious.
“Did you understand, Francesca? I got Bettina’s job. Permanent. I’ll be doing Michiko’s days off and then Pat’s days off down the hall. Almost full-time, Francesca!”
Lily breaks away and spreads her arms wide, catching manna from the sky.
We’ll be able to eeeat!
The girls laugh.
When do you start?
Tuesday.
So we’ve got Jennifer for a couple more days?
I thought she said she was done…I thought Amit’s coming.
Did he go casual again?
So I heard.
No freaking way! I love working with that dude.
Okay, guys. I had better run…I’m on coffee.
Bye, Lily.
Thanks for letting us know.
Congratulations.
They’re like tropical butterflies, all aflutter, flashing their beauty.
I think, “More of this please. More.”
* * *
Chris comes in to see me, his wet hair slicked back, glowing with energy, a furtive grin on his face. Oh my goodness! He just had sex and a shower! He just had sex and a shower and I can’t make enquiries. Not that I would, but still. He pulls a chair across the floor from the hallway, scraping it just a bit, just enough to set my nerves on edge before picking it up properly, swinging it around and straddling it backwards. He crosses his arms over the chair back, leaning in towards me and I get a whiff of chlorine. Oh! Not sex, he’s been swimming.
He used to swim on a team when he was in middle school. I remember when he quit.
The phone rang as I walked in the door in my pale lemon linen suit, with an armload of groceries. Diving, my stomach already knotting, I dashed the receiver against my teeth, holding my breath. (Angelina!) But for once it wasn’t all about Ang. Chris’s swim coach was calling to talk to me about inviting Chris to try out for the provincial team.
I hadn’t realized he was such a talented swimmer. Once again I had been so preoccupied, I hadn’t even noticing he was becoming so accomplished. I just paid up the fees and sent him off, grateful that he was productively occupied. I felt a wave of guilt, euphoria and pride. I hung up the phone and turned around; Chris was standing there, swim bag in hand, and I noticed with a pang a wide pale band of wrist between his hand and the cuff of his jean jacket. “Chris, we should celebrate! Congratulations!” As I stepped forward to caress him, my beautiful son, almost a man, he instinctively stepped back, and the blood rushed to my face.
“I don’t want to do it,” he said.
“Don’t want to—?” Stupidly. Aggressively.
“I don’t want to swim competitively. It takes all the fun out of it. It takes
too much time.”
This, I don’t understand. The only thing better than doing something well is beating someone else at it.
“Time? What do you need time for?”
Chris was very good at keeping his face flat, but I caught a glimpse of stubborn scorn as he turned on his heel, and I crossed the room in a bound, catching him by the arm.
“Don’t walk away from me! I’m talking to you.”
One, two, three beats of silence as we stared each other down.
“Let’s get this straight, son. I’ve paid your team fees and I’m not wasting my money. You will swim, and you will do well!”
Five minutes before I hadn’t cared how Chris was doing at swimming—now in my mind’s eye I already had him standing on a podium, medal in hand, thanking his mother, and I would have something to be proud of, proud for a change (oh, Angelina!), and I wanted it so desperately my lungs hurt.
“You’ve got lipstick on your teeth.”
As my hand flew to my mouth, Chris made his escape, stopping only to throw me a grenade over his shoulder. “I’m not Angelina, Mom. And you can’t yell me down.”
My hand fell to my side, leaving a streak of red lipstick on the sunny yellow of my tailored blazer.
I never did get that stain out; the suit was ruined and, as far as I know, Chris never swam again.
I reach over to touch Chris’s arm, smiling, then pantomime a one-armed crawl.
He smiles back. “Yeah, I’ve been swimming every day for a while now. Trying to get back in shape.”
I make a bicep and grin.
“Yeah, I’m getting stronger.” He looks sideways, and I know he’s thinking about our argument, just as I am. Quickly I reach out again, bringing his eyes to my hand on his sleeve, and then to my face. I mime a frown, pass my hand from chin to forehead dragging the corners of my mouth up as if by a string, and then smile anxiously, willing Chris to understand.
“Yeah. Yeah. It makes me happy. Endorphins, right? I’m feeling good.”
Relief floods me, and dammit, my eyes fill with tears. I fight to hold them back, rigid, the smile on my face wooden as I struggle to contain myself. I reach out to stroke his sleeve again, barely breathing.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” he says. “It’s no big thing.”
* * *
Amit, the casual who’s bridging the gap between Jennifer and Lily, turns out to be a lot of fun.
At first, I could tell that Ruby was really dubious about having a male caregiver, but Amit has her as out of character as a tipsy librarian in no time at all.
Where to, m’lady?
The dining room, please.
Why, that’s simply boring. We should go to the moon. We’ll take my Ducati. You can ride on back.
Oh, Ruby, says Molly, you’ve found yourself a good-looking guy!
Eat your heart out, says Ruby.
That’s okay, I’ve got one at home.
But that’s at home! says Ruby, her cheeks pink at her audacity.
Who’d have thought she had it in her to flirt like a girl? It makes me smile.
Amit tailors his presentation to each person.
I am Mrs. Jensen and he straightens his back for me, but then he calls me “boss” and gives me the kind of a cheeky wink I would never have tolerated in my professional life, and I find myself winking back.
When he’s working with Blaire behind Mary’s curtain, I hear him pull back the blankets and say, Oh God, I’ll never eat gravy again, while Blaire doubles over with laughter.
When he works with Molly, she tells him Paul didn’t get his bath last night because he was sundowning out of control again. If you cover me, I’ll try him, Amit says and Molly nods with satisfaction; it’s what she expected.
I’ll do the bed change for you, she says. I won’t leave you hanging if you get behind.
Sure, Molly. Feet up, finger up your nose, every day, all day…I know you!
You’re one to talk, she laughs, and they high-five.
* * *
Amit talks about “the wife” and “the kids” all the time.
Amit, how does an accountant end up married to a care aide?
You have to ask! Who could resist all this?
Amit poses like a model, sucking in his cheeks and pulling in his belly, one hand behind his head, fingers pressed lightly against his bald spot, in spite of which he is noticeably and incredibly good-looking.
Molly laughs.
Yeah, you’re pretty hot, Mr. Bollywood. So you’re taking the fam skiing this winter?
Oh for sure. It’s the one thing that coaxes Shianne away from work.
Well, if you’re casual, you can pick your time.
That’s what Shianne said. Plus she wants to go back east for Christmas and there’s no way I’m gonna get Christmas off.
You pretty much have to be born here to get Christmas off. But I can’t imagine you’re too bloody sorry to be leaving your position up there. Word is it’s getting pretty hard to work on third.
Oh, there are some heavy people up there, but the work is straightforward enough.
No, no. I meant your co-workers.
There’s some pretty intense conflict happening. But no offence, I don’t want to spread that energy around.
Fair.
Molly takes the hint and changes the subject.
So Mount Washington for a week?
Even better. Two weeks in Banff right after we get back from Montreal.
Oh my God. Heaven on a stick.
And they’re gone.
* * *
Oh, how you used to love skiing, didn’t you, Anna? “When you come from a flat country, it’s easy to fall in love with the mountains,” you said. You took a week off every year to get on the slopes. The two days we went together wasn’t part of your week. We pulled the kids out of school and drove up to Mount Washington together; what fun we had! Chris learned quickly and you were so proud of him. But Angelina was a whiz. Chris and I couldn’t keep up with her. When we got to the bottom of the hill, she wasn’t waiting by the lift as she’d been told to do, so you and Chris stayed there while I went up on the lift, my gut roiling, scanning the slopes anxiously from my ride in the sky. There she was, zipping down, a flash of incredible beauty in motion, and I thought, “Oh, if only she could always be here.”
You caught her at the bottom and the three of you came up together and met me at the top. Then you took Angelina, because you were the better skier, and Chris and I skied together for the rest of the day. It must have been hard work for you. The first night we ate out, but coming home after the second day, we ate sandwiches in the car, delicious after the day in the open air. We all had snow tans. Angelina fell asleep with her head on your lap in the back seat after crowing about how good she had been. In the mirror, I saw you and Chris winking at each other.
It was a perfect getaway.
* * *
“Milton is coming to take me out to tea,” Ruby tells me, flushed and excited into a state of polite formality. “My dear friend Pearl’s son is in town for a visit, and the four of us are going to the Empress. Pearl can’t get out her own now, and obviously neither can I, so our get-togethers are necessarily curtailed. This is a lovely and rare opportunity to share her company!”
I smile brightly.
“It is an unfortunate hazard of a long life that the ranks of one’s friends sadly diminishes,” she says. “But one must not dwell on unpleasant thoughts. Especially on this occasion. Pearl and I have been friends since grade school. Our parents used to call us ‘the Jewels!’ ”
As Ruby is struggling to put on a pair of gloves, I am spared the effort of responding. Blast, she mutters under her breath.
“Ah, Mother,” says Milton, coming up behind her. “May I help you with those? Hello, Francesca. I hope you are well.”
“It’s the arthritis. It does limit one so.”
“I know, dear. Well then, Mother. Are you ready? Have you got your purse?”
“Side table, bottom shelf.”
“Excellent. We’ll be on our way, shall we? Au revoir, Francesca.”
Ruby waves gaily.
They are off, but Milton is back in a minute, searching in Ruby’s locker for her hat.
Molly comes in with an armful of towels.
“Oh, Milton. I was hoping to catch you alone. Do you think your mother would enjoy having a TV? We have a donation.”
“Ah! She does have a TV. Rather, it’s simply that…”
He pauses and Molly waits expectantly, like a collie with pricked up ears.
“Technology defeats her. Also some of the programming upsets her terribly.”
Molly nods. Milton decides to elaborate.
“When she was at home, by accident she managed to turn on one of those rather explicit crime shows and she found herself unable to change the channel or lower the volume, which was at its maximum. Fortunately I happened to come by and found her locked in the bathroom, weeping. I have no idea how long she had been sitting there, nor was she able to say. It was exceedingly unpleasant.”
“I see,” says Molly.
Milton straightens, hat in hand. “Some studies suggest that television exacerbates dementia. Mother presents well, but her memory is poor. You will have noticed that, I am sure.” He looks about the room. “In fact, we are grateful that there is no television in this room. There is little one can do to escape should the tastes of others fail to coincide with one’s own.”
“I will keep that in mind,” says Molly, smiling.
“Well, we’ll be on our way.”
“You’ll remember to sign out?”
