The Home for Unwanted Girls

by Joanna Goodman

  He takes her in his arms, smelling of airplane grease, not caring who sees them. His reluctance to get attached to her seems to have fallen away as swiftly and completely as the decade of their separation. Their landslide into the old feelings of their youth has taken them both by surprise but, at the same time, feels absolutely right and inevitable. They’ve acknowledged to each other in giddy whispers over the phone that not being together has become utterly inconceivable.

  “What are you so excited about?” he asks her, taking her by the hand.

  “I’m going to translate a French book called On Va en Venir à Bout—”

  Gabriel stops suddenly and faces her, his eyes bright. “You’re translating Yves Godbout’s book?”

  “You know him?”

  “I know of him. I’ve read the book. You met him?”

  “Yes, I just met with him.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Well, he’s got brown teeth and yellow fingers and greasy hair and torn clothes, and he was extremely condescending, but besides all that, he’s wonderful.”

  Gabriel laughs. “Maggie, this is incredible. How did it happen?”

  “Audrey set it up,” she says.

  “Audrey did?” he says, sounding shocked. “Can you do it justice?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admits. “I’ve never formally translated anything.”

  “I don’t mean it like that. I mean, can you convey his passion for the cause?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I can help you,” he says.

  “Really? I’d love that.”

  Gabriel pulls her into his arms. “This is good for you,” he tells her.

  “And for us.”

  “Let’s get started as soon as I’m back,” he says. “And I want to meet Godbout.”

  No mention of the husband and wife who still stand in their way. They continue on arm in arm toward his car. “I’m excited,” she says, more to herself.

  “Me, too.”

  “I want to be with you,” she tells him, her readiness for it sharpening into focus even as the words form on her tongue. “I want us to finally start our life together.”

  “I want that, too.”

  “You do? Really?”

  “Of course. It’s you I’m worried about,” he says.

  “But you’re the one I want to be with.”

  “What about everything you’d have to give up?” he reminds her.

  “I’m miserable in that big house with all my beautiful things. Roland is a good man, but our marriage isn’t what I hoped it would be.”

  He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, offers her one, lights both of them. They exhale at the same time.

  “Are you ready to leave Annie?” she asks him.

  “I’ve been ready to leave Annie since the night I ran into you in the field.”

  “All right then,” she says. “Let’s tell them.”

  “Let’s just sit with it a while longer, okay?”

  “More thinking? We just agreed—”

  “We’re deciding about our future, Maggie. We’re talking about divorce . . .” He opens the car door for her. “You’d be giving up a lot.”

  “I told you I don’t care about any of that stuff.”

  “I just want you to be absolutely sure,” he says, pulling on to the street. “I don’t want you to resent me because I can’t provide for you the way you’re used to. I never want that burden. We’re going to move very slowly. Okay?”

  Maggie nods, taking her cue from him. Impulsiveness has only ever gotten her into trouble. For the first time, she feels confident and clear about what she wants, and impervious to defeat.

  When they get to the apartment, Gabriel orders St. Hubert BBQ and they have a picnic on the floor. Chicken and gravy and red wine. Maggie is euphoric.

  “This is the best day,” she says, touching his face. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She climbs over the containers of food and kisses him on the mouth. He pulls her into his arms and lies down on his back, her body on top of his. The moment has no feeling of illicitness or duplicity. Knowing they’re going to be together, it feels absolutely perfect.

  He lifts her shirt over her head and she does the same for him. He unclasps her bra and it slips onto the wood floor. The moment he lifts his head toward her breast and the tip of his tongue grazes her nipple, she cries out and there’s no turning back.

  Chapter 27

  Roland reaches for the pitcher of lemonade and refills his glass. His forehead is glistening with sweat and his cheeks are flushed. Maggie leans across the table and pats him with her paper napkin. “It’s muggy for May,” he says, aggressively spraying Off! into a swarm of mosquitoes until she can taste it with every bite of her hamburger.

  He starts folding and refolding his napkin. “It’s been a long time since . . .” He looks up at her nervously. “Since we discussed our situation.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “You’re still not pregnant,” he says. “I’m starting to get concerned. Maybe our timing’s been off, but still.”

  She hasn’t told him she’s been using her diaphragm. She hides it in her underwear drawer under her many “top salesperson” brassieres.

  “I think we should see Dr. Surrey again,” he says. “He was very optimistic. He might have a tip for us.”

  The pine trees bordering their land begin to close in on her. The sun is disappearing, bringing more mosquitoes.

  “Roland, are you happy?” she asks him.

  “About what?”

  “In general. With us. Our life?”

  “Yes. Of course,” he says. “Obviously, it hasn’t been smooth sailing, but I think the best remedy is to start a family. A child will be just the thing.”

  Gazing out at her expansive backyard with the geraniums blooming in clay pots and the manicured lawn ready for a swing set and sandbox, she can’t find the words to tell him the truth.

  “Is there any Jell-O left from last night?” he asks her.

  “Do you really think a child can fix this?”

  “‘This’?”

  “I’ll get the Jell-O,” she says, dropping it, escaping inside to regroup. She returns moments later with a glass dish of green Jell-O.

  “Lime. My favorite,” he says, smiling appreciatively.

  “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” she tries again.

  “Do what?”

  “Be in this marriage.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m sorry, Rol. It’s just not working.”

  “You’re telling me this now?” he says, incredulous. “Like this?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else . . .”

  Roland looks confused; his eyes go a bit out of focus. He stabs his spoon into the Jell-O and breaks it up into pieces. “It’s obvious your fertility problem is causing you great stress,” he says. “I wish you would quit being so stubborn and let me make us an appointment with Dr. Surrey.”

  “It’s not about my fertility problem.”

  “We’ll regain our footing as soon as we start a family,” he says confidently. “Let’s make the appointment next week.”

  “Don’t you see what’s happened to us, Rol? Everything’s become about having a baby. There’s nothing else.”

  “That’s not true,” he defends. “It’s not all about that.”

  “It is for you.”

  “Of course I want to start a family,” he admits. “I want to be a father. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” she says. “It’s just not the end-all for me.” She feels herself getting emotional and wipes her eyes with a paper napkin. “I’ve been convincing myself that I’m ready to have a child.”

  “You’re saying you’re not?”

  “You know I loved working,” she says. “You pretended to support my independence at first, but it turns out you weren’t being sincere.”


  “I wasn’t pretending!” he cries. “I just didn’t realize it precluded having children.”

  “It didn’t. It doesn’t. It’s more like our difficulty trying to have a child has exposed the bigger problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, Rol?”

  “Not to me.”

  “There’s no passion between us,” she says. “Maybe there never was. I’m not even sure we want the same things anymore.”

  Roland looks away, hiding his face. “This would all just go away if we had a child,” he murmurs obstinately. “The passion would come back, our goals for the future would realign.”

  “Would they?” she says. “You don’t even know mine.”

  “Tell me then.”

  “Well, for one thing, I love translating.”

  Roland lets out an exasperated huff.

  “I’ve been trying so hard to be the person you want me to be,” she says. “Trying to give you a baby, ignoring how much pressure it’s put on me, pretending not to notice that it’s slowly killing our respect for each other and whatever attraction may still be there. I want more, Roland. My work with Godbout has helped me get in touch with that part of myself again.”

  Roland sighs and his shoulders collapse. He looks tired. He must be, from working so hard at denying their fundamental differences, perhaps from the moment they first met.

  “Roland, you married me because I came along at the precise moment in your life when you wanted to start a family.”

  “That’s unfair.”

  “I know you care about me,” she concedes. “But becoming a father has always been your focus and the priority in our marriage.”

  His head drops. She reads his silence as a grim acknowledgment of her point.

  “Is there someone else?” he asks her, not looking up.

  The question catches her off guard. She didn’t think he’d ask, and she hadn’t planned on bringing it up, if only to protect him. But she doesn’t want to lie. He deserves better.

  “Ah,” he says, guessing before she even decides how to answer him. “So we’re that couple. I’m the clichéd cuckold.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Yes, it does,” he snaps. “Very much, in fact.”

  “It’s my first love,” she admits. “I ran into him in Dunham last fall. We haven’t actually spent much time together, but the old feelings are still very much there.” She omits the part about having slept with him the one time. Roland would be shattered.

  “So you’re leaving me for another man,” he says. “Let’s don’t pretend it’s about my wanting a child and you wanting to translate books.”

  “We haven’t been happy together in years,” she says softly. “How I feel about Gabriel may be the impetus for ending the marriage now, but it’s not the reason.”

  “Right. You want to be a full-time translator.”

  “You’re being petty, Roland. Godbout has encouraged me to spread my wings, gain some confidence. And I like this feeling. I want to keep exploring it.”

  “With another man by your side. Your ‘first love.’”

  “You can’t honestly tell me you’ve been happy in this relationship?” she says.

  “Who’s ‘happy’ anyway, Maggie?”

  “I’d like to be.”

  “We have a marriage,” he states portentously, making it sound as though the marriage is something they own, a possession not unlike their car or their house. “We’ve endured for this long, through some very difficult situations. It’s a damn shame to throw it all away now.”

  “I don’t want to just endure,” she says wearily.

  Roland is quiet for a few moments, defeated. Maggie’s heart swells with fondness for him. “You’re a good man,” she says. “Intelligent and reliable and stalwart. Let’s just be honest with each other, for once.”

  “What’s your plan exactly?”

  “I thought for now I could move into the house in Knowlton.”

  “You’d move back to the Townships alone? Or with him?”

  “Alone. I’d be near my family. You never go up there anymore,” she says. “Hardly ever at all. It’s not like you’d miss it.”

  “I could sell it,” he points out.

  “You could,” she says. “But let’s face it, Roland. Even if we stayed together, I’d be alone. You’re never here.”

  “That would change if—”

  “We had a child,” she finishes, exasperated. “Exactly.”

  She gets up and carries their plates into the kitchen. Roland follows her inside but goes to the living room. She hears him pouring himself a drink. She cleans the kitchen and then joins him. “I’m sorry,” she says, not knowing what else to say.

  Sitting here in this grand room, surrounded by her precious Swedish furniture with the ice-blue silk upholstery, flocked wallpaper, white marble fireplace, and view of her sprawling garden through the picture window, she’s absolutely certain she’s doing the right thing.

  “We have nothing to show for our life together,” he says mournfully.

  She sits down beside him and reaches for his hand. She notices a couple of wiry silver hairs on his knuckles, and for some reason this makes her want to cry.

  “But you’re right,” he says, surprising her. “We’re a mismatch, aren’t we?”

  She squeezes his hand. “We tried valiantly. We really did.”

  He nods, and what she sees on his face is relief. In spite of his hurt feelings and pride, she can tell he’s beginning to wrap his head around the fact that he’s free to start over with someone who wants exactly what he wants: a simple, fertile girl with matching aspirations of parenthood and housewifery. It was never going to be Maggie. And although he’d never admit it out loud, she can tell he’s cycling through the same realizations in his mind.

  Chapter 28

  She arrives at the Motel Maisonneuve on Ontario Street breathless with excitement. She has so much to tell him, starting with the news that she’s leaving Roland, that it’s done and there’s no turning back. She’s also going to tell him about what happened to her in Frelighsburg—the rape, the pregnancy, having to give up the baby. She wants to rid herself of all her secrets and start this next phase of her life with a clean slate. Fate has brought them back together, and she owes Gabriel the truth. He’s been in the dark long enough.

  She knocks on the door, in case he’s already here. She’s smiling just thinking about him. She’s got a bottle of wine in her bag, and she’s wearing a new lace bra and panties. Gabriel opens the door and then immediately sits down on the bed without actually greeting her. No hello, no embrace. She follows him inside.

  The room is a disappointment. It’s dingy and has a musty smell. The curtains, mustard-yellow burlap, are drawn. There’s a simple pine headboard, a frayed chenille bedspread, and an olive green carpet that needs vacuuming. “I thought it would be nicer,” she says, setting her purse down on the bureau and pulling out the wine.

  He doesn’t say anything, only stares straight ahead with a strange look on his face. She rushes over to him and strokes his blond brush cut, then bends down to kiss him on the mouth.

  He turns away.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks him.

  “I went home this weekend.”

  “Don’t tell me your sister talked you out of leaving Annie?” she says, sitting down beside him. “Don’t listen to Clémentine. I’ve already told Roland I’m leaving.”

  “What did you do that for?” he says gruffly. There’s something in his voice that frightens her.

  “Why not?” she says. “We agreed it’s what we both want.”

  His eyes are dark, distant. Something is different.

  “What’s wrong, Gabriel?” she asks him again.

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “Since when?” she cries, confused. “You don’t love Annie. We talked about this.�
��

  “This isn’t about Annie.”

  “What is it about then? I thought it was decided, right before you went home to Dunham. We still love each other. What happened?”

  “We almost made a huge mistake.”

  “I don’t understand. Did Clémentine say something? Did my father?”

  “It’s over.”

  The bed beneath her feels unsteady. “Don’t say that,” she says, crouching down in front of him and wrapping her arms around his legs.

  He pushes her off and looks her right in the eye, with not a trace of affection.

  “What have I done?”

  “I ran into Audrey McCauley in Dunham,” he says, his voice chillingly calm.

  “Where?”

  “I went to church with my sisters on Sunday,” he explains. “I actually wanted to thank Audrey for putting you in touch with Godbout.”

  He knows. In that split second, Maggie’s world collapses.

  “She told me you had quite a heart-to-heart, the two of you.”

  She feels like throwing up. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

  “She told me you gave away our baby,” he says, getting up off the bed and moving restlessly around the room.

  “Gabriel—”

  “I didn’t even know you were pregnant.”

  “Why would Audrey tell you that?”

  “She assumed I knew. Why would she think you’d keep such a thing from me?”

  “I told her you didn’t know!” Maggie cries. “She also knew I was planning to tell you.”

  “When?”

  “Today! Now.”

  He laughs. “Right. What a coincidence.”

  “She did this to hurt you and to punish me.”

  “I don’t care about her!” he shouts. “This isn’t about Audrey.”

  Maggie covers her face with her hands. How could she have made such a colossal error trusting Audrey?

  “I told Roland I was leaving him,” she says. “And that I’m still in love with you. I was planning to tell you everything today, so that we could have a fresh start.”