by Cathy Ace
Bud wrangled a bounding Marty toward the exit, and I sipped the dregs of my coffee; it was cold, and I was a little chilly, but I sat for a while and I looked out at the sunlight glinting on the lake, and the brooding trees covering the surrounding hillsides.
I told myself Bud was right, but I couldn’t find it in me to know what to do about what he’d said. It felt wonderful to have saved a life – maybe two, in a way – but what about my own life?
They say the first step toward solving a problem is to recognize you have one. Okay, I have a problem; I’m lonely. I’m heart-achingly lonely, but I’m too frightened to give myself to someone ever again in case they do what Angus did to me – beat me into submission physically, and goad me into subservience psychologically. I admit it – my relationship with him led to me losing some part of the essence of myself. I changed. I became less, diminished. And the awful thing I have to acknowledge is that I let him do it; I could have thrown him out long before I did. But I believed that he would change; I believed him when he said ‘never again’. How stupid was I? It’s all well and good for a professional like Bud to praise my intelligence, and my membership of Mensa proves I possess more of that than most – but where was it when I needed it? Why did my so-called insights fail me when I was the one who needed them?
Maybe the first step toward solving a problem isn’t just acknowledging you have one, but accepting you can’t do anything about it if you keep trying to find answers to questions that will remain unanswerable from where you are.
Sitting there looking out over Harrison Lake I made myself a deal; I’d walk around the lagoon, get myself home, and continue do my job the best way I knew how, but I would try to find some ‘outside interests’ too. Maybe I should travel more? I used to enjoy that, in my pre-Angus days. I promised myself I’d give it some serious consideration.
OCTOBER
The Trouble with the Turkey
If I hadn’t undercooked the Thanksgiving turkey, Jake might not be dead. It was my first one ever. Now maybe I’ll never cook another, given the way it’s all turned out. Which is a shame, because I love Thanksgiving, and everything it stands for; I love the way we celebrate ours here in Canada in October, when it can also be a harvest celebration, not like them having it in November down in the States. But now? I guess it doesn’t much matter when it is; it’ll always remind me of this one.
To start, there was the problem with the gravy. That should have been a sign, I guess. The package said to mix the powder with cold water and heat it up. I did just what it said, but it went lumpy. And the potatoes didn’t roast properly. Pale potatoes don’t look good next to undercooked turkey when they’re covered with lumpy gravy.
The carrots might have added some color, but Jake was right about me throwing those out; they were ruined. If our kitten Mindy hadn’t distracted me by bringing that mouse into the kitchen I guess I’d have noticed the smell of vegetables burning, but she looked so proud of herself that I had to make a fuss of her. The gash she gave me when I took the limp little body away from her will heal up just fine, and I don’t reckon I’ll even have a scar. But the burn I got on my arm when I took the carrots out of the oven will surely leave a mark.
And there weren’t any beans on the plate, either. Who runs out of green beans right before Thanksgiving? They’ve gotta have some kinda idiot doing the ordering at that supermarket. Everyone has green beans with turkey for Thanksgiving, don’t they? They sure do around here anyway, so I guess that’s why they sold out. Fresh, frozen, even tinned – all gone.
Maybe the real problem was that Jake didn’t finish putting up the new lights in the kitchen until yesterday. With his mess lying about the place I couldn’t get ready for today ahead of time. The lights hang from the ceiling above the counter, so bits kept falling down until he was done, then I had to bleach everywhere to be sure it was all good and clean. Who knew a liter of bleach could spread so far on a tile floor? If only I’d bought the small rubber gloves instead of getting the big ones with a money-off coupon, my fingers would have fitted into the handle of the bottle, then it wouldn’t have slipped out of my hands and gone everywhere. I even had to pull the gas range away from the wall to mop it up. The trouble I had pushing it back into its spot was something I hadn’t expected, but I managed it without having to tell Jake. That said, even though I thought I’d done a good job of it, I needed to give it a final shove this morning just to get it right back in there before I put the turkey into the oven to cook. And the smell from all that bleach is still so strong, even today. Yuk!
No wonder when the guy came to fix the dishwasher he asked what I’d been doing to the place. He was such a gentleman; so good to fit us in the Friday before the Thanksgiving weekend, and quick too. He said maybe something had dropped down inside the machine and trapped the spinning arm, so he guessed that was why the motor had been working too hard, which made it catch on fire. Well, it only smoked a little, then I switched it off – but he still said he couldn’t fix it. I’ll have to wash dishes by hand now – which won’t kill me, I guess.
Won’t kill me? Ha, that’s a laugh in itself.
Poor Jake. Maybe if someone hadn’t smashed into his truck outside the bar in downtown Maple Ridge last week he’d have been able to get all the stuff he needed for the kitchen lights sooner. But we’ve been sharing my old car, and when he broke the back window trying to get the ladder to fit, it took a whole day to get it fixed. The glass went everywhere; I thought they did a good job of vacuuming it all up at the repair place, but they must have missed the bit Aunt Dorina sat on when we went to church. If she hadn’t tried to brush it off her good coat she wouldn’t have ended up with that gash on her hand.
I’ve gotta say, the emergency room at the hospital was full of the weirdest people for a Sunday afternoon. In any case, she seemed fine when I dropped her off at her condo afterwards. Tired, but at least the stitches didn’t hurt, she said.
I guess we were lucky she wasn’t here last Monday evening, like she usually is, because the TV fell off the wall onto the mantel. Jake was out with the guys at the bar when it happened. I was taking a bath, but the noise was enough to get me downstairs to check what the heck was going on. It was a shame about the TV – we paid a lot for a real thin one that was just the right size so Jake could sit on his big chair and watch his football in comfort.
We brought the TV from our bedroom into the family room and put it on a table beside his chair ready for the weekend. When the plumber came on Tuesday he said it looked ‘cute’. That was before he saw the mess I’d made upstairs by dropping the handheld showerhead over the side of the bath when I rushed to investigate the noise down here. I’d cleaned up best I could, but he reckoned that was what had dripped through to the laundry room below. Who knew getting water into a dryer would do that? He said I didn’t need a plumber, but a new dryer. It was an old one anyhow – and it hadn’t been working right for weeks.
That’s a long list for the upcoming sales: a dryer, a TV, a dishwasher, and a new computer. That was getting old too; last week – after I printed out the recipe for the turkey – I got nothing but a black screen. I told Jake I hadn’t been fiddling with it, but he wasn’t happy. First he shouted a lot. When he calmed down he said there’s a guy at the bar who might be able to rescue our wedding photos and video off it before we dump it. I hope so. I’d like to have something so I can remember Jake looking so handsome.
He made a real effort for our wedding; he trimmed his beard, and you could hardly see his neck tattoos because of his new shirt. He doesn’t understand why folks don’t care for them. He says it’s tough to get jobs because folks judge him. Sometimes he delivers stuff with his truck for some of his friends, but it isn’t easy to keep money coming in, he says. I’ve been careful with the cash he gives me, and he gets odd little windfalls now and again; he says he plays pool at the bar and wins cash there. My part-time job at the local convenience store helps, and I get good discounts too.
&
nbsp; Jake says I’m nuts about keeping the house as clean as I do, but I think it’s important, and having the right kind of supplies isn’t all that expensive. He says I should chill out, but Mom brought me up to believe that cleanliness is next to godliness, so I like to have a clean house because it respects her memory. She kept this house in real good shape, and now it’s mine – well, mine and Jake’s ’cos we’re married – so I want to do as good a job as she did.
He sure was glad I had that big bottle of stain remover when he came back from one of his all-nighters with the guys. All I can say is I was pleased it wasn’t his blood on his shirt. His leather jacket even had a little tear in the arm, and it looked like the edges were scorched. I cannot imagine what would have done that. Maybe he leaned on something hot?
I guess the guys he hangs out with are all okay, really; they’re always polite when they call in on their motorcycles. They don’t stop for long, you know, but quite often. He’s got a lot of friends. One of them, Dave, sure has been good to us. He showed up one day and handed me a wad of cash – just like that. When I gave it to Jake and told him Dave said it was ‘his share from the last lot, and not to spend it all at once’, Jake laughed. He’s got a great laugh when he’s happy, has Jake. But he shouldn’t have laughed at me. Or the turkey. That was not polite.
I should call the cops soon, I guess, though I don’t like to disturb them on Thanksgiving. And I wouldn’t want them seeing the place looking like this. If the dishwasher still worked I could push all the pots and pans in there and have them cleared away before they get here, but I guess I’ll have to wash them by hand. I could do with some old rags to clear up around Jake, ’cos they’ll have to go out into the garbage after I use them. I think there are some in the garage, but that’s Jake’s private place, and he keeps it locked. Sure, it’s okay for his friends to go visit him there, but not me. Says it’s his ‘man cave’, which would explain why the guys are always running in and out of there through the side door. I think he keeps the key on the chain in his pocket. I’ll check.
But first I’ll have a glass of milk and some cookies, because I’m real hungry. I didn’t get to eat any of my meal before Jake began to laugh at me, and I was up early, trying to make things nice for our first Thanksgiving together. Dave’s girlfriend makes coconut flavored cookies, and I always feel good and relaxed when I’ve eaten a couple of them. They’re a kinda funny color, but they taste just fine. Kinda earthy. I guess that’s the coconut. Brought over a bagful for Thanksgiving they did, which was nice of them. Yes, I’ll do that, then clear up . . . then maybe I’ll call Aunt Dorina to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving and ask how her hand is coming along. She’d like that. We’ve been close since Mom died. I won’t mention what’s happened to Jake. She’ll be upset, even though she didn’t like him. Always said he was no good. But she didn’t know him like I did.
Thinking about it, Aunt Dorina kinda played a part in what happened today; I was following that turkey recipe off the Internet and it didn’t work out the way they said it would. That’s not my fault, right? Why couldn’t Jake see it that way? Laughed and laughed, he did, but it was when he waved that big old electric carving knife in my face I got real scared, and kinda lost it. Aunt Dorina gave us the carving knife as a wedding present; if she’d given us the coffee maker we’d asked for, the knife wouldn’t have been so handy. But she didn’t, so it was.
I still don’t know why I did it. In fact, I don’t even know how I managed to stick the knife right into Jake like that. It just kinda slid in. I do know it’s a sin to kill, but Mom always said, ‘The Lord moves in mysterious ways, Ellie,’ and it could only have been Him who gave me the strength to do it, right? I’ve been getting awful tired with everything that’s been going on here these past weeks, and I’ve been working hard to keep it all together. But when Jake laughed at me with his not-nice laugh – the one he uses right before he swears at me, and shouts, and hits me – I just kinda snapped. Then there he was. Dead.
There’s nothing for it but to give myself up. Maybe they’ll be kind to me; it’s been such a stressful time lately, and Jake hasn’t been at all nice to me since we got married. I thought he’d be happier when we were a real couple; he said how great it would be to own Mom’s old house with me – to have a real home he could call his own. And I’ve really done my best to make everything comfy and cozy for him. Until today.
I know it was wrong. I know I’ll be punished – there’s no getting away with this, no matter how much people might think he deserved it. I hope they aren’t too horrible to me. But all I can do is tell them the truth, and put myself in God’s hands.
MAPLE RIDGE TIMES
LOCAL HOME EXPLOSION NO LONGER A MYSTERY
The cause of an explosion which ripped through peaceful Alder Drive, Maple Ridge on the afternoon of Thanksgiving Sunday has been discovered.
The Chief of local Fire Hall #1 announced the home’s gas range was the source. ‘Evidence shows the gas was turned off after the Thanksgiving turkey had been cooked in the range’s oven, but it continued to seep into the home because of a small tear in the line leading to the appliance from the main supply. We believe a flame or a spark ignited it,’ said Fire Chief Polley. ‘The electrical system in the house was found to be compromised, which might account for a stray spark. Cables had been re-routed to service the illegal growing of marijuana plants in the attached garage.’
Jake Trent, 26, was killed in the blast. His wife of just three months, Ellie Trent, 20, remains in stable condition at Ridge Meadows Hospital. She suffered severe burns and lacerations but is expected to make a full recovery. The couple had no children. The family cat was found by first responders, unharmed, hiding in a neighbor’s garden. It’s being kept at the BCSPCA animal shelter on 104th Avenue.
‘Ellie will come to me when she’s on the mend, but the cat? I can’t have it, I’m allergic,’ said Mrs Dorina Wells, aunt of the injured woman. Mrs Wells added, ‘I don’t think my Ellie knew anything about what they say was in the garage. She wouldn’t have had anything to do with drugs. She’s not that kind of girl. She was well brought-up by my widowed sister. She works hard, always kept a lovely home, and never missed church on a Sunday. I can’t believe it of her.’
The deceased was known to police, and rumored to have gang affiliations. When this reporter told her about the dead man’s police record Mrs Wells said, ‘I never took to him. He turned my niece’s head and she doted on him. She’s a true innocent, and couldn’t see him the way I could. He treated her very badly.’
No adjacent properties were damaged by the explosion.
In a strange twist, authorities also revealed they believed Mr Trent had just finished slicing the Thanksgiving turkey when the explosion occurred; he was found with an electric carving knife embedded in his chest. The RCMP liaison officer dealing with the case reported this was likely the result of the effects of the explosion: ‘Given the poor condition of the body, it’s all we can surmise.’
The authorities have not yet interviewed survivor Ellie Trent, who has been sedated since what they believe was a tragic accident. ‘We’re not sure what she’ll remember,’ said Constable Linda Meeker. ‘The medics tell me she sustained a concussion when she was blown out of the kitchen door, so maybe she won’t be able to remember anything about the incident. If she cannot throw any light on matters, the case is likely to be closed very quickly. Mrs Trent has lost everything in the explosion, including the family home where she was born and raised. We’re happy to wait to talk to her until she’s in better shape. Victim support services are standing by to offer her the guidance she’ll need following such a tragic accident.’
Constable Meeker declined to comment about the activities of Jake Trent, other than to say, ‘Finding the grow-op came as no surprise. That part of the investigation is ongoing, and we’re undertaking interviews with the deceased’s known associates.’
NOVEMBER
Miss Parker Pokes Her Nose In
&
nbsp; Annie Parker had just pulled off her soaked mac when the first call of the day flashed on her switchboard. As she grappled with the earpiece that was her constant daily companion she thought to herself, A woman doesn’t want to be juggling earrings and earpieces in her mid-fifties, she just wants to be comfortable, and cool. At that moment Annie wasn’t either; the tube station had been a zoo, it was raining cats and dogs, and her blinkin’ earpiece wouldn’t fit. She was sweating already; now she’d never cool down.
‘Currie, Fox and Knight,’ she announced professionally, settling herself behind the grand reception desk in the marbled entrance to the venerable firm of Lloyd’s of London brokers.
‘Annie, it’s Carol. Tonight’s off, sorry.’ The disembodied voice of Annie’s good friend and usually bubbly wine-quaffing companion sounded flat. Annie’s immediate response was to be annoyed; she hadn’t taken anything out of the freezer that morning, thinking she’d be eating out. What would she have for dinner?
‘What’s up?’ she asked. It wasn’t like Carol to cancel at the last minute; Carol was reliability personified.
‘It’s Christine’s granddad; he died last night. Of course she’s not up to going out, and I said I’d go over to her place to give her a hug, and a bit of support.’
Annie was embarrassed that her thoughts had flown to her stomach so quickly. A friend had lost a relative; that was very sad.
‘Sorry, doll.’ Annie’s voice was full of sympathy. ‘Anything I can do?’
‘Not really, not right now, thanks. You know Christine and I have spent a fair bit of time together since my company started working with hers, and I know you two hardly know each other, really. Well, you know, what I mean. So do you mind if I do this just on my own with her?’
