Somewhere In-Between

by Donna Milner

  “I’ll bet your clients miss you.”

  “I doubt that. I’m probably ‘Julie Who?’ by now.” She pours a cup of coffee and places it in front of her mother.

  “It just seems to me that you would want to work more, not less, now... now that... well you know.”

  The teaspoon drops from Julie’s hand and falls onto the table with a clatter. “What? Now that what?”

  “Oh Julie, don’t be like that,” her mother sniffs.

  Be like what? She’s always wondered what her mother means when she says those words. Julie takes a deep breath, and counts to ten.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for an invitation if that’s what this is all about,” her mother continues. “But I was afraid that would never happen. I just wanted to spend some time with you.” She concentrates on stirring sugar into her coffee. “It can’t be easy, living way out here, in this big house and no… no...”

  “Darla. You can say her name, Mom. Darla!”

  “Yes, Darla,” her mother says, her voice catching. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come all the way up here to upset you.”

  Then exactly why did you come?

  Five days into her mother’s visit Julie still hasn’t figured that out. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she takes her early morning coffee out to the back patio. She needs this time before her mother rises to fortify herself for another day of avoiding verbal pot-shots and holding her tongue. Here she is, a forty-four-year-old woman, and she still can’t stand up to her mother. Like Ian, her mother tiptoes around the most important connection between them. But it isn’t just Darla she never talks about, Julie notices; it’s Jessie’s girls, Emily and Amanda, as well. Not boasting about her granddaughters is so unusual for her mother that the absence is glaring.

  Julie lowers her coffee mug, cupping it in her lap as it strikes her that, whenever she talks to her sister on the phone, Jessie never says anything about her girls anymore either. When was the last time she emailed photographs of them? Is everyone afraid that the subject of her sister’s children is too painful for her now? Are they right?

  Just then the harnessed Clydesdales emerge from the shadows behind the barn and plod out into the orange glow of the morning sun. Virgil follows behind. Julie swallows her last few mouthfuls of coffee, combs her fingers through her hair and stands up. Pulling her shawl tighter she walks over to the railing. “Good morning,” she calls out, as the team clatters across the yard. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Then she feels herself blush, because, of course, he can’t answer.

  He glances her way with an acknowledging nod. She lifts her hand to wave back, then lowers it self-consciously when she sees that he has already turned away.

  “Virgil Blue?” Her mother’s voice startles her.

  She spins around to find her standing in the mudroom doorway. How long has she been there? “Yes, that’s our tenant,” Julie says.

  Her mother comes over and joins her at the railing. “Interesting name,” she says watching the team plod down the road. “Strange that you’ve never mentioned him before my visit.”

  “Why would I?”

  “So, when do I get to meet this wild cowboy?”

  “That’s not likely. He’s a bit of a hermit,” Julie says retrieving her coffee mug. “And he particularly steers clear of women, so I’m told.”

  “Too bad. He’s a rather handsome devil, isn’t he? Quite an intriguing-looking black man.”

  Startled, Julie stares down the road. “He’s not African-American,” she says. “He’s First Nations.”

  “He may be part Indian,” her mother replies, ignoring the correction in Julie’s voice. “But my dear, I know a black man when I see one.”

  19

  Julie moans in her sleep. A growing warmth radiates from her core. In her fading dream she lays spooned in the arms of a faceless lover, feels his breath on the back of her neck. The forgotten desire, the lustful passion, is independent of her being as long as she can hang onto a shred of sleep. And in the trying, she loses it. She is suddenly aware of Ian, moving with her, moaning with her. She tries to recapture the abandon, the freedom of surrender. In her last wisps of slumber she lets him continue, sensing that he too is just rousing from sleep, his morning erection pulsing against her back, his expert hands searching. He has always been such a generous lover, so tender, so giving, taking his time, her pleasure as important as his. She has never known any other.

  He kisses the nape of her neck and whispers her name. And the moment turns too real, the feeling nothing more than carnal lust, the satisfying of an itch. Sensing the change in her, or coming fully awake himself, Ian suddenly pulls away. Julie climbs from the bed leaving him lying on his back, one arm covering his face.

  Later when she hears Ian come downstairs and go straight to his office, she prepares a breakfast tray of toast, eggs and coffee. Rapping lightly on the glass she opens his office door and enters before he can wave her away. She sets the tray down on the end of the desk, takes the mug of coffee and places it in front of him. He stops whatever he is working on and places one hand on hers. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I thought you wanted it, too.” When she doesn’t respond he removes his hand. “It won’t happen again.” He turns his attention back to the computer screen.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Julie whispers, closing the door softly behind her.

  She glances up to see her mother slipping into the kitchen. Even in this big house it seems she’s always there at the most inopportune times. If she came here to console Julie, there is very little evidence of it.

  During the last few days they have established a kind of routine. In the afternoon, while her mother watches her daily soaps, Julie goes out for her walk. Since her encounter with the bear she keeps to the open fields, within view of the house. Ian works in his office with the door closed most of the day. After the evening news he normally heads upstairs to his room for the night. Her mother—unimpressed with the reality shows that Julie has become hooked on since moving out here—usually retires early as well. Last night, however, they had all gathered in the den after dinner to watch the conclusion of the Democratic convention.

  They had sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, Ian on the recliner, Julie on one end of the couch, and her mother on the other. Watching Barack Obama’s acceptance speech, Julie thought about Darla’s schoolgirl crush on the handsome senator. How Darla would have loved to see this day. She had wanted to say it out loud, to share the flood of bittersweet memories—Darla’s excitement over the historical election, the family discussions it caused. Stealing glances at her husband and mother, she had wondered if watching the newscast was triggering their own memories of Darla. Were they thinking of her, missing her as well? But like Julie, for the entire evening neither of them said a word.

  Now Julie straightens her shoulders and follows her mother into the kitchen. “I hope you have something a little more casual to wear,” she says retrieving the coffee pot from the stove. “You and I are going for a walk after breakfast.”

  Fully expecting an argument, Julie’s relieved to hear the “Okay, Dear” response.

  A walk together will do them both good. Her mother loved Darla, too, and Julie is determined to find a way that they can share memories of her.

  In the mudroom Julie takes the leather case down from the shelf above the washing machine.

  “What’s that?” her mother asks.

  “Bear spray,” Julie says strapping it around her waist. “Bears, cougars. You never know around here.” She has to hide her smile at her mother’s horrified expression. Opening the door, she adds, “Don’t worry, we’ll stick to the open fields, so it’s unlikely.”

  Searching her daughter’s face, Doreen hesitates. Then walking past her, she mumbles, “You’re just messing with me now, aren’t you?”

  Outside she glances into the pasture. “Your man must not be working today.”

  Julie follows her gaze down to the creek where the horses stand in
the shade of the willow trees. “Probably gone to town,” she says, as they cross the ranch yard. “And he’s not ‘our man.’ He doesn’t have to work to anyone’s schedule, but his own.” Ignoring her mother’s raised eyebrows she opens the corral gate. If Virgil has gone to town he must have left very early because Julie hasn’t heard his truck pass the house this morning. The moment the thought enters her mind, so does the realization that she is becoming attuned to his comings and goings.

  “So, how often do you get into town?” her mother asks while Julie closes the gate behind them.

  “Not often. Ian picks up whatever we need when he goes into the office every few weeks.” She doesn’t mention that she avoids going because she fears that she will see Darla in every young dark-haired girl on the city streets, or at the mall. And the even worse fear, that she won’t.

  “You let him do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Go to town alone?”

  Turning away, Julie rolls her eyes. They enter the empty field in silence and make their way along the snaking fenceline. The dried stubble crunches beneath their hiking boots and Julie finds herself surprised by her mother’s pace. Although it isn’t the speed walking that Julie is used to, it’s more than a leisurely stroll.

  “So, exactly how long do you intend to bury yourself out here?” her mother asks.

  Unsurprised at her directness, Julie slows down while she contemplates the question. Finally she answers, “I don’t know. I think Ian plans to stay forever.”

  “Does he do any real ranching? I haven’t seen him working outside since I got here.”

  “There isn’t much to do, now that haying is over. The cattle are out on the range until the fall. And Virgil looks after the horses.”

  “And what if this Virgil leaves?”

  Walking side by side now, Julie looks over at her mother and shrugs. “I suppose we could always lease out the land to another rancher. Ian never intended to make money at this anyway. It’s really just the space, the privacy, he wanted.”

  “And you?”

  Julie stops and breaks off a long stalk of yellow grass by the fence. “I don’t hate it, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says. Then with a grin she puts the grass stem in her mouth and chews on the end of it, fully aware that the clichéd move, the corniness of it, will irritate her mother. And sure enough, her mother clucks her tongue and mutters, “You better watch out that you don’t get ‘bushed.’”

  They continue toward the far end of the field, the sun on their faces, a breeze at their backs. Above them the wind gathers speed and whistles through the treetops on the other side of the fence. From somewhere in the forest, comes a familiar creaking moan. Doreen freezes and grabs Julie’s arm. “What was that?”

  “Oh, that’s just the talking trees.”

  Her mother’s hand falls away and she mutters, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Julie, you really are turning native.”

  Julie stops in her tracks and holds her arms wide in a gesture of surrender. “What is it, Mom? What do you want from me?”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “Happy. What’s that?” she snorts and continues walking.

  At the far end of the field, the remnants of an ancient Russell fence runs parallel to the newer snake fence. On the sloping hillsides beyond, naked branches and thin tree trunks form a grey mesh forest.

  “Lodge pole pine,” Doreen says, studying the stand of trees. “Your father used to call them pecker poles.” She walks over to the tripod corner of the old fence and places a hand on a weathered rail. With her back to Julie, she says quietly, “I know you don’t think I was much of a mother when you were growing up.”

  Startled, Julie remains motionless behind her.

  “And perhaps you’re right. I was away far too much, travelling with your father. But everyone mothers in a different way.” She turns around slowly. “Did you really believe that I liked living out of a suitcase for a good part of every month?” Without waiting for an answer she turns back to the fence and, as if talking to herself, her eyes focused somewhere in the distance, says, “Your father was a travelling salesman when I met him. By the time you were born he owned the company. We had no worries about money, but he still insisted on being on the road. It was in his blood.”

  Wondering where this is all going, and not quite sure she wants to hear it, Julie touches her arm, “Mom, you don’t need to—”

  “Yes, I do. Just listen. I want you to know. It’s no secret that your father was a ladies’ man. No secret how he treated women.”

  Certainly her father had been a flirt. Julie remembers the twinkle in his eyes when he affectingly addressed every female as ‘Darling’ or ‘Sweetheart.’ She remembers how he would hang mistletoe in their front entry every Christmas, and then sweep every woman who walked through their door into his arms for the required kiss, while her mother stood by watching with pursed lips. But that was just how he was. Surely it was all innocent teasing.

  “I’m not going to tell you the details of our marriage,” her mother says, “but I want you to understand that my travelling with him all those years was my way of protecting my family. Things were very different then. I didn’t want to be a single mother, and even more, I didn’t want my girls to lose their father to some silly temptation. You and Jessie worshipped him, and you still should. He was a good man. I may not have been the perfect mother, Julie, but I did what I had to do. And I am, and always was, your mother, just like you will always be Darla’s. That part never goes away.” Her voice catches. “Even if your children do.”

  Julie swallows. This is her opening to a conversation about Darla, to a beginning of sharing their memories of her. She moves closer and places an arm around her mother’s shoulders.

  But when her mother turns to her, the vulnerability that Julie expected to see in her eyes is missing. “Why I’m telling you this,” her mother says stepping back and looking away, “is that it’s different for you now. There’s no reason for you to put up with any of this anymore. I had no choice. You do. You don’t have to stay out here. You can always come back to the city. You always have a home with me.”

  Disappointed, Julie drops her arm and says, “Let’s go back to the house.”

  On the silent walk home, as much as she resents her mother’s inference that there’s no reason to stay in her marriage, it also makes Julie aware of how obvious the rift between her and Ian is. How long before he has had enough of this non-marriage? How long before she has? Until now she hasn’t considered where she will go, where she will live, if it never heals. And how can it if they can’t talk about the only thing that connects them, their daughter? It isn’t all Ian. She is as frightened as he is to face the enormous truth that hangs between them. She sees it in his eyes. He doesn’t have to say it out loud. If she hadn’t let Darla off the hook so easily that night, if she had enforced her ‘grounding,’ their daughter would still be with them.

  She doesn’t want to think about it. And she doesn’t want her mother’s presence forcing her to. As they approach the ranch yard she takes her hand. “Mom, I love you,” she says. “Now go home.”

  Her mother misses a step, then nods and continues walking. At the back porch she says, “Julie, I love you. Now cut your hair.”

  20

  Mr Emerson is starting to fade around the edges. He says that I’m gradually letting go of my earthbound thinking, because, even if Mom can’t see it, I understand why Gram showed up.

  I still have a way to go, he says. But it’s all good. Almost no one gets it right away. At least I’ve stopped asking him all the silly questions I did at first, like, can I go back as a bird, or a cat? Or, what will happen when I pass through the white light? Because the only answer I ever get is, ‘you already know’ or ‘you will remember.’

  It’s not just Mom and Dad who are holding me back, he says. It’s me as well, because even though I’m heading in the right direction, hanging onto earthly fears and attachments k
eeps me from getting to knowing.

  I can’t let go of my fear for Levi, though. Less than two hundred kilometres southwest of the valley where my parents struggle with their demons, Levi struggles with his. I watch him sink lower and lower into himself. And although time means nothing here it certainly does for him. His coach drove out to visit him. He tried to talk past that invisible wall Levi has put up around himself, but it didn’t work. Even his threat that if Levi doesn’t snap out of it, if he doesn’t return to the team by the end of this year, he will lose his shot at the ‘big time,’ brought only a shrug. The thoughts that buzzed around in Levi’s mind as his coach spoke had less to do with playing hockey and more to do with a promise. A promise he failed to keep. He gave no one his word that he would be a hockey player, and it means little to him right now. But he made a promise to my mother to bring me home safely that night.

  She’s the only person who can help him now. It’s not forgiveness he wants from her, or to explain himself and offer up excuses. He’s too honourable to shift the blame. No, he believes there is still a way to keep his promise. The slowly fading Mr Emerson says Levi remembers something most people forget.

  21

  In town, on the way to a parting lunch with her mother, Julie catches herself checking out her new haircut in the rear-view mirror. Her attempt at appeasement backfiring, she had found herself sitting like a brooding adolescent while the hairdresser styled her hair according to her hovering mother’s directions. During lunch, she keeps reminding herself that ‘in less than an hour this will be over,’ the same technique she uses at the dentist. As soon as they are finished her mother will be on her way home to Vancouver.

  “You should consider what I said, before too long,” Doreen says, putting down her fork after her last bite of Caesar salad. “I can’t imagine how you must be dreading winter, let alone the drive all the way back out to that place today.”