WINTER WONDERLAND

by Belinda Jones

  He shakes his head. ‘We don’t have any contact. She moved to Vancouver for her job. That was our official line – her work took her there and obviously I couldn’t leave the dogs … ’

  ‘Pulled in different directions … ’

  He nods.

  I wonder for a moment if he’s going to say any more on the subject and I’m glad when he continues:

  ‘We’d been trying for three years before we got everything checked out. We didn’t believe the doctors at first, you always hope to prove them wrong. But month after month after month … ’ He tuts. ‘There came a point where I actually gave her an out. I didn’t want her deprived of being a mother because of me. I mean, you want your wife to have everything to make her happy.’

  ‘And what did she say to that?’

  ‘At first she said we were in this thing together. That she couldn’t even think about giving up on us because of this. But now I think she was just trying to make me feel better in that moment.’ He picks at the armrest. ‘After that I would see this look on her face and I knew she was considering, you know, other options … ’

  ‘It’s a big thing to take away from somebody,’ I acknowledge. ‘I think Andrew felt I’d somehow negated the contract of our marriage. We’d talked about having kids from the start and I remember him saying, “I didn’t know this about you when I married you.” Of course neither did I, but I think he felt duped. You know, false bill of goods.’ I pull my scarf away from my neck. ‘I don’t think he even felt that bad about leaving. He never really said he was sorry. In his mind it was as if I just didn’t want it that much any more. But I did … ’ A tear bounces off my cheek.

  Jacques reaches across to the glove compartment and hands me a tissue.

  ‘Thank you,’ I sniff. ‘I keep thinking I’ve made peace with it but out of nowhere—’ I motion to my eyes.

  ‘I know. It hits you hard sometimes.’ He twists his torso around to face me. ‘I try to think what I would have done, if the situation had been reversed … ’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I would’ve been happy to adopt. But then that’s what I’m used to with all the dogs; I couldn’t love them any more than I do.’

  I smile.

  ‘And I have this great friend, Magalie, who was adopted from Haiti by a local family. And she’s probably the nicest, sunniest, most accomplished person I know.’

  ‘My best friend at school was adopted,’ I tell him. ‘Same thing – happiest, most well-rounded, easy-breezy person.’

  ‘Maybe it’s because they are so wanted, so loved – their parents had to work so hard to get them.’

  ‘I think you’re right. Do you know Tony Robbins – the motivational guy? I heard him telling this story about Steve Jobs of Apple and how he was adopted and he was fixing on the fact that his blood parents had given him up and Tony Robbins said, “But your new parents chose you.” And that’s what he went with – he was chosen. And what a life he had!’

  ‘But your husband didn’t want to try that?’

  I shake my head. ‘He wanted his DNA. His flesh and blood. He didn’t think he could have the same attachment to another man’s child. Besides, once we knew for sure that I couldn’t, he looked at me differently, I could feel the change. I wasn’t the future mother of his children any more. I wasn’t this magic being who was going to bring more of him into the world. I was just me.’ I gulp. ‘And it wasn’t enough.’

  Jacques reaches for my hand.

  ‘It’s hard to feel confident and desirable when you know how much you are disappointing someone.’ I swallow hard. ‘And the words they use … ’

  ‘Infertile!’ He cringes.

  ‘I mean!’ I roll my eyes. ‘Fertile is a pretty yukky word to start with, and infertile is even worse.’

  ‘Or sterile. That’s sexy!’

  I laugh out loud. ‘I know! It sounds like we’ve been scrubbing out our reproductive organs with bleach!’

  Now he’s grinning.

  ‘Barren!’ I add in a dramatic baritone.

  ‘Unproductive,’ he responds. ‘Like we’re a pair of slackers!’

  We sit with the humour until gradually my smile fades.

  ‘You just wonder,’ I begin, ‘how you make it up in other ways – I feel I should be doing something remarkable or revolutionary to balance things out.’

  ‘For not contributing to the population?’

  ‘It just seems that people with children know they did something meaningful with their life. I don’t think there’s anything else quite so definitive. Everything seems so blurry to me.’

  ‘I think mums and dads can still search for meaning too. I know my dad is looking for more. Beyond us boys.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I concede. ‘I always seem to torment myself with sweeping generalisations. Every parent has their own experience. Sometimes I just get so frustrated that I didn’t even get to try it. Not that it’s something you get to try and then decide if you like it.’ I roll my eyes.

  ‘Accepting your circumstance is the hardest thing.’ Jacques acknowledges. ‘That’s what I learned when Rémy died. I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t! I was protesting all the way. Willing it to be different.’

  ‘I can’t imagine that kind of pain.’

  I don’t quite have the nerve to take his hand but I do touch his elbow, to show that I care.

  ‘Sometimes you just want your life to have turned out differently. But wishing for something that can’t be, that’s a wasted wish.’

  I blink at him. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

  And then his phone bleeps a text.

  Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re in a hospital car park but I find myself gasping, ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘It’s just the farm, wanting to know if I’ll be back in time for the sunrise ride.’

  As he taps his reply. I take a deep breath in and then try to exhale slowly, happy to have settled down somewhat. So much so, in fact, that I find myself yawning.

  ‘We should get you back to your hotel,’ he decides. ‘You’ve had a very long day.’

  ‘I can’t believe I was in Montreal this morning!’

  And with that, all the heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul, sterile-to-sterile talk is over.

  We chat more about his dad and we’re just getting onto his Cree mum when we pull up to a snowy bank beside my little rue.

  Time to part.

  ‘Well,’ I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. ‘Thanks so much for the lift, and congratulations again on the new addition to your family!’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ He beams. ‘I can’t wait to see if he has any of Rémy’s traits.’

  ‘What did you like most about him?’ I’m suddenly curious. And not quite ready to say goodnight.

  Jacques thinks for a moment and then says, ‘His energy – he was always game for anything, always ready to go. And he really stood up for what he believed in.’ He smiles. ‘He was a good friend to me.’

  I don’t quite know what to say now, so I go to open the door, without much success.

  ‘Here, let me get that, it sticks sometimes.’

  I think he might lean over me again, but instead he gets out of the car and walks around to my side.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say as he helps me out.

  ‘And don’t forget your bag … ’ He reaches into the back seat, grabbing it with one hand and then offering me his free arm. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’

  ‘All right,’ I say as I contemplate the slippery path. ‘But I apologise in advance if I take you down with me!’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He pulls me closer. ‘I’ve got you.’

  My heart heaves happily. I really don’t want to say goodnight. I don’t want him to go. But he has a sunrise ride and it’s not so very far off daylight now.

  ‘Do you have your key?’

  He unlocks the door at the top of the steep front steps and then switches places with me. I love how gallant he’s being, the only snag is that no
w I’m towering above him – for me to lean down for a hug would surely unbalance us both and I don’t want him falling back and cracking his head and ending up at the hospital for real.

  ‘Goodnight then,’ I say.

  He reaches for my hand and kisses it softly, then rests it for a moment upon his cheek. ‘Goodnight Krista.’

  As the door closes between us, I merely step to the side and lean against the wall, not wanting to disturb the feeling I just experienced. I can hear a voice in my head say, ‘I love him! I love that guy!’

  And I don’t necessarily mean ‘in love’ because of course it’s too soon for anything except infatuation, but there’s something about him that just slays me. And comforts me. And warms me. And intrigues me. And makes me yearn for the next time we will meet …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I don’t hear from Jacques at all the next day.

  It’s actually the first day since we met that we haven’t had some contact and I’m all too aware of his absense. Especially after feeling so close last night …

  I awoke late this morning, still a little shaken from all the emotion of the day before. Breakfast was already over so I headed to a diner called Buffet de L’Antiquaire, on account of it being in the antique district of Lower Town. It’s one of those places where you can see your eggs and bacon sizzling on the giant oven plate in front of you. I like that. And I liked that it wasn’t too fancy because I wasn’t feeling too fancy myself. I can’t quite stave off the notion that I’m back to being just me again. Is it done? I wonder. Is the cycle of Jacques complete? Or is he simply regretting revealing something so personal last night?

  I drain the chunky white coffee mug and prepare to pay the bill. I really have no business feeling so sad. Maybe I’m just lonesome after yesterday’s social whirl – adding Mr Dufour, Julie and all those Cirque du Soleilers to my list of encounters – and having no one to meet up with today. Annique and Gilles think I’m still in Montreal and I didn’t want to encroach on their free day. Besides. I have plenty to do. This is my ideal chance to mooch around the shopping area of Petit Champlain entirely at my own pace.

  This really is Christmas Card perfect – as designed by Beatrix Potter after a field trip to Europe. There’s even a bunny-motif bistro. (Albeit named Le Lapin Sauté, translating as ‘the sautéed rabbit’.) I opt instead for Le Cochon Dingue (the foolish pig!) and a bowl of hot chocolate to revive me after several hours ‘window-licking’ at the upmarket galleries, jewellers and, most significantly, La Fudgerie-Boutique.

  While sitting and sipping I read more about the One Drop Foundation that Sebastien told me about. This is the first I’ve heard of World Water Day (held every March) and the concept of ‘eating less water’ – apparently it takes between 2,000–5,000 gallons of water to produce the food one person eats in one day! And ten gallons to produce one sheet of paper. Must start writing smaller in my notebooks.

  And then I find myself gazing out of the window, looking over at the ferry port, which only serves to twang me again. It’s amazing how, in such a short space of time, everywhere here is loaded with memories. The Auberge Saint-Antoine is just around the corner. How different things were then. How lucky I am to have been able to get to know Jacques in the interim. And yet it’s always a mixed blessing liking someone that much. Thinking about him makes me feel a little nervous. Something happened in the car between us last night, and on the auberge doorstep, and I feel like I can’t do without that connection now. And that’s when I always mess things up – when I realise I have a need for someone. I’m surprised I even want to put myself out there again after Andrew. But I do. I don’t think Jacques would ever hurt me, not intentionally. But things are still ambiguous between us. It certainly meant a lot to hear from his father that I have brightened his spirits. But in a way beyond friendship and empathy? I still can’t tell.

  I try to distract myself with a visit to the Museum of Civilisation, aka the Museum of Human Adventure! It’s a modern, multi-storey experience, and I get little boost when I discover the First Nation exhibit, giving me the opportunity to learn more about Jacques’ heritage. (Now if they just had a floor dedicated to ice hockey, I’d be sorted.)

  The resourcefulness of these people is amazing – they used every element of a tree or animal or bird to turn into clothing, snowshoes, drums, head-dresses, basket-ware, hunting and fishing equipment, baby papooses, artworks, etc, etc. Their craftsmanship is an inspiration.

  I’m just leaning in for a closer look at the stitching on the birch-bark canoe when my phone bleeps a text. In my urgency to read it I send the phone flying into the display. There is no guard to hand but I know I’m being filmed so I try and mime to the camera what just happened to explain why I am now stepping into the scene. Oh no! A school group has just entered the room! Instead of grabbing my phone and hopping back over the barrier I choose instead to duck into the tepee.

  My heart is pounding as I back to the furthest corner. Why did I do that? This wasn’t supposed to be a game of Hide & Seek. I’m stuck in here now! What if it was a message from Jacques? What if I’ve got a five-minute window to accept the invitation of a lifetime?

  For what seems like an eternity I listen to the teacher lecturing at the children. And I can’t even learn anything because it’s all in French.

  And then my phone starts to ring.

  Which is when I recall waking up in the middle of the night and deciding to change my ringtone to ‘Ice Ice Baby’.

  On the upside, it makes it easier to locate.

  ‘Sorry, sorry!’ I say as I crawl towards it on all fours, catching my foot on the barrier in my haste to leave the exhibit and then hobbling to the door. Now I’m really glad I can’t understand what the teachers are saying.

  When I do finally get to look at the screen I discover the text is from Gilles.

  I slump with disappointment.

  He wants to check that I will be free to go to the studio tomorrow to review all the photographs from the trip. Six p.m.

  I have no reason to say no. ‘I’ll be there.’

  The call, however, was from Laurie. Always a pleasure to hear from her.

  ‘How’s it going there in snowglobe world?’ she trills when I call back.

  I have so much to update her on, but something tells me to let her go first.

  ‘As I matter of fact I do have some news … ’ Her voice is charged with excitement.

  ‘Yes?’

  She puffs out a breath then squeals. ‘I’m moving to New York!’

  My stomach flops to the floor.

  ‘Krista?’

  ‘I’m here! I’m just in shock!’ I say as I move to the nearest bench. ‘Tell me everything!’

  ‘Well, you remember that personal shopper girl I met on my last trip? The one who is just as obsessed with London as I am with New York?’

  ‘Brianna?’

  ‘That’s right. Well. She lost her job but she has some savings, so she wants to come to London for as long as possible but she can’t get out of her apartment lease—’

  ‘So you’re going to take it over?’

  ‘We’re going to do a straight swap. I stay at her place, she stays at mine. Just for three months to see how it goes, but maybe by then I will have figured out how to get a visa … ’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘And I can carry on doing my work for Va-Va-Vacation! – no real need for me to be there in person.’

  Oh but there is, I think to myself.

  ‘And how cool will it be to say that we’ve got a New York office?’

  ‘Very cool,’ I reply. ‘But what are we going to do about Teatime?’

  ‘Well four p.m. in London is elevenses in New York … ’ She giggles. ‘I’m sure we can work something out.’

  ‘Right.’ And then I snap myself into yay-for-you mode. ‘This is amazing, Laurie, just what you wanted!’

  ‘Well, it’s a step in the right direction. Maybe I’ll actually meet someone this time and he’ll propos
e and all my problems will be solved!’

  ‘How soon are you going?’

  ‘Next week!’

  ‘Oh my god!’ I close my eyes.

  ‘I was thinking – I’m going to my folks for a couple of nights, but after that why don’t you come and stay with me until I go, so we can have max chat time.’

  I smile in gratitude. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  ‘And of course you can visit me in New York any time you like.’

  It hits me again – she’s really going.

  ‘W-whereabouts does she live?’ I try to ask the appropriate questions.

  ‘Little Italy!’ She whoops. ‘My favourite part of town, I’ll be able to walk to Bread!’

  As much as I was longing for some company, I now feel I need to get off the phone so I can process this information, come to terms with it, and then go back to Laurie with some genuine well-wishing, rather than trying to drown out this voice in me that’s whimpering, ‘Please don’t go!’

  ‘Oh!’ Laurie exclaims. ‘That’s her on the other line now, gotta go!’

  I stand there motionless for a good few minutes. I can’t even fathom Laurie not being there in the office. She is my rock and source of all hysterical laughter. It’s just going to be so drab without her. As wonderful as it is to go on all these trips, it’s so nice to have someone to come home to. Someone who, when you are with them, there is no other place you would rather be.

  I force myself to walk over to the door but feel so daunted by the hike back to upper town I can’t quite bring myself to open it. Suddenly I have no energy.

  But then I remember the funicular, just a few minutes from here …

  As the metal cubicle grinds me up the hill, with all the strain on its mechanics and none on my knees, I wonder how it can be that one day your life can be filled with such purpose and the next you feel utterly adrift … How do you get back on track?

  ‘Oop!’ I am jolted, quite literally, by our arrival at the Château Frontenac.

  Crazy that I have yet to go in when it really is the iconic centrepiece of the city.