Besides, Lee might already be in town and surprise her by showing up unannounced at lunchtime. He does this on occasion and she won’t let him catch her in a soppy mood.
At 11:30 Lourdes changes into her server uniform, turns off CBC One, and makes her way to the lobby of the motel with a bounce in her step.
“Mornin’, Lass,” Mr. Treadwell says from behind the check-in counter. “I need to pester you a moment.”
“Good morning!” She veers away from the restaurant entrance toward him. She notices that the royal-blue carpet in the lobby is wearing thin, reminding her a bit too much of the old trailer. A picture of a young Queen Elizabeth, from the 70s maybe and faded with age, hangs askew in its wooden, gold-painted frame behind the counter. The counter itself is dark oak laminate, 80s style. It also shows signs of wear from decades of customers rubbing against it.
“What’s up, Mr. Treadwell?” she says, leaning against a worn spot. She wonders how many others have rubbed their bodies here.
“Got a phone message for you from Markham.” Long-shanks always addresses men formally by their last name — Gus is “Marin,” as in Cheech Marin, the facial resemblance between Gus and the actor quite remarkable. “I couldn’t get through to your room.”
“Sorry.” She had unplugged her phone from the wall outlet the night before. “I was working on the computer.”
“Ah, I hope you got a bit accomplished, then.”
“Some.”
“Jolly good. Anyway — ” he takes a folded sheet of Motel 6 notepad paper from his shirt pocket and consults it. “Markham says he had to fly to Edmonton to retrieve a system board. Then he’s off to the Cumberland House Dam to install it. It’d take too long to courier the lot and they wanted to make sure it was received and installed in short order. They actually chartered him a small plane to Edmonton and then back to P.A. He has to drive the rest of the way here. He says he won’t be about ’til tomorrow night at the earliest.”
“Thank you, Mr. Treadwell,” Lourdes says, thinking she just might do some more writing.
Long-shanks stands silent, folding and unfolding the notepaper.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Ach, I’d hoped you be off. I didn’t write down the last part of his message in hopes I’d forget, but . . . ” he trails off.
“But what?” Lourdes says. “Is he still on about that cell phone?”
“Quite right, Lass. That’s it. I told him you’d get one when you’re actually in need of one.” Long-shanks nods, crumples the paper and tosses it into the dented grey wastepaper basket under the Queen’s picture.
“Three points, Mr. Treadwell.”
“I have to ask, Lass,” Long-shanks says. “What’s troublin’ you?”
“You know I’ve applied to the U of S, right?”
“O’ course. I’m wonderin’ why you’re still hanging about and why you weren’t gone at eighteen. It’d break Helena’s heart if you left, but offspring gotta move on sometime.”
The word “offspring” tugs at Lourdes’ heart. She feels warm and comfortable with this man. “I have been accepted again.”
“Truly? Wonderful. When do you leave?”
“The truth is, I haven’t registered yet.”
“Why not?”
“I’m just not sure about the move. And then there’s my work here. How would you make out?”
“You’re a good worker and all,” Long-shanks says with a grin on his face. “We’ve said so, many times. But I hate to break this sort o’ thing to you,” he leans forward, gangly torso almost folding in half at the waist. He rests his elbows on the counter, winks, and whispers, “You can be replaced.”
She is not stung by the comment. In fact, she senses how encouraging Long-shanks means to be. She says, “Yeah, replaced by three other women. And I don’t mean just to match my weight.”
Long-shanks laughs out loud. “Now you stop that fat natter, woman.” He shakes his bony finger at her. “It’s just not true. Never was. But what I am saying is, if you’re ready to move on, you just go ahead and move on. We’ll manage jolly well.
“Besides, if you left,” again he whispers, “it might be the final straw and I can finally convince the Old Bird to pack it in. Helena’s back is getting worse. I’m getting tired of these long days, seven days a week, and these winters.” He shakes a fist at the ceiling. “We’re both in our sixties. Might be high time for a breather in Arizona or Florida. We haven’t had a vacation since I quit the mine to run this place. And with all that oil development moving this way, now’s the time to sell. We’re too old to add a bar and rent rooms by the hour. The new owners can compete with the Steak House bar and motel for that sort o’ market.
“Lord knows she’s always so whacked-out at the end of a day as it is.”
Long-shanks stands up straight. Crossing his long arms across his chest, fingers reaching around to the back of his biceps, he says a little too loudly, “You should think about that celly, just so’s Markham doesn’t keep pestering me and the Missus. Mornin’, Helena.”
Lourdes turns to see Mrs. Treadwell struggling to get the room-cleaning cart through the fire door of the far corridor.
“See what I mean?” Long-shanks whispers, not taking his eyes off his wife.
Helena limps slightly while she pushes the cart across the lobby. There are bags under her eyes and her cheeks sag. But when she sees Lourdes, a grin spreads across her face.
“Helena!” Lourdes scolds, exasperated. “Didn’t I ask you to call me for housekeeping if someone doesn’t come in?”
“How could I call you, with your telephone off?” Helena says. “Our poor Boy’s frantic when he can not reach Ell the Fire-Haired Bratz.”
Lourdes closes her mouth, lips tight. Don’t hurt her feelings, idiot.
“Aha, you see. Your face tells you feel bad. You let him buy you cellular soon so Our Boy’s not frantic. It’s cheaper on his plan for two phones and you pay nothing.”
“Maybe I should do that, Helena.”
“Good for you then. Now, you call on his cellular. Tell him you have his message and you are waiting.”
“As soon as I can. But I better get to work before management fires me.” With a fake laugh, she turns to leave. She does not want to call Lee.
She hears Helena say, “See. Ell. She-Devil. I keep telling you, Old Coot, that Bratz tortures the Boy.”
“Only in your mind, woman. Only in your mind, ” Long-shanks replies.
Lourdes enjoys their lighthearted banter. But lighthearted or not, the cell nagging takes a bite out of her day. It does not, of course, negatively affect the way she performs her server duties. It actually improves her performance because she focuses on perfection. Any feelings or thoughts not related to serving her customers just hone her focus.
Yet always focusing on duty means it’s harder to obtain and maintain a creative edge. During slow moments, as the afternoon wears on, Lourdes sits in the kitchen with her spiral notepad. The pad’s pages continue to remain blank; so much whiteness. But she is pleased with her accomplishments this morning. It’s been too long.
When her shift ends at 8:00, she asks Gus to make her a Greek salad with a chicken breast. Long-shanks himself takes over as server until closing time. The only other customers in the restaurant are the cronies. Lots of miners eat here but head elsewhere to drink, if they are so inclined. Lourdes eats beside the cronies and attempts to be interested in the televised CFL game. Anything to ignore the spiral notepad hanging heavy in her pocket like a decade’s worth of mine tailings.
On her way out, after returning her dish to the kitchen, she hears, “I sure hope that Markham fellow gets back here soon.”
“Yup,” another of the cronies says, “Too much glowering and not enough glowing around here.”
The cronies all guffaw and agree.
“Listen, you lot,” Long-shanks says. “As long as your coffee cup’s filled and you got your pie to gobble, keep your comments to yourselves. No mo
re barometric readings for the likes o’ you.”
Another says to Long-shanks, “You got a point there, Treadwell, but us geezers prefer the young woman glowing. Makes us feel so much younger.”
The cronies again guffaw and agree.
Young woman, Lourdes thinks. She tugs at her hair while she laughs along with them.
Grabbing the coffee pot, Long-shanks says, “Knock it off, you old buggers. Quit nagging my best serving lass. I don’t want her packing it in ‘coz o’ you. If she does go, I’ll have you whole lot working back here to make up for the labour shortage.”
Turning his back on them, coffee pot still in hand, he catches her eye, nods once, and mouths the words, “Do what you need to do.”
Giving him a finger wave, she remembers climbing off her father and stepping out of the service building into the sunshine. “You’ll do what you need to do to make yourself all better once we’re back in the sunlight.” Walking toward the car, his big hand enveloping hers, she did make herself better, even though she was right at the source of the mine’s plume.
The guffawing grows robust at Long-shanks’ expense, four against one, but he holds his own. Stepping into the motel lobby, Lourdes does not hear what else is said. She makes her way outside for a cigarillo and glances only once toward the picnic tables in the rest area.
Back in her room, after only a few minutes of editing her morning’s work, she finds her mind drifting. Did she really dream about Lee building a wall or did she make it up some place between sleep and waking? She reaches over and opens the University folder. She rereads her acceptance letter. The laptop is running. The Motel 6’s wireless service — the only update to the motel since she started living here — is always available. Registration is a few clicks away. She book-marked the registration page in her web browser long ago. She has more than enough money now, after saving her server wages another year. Just click here and here.
She closes her laptop lid and stands up. Whatever self-doubt she has about her plans has been amplified by Lee’s suggestions. Edna is a booze and drug addict. Her father had a gambling addiction. The word “enabler,” never spoken, was just under the surface of day-to-day life like the stumpy root of a pulled thistle; always a little chunk left behind to grow again.
Needing a distraction, Lourdes strips off her clothes, including bra and panties, and gets into her sweatsuit, all the baggier now as she continues to lose weight. After tying her runners, she unfolds the treadmill and decides to reread one of her favourite novels, The Stone Angel, while she jogs at a ten-degree incline. She loves the novel and admires Hagar’s determination and strength of conviction, regardless of the tragic consequences of this part of the character’s nature.
She will call Lee when she is done with the treadmill.
Five minutes into her run, she hears a knock. At first, she thinks she’s hearing things. But a second, firmer knock follows, definitely on her door.
Thinking immediately of Lee, the heat between her legs overwhelms her self-control. But she is cautious. She peers out the window and inhales sharply.
Susan. Of all people. After all this time.
Susan hesitates an arm’s length from the door, her hands in her pockets, then leans forward and knocks a third time.
This is as unexpected as Edna’s surprise visit when she wanted money. But there is no bile burning in Lourdes’s throat — she is only curious, wondering exactly what her ex-friend might want.
She adjusts her sweat-suit top needlessly, swings the door open, and says more harshly than she intends, “Susan? What are you doing here?”
“Lourdes!” Susan says with a girlish squeal. She vaults forward, wraps her arms around her waist and squeezes, at the same time planting a slobbery kiss on Lourdes’ left cheek. The reek of booze hovers like a late night summer mist on the creek by the hollow.
While Susan clings and snuggles, Lourdes slowly and lightly returns the hug. Susan doesn’t let go until Lourdes manoeuvres her arms between them and gently pushes her away.
Susan giggles and says, “Look at you.” Her eyelids hang heavy from too much booze. She speaks with a drunken slur. “I can feel how much weight you lost.”
You haven’t seen me since high school. How would you have any idea?
“Let me look at you, skinny. Girl, you look just like Julianne Moore. Well, you’re shorter, I think? And you’re plumper. And you’re . . . ” Susan holds her open hands up and out from her petite breasts and doesn’t finish her sentence. “But other than that, you look exactly like her!”
“I doubt that, Susan. Maybe close the door before mosquitoes get in.”
“Well, I think you do,” Susan says, swaying. “Not like me. I don’t look like anybody. I’m so fat. Look.” Susan lifts her white T-shirt and pinches less than half an inch of skin from her flat abdomen.
Lourdes thinks she hears a buzzing sound.
Susan hangs her head.
Lourdes gets a direct view of her scalp and is startled to see how much pink skin shows at the part. Glancing at her own shoulder, she pulls two strands of Susan’s hair from her sweat shirt.
Rolling the hem of her shirt up, Susan tucks it under her breasts and says, “Pretty gross, huh?”
Lourdes stares at Susan’s ribs. Her low-rider jeans reveal her hip bones protruding from her flesh. After three children, there is not a single stretch mark to be seen. “No, Susan. Not gross. Why would you say something like that?” She takes Susan by the arm and guides her far enough inside so she can close the door, slamming it shut.
Susan says, “You really don’t think so?”
“Really.” In the light, Lourdes can see that Susan’s hair lacks body. How stringy it is, and it falls over her face, covering both cheeks when she lifts her head.
“Well, Barton always says skinny is best.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“Oh,” Susan replies. She stands, swaying slightly until there is another buzzing sound which Lourdes is sure she hears this time. Susan looks down at herself and then rolls the back of her T-shirt up so the hem is even all the way around her upper torso.
After a few more moments of silence, while Susan continues to hang her head and sway, Lourdes says, “Why are you here, Susan?”
Susan looks at her and says, “Hey, girl. How are you? Do you have anything to drink?”
“I’ve got grapefruit juice, diet-caffeine-free Coke, Boost, and water.” She points at the dispenser beside the refrigerator.
“I mean the good stuff, silly.”
“Sorry. Nothing like that.”
“Is the restaurant still open? We can get a case to go.”
“I left the restaurant at eight. I’m done there for today.”
“Oh. Too bad they close early.”
“Yeah, too bad,” says Lourdes. She hears that buzzing sound again.
Susan plops down in the chair by the table. Her elbow clunks dangerously close to the laptop.
Stepping quickly forward, Lourdes shunts the computer away to safety. She crouches down in front of Susan, takes one of her hands, and says, “Where is Barton?”
“I left him at the Steak House. Shooting pool. This was supposed to be our night out. The money he loses on that game.” She suddenly grabs both of Lourdes’ hands. “But he mostly wins. Don’t get me wrong. He tells me it’s his only vice. So it’s okay. So don’t look at me like that?
“We can afford it. Barton’s already a shift supervisor. Only with a little help from his brother Buck at head office. All the kids are normal and healthy and we’re in a split-level in that new development. It’s all good. Isn’t it?”
“I’m sure everything’s fine, Susan.”
Susan only tries to focus her bleary eyes.
Lourdes says, “You didn’t drive, did you?”
Susan blinks. “Of course I didn’t drive, silly. Barton takes away my fob when he knows I’m drinking. I walked.”
“You walked? All the way from the Steak House?”
S
usan nods and giggles.
“Why did you come here?”
“I’m not lonely, if that’s what you mean.”
Lourdes hesitates. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Barton has not driven off all my friends. We all just kind of drifted apart, you know? With babies and all. Parents have other priorities, Barton says. You’ll know what it’s like once you have babies of your own. Then you’ll understand.”
Unbidden, the seedpod snakes its way through the brown thorn-field. She lets go of Susan’s hands and stands. She says, “You didn’t answer me. Why are you here after all this time?”
“I just wanted to come by and tell you, you should marry that man. Barton says he’d die without me, you know?”
The seedpod is gone as quickly as it came.
Susan continues, “You have to marry that man so you won’t be lonely too, I mean so you won’t be lonely, just pining away in this room all your life. We never see you at the Steak House.”
You’ve never invited me to the Steak House.
When Susan slumps in the chair, Lourdes hears music, recognizable only as some sort of heavy metal ditty. Susan wiggles in the chair and pulls a cellphone from her back pocket.
“Hey,” she says into the phone with a hesitant quiver in her voice. Wide eyed, she puts her free index finger to her lips.
The loud voice coming through the phone’s speaker is plainly Barton’s, but the actual words aren’t clear. Susan says, “I just needed some air and went for a walk.” There is another indistinct comment and Susan replies, “I guess I didn’t feel the vibration. I made it to the Motel 6. I’m at those picnic tables by the highway?”
Susan grimaces at the tirade that follows. She says, “What would I want to see her for?” Then, after another tirade, “Yes, of course I’ll wait for you and won’t move. See you in a minute.” Pale now, she disconnects the call, stands, and shoves the cell back into her pocket.
Staggering toward the door, she says, “We’ll have to do this again, real soon.” She flings the door open and suddenly turns. Lourdes stops just before they collide. “I mean it,” Susan says. “And please remember what I told you about marrying that man.”
Thorn-Field Page 7
