South of Elfrida (24 page)

Jennifer is saying, “Maureen? Are you listening? Is this why I don't look like my father? Not really? Is that why I couldn't find my family in England? Is there something you haven't told me?”

Jennifer will hate her even more for the lie; she's the odd one out in her chosen family, has no idea who she is, genetically. Jennifer has no heritage—Jennifer just has Maureen. “Yes,” Maureen says.

“Well, what is it?”

Maureen hears Jennifer's impatient, angry breathing, sees the image of the serene young mother on the lawn with her adored child, sees the hugging, the holding, the caressing in the woman's soft words. Maureen can't bear feeling like such a failure and a fraud, and can't begin to frame an apology. She pushes the End Call button. The budgie has tossed seed and pine shavings onto the kitchen floor. She throws a new cuttlebone into the cage, covers the cage up again, moves into the living room, and sits on the divan. The ninth-hole flag whips in the wind. Two couples, neat and tidy, wearing similar outfits, laugh and reach for their hats.

Dressed in pressed white jeans and white boots with metal toes, Maureen stands in line at Marksmen firing range to buy bullets, along with a string of guys who would take it personally if you cut them off on the freeway. The bullets she buys are for personal defence, the type that explode in the body when fired at close range. She's there for the noise, the dead-calm thrill of shooting at shapes of human beings inked in black on yellow paper, seeing the holes rip through them. She loads her new .22 calibre Colt Diamondback bought at a gun show. The gun doesn't have much recoil; it's the perfect size for her hand. The man at the firing range tells her she's good enough for a concealed weapons permit. She knows; she has one, against the law.

She reels in the target sheets, lightly folds them, carries them out to her car. Traffic is heavy, as it always is in winter, people slowing down who don't know the streets. She drives back toward the Catalinas, air conditioning on, the radio tuned to light jazz.

The target sheets feel fragile as she unfolds them. It looks like she has six inky dead men piled on her bed, instead of the one sweet man she actually had, Lou. She carries in a chair from the kitchen and finds a roll of Scotch tape. Picking up the first target, she steps barefoot onto the chair. Carefully, one sheet at a time, she tapes them to the bedroom walls.

With a pitcher of margaritas and a salted glass, she sits on her balcony overlooking the golf course. The wind has died; the mountains are hazy from kicked-up dirt. She can't stop the steady crying, but the umbrella hides the condition of her face. Sometimes drinking isn't the comfort it ought to be. Sometimes it's the same as willfully choosing to back into a closet and shut the door. There is no escape in these trapped moments of despair, and so she's given in to alcohol and remembers when it made her fuzzy, talkative, and confident. This was before she became disgusted with herself for being flirty and assured, before she was just simply not young enough to be so humming and witty. Her head throbs; she's forgotten to take her blood pressure pill.

Tipping the last dribbles from the pitcher, watching the viscous drops slide into her glass, Maureen thinks she probably will have to buy a plane ticket, fly to Ontario. Stay two days in a hotel. Invite Jennifer to lunch, order water, coffee, or tea. If Lou were alive on this day, he would tell that girl a thing or two about respect. He would boost Maureen's spirits, toast her for raising a child on her own, and such a feisty one at that. He would declare in his loud, cheerful voice, “Sleazy-kabeazie, what does anybody care?” But of course someone will care. Jennifer is the responsible girl with the slut for a mother. You can't give birth to a stranger's child and expect to get one who likes you, much less one you know how to raise and cherish.

Maureen stumbles over a footstool in the dark, walks hands-on-furniture to the bedroom. Turns on the lamp, takes the gun from the night table, slides it under the bed. Some things are so screwed up you can never get out of them and never get over them. She raises her head, dizzy, and looks. Graphic figures hanging on the walls come into focus, hearts shredded, shot to bits.

For early edits and supportive advice, I thank Luanne Armstrong, Sharmaine Gray, Caroline Adderson, Almeda Glenn-Miller, and Caroline Woodward. For advice near the end, thanks go to my friend Anna Warwick Sears and to Debra Barrett, with her keen eye for art. For their kind consideration over the years, I thank Canadian literary magazine editors, especially Rick Maddocks (
Event
) and Kim Jernigan (
The New Quarterly
). Earlier versions of two stories were published in
Event
and
The Antigonish Review
.

For her willingness to jump into the pile and make some sense of it, my gratitude goes to Nancy Gibson, of Edmonton and Kaslo. For taking it from there, I thank Ruth Linka of Brindle & Glass, and Morty Mint of Mint Literary Agency, Nelson,
BC
.

Thank you, Lynn Sears, for the use of the Ajo house, and friends, neighbours, and participants in writing workshops, who listened to bits and pieces and offered helpful feedback.

And the “without whom” goes to Rhonda Batchelor, the editor who took these stories further.

HOLLEY RUBINSKY
is a Canadian fiction writer living in Kaslo, a village in the mountains of British Columbia. She is the author of
At First I Hope for Rescue
(Knopf Canada; Picador in the
US
),
Rapid Transits and Other Stories
(Polestar), and
Beyond This Point
(McClelland & Stewart). Winner of the $10,000 Journey Prize and a Gold Medal for fiction at the National Magazine Awards, her second book,
At First I Hope for Rescue
, was nominated for the Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize. Holley was the host of The Writers' Show, produced by
CJLY
, Nelson. Her stories have appeared in a number of anthologies, including
The Penguin Anthology of Stories by Canadian Women
. Please visit
holleyrubinsky.com
.

Catch Me When I Fall

by Patricia Westerhof

Welcome to Poplar Grove, a farming community with three generations of Dutch-Canadians. Life in the New World has not become less complicated as the decades have passed, and now, a set of dying customs is about to collide with the ways of a new generation.

The balance is shifting between people comfortable holding hymnals and cleaning cows' teats and those who are uneasy with traditional expectations. A young woman grapples with contradiction between the pious appearance of her best friend's family and the bits of reality she hears in her friend's confidences; a woman mourns the loss of her disabled son, but also wishes to end the ritual state of mourning; a girl finds herself stranded on the battlefield between her new-age brother and her Old World parents. These people are bound by time-worn expectations and the demands of an agricultural life. With humour and insight, author Patricia Westerhof examines a place where opposing ideologies mingle, and a community struggles to redefine who and what they are.

The Woman She Was

by Rosa Jordan

Celia Cantú, a pediatrician in Havana, is trying to live a regular life in today's Cuba. She is engaged to her childhood friend Luis and lives with her 16-year-old niece, Liliana. Celia's life is disrupted when Luis's brother, Joe, returns from Miami flaunting his American ways. Joe's arrival and Liliana's adolescent restlessness force Celia to examine the discrepancy between her country's revolutionary ideals and its reality.

As this family drama unfolds, Celia is unnerved by moments when her mind and body seem to be taken over by Celia Sánchez, a heroine of the Revolution and long-time intimate of Fidel Castro. The turbulent past and an undefined future collide when Liliana disappears and Celia sets out into the Cuban countryside in search of her.

The Woman She Was
is a deeply moving novel that explores the aspirations, hopes, and fears of contemporary Cubans, as well as the challenges they still face.

Blue Duets

by Kathleen Wall

Lila, a talented pianist and wife to Rob, has decided she cannot passively follow a score someone else has written—in her musical career and her marriage. As she struggles in her role as daughter to a mother who is dying of cancer, Lila finds that Kevin, a violinist and Lila's musical partner, helps to keep her love of music in tune through trying times. Lila's husband Rob has his own demons to conquer. A cynical history professor, Rob has been accused of harassment by his own department head. With each chapter told from the point of view of one of the three major characters,
Blue Duets
is a meditation on life at middle age and the consequence of compromise. As the narrators' voices move from harmony to discord, we learn to appreciate the different perspectives in the story. Lila, puzzled yet rational, uses what she understands of art and music to pilot her present life struggles. Kevin is comic and transparent in his observations of Lila's existential dilemma. Rob's penchant for gourmet cooking disguises his inability to reflect. In
Blue Duets
, enjoy a novel about perspective and learning to trust one's intuition.

Copyright © 2013 Holley Rubinsky

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (
ACCESS
Copyright). For a copyright licence, visit
accesscopyright.ca
.

LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Rubinsky, Holley, 1943–
South of Elfrida [electronic resource] / Holley Rubinsky.

Short stories.
Electronic monograph issued in various formats.
Also issued in print format.
ISBN 978-1-927366-06-6 (HTML).—ISBN 978-1-927366-07-3 (PDF)

I. Title.

PS8585.U265S69 2013 C813'.54 C2012-906800-4

Editor: Rhonda Batchelor
Proofreader: Heather Sangster, Strong Finish
Cover image: Arin Ringwald