Lee piled eggs and toast onto two plates and brought them to the pullout. Helen was blinking at him. The sheets were twisted around her.
—Eat. There’s coffee.
—Aren’t you a dear.
He sat beside her with his legs up and his plate balanced across his thighs. Helen still had mascara in shrouds around her eyes. She smiled dizzily.
When they’d finished eating, Lee took their plates and stacked them on the countertop. He lit two smokes and gave her one.
—What I’m not real excited about is working tonight, said Helen.
—I’ll bet.
—So what kind of business opportunities?
—Business opportunities?
—Your friend Colin was talking about business opportunities.
—That was all talk.
—I’m guessing he didn’t mean real estate.
Lee stabbed his cigarette out: How about you don’t need to ask.
—Suit yourself.
A moment passed.
—I didn’t mean to snap at you, said Lee.
She yawned and stretched her arms: Forget it. Come here and rub my shoulders.
First, Lee turned on the television. There were Sunday morning church shows. He turned it off and went over and sat on the couch-back behind her and rubbed her shoulders. They were quiet. Then she fondled him through the thin fabric of his undershorts.
—What do we got here?
When they woke again it was early afternoon.
—Some things I’ve been thinking about, said Lee.
—What’s going on in that cute head of yours?
—Some things about me and you.
—Okay, said Helen.
—Well, things aren’t always going to be like this.
—What is
this
?
—My situation.
Helen rose up from the pullout. She went into the bathroom and Lee could hear her urinating.
She came back out, saying: Can’t we talk about this later?
—What’s wrong with right now?
—My head hurts. I don’t want to talk about these serious things.
Lee was going to say something but there was a knock on the
door. Helen covered herself. Lee pulled on his jeans and the shirt he’d worn last night. The money was still in the breast pocket. He opened the door to Mr. Yoon.
—Phone for you, said Mr. Yoon.
Lee turned to Helen: Don’t go anywhere.
Lee followed Mr. Yoon down into the store. Mr. Yoon’s wife was tending the cash-out. A plastic nativity scene had been set up beside the register. Mr. Yoon led Lee to the office at the back. The telephone receiver was overturned on the desktop. Lee looked at Mr. Yoon until Mr. Yoon tightened his face and backed off to inspect cans of soup on a shelf. Lee picked up the receiver.
—Hello.
—Lee, Clifton here.
—Clifton.
—Listen Lee … That thing with Bud was a mess. The Ministry is fining me two thousand dollars. Two thousand, mister man, what do you think of that. But listen, I got some work coming up. I want to get on with it after Christmas. If you want some inside work, I got it. Some cupboards, some trim. Maybe three weeks solid.
Lee held the receiver. He traced his thumb along the edge of the desk.
—Lee.
—Yeah, Clifton.
—Thought the line cut out.
—So that thing with Bud was a
mess
, Clifton?
—Lee—
—Go fuck yourself. You think I ever want to kiss your ass again?
He hung the phone up. He came out of the office and passed Mr. Yoon.
—When do you work again?
—I have some things, said Lee. Not for that bastard, though. I gave you this month’s rent. You’ll get next month’s.
Back up in the apartment, Helen had put on her bra and panties and was pulling on her pantyhose.
—What are you doing?
—I have to leave more sooner than later, said Helen. I have to work.
She went into the bathroom and redefined the edges of her makeup. She sang some words from a radio song. She came out and put her clothes on.
—Do you think that Oriental will have to call a taxi for me?
—Maybe, said Lee.
She picked up her purse and looked through it: How do you like that. Brown Eyes, do you have any cash?
Lee took his wallet off the dresser and opened it. He did not want to but he counted. Seventeen dollars. Plus the fifty in his shirt pocket. He gave her five dollars and felt the money moving out of his hand. Before long she was standing in the doorway.
—The café is going to get real busy with the season, said Helen. So how about I’ll call you.
In the early dusk, Lee went down to the store and bought a can of Stagg chili. He cooked it on the hot plate and opened a beer. There was a science-fiction movie on television—the one where Charlton Heston had to fight a bunch of talking monkeys on horseback. Lee had seen this one when he was in jail. They’d shown pictures in the chapel.
All at once, Lee tensed up and launched the beer can at the wall. It bounced off, leaving a mark on the plaster, and what beer was in the can sprayed onto the floor.
P
ete went to supper at Emily’s house on Tuesday. He hadn’t seen her since she’d gone to the city with her mother. They’d had one conversation on the telephone to confirm the dinner invitation. He did not mention having been jumped by the boys she knew.
In the driveway of Emily’s house was a police cruiser, a hard-angled Ford LTD. There was also an old GMC pickup truck and a small Volvo. A holly wreath hung on the front door of the house.
Emily’s sister, Louise, opened the door when Pete knocked. The first thing he heard inside was the piano. He knew the tune but it took him a moment to name it … “O Holy Night.” The pianist wasn’t confident yet, and the notes were hesitant and loud.
Mary Casey appeared to welcome him. Pete hoped the swelling on his brow had gone down enough not to be noticeable, but he saw how Mrs. Casey’s attention flicked quickly to the wound. Then she smiled.
Pete was shown into the living room. It was warm and there were a lot of gifts stacked under the Christmas tree. He could see Emily at the piano bench, her back straight. He wanted to touch her. Mrs. Casey told Pete to make himself at home and then she leaned over Emily and said that her friend was here. The back of Emily’s head moved but her hands stayed at the piano keys. The melody she was playing was recognizable but not graceful.
Pete had barely lowered himself to the couch before he stood again, for Mr. Casey appeared in his uniform trousers and slippers. He was carrying a drink that smelled like rye and Coke. Behind Mr. Casey was Stan Maitland, holding a beer.
Mr. Casey offered his hand in one firm shake. He saw the swelling over Pete’s eye. Pete knew he did.
—This has got to be Peter, said Mr. Casey.
—Thanks for having me, said Pete.
Stan told Pete it was good to see him again—that last time wasn’t so good, was it.
—How is your uncle getting along? said Stan.
—He’s fine, I guess. That accident was bad.
—Was that when the man died out at Grandpa’s house? said Louise.
—Louise, said Mrs. Casey.
Mr. Casey nodded at Pete: Your uncle, Leland King.
Emily stopped playing. One chord struck hard, reverberating. She turned around on the bench.
—Hi, Pete. I hope you’re hungry. It’s spaghetti night.
At supper, Mrs. Casey asked Pete if he would have a glass of wine. Mr. Casey answered for him, said Pete didn’t need any wine if he was to be driving later. He said Emily didn’t need any wine either. Emily and Pete had been seated together at the table. Pete did not want to keep stealing glances at her but he could not help himself. Once they were eating, Mr. Casey asked his daughters about school that day. They answered shortly, succinctly, school was good.
—Just a couple days till vacation.
—Yep.
Mr. Casey pointed with a piece of garlic bread, said: What kind of bonehead parties do they have planned for the weekend?
—I wouldn’t even know, said Emily.
—How about you, Pete?
—I’m not much of a party kind of guy. Mr. Casey grinned: Not big on the drinking and scrapping?
—Frank, said Mrs. Casey.
Stan touched his napkin to his lips. There was something unsaid in the air. He chopped through his spaghetti and chased each forkful with beer.
—Mr. Maitland, my uncle told me a little bit about your house.
Stan looked up: Did he?
—He said it was on a real nice piece of property. Good view of the lake. I’ve probably seen it at one time or another but I can’t think of when.
—From time to time I think I could hire some help out there, maybe an afternoon or a day. If ever you have a bit of time to spare. It’s an old house and it’s hard to keep up by myself.
Emily ate quietly, steadily. Her silverware made clipping sounds against her dish.
—Your mother, Pete, said Mr. Casey. What does she do these days?
Pete hadn’t realized his mother was known to Mr. Casey. He wondered vaguely how.
—She stays at home. Looks after my brothers. When we moved here from North Bay, she got a job as a secretary at the chemical factory, but they laid her off. That was four years ago.
—And your dad, he’s a pastor, right? Out at that Pentecostal church?
—Dad, said Emily.
—It’s okay, said Pete. Yeah … my dad is a pastor. I didn’t know you knew them.
—Not really well, said Mr. Casey.
They did not ask him anything further. After supper, Stan was quick to collect his coat. He said he had the dog to get home to and he asked if Pete would let him out of the driveway. Pete went out and backed his car onto the street. He passed the old man as he was heading to his truck.
—Good to see you, Mr. Maitland.
—Is your uncle working?
—No. He hasn’t been able to get anything. He tries, you know. Tries to find work … but, so far …
Stan nodded. He said so long and got into his truck.
When Pete went back inside, Mr. Casey gave him strict orders to have Emily back by eleven. They went out and got into his car. He kissed her before anything was said. Then they were driving.
—That was not how I wanted it to be, said Emily. I did not want everybody to be mad at each other.
—I thought maybe it was me.
—It wasn’t you. It was my grandpa and my parents. Fifteen minutes before you got there, my dad broke the news to him.
—They’re not going to take the house?
—No. They’re not going to take the house. And there’s more.
There’s been something wrong between my grandpa and my dad for a month. I wish they’d just come out and say what it is.
—Oh, said Pete.
She was quiet for the rest of the drive. They went to the cinema out by the shopping mall and she insisted mildly that she would pay. She bought tickets for
The Empire Strikes Back
and bought popcorn and soft drinks. They went into the theatre. She allowed him to take her hand and he tried to think nothing of it. Pete lifted her hand to kiss it. After the film started she took her hand back to eat with.
Later, coming out of the theatre, they talked about the movie on their way back to the car.
—Did you want to drive around awhile? said Pete.
—Just drive around?
—Or go somewhere?
—And do what, Pete?
She was looking at him with a touch of amusement. He felt very small.
—I haven’t seen you in a week.
—I should probably go home. My dad will be waiting up.
—Okay.
She watched out the window while he drove. There was a faint reflection of her face in the window-glass. When they got to her house, there were lights in the living room window. She allowed herself to be kissed a little. She touched the swelling over his eye.
—I do not understand boys at all.
—I didn’t think it would be so noticeable.
—It was. But don’t worry about it.
She allowed him to kiss her again, then she said: I should go in now.
—Did I say something wrong? I didn’t go looking for a fight with your friends, if that’s what you thought.
—You didn’t say anything wrong, Pete, and I know you didn’t
go looking for a fight. They are not my friends. They’re a bunch of spoiled brats. I can’t wait to be done with them all. Anyway, thanks for taking me out.
She was getting out of the car.
—Well, said Pete, should we plan something?
—It’s a busy few days. I have to play piano at the Christmas Eve service and I haven’t even practised. You heard it when you came in. It sounded horrible.
—It didn’t sound so bad.
—I need to practise more. I have to go …
—Emily, for Chrissake. What’s going on?
She paused with the door open. The cold flowed into the car. She sat back down on the passenger seat. She said: I think tonight wasn’t a good idea but it was too late to take a step back from it. That’s my fault, Pete, and I apologize.
—I don’t understand.
—We’re just moving a little too fast.
—I thought we were having fun. I thought you miss me when we’re apart.
—I really have to go.
—So what now?
—I’ll call you.
And she was gone. She went up the driveway and into her house. He saw the silhouette in the living room window and then put his car into gear. Nothing seemed quite real. There was a weight on his chest. As he drove away from her house, he could still taste her on his lips.
Two days passed and Emily didn’t call. Late Thursday, Pete was in the booth between the pumps, watching vehicles on the bypass. Duane had the day off and Caroline was in the store. Pete hunched down in his winter coat. The cold in the booth was a qualitative thing. The cold could be addressed.
From time to time he would touch his eyebrow to bring the pain, which had subdued to an ache. He ate half a sandwich. Then he heard the bell and saw a police cruiser pulling up to the pumps. Pete went out, knowing who it was before the window rolled down.
—Hey, Mr. Casey, said Pete.
—A top-up is all I need.
As far as Pete knew, the local detachment had a service contract with one of the other petroleum companies, so if Mr. Casey was at the Texaco station, it was because he’d gone out of his way. The tank was topped up in a minute.
Mr. Casey paid cash. He was casually watching the sunset through his windshield. Pete struggled for something to say: Thanks again for supper the other night.