Claire's Head (36 page)

A gravel driveway opened on her left, following the line of the perimeter wall. Midway along the wall, within an arched entranceway, a wrought-iron gate was set, a seemingly ordinary doorbell attached to the wall beside it. A flutter of movement caught Claire's eye. In the distance, beyond the end of the driveway, among the low slopes that continued to rise in slow and undulating folds towards the distant mountains, a woman was walking. Clad all in white (white trousers, white shirt), masked behind sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat, she was making her way down a hillside, along a path that branched and wound among low shrubs and clumps of gorse. Her gait, as she approached, grew ever more familiar – that quick, firm stride. Bright flash of her shirt. The sound of stones skittering beneath her heels was carried across the distance between them. It
was
Rachel.

Claire pulled herself back, against the perimeter wall before it turned, pressing one hand to the folds of her blue dress, the other hand to her own straw hat. She did not think that Rachel, who continued her approach, had seen her.

Rachel did not seem to be in pain. There was a fluidity to her movements. She did not look anguished (no finger rubbing the skin beneath her right eye). There was a certain calm about her. Had she found what she was looking for? She was nearing the gate now, intent on her own progress, the intermittent breeze chasing loose strands of dark hair across her face and along her
cheekbones, the crease between her eyebrows just visible in the gap between her sunglasses and hat.

Claire's voice burned in her throat. She longed to call out, step into sight, ask Rachel what her secret was. Pulling out a set of keys, Rachel stopped by the gate and glanced about her, in the direction from which she had come, in Claire's direction, the ghost of a smile on her lips, as if perhaps she sensed another presence.

Beyond her relief and bittersweet astonishment, Claire was aware of something else, a deeper sensation, as of something letting go. She had done what she needed to do, done all that she could do for Rachel. She could not follow her any farther.

Key to the wrought-iron lock, Rachel paused. It was still possible for Claire to call out, or make herself visible even if she said nothing. Once again, a remarkable quiet descended, enveloping the two of them, broken only by the humming of insects. Rachel stepped through the entranceway. The gate creaked on its hinges as it closed. Her receding footfalls began to fade.

Only then did Claire turn. A lizard rustled in the dry grass at her feet. A truck horn blared from the highway below. She set off, slowly at first but then with greater speed, down the hillside, towards the hurly-burly of the world.

I'm indebted, for neurological insight, to Oliver Sacks'
Migraine, Revised and Expanded
. Among the many texts on pain consulted during the writing of this novel, the elegant articulations of David Morris's
The Culture of Pain
stand out. The support of the Canada Council and the Ontario Arts Council is gratefully acknowledged, as is that of the MacDowell Colony, The Santa Maddalena Retreat for Writers, and Yaddo for time and space to write portions of the manuscript. Thanks to Patsy Aldana and the spirit of Matt Cohen, to those who shared their stories, and to those who read the work-in-progress and offered invaluable advice, including Shyam Selvadurai, my agent Denise Bukowski, editors Ellen Seligman and Jennifer Lambert, and above all, André Alexis, who gave so much and so unstintingly.

Catherine Bush is the author of three acclaimed novels:
Minus Time
, a finalist for the SmithBooks/Books in Canada First Novel Award and the City of Toronto Book Award; the national bestselling
The Rules of Engagement
, which was shortlisted for the City of Toronto Book Award, was named one of the best books of the year in the
Globe and Mail
and the
Los Angeles Times
, and was a
New York Times
Notable Book; and
Claire's Head
, a finalist for the Trillium Book Award and a
Globe and Mail
Notable Book of the Year.

Catherine Bush lives in Toronto.