Finding Home (24 page)

With great relief I rested my head against
his shoulder. “I’ll miss you terribly next week,” I whispered, to
make him feel sure of me. I meant to flatter him, stroke his ego,
but it wasn’t a complete lie. I’d feel a whole lot safer with him
gone, but I’d suffer an acute physical longing.

“Come back to Toronto with me then,” he said,
“and stay forever.”

“You mean right away?” I spoke lightly, so he
wouldn’t hear deceit in my voice. So he wouldn’t guess I wanted to
rush straight to Vermont. “Like, tomorrow?”

“Why not? We’ll get married and have our
baby.” Nick rubbed my back, caressed my breasts and belly. “You’ll
have diamonds, furs, a nanny, whatever. Kiera can stay here with
Angus and their baby. Everybody wins.”

I gave a false, bright laugh. “Hey, what
about my fifty thousand?”

Nick released me to drink some wine.
“Everything I have,” he said, his voice starting to slur, “is
yours.”

“Oh?” I poured myself some mineral water.
“Sounds great.” This wouldn’t be the moment to ask about his
financial situation. It was important to act normal, to trick him
into thinking he’d caught me. What I needed was time. “But that
sauce smells even better, and our baby’s hungry,” I said. “Let’s
eat now, talk later.”

I convinced Nick to go back to Toronto alone
by explaining that it wouldn’t be good for our baby. At Malagash I
led a calm, healthy life, but the city was noisy and tiring, the
water full of chemicals, the air toxic. And, I argued, it would be
upsetting to have to change doctors now. Plus I needed Kiera, when
she came back, to be my labor coach. I even promised I’d forget
Holly the midwife and the birthing room at the clinic in Airdrie
Bay and go to Halifax for a high tech delivery.

Looking back, it’s easy to see that would
have been the time to leave. I could have escaped that week, before
Nick returned. But I still wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. I
knew I’d never want to live with Nick, but what were my other
choices? My pregnancy made it so hard to focus. My thoughts felt
fuzzy, my brain all soft and fluffy, like it was full of quilt
batting. Whenever I tried to figure out my future I’d have an
overwhelming desire to lie down for a nap.

I’d read and reread Jay’s letter, my heart
aching to call and tell him everything. But I couldn’t make myself
take that chance. No matter what his letter claimed, he didn’t know
the situation, and my circumstances might very well be unacceptable
to him.

Would he still want me, pregnant with another
man’s baby? And would he want to help me raise that child? I
couldn’t forget about Becky, and how he’d disappointed me
before.

Near the end of the week we got our first
really mild day, and I stayed out walking later than usual. Since
the snow and ice had melted a bit I climbed up on the hill behind
Malagash to watch the sunset. Wisps of pastel clouds, in cheerful
shades of peach, rose and mauve, hung on the horizon over the
greenish sea. My spirits soared at the sight. Spring was
coming.

And the thought of spring, of rebirth and
renewal, gave me a surge of hope. Somehow, soon, I would know what
to do. Meanwhile, I must stay calm and positive for my baby’s sake.
I had the weird feeling again that she was talking to me. Telling
me to be strong. Telling me that everything would work out
fine.

That day, that turning point, came the next
weekend. Nick seemed on edge the whole time. He’d ridden out from
the airport on his Harley, since the roads were clear, then almost
crashed it taking a turn too fast. When I suggested he relax, he
growled, “Easy for you to say. You don’t do anything but eat and
read and sleep anyway.”

And for the first time, after months of
compliments, he was critical of my appearance. I’d taken to wearing
my old blue sweater, the one Vera Wemble had knit for me, over my
maternity dresses. It gave me comfort as much as warmth.

“You ought to burn that godawful sweater,” he
said on Sunday morning when he saw me reaching for it. To shut him
up I stuffed it in my armoire. But then he accused me of fooling
around with Angus MacLaren. “Why are you so worried about changing
doctors anyway?” he demanded. “You’ve got something going on with
that guy, haven’t you?”

“Don’t start with me Nick,” I said. “Please.
Dr. MacLaren is highly respected in Airdrie Bay, he’s Phoebe’s son,
for god’s sake. He has a professional reputation to keep. He can’t
go sleeping with his patients, even if he wanted to, which I assure
you he doesn’t.”

“How do you know he doesn’t,” Nick snapped,
“unless you’ve asked him?” He’d been trying since he woke to get a
fire going in my room, and now he jabbed at the coals as if he
could beat them into flames. “I don’t trust that bastard! He stole
my wife, and I bet he’s after you, too.” Stab, stab, went the
poker. “And you’re such a slut, you’d do anything.”

“Oh my god!” I cried. I couldn’t take
anymore. “Mr. Talbot,” I said, in my smoothest, most soothing,
caseworker voice, “Have you ever considered seeking counseling? Or
perhaps psychiatric help? I could make a referral.”

In the split second before he turned back to
poke at the fire again the look on his face told me I’d gone too
far. “You want to leave me too, don’t you?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“Yes, you do. You probably go down to Airdrie
Bay all the time looking for other men.”

“Jesus, Nick!”

“I know what you’re like. You crave sex. You
just can’t get enough.”

I burst into tears. I knew I should just
leave the room and get away from him, but I couldn’t muster the
energy. Being six months pregnant felt like I was moving underwater
all the time. “I don’t want to fight with you,” I said between
sobs, “so would you please just shut up?” Though I felt almost
drugged, my baby seemed to be actually jumping inside me, she was
kicking so hard.

Nick pointed the black iron poker at me.
“Then say you won’t ever leave me. Say you’ll never look at another
man.” Smudges of charcoal marked his hands and cheeks, making him
look demented.

I didn’t answer, just dug out my old blue
sweater and put it on. Then I rested on my bed and cried some more,
thinking of Vera Wemble, of Jay, of my baby. Wishing I could fix
all the broken people in the world.

Nick dropped the poker. He rushed over and
held me tightly, saying, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I had a terrible
week, I’m under so much pressure at work. I love you so much and
I’m so damn scared you’re going to leave me, sometimes I just can’t
stand it.”

“I know,” I said, “I know.” I couldn’t help
remembering him as a kid, beaten and bruised, coming round to the
Castle acting so brave, pretending nothing had happened. And I
identified with that feeling of being left, of not being wanted. I
sniffled and grabbed a tissue from the night table to blow my nose.
“But I feel like I’m bad for you,” I said. “You’re drinking way too
much, at least when you’re here. And I seem to provoke you so
easily, oh I don’t know, maybe you’d be better off without me.”

Nick’s whole body tensed. “Don’t ever say
that.”

“Okay, but think about our baby. It’s not
good for me to be upset all the time.” I patted his arm and reached
for the poker. “Here, let me help you with that fire, at least.
It’s bloody freezing in here.”

Nick watched me add fresh kindling and coax
the fire into bright crackling flames. “How come you’re so good at
that, anyway?” he wanted to know.

“I used to be in charge of fireplaces at the
lodge,” I said. “I used to be pretty good at chopping wood too.”
And then I was weeping again, kneeling on the hearth in front of my
beautiful fire, overcome by missing Auberge Ciel and my life
there.

I simply had to buy the lodge and banish the
hunters.

Images of ducks and deer shot dead flooded my
mind, like blood gushing from a wound. I could see the hunters in
their orange jackets and caps, their rifles oiled and polished. I
could hear their shots, bang, bang, bang. I could hear their
bragging over drinks in the bar, their endless arguing over scopes
and calibers and loads.

Nick dropped down beside me. “Come back to
Toronto with me,” he said. “Let’s never be apart again.”

In my silence he guessed my answer. “You
don’t want to, do you,” he said, his voice curt and cold.

“Nick, I – ”

He gripped my arms as if he could make me
stay. “You don’t even love me at all, you’re just using me while
you wait for the baby and your goddamn money.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Well you won’t get it!” He spit out the
words. “You fucking won’t get it, cause guess what? I don’t fucking
have it!” He broke into a sort of hysterical sobbing then, a
terrifying sound which grew into a long, loud wail of agony.

And then he lunged at me, a full frontal
attack. He pulled at my dress, ripped at my tights. I tried to
squirm away from him, but he just slammed me down on the bare wood
floor.

“Nick, wait, this isn’t comfortable,” I
begged. “You know I can’t lie on my back anymore. Stop, please,
you’re hurting me.”

But Nick was beyond reason.

He just kept mauling. He tore my dress from
the hem right up to the neck. He forced his way into me.

I was no match for his physical strength.

This is
rape
, I thought, and then I
was deeply frightened. Could struggling against him harm my baby? I
was so afraid it might. I knew I had to give in for her safety. And
in that moment, when I submitted against my will, any shred of love
I had for Nick disappeared.

Kiera was right. He wasn’t fit to be a
parent. If he would treat me like this, what might he do to a
child?

While Nick lay in my bed sleeping, I dressed
in fresh clothes and stuffed my backpack with my few things. I had
to get out of there. I should have known better than to assume
everything would work out. Nothing ever goes as planned.

The money had ceased to matter. All I cared
about was protecting my baby. If I had to, I would lay down my life
for her.

I took my copy of the contract out of my
drawer, went downstairs to the library and dug Nick’s copy out of
his files. I burned them both in their official looking envelopes
in living room fireplace.

Nick slept on.

I knew it was purely psychological, that the
contract probably wouldn’t hold up in court anyway, but it helped.
I felt a tremendous surge of strength as I watched the paper
blacken and shrivel to nothing. How attached we become to money, or
the promise of it. It takes hold so subtly, then suddenly it rules
your life. What a relief to see the lure of cash go up in
smoke.

I carried my pack down to the kitchen, tucked
in a bottle of water, some fruit and crackers. I took Kiera’s keys
from the hook by the door. And then I heard Nick behind me.

“Where are you going?”

I turned and faced him. “I’m leaving. I don’t
want my baby anywhere near you.” Thank god he wasn’t the father.
How would I love my child if she always reminded me of Nick?

He wrenched the keys from my hand. “No,
you’re not!” Opening the door, he flung them way out into the
trees.

I didn’t react. With deliberate calm I put on
my boots and cape. I slung my pack over my shoulder. “Goodbye,
Nick.”

Outside, everything looked gray and brown and
dead. The morning’s sunshine had disappeared, and a damp, salty
wind whipped my hair. The muddy ground sucked at my feet. Nick
followed me out and I tried to hurry. But with the weight of my
pack and my baby I couldn’t go very fast. He caught up with me at
the top of the drive.

With harsh hands he manacled my wrists. “I
said you’re
not
leaving.”

I was out of breath already and worried I
might pass out. A strong contraction gripped my entire abdomen. I
couldn’t breathe deeply enough to relax with it. The cramping
seemed to go on and on and on.

“If it weren’t for my baby I’d throw you in
the sea right now!” Nick cried, shaking me like a rag doll.

“Oh god, please stop Nick, you might hurt the
baby.”

Abruptly, he dropped my wrists, which were
ringed with red where he’d held them. It struck me then how odd it
is that love and hate are so closely linked, at times almost
interchangeable. What I’d felt for Nick might have been one, but
was now the other.

I stumbled away from him and on down the
drive.

The wind blew so strong it seemed to suck air
away from me at the same time as it tried to knock me down. Then,
in the shelter of the firs along the road to Airdrie Bay, it
dropped altogether, and a misty rain began. Out over the ocean
dense fog formed fast.

There was an outcrop of rock just off to one
side, and I collapsed there, thinking I might never stand up again.
I heard the roar of Nick’s Harley coming down the Malagash drive,
saw him fly past in a streak of black and chrome. I exhaled with
relief.

I rested a few more minutes, then forced
myself to stand and start walking. I was determined to escape. I
would make it to Airdrie Bay and find Kiera and Angus.

The fog closed in around me. The rain pelted
down harder, soaking my head through the hood of my cape. I kept to
the edge of the road, so I could hide if Nick came back.

Almost immediately I heard him again. I
ducked into the woods while he blasted by. In a couple of minutes
he zoomed past in the other direction.

I plodded on.

I was almost to the village before I heard
Nick returning. But now I was past the forest. Here the road ran
close to the shore, with no place to hide but the slippery wet
rocks.

Nick swerved around the bend and headed
straight for me, his headlight glaring through the fog. I hauled
myself out of the way, onto the treacherous rocks. With a screech
of brakes he turned and raced back. As he bore down on me I
crouched low, clasping my arms around my belly to protect my
baby.