Liar (18 page)
Authors: Joanna Gosse
Marisa was obviously on one of her periodic binges. Did Sam really fuck her under the bridge? Was it before or after he married China? Was Marisa just trying to cause trouble, one of her favourite drunken pastimes? China didn’t particularly care. The straw had landed. Sam Eagle had landed, on a bed of nails.
She decided to use one of Sam’s suitcases. He’d stopped using the hard suitcase, because he could cram more into soft-sided duffle bags. She opened it and pulled out hotel shampoos, pencils, scribbled notes, and in one of the pockets, a condom. A condom? What did he need a condom for? He’d never worn one with her, not even the first time. China stared at the red package. She thought it must be really old, but no, the expiry date was in the future and she had given the suitcase to Sam for Christmas.
Oh my God, did he lie about that too? Well, why wouldn’t he? He lied about everything else. China, my dear,
she thought, as she wrapped her arms comfortingly around her solar plexus and cried and cried,
don’t. Don’t even go there. It’s just one more lie on a mountain of lies. What’s one more? It just makes it easier to leave. There’s nothing left to hope for. No reason to try. Just go.
China never mentioned the found condom to Sam, or the phone call from Marisa. She didn’t want to hear his litany of false denials. She preferred to let him think there was one sordid something she didn’t know about him. Leave him the small satisfaction of one undiscovered secret. After all, he had nothing else but his secrets.
China called Jane.
“Beauty,” asked China. “Can I sleep on your couch for a while?”
“Sure,” said Jane. “How long are you staying?”
“Probably longer than you’d like. I’m leaving Sam.”
“What happened?”
“Just more of the same. I’ve had enough and I don’t feel like talking about it right now. He’s in Prince Rupert and I’m not telling him until I’m out of here.”
“Do you have the airfare?” asked Jane.
“I still have that two thousand in my savings. It’ll do for now.”
“Are you all right, Mom?”
“Yup. Better than I’ve been in a long time. I’ll let you know when my flight gets in. I’ll need a couple of days to pack up my favourites. I’m sure Karen will store my boxes until I’ve got my own place.”
“Why? Do you think Sam won’t send you your stuff?”
“Sam is an unknown quantity and I don’t trust him to pick his own nose. I just need to know that my most important things are safe.”
“What about your journals?”
“I’m bringing them with me. I’ll have a change of underwear and my journals.”
“Don’t worry Mom, you can borrow my clothes.”
“Well at least I can borrow your tops. I’ll make room for a few bottoms.”
“Can Karen store your sculptures?”
“Oh my God, I forgot about them! I guess I’m not as calm as I thought I was. She has a big basement. I’m sure she’ll keep them for me. I’ll ask her.”
“I love you Mom.”
“I love you sweetie. See you soon.”
China hung up and started to dial Sarah’s number. No. No time. She didn’t want to talk about it. She just wanted to do it. She went back to packing and putting her life in order.
~ ~
Two days later, and with the help of a friend of Karen’s who had a pickup truck, China had moved all her boxes and sculptures into Karen’s basement. When Sam had called the day before, she was politely chatty and said her usual I love you when she hung up. She didn’t want to tell him because she’d already warned him in so many ways and she no longer had the strength to argue with him. Plenty of time to call him and give him the bad news when she was safely at Jane’s house.
Karen drove her to the seaplane and China gave her a hug goodbye.
“Thanks for everything,” said China sadly.
“I’ll miss you China,” said Karen. “If you feel like visiting you can stay with me anytime.”
The pilot and baggage handler loaded China’s boxes of journals and one suitcase into the plane, and she climbed in with the other two passengers she didn’t know. With only two thousand people living on the whole island, it always surprised her that she didn’t know each one by sight. She regretted not saying goodbye to Carrie but she didn’t want to put her in the position of taking sides. Their friendship was still new and now, of course, it would never even have the opportunity to blossom into forever.
The weather was clear and cold and China had a magnificent view of the island as the plane circled and headed off over the Atlantic towards Halifax. She felt an odd mixture of sadness and relief, and regret that the dream was over. The dream of a life with Sam and the reality of living with Sam. The dreamscape of the wild, dramatic beauty that was Grimshaw Island, and the hard reality of living with a liar in isolation.
~ ~
When China arrived in Toronto she took a taxi to Jane’s apartment and was greeted with a Tina whirlwind and soft warm kisses all over her face. China put her down and reached for a warm hug from Jane. She felt as though she’d come home after a long, perilous journey into the wilderness.
Before leaving Grimshaw Island she had left a message on the answering machine at Sam’s office telling him she’d be out all day and that she’d call him in the morning. She was definitely out. Out of Grimshaw. She had left the marriage but her husband didn’t know it. He was carrying on his life picturing her on Grimshaw Island and believing that she’d be there waiting when he returned. She felt guilty for a moment and felt that there should have been a better way to tell him. Then, the next moment, when she remembered the crash of her soul hitting the floor after Marisa’s phone call, she forgave herself for doing the right thing, even if it was the wrong way.
~ ~
China awoke the next morning to find a warm little Tina- shaped body snuggled in beside her and was glad that her new life had begun. She called Sam at his hotel to tell him what had happened to his life. He wasn’t in his room so she left a message for him to call her at Jane’s. She walked Tina to school and stopped off at the grocery store to buy a chicken, knowing that Jane would be grateful to have dinner ready when she came home from work. Jane and Tina were on the exhausting treadmill of the single mother syndrome. Daycare before school so Mom could get to work by 8:30. Daycare after school, home by six, a quick supper, homework, bath and bed, five days a week and unrelenting. China vowed that after an absence of two years, she’d try her best to help Jane in any way she could.
The future was an open book and she loved cracking the spine of a new book, especially when she was doing the writing. The first thing would be to look for an apartment close by. Jane’s apartment was cute and cozy, but small, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d be getting on each other’s nerves. China wanted to find something big enough that would include a room in which she could carve. Maybe it would be better to look for an artist co-op where she could be as messy as she wanted. Most landlords looked askance at much hammering and sawing and sawdust all over the place. She wondered if her old studio still had space available, or maybe Sarah would be interested in sharing a studio with her. Meanwhile she had to find some secretarial work until she could re-establish herself as a Torontonian artist and apply for some grant money.
April 16/98
I feel sexy with promise, horny with...what? Relief? Or am I just in love with myself again. Maybe that’s it. Sam’s love was a huge burden dragging me down. Love for myself is uplifting, gentle, full of possibilities. I feel like a child again.
The phone rang and China jumped at the shrill noise interrupting her private world.
“Hello,” said China.
“Hi,” answered Sam. “What are you doing there?”
“I left Sam. It’s over.”
Sam’s silence stretched into the longest minute China had ever heard.
“What happened? I thought we were working it out.”
“I guess I just decided that it was too much work. I don’t love you anymore.”
I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing that I know his dirty little secret,
thought China grimly.
“Look, China, I’m working on the lying stuff. I’ll come to Toronto to see you.”
“No! I don’t want to see you. It’s too late Sam. Goodbye.”
China hung up and shook like a leaf. She took a few deep breaths and drank a tall glass of water and managed to calm down. She expected Sam to call again but the phone remained silent and China was grateful. He was probably thinking and stewing and planning and China knew she wouldn’t have to wait long for more news from him.
~ ~
One day later, when China tried to use her calling card to call her mother, she found out that Sam had changed the code. He was playing hard ball. So many little ways to manipulate, so little time in which to do it. He wasn’t a gentleman when she loved him so why would he be a gentleman when she didn’t love him. Assholes are never gentle men.
She climbed mountains of anger, then fell into sudden ravines, black holes of sadness and regret. Sometimes she reached preferred plateaus of cool indifference. Of course Sam wanted her back. All addicts wanted a wife who would feed the addiction. Sam needed a wife to lie to. He could lie to others but it wasn’t the same. Sam needed emotional attachment to make the lies more poignant. When China yelled at him and cried it was the only time Sam really connected with her. Then, the lovemaking was more intense. He tried harder, was harder. Her orgasms after an emotional scene were almost painful when accompanied by the lethal cocktail of tears and forgiveness.
What truly pissed her off was that an addiction to lying didn’t have the same cachet as alcohol addiction. Where was the Lie-Anon group for the wives? The world was such a hypocritical place. If she stayed with Sam she would be considered an enabler and a victim because she didn’t have the guts to leave. If she divorced him some people would call her non-caring and selfish. Others, like Sarah, would call her brave and gutsy to live alone.
Years ago, when she had left Jane’s father, one of her husband’s friends had astounded China by applauding her bravery in leaving her husband. She was then too young to realize that she had been brave to leave with a small child to take care of. All she felt was guilt, even though she knew absolutely that she was making the right decision for herself. In her mother’s generation one rarely did what was best for oneself. One did what was best for the children, the family unit, which encompassed the needs of the father and children, and the mother be damned. In China’s generation divorce was rampant. They were the first to get the birth control pill and liberation and the consequences, good and bad, of all that freedom, the first to become divorced working mothers, delirious and exhausted with hard-won independence. The rapid evolution in China’s generation had left the men reeling. They were still playing catch up, still bewildered by the new roles expected of them.
China had left enough relationships to know that she’d be fine in a few months. For Sam it would be much harder, unless he found another woman immediately, poor thing. She wondered how she could address that problem. She felt guilty about leaving Sam free to molest another hapless woman. It would bear some thinking about. No new woman listens to the old woman. After all, had China called Sam’s ex-wife and asked her for tips on life with Sam? Certainly not. She would have disliked Sam intensely and would not have given an objective account. We all enter into the next relationship believing it will be better than the last, and sometimes it is. We live in hope. No, the problem wouldn’t be solved by talking to Sam’s future women. Sam was the problem.
May 1/98
Sam called from some reserve or other. Wants to do whatever it will take to get into my bed again. He’s desperately seeking therapy wherever he can get it. The local minister refused. Probably needs therapy himself. I don’t care. I don’t feel anything, other than relief. I just got rid of a burden and now he’s waiting by the side of the road like a hitchhiker, waiting for me to pick him up again.
I feel like knocking him into a ditch. Roadkill.
The phone rang and it was Sam again.
“I never brought it up before but in your journal I read that you fantasized about having an affair with some woman.”
“Sam,” replied China, gritting her teeth, “if you’re going to read my innermost thoughts, you’d better read them properly. I may have mused about it a bit, the tenderness and understanding of a woman, but I also mused in the next paragraph that I preferred ye olde in and out. Christ in the kitchen! I’ve also fantasized about being ravished by a fisherman with a bucket of oysters that he...never mind! I don’t want to give you any ideas. Too bad you missed that paragraph. It was good jerking off material! My private fantasy about loving a woman was a passing thought, a second in time. How about this for a passing thought...IT’S OVER!”
China slammed the phone down. What a cretin he was to keep bringing up the fact that he’d read her journals. It didn’t exactly endear him to her.
If the asshole had any brains at all he would have sold them to the National Enquirer. Why on earth do I expect him to make sense in a crisis, when he doesn’t make sense at the best of times?
China wondered with grim insight.
The days slipped by and China kept busy and tried not to think of Sam, either in anger or with nostalgia. In moments of weakness, she fantasized that therapy would work, that Sam would be instantly cured and knock on her door, a new man, sparkling with integrity. Like the Harrison Ford film, “Regarding Henry,” where he goes for cigarettes and gets shot in the head, has total amnesia and can’t remember his previous existence as an asshole, power-hungry lawyer. He has no memory to counsel him and therefore must depend on his feelings, and his wife and child, to guide him. It’s a woman’s dream to rehabilitate a man into an infinitely tender and lovable human being. Only in the movies.
~ ~
China awoke in the middle of the night crying, her pillow wet with tears. She reached for her journal.
May 4/98 - 2am
I dreamt that Sam was lying unconscious at the bottom of a swimming pool. I swam down to get him and breathed air into his mouth. He opened his eyes and smiled. Then he kissed me and pulled me up to the surface of the water. When I woke up I was crying. Oh God. When, oh when, will I forget him?
