Prerequisites for Sleep (8 page)

“You wouldn't be eating like that if the boys were around.”

Actually, thought Diane, I probably would be. After Sheldon started disappearing, she began reevaluating everything. When he was home, if he wanted to eat potato chips and ice cream sundaes for breakfast, she didn't say a word. Often, she joined him, stealing a few minutes of his time while coveting more. She bought junk food and took up baking again, deliberately leaving things where he would see them, another one of her desperate ideas. The sad fact was that Sheldon wasn't much of an eater. When he did eat, he was silent and picked at his food, and she studied his hands and thought about how much they were aging and of all the things they probably did to survive when he wasn't at home. They were scarred and usually bruised. Concentrating on them kept her from imagining some of the other things he could possibly do for food or money.

 

Everyone arrived just after five. Doris hustled them all into the dining room and began placing platters of food on towels, folded in quarters, in the middle of the table. Diane took the seat next to Julie and Allison, her nieces, while Barry and his wife, Caroline, sat on the other side and her parents took their usual spots on the ends.

“The dishes are hot,” her mother said. “Diane, you scoop the potatoes since they are in front of you. The girls can serve the squash. Caroline, you do the asparagus, and I'll manage the dressing. There is a platter of turkey at each end, and we'll pass around the gravy and cranberries.” Doris belonged to an era where such tasks were women's work. Holiday dinners meant that all the women, whether they were guests or not, were also expected to be in the kitchen afterwards. The men were allowed to smoke, drink or fall asleep.

Diane had resented this in her teen years, but then did the same with her own sons, always wanting to do things for them, never expecting them to help out. On the other hand, she never expected help from other women either. Blaine always pitched in. It was one of the reasons she had married him. The only one she could remember, but the memory was vivid. The first time was when she was still at York University. They had only been dating a short time when he invited her to his house for Sunday dinner. It was so nice to get out of residence and eat a real meal in a real house. Diane almost fell out of her chair when Blaine stood up, without being asked, and started clearing the table. She could hardly contain her astonishment when he washed all the dishes that didn't fit in the dishwasher while his father dried them. She wondered whether there were any men in Nova Scotia who would do that.

“So, how's the car business?” she asked Barry, piling his plate high with mashed potatoes.

“A bit slow, but there's always someone out there who wants to buy a truck. Prices are good these days, and even with gas being unpredictable, they can't resist.”

“Sell many hybrids?” She handed him his plate and watched as he doused everything in gravy until his dinner looked like islands in a mud puddle.

“We don't even discuss hybrids unless someone is specifically looking for one. Then it's a special order.”

“The boys will have to change their ways eventually.”

“The boys,” Barry said, holding his fork like a pointer in midair, “have been my livelihood for over twenty years. Don't expect me to start telling them what to do.”

“Did I tell you about Eva Gibbons?” Doris said before Diane could respond. Diane had wanted to say something along the lines of everyone needing to change, that the only way to survive was to adapt. She took her cue and remained silent.

“Her husband Rob woke up to find her dead in the bed next to him. That was a couple months ago. An aneurysm. It's so sad to see him getting groceries all by himself now. You remember Rob and Eva. You used to babysit for them years ago.”

“I only babysat for them once, but yes, I remember them.”

“Allison, how's that floor hockey team of yours?” Her father's jovial voice came from the other end of the table. Diane looked up to see him wink at his granddaughter.

“We're going to the provincials, Gramps. You'll have to come watch.” Allison was a feminine version of Diane's brother. She had his mouth and nose, and those damn long lashes that Diane always thought were such a waste on Barry. She had also inherited his athletic talents.

“Thought I'd get a van from work,” Barry said. “Then we could all go to the games. Get a couple of hotel rooms if necessary.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said her father.

“So, Julie, are you on any teams?” Diane lifted her glass to take a sip of water but set it back down after catching a whiff of chlorine.

“I'm afraid that Julie takes after me,” said Caroline. “Not much of an athlete, but she is in vocals and band.

“And I'm performing in the dinner theatre.”

“Oh, wow! When's the dinner theatre?”

“Christmas,” said Julie, “right before our semi.”

“What on earth is a semi?” Doris said. “Sounds like a truck.”

“It's a dance, Gran. You know, semiformal.” Julie laughed, and Diane could picture her easily fitting in with any group of carefree girls making s'mores at a sleepover.

“I didn't know they had a dance at Christmas,” said Doris. “I thought the only dress-up event was the prom at the end of the year. It's so nice that you kids like to do that sort of thing. Diane never went to her prom. Wasn't much for boys or going out back then. She was asked, though. Remember, Bill? Remember that poor bugger who showed up at our door all dressed up with a corsage in hand? Diane never even told us she was invited. Why anyone would just disappear instead of going, or at least telling the guy she wasn't going to go, is beyond me. Now in my day, I loved getting all gussied up in satin and rhinestones. Had the boys falling all over me when I went to prom. Not Diane. She just took off. Didn't come back for two days. Worried sick, we were. We called the police and they organized a search, then Diane shows up with the old pup tent we used to have in the garage.” Doris shifted her gaze towards her daughter. “Wasn't that boy one of the Milligans? Ethan, wasn't that his name? Whatever happened to him?”

“He's a police officer,” Caroline interjected. “His daughter is in Allison's class.”

“A police officer,” Doris said. She clicked her tongue and helped herself to a large slice of turkey breast. “You wouldn't have thought he had it in him. Not if you saw him on our doorstep back then.”

 

After dinner, Diane and Caroline were filling plastic containers with leftovers and stacking them in the fridge. “So, what are you doing tomorrow?” Caroline asked, snapping the lid on a bowl of gravy.

Diane didn't hear the question. She was busy thinking of Sheldon, and of his need to turn destinations into departure points, and of the excuses she would make in order to leave before the week was up. She wondered whether she was becoming like her son or if he had been like her all along. Years later, long after Sheldon had disappeared for good and Diane only travelled when Liam picked her up from the seniors' home every other Sunday, she would still find herself pondering this more often than not.

 

The dog was off again. Jake could hear him racing through the weeds in Eugene's yard, heavy panting mixed with the hissing of disturbed vegetation. “Einstein!” he called, directing his voice through the thicket of black spruce that separated the two properties.

“Not too bright, that Einstein. Doesn't look like he's gonna listen.”

The last thing Jake needed was Gene's sarcasm. For eight years, Einstein had never left the yard. Then Eugene added pet rabbits to the equation, minus a cage. For the kids, he said, but the kids moved out west with their mother after the divorce last year. The rabbits couldn't make the trip.

Originally there were three of them: two grey, one tan. Sometime over the winter, one of the grey ones disappeared. Must have been a hawk or an owl. It happened in Jake's driveway. Nothing left but red snow and bits of downy fluff. Whatever had gotten the rabbit, Jake kept hoping it would come back for another meal. He was getting tired of chasing the little bastards out of Maxine's gardens.

“That dog of yours gets a hold of one of my rabbits, I'll shoot him,” Gene yelled.

Jake couldn't see him, but he had a pretty good idea where Gene was. When he was home, Gene was only ever in two places: in the front yard working on some wreck, or on the back deck downing a beer. Deck, concluded Jake, steering left and cutting through the trees to Gene's yard. He took the time to brush spider webs from his face and hair before clapping his hands, mostly for effect. There was no way in hell the dog was going to stop until he was tired, and no way he would catch a rabbit either, not with arthritis in his hip.

Gene was leaning on the deck rail, absently peeling the label off a beer bottle and wearing a look that Jake labelled as antagonistic pleasure.

Jake sidestepped a discarded tire rim. “What do you expect? He's a spaniel. It's only natural for him to chase rabbits. I never thought he would actually get the opportunity or I would have included it in his training.”

“Like I said, he better not get one of my rabbits.”

At the very least, Jake wanted to tell Gene to put a cork in it. It was either that or the litany of expletives that remained on the tip of his tongue when Einstein chose that moment to end the chase and come romping towards his master, tail wagging full tilt and looking as though he was expecting a reward. Jake slipped his hand under the dog's collar and retraced his steps to his own yard.

Einstein wasn't happy being kept in his pen. Jake didn't care. He had things to do; running after a dog was not one of them. First, he had to shovel the pellets of rabbit crap off the lawn so he could mow, then he was planning on weeding the gardens. Why Maxine had to have so many gardens was beyond him, and how she managed to keep them looking perfect was another mystery. At least once a week Jake thought about filling them in with sod. A few days ago, he went as far as taking the measurements of the two larger ones out back before changing his mind. Maybe he ought to just sell the place and move into town.

 

By the following week, the weather had changed. The air held the beginning of tropical storm season. Ever since the hurricane a few years back, this time of year made people uneasy. Jake strolled around the lawn, picking up branches that had come down in the previous night's wind. “Damn rabbits,” he muttered, bending down to inspect the lower limbs on the lilac bush. He'd have to protect it with fencing, meaning a trip to Home Hardware. Jake, no different than any other male he knew, didn't mind going to the hardware store, but this time he minded the purpose.

The
CD
player in his truck played a single disk, The Guess Who, over and over in a constant loop. Randy Bachman and Burton Cummings. Jake knew all their lyrics. Nowadays, he just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, but when he was younger, he would imitate them, singing their vocals, using a beer bottle as a mike. That's how he met Maxine, at a party, while singing “American Woman.” She shimmied up to him and asked what he thought of Canadian women. He could still see her in those slim-fitting Levis and purple halter. She even had purple shoes. It was the first time Jake saw someone wearing shoes that weren't black, white, or some shade of brown. God, she looked good. He always wondered what she saw in a goofball like him. Both only children, they didn't bother to have kids of their own. Lots of people opt not to have kids these days. Back then it was a bit of an issue. Their parents never understood that it was a choice; never forgave them, either.

Maxine always said that the plaza had everything you needed for a summer weekend. As long as you don't need a new bathing suit. Then she would laugh. What had started as a lone grocery store had expanded over the years to include the hardware store, a liquor store, a pharmacy and a Tim Hortons. The parking lot, already too small before Tim's moved in, was busy. Twice Jake had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting someone attempting to back out of a spot. He pulled his truck in on an angle by the gas station at the far end, then walked towards the hardware store, making a mental note to pick up a case of beer on the way back and to get some change for the Scouts selling apples by the door.

Once inside, he passed the power tools and took a left at the gardening section, where he saw Darlene stacking bags of birdseed on the lower shelf. Eugene's sister never quite appeared at home in the red polo shirt of her uniform. She and Gene were the type of people who had looked too mature at twelve and well-used by forty. One would guess Gene was closer to seventy than fifty-two; Darlene fared only a bit better. When she looked up, he acknowledged her by nodding in her direction, then slowed slightly with the intention of easing around her.

“Hey, Jake, got a sec?” Darlene stood up and brushed off her hands on her thighs, bringing his attention to the creases created by jeans that were too tight.

“Sure, Darlene. What's up?”

Jake had always considered Darlene loud, a bit tough, someone who made sure you could hear her when she called you an asshole. Today, he had to strain to catch her words. “Gene's got cancer, got the word on Tuesday. It's in his colon, but they also found a spot in his liver. It don't look good.” She stared at the floor and wedged her hands into the front pockets of her pants, catching the denim waistband with her thumbs. “I was wondering if you could spend a bit of time with him.”

The muscles of Jake's neck and shoulders tightened, triggering a slight pulsing sensation that settled above his eyes, the beginning of a tension headache. Already his peripheral vision was blurring. Why was she asking him? It wasn't like he and Eugene were buddies. “I'm sorry, Darlene. I know how close you and Gene are, but I'm not sure I'm the right person for him at the moment.”

“Well, I'm not. Been down to his place every day to make sure he gets supper. Don't matter what I say, he just sits on the deck, staring at the river. He may talk to you, though. You know, since you've been through it with Maxine.”

That was why. She thought he was some kind of an expert, a Dr. Phil or something. Jake concentrated on the hose reels at the end of the aisle while providing canned responses. “I don't really know that much. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it yet. Just give him some time.”

 

Jake hadn't told a soul that Maxine was dying. They never really mixed much with the neighbours. Besides, it was something he considered a private matter. But someone knew. Things would happen. One day the lawn would be mowed. On other days, casseroles would turn up on the step, in foil containers so he didn't have to worry about returning dishes. Good casseroles too, plenty of meat with pasta and vegetables. And spices, curry and chili powder that made his house smell lived in when he heated them up. They didn't go to waste; Jake didn't believe in letting good food go to waste. He had no idea who repaired the shingles after the storm that knocked out the power for two days. He had only been aware of the darkness and shaving with cold water. By that time Maxine was in the hospital and Jake would leave every morning and return every night like he had put in a long day at work. Lately, these events were seeping into his consciousness, something like cold water into leaky boots. Someone had known about Maxine, but Jake had never figured out who or how they had found out. Eventually, someone else would learn about Eugene. It was what he was waiting for. He developed an incessant curiosity. It was morbid, really; Jake was aware of that. He would frequently stop what he was doing and tilt his head in the direction of Eugene's place, almost as if expecting something, not sure exactly what. Maybe it could be like the bat signal or perhaps a revelation of some sort, anything that confirmed this fact. Hell, he didn't care what. He just didn't like being the only one who knew.

A lime-green Volkswagen pulled up across the road and Elsa MacDonald got out. Her outfit, depicting several Tweety and Sylvester chase scenes, was hard to miss. Wearing cartoon characters with pink runners and the long braid that trailed down her back were only a couple of her endearing qualities.

“Well, if it isn't Jake Rendell.” She closed the car door and started walking in his direction. “Didn't know you lived out this way.”

Jake dropped the garden claw and took several long strides to meet her halfway. It didn't matter what she wore, Elsa was always a welcome sight. “Lived here for eighteen years.”

“That don't make you a local around here, Jake. You know that.”

“Doesn't make me a stranger either.”

“True, the neighbours learn to put up with your flaws after eighteen years.” She was smiling and extending her hand to shake his, then pulled him into a hug when he reached for it. “How have you been?”

Jake couldn't recall the last time someone had hugged him. Well, he could. It was Maxine's funeral, but he preferred not to remember that particular occasion. “I've been fine. I am fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Well, you don't look like you're starving.” She held him at arm's length. “In fact, you may want to add a little salad to your diet. But who am I to talk? It's not like anyone would want to see me in spandex.”

One of Elsa's many talents was defusing uncomfortable situations. Jake had watched her do it many times at the hospital. She had a way of taking the edge off. Without her, Jake was sure he wouldn't have made it through the difficult times. “You making house calls now or taking your comedy act on the road?”

“Well, you could say it's a bit of both. I have a new position, home care for oncology patients. Gets me out a few days a week and gives me a little air in between.”

Jake lowered his voice. “Then I'm guessing you're here for Eugene. I ran into his sister at the hardware store.”

Elsa slid her tongue over her top teeth and nodded. “I'll be seeing him every couple of weeks to start. More later on.”

“He's taken to sitting out on the deck all night. I don't sleep that well myself, so I hear him at all hours.”

“Everyone takes it differently, Jake.” She shifted her weight so her body leaned a little to the left. “I really must get going. It's so good to see you. Now that I know where you live, why don't I come by early next time and you can make me a coffee?”

Watching her walk away, Tweety and Sylvester crinkling across her back, Jake concluded that Elsa was exactly what he needed. Maybe not the revelation he expected, people around here wouldn't know who she was. Appearance-wise, she looked like some innocent, over-zealous grandmother. It was something else. He was off the hook. No more feeling guilty about it. Elsa and Darlene could manage Eugene. Elsa could call in the real experts if necessary, and Jake, well, Jake was free to go about his business with a clear conscience.

 

Bob Dylan, at maximum volume, and the sweet smell of marijuana were drifting downriver. Jake was pulling out the long strands of grass between the fencing and the lilac bush when Hector Hickerson strolled over.

“I wonder what's got into Gene,” he said.

There was something about Hector that always annoyed Jake. Nothing Jake could put into words. Perhaps it was the way he walked, strutted really, or his know-it-all attitude. Or maybe it was that stupid name. What kind of a parent would give a kid a name like that? He was much younger than Jake, and into gadgets, liked to talk about his BlackBerry and big-screen
TV
. Hector was one of those people that made Jake glad he and Maxine had never had kids.

Hector jerked his head upwards and sniffed several times. “Can't you smell that?”

“Sure I can smell it. What about it?”

“Gene never tokes at home. He keeps his business and personal life separate. Everyone knows that.” Hector paused, as if waiting for Jake to comment, then continued. “Gene doesn't have what most people refer to as a real job. He fixes cars, does a bit of roofing and yard work, all under the table. And he has a thriving weed business. Part-time. He plants the stuff in containers, out on Crown land in the summer. No one knows exactly where. Most likely in places cleared for power lines or burnt by forest fires. I'll tell you, he's savvy. Keeps moving it around. The
RCMP
would love to catch him. You mean that in all the years you've been here you didn't notice how often the cops are at his place?”

It occurred to Jake that there was another reason he disliked Hector. The man was a gossip. “I noticed. I just figured it was none of my business.”

To Jake's relief, Hector hadn't thought the conversation through any further and walked away.

The remainder of the afternoon was restless. Sometimes the sun shone with blinding intensity, other times dark clouds muscled their way to the forefront. Jake found himself in the dining room, staring through the glass doors of the china cabinet, trying to remember how many times they'd actually used Maxine's mother's antique dishes. He was sure he could count them on one hand. When he turned around, he thought he saw Maxine, behind the shafts of sunlight coming through the window. Dust motes drifted in the air around her. She looked as though she had never been sick, then disappeared a few seconds later when the clouds returned. “What do I do with them?” he said, sweeping his hand back and unintentionally knocking the side of the cabinet. Inside, standing plates rattled and teacups vibrated in saucers.