Flight (15 page)

“You shouldn't be,” she says.

He takes another sip. “No?”

“No.” After a moment, she says, “Is that it?”

He shakes his head.

“What else then?

“I don't know. Can't we just sit here?”

She leans forward, even closer than before, so that her jacket is almost dipping into her coffee. “No, we
can't
just sit here,” she whispers, looking again at Evelyn, then at the teenagers before coming back to him. “We can't.” She pushes out her chair and half stands –

“Don't go.”

She shoots Evelyn another glance. Evelyn's looking right at her, smiling. Emily smiles back, then sits down again. Breathes deep, letting it out slowly. “The porch stairs were slippery and I fell okay. Kent was helping me up.”

Terry stares at her, but doesn't say anything.

“A wild imagination you've got.”

There's suddenly a roar of laughter amongst the teenagers; one of the boys is using a french fry as a moustache while another squirts a line of mustard across it. Evelyn and Perry exchange annoyed looks.

After the laughter subsides, Terry says, “You've never been inside my house, have you?”

“What?”

“You've seen it from the outside, I know, but I've never given you the grand tour, have I?”

She pauses for a second, then says, “No, I guess you haven't.”

He downs the rest of his coffee. “I got one of those claw-footed bathtubs installed. Remember how you used to say how much you loved them?”

She nods, remembering having shown him a couple she'd admired from a magazine about a hundred years ago.

“Finally got around to renovating those two guest bedrooms too. You can see the water from the window of one.”

She takes a long sip. Then another.

“A fully functioning fireplace too. Gets things nice and toasty. I'll just sit there staring at it. For hours, sometimes.”

Evelyn and Perry are putting on their jackets, while Ivy, the young waitress and only daughter of Pat Gullage, the owner, pours the rest of their hot chocolates into take-out cups, then walks them to the door, holding it open for them.

“Too
much
room, if you ask me.”

“What?” she says, turning back to him.

“The house. Too much room. Other than the living room and the bedroom, the rest of the place hardly gets used. And not even the bedroom really since I fall asleep on the chesterfield most nights.”

She looks at her watch: 6:35. Should be on her way home by now. “Terry, I have to go.”

“I know.”

She tries to get Ivy's attention.

“It's on me,” he says, motioning for her to lower her hand.

“Thanks.”

She's in the process of doing up her jacket when he says, “What I'm trying to say is, if you and the youngsters…ever need a place…”

She stares at him.

“…for any reason, let me know.” He lets another piece of skin fall on the floor beside his chair. Clears his throat. “That's all.”

She thinks about touching his hand but doesn't. Stands up instead.

“Let me give you a lift,” he says.

The knife going in and out. Kent standing over him. The children watching
. “No.”

“It's on the way.”

“No,” she says again. “I like the walk.”

Terry nods. Then says, “Thanks for coming.”

“Okay.”

She's halfway out the door when he says, “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

She turns around. Nods. Then leaves.

7

SHE STANDS THERE STARING AT KENT'S TRUCK. Home early for the second night in a row. She takes a few steps towards the porch but then stops. Thinks about going back the way she came, taking Terry up on his offer.
I got one of those claw-footed tubs installed. Remember
how you used to say how much you loved them?
She loves them still.

A few more steps before she stops again. Imagines him throwing her across the floor, then loosening his belt and wrapping it around his fist as he comes toward her. She'll try to stand, but he'll knock her back down with the heel of his foot, then stand there looking down at her: wide stance and a slight bend in his knees, his chin slightly downward, his left hand hanging at his side, the other raised to just above his belly button. Eyes so large. When was the last time he blinked? Completely still. Their breaths in sync. He draws back his fist like he's pulling back an invisible arrow –

She shakes the thought away. Looks to the front window just in time to see tiny fingers part the curtains. Lynette.

More steps. More still. She stops at the bottom of the stairs. Remembers the humiliation of being on her knees earlier, her face near to his boots, then being yanked up like something not living – a sack of potatoes, a bucket of salt meat. Terry's face then, the same look she'd often seen in her own children: helplessness; frozen feet incapable of carrying them to a bedroom or a bathroom or any place; wide eyes in pale faces, like stage-frightened actors beneath the heat of too many lights.

The front door swings open, nearly making her faint with fright. She grabs the railing.

He steps out onto the porch. The laces of his boots are untied. He walks to the top of the stairs, then stops.

She sees herself running, along the driveway, up their street, the turn onto Trinity, past Hanrahan's Seafood and Anique's Antiques, faster, faster, faster, not even him in his truck able to catch her.

He stares down at her.

She looks up at him, then turns away. Looks up, turns away.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. He's still in the clothes from this morning. “Strange you not being here when I got home.”

“I was walking.”

Silence.

“Strange you out walking, this time of the evening, the youngsters left by themselves.”

“I was craving fresh air.”

“Open a window. Come out on the porch.”

More silence.

“Where'd you go?”

“Around the block.”

“Where?”

“Along Trinity, where it connects to Main. Why?”

He takes a step down. Stops. Lays a palm on the rail. “The same way I came not ten minutes ago.”

She's warm underneath her jacket, but she has a chill. “Why this talking first?” she says. “Always this
talking
.”

He doesn't say anything.

“I'm here,” she says.

Kent steps back up onto the porch again. Moves to the door, opening it, his hand on the knob. “Come in.”

She climbs the first three stairs, then stops. Winded, like an asthmatic. Too young to be this tired.

“Come on,” he says.

Up some more before she stops again. Then finally all the way up. She stands at the other end of the porch staring at him. His face is calm, his body relaxed and leaning against the door frame, feet crossed at the ankles.

She goes toward him, the porch wood straining beneath her though she weighs less than ever, her own breath in her ears, and the pulse in her neck quickening. Stops right in front of him.

Instead of grabbing her like she expects, he steps aside in order to let her pass.

She grazes him as she goes in.

The door closes.

A lock is turned.

He's right behind her, the energy from his body pressing against her back. She stays standing a couple of feet inside the door.
Take off
your boots and go in. Get it done with. The sooner it starts the sooner it will be
over.

Another moment before she finally kicks off her boots and unzips her jacket.

He's still behind her.

She goes to take off her coat, but he slips it off for her. Hangs it up. Lays a hand on the small of her back, leading her past the foyer and into the kitchen.

“Mommy,” Lynette says, looking up from her colouring book, a red crayon in one of her hands.

Jeremy's got hockey cards strewn about the table. His glance at her and then away is hardly noticeable.

Kent guides her towards them, his hand still resting on her sitting bone. At the table, he pulls out his chair and lowers her onto it, then walks around and stands behind her.

She waits. Her hands in her lap. Her eyes on the children. “Go to your rooms,” she says.

“They're okay there,” he says.

Lynette's eyes linger in her direction for a moment before going back to the colouring book.

His supper
. It's in the oven, covered in tinfoil. Three quarters of a meatloaf. She thinks about standing, but then changes her mind, her face slightly turned now towards the window. “Your supper,” she says.

“Not yet.”

Why this waiting? she thinks.

She flinches when he touches her shoulders. He lifts her hair in order to get his hands underneath, then massages deep into the muscles, the place where the shoulders connect to the neck, the place he's kissed ten thousand times. Although she tries not to, a moan releases itself from the back of her throat. She chews down on it just as another one comes.

He stops. His mouth is next to her ear. “I'm sorry about earlier,” he whispers. He kisses the grown-over hole where pretty earrings had once hung. “Forgive me?”

She manages a nod before all of her – so tight a moment ago – goes slack. She has to squeeze her bottom teeth against her top ones just to keep her jaw from flopping open, grips the sides of her chair to keep from falling out of it. The breath she sucks in is so deep that she wonders if she's left any oxygen in the room. Heart beating slower, finally.

He walks around until he's facing her, wedges himself in between her thighs. Kneels down.

She turns from the window and looks at him. Despite having shaved this morning, there's already the shadow of a beard longing to break the surface of his skin. His neatly combed hair is now hanging in front of his forehead, a few strands reaching into his eyes. The cut she'd seen to the other night probably won't even leave a scar, she thinks. If he'll let her, she'll take out those stitches later.

“I almost forgot,” he says.

“What?”

“Irene had her baby. Nearly nine pounds, Myles said.”

“Finally.”

“He was outside waiting for me after the meeting, a flask of Johnny Walker inside his jacket. ‘Drink to my new son,' he said. He was relieved, I think, to hear that the crooks from St. John's had agreed on the severance package. Even got it in writing from Mr. Fisheries and Oceans himself.”

“How's Irene?”

“Tired, Myles said. Worried, you know, about everything down at the plant, how they're supposed to manage with him out of work. Wants Myles to apply for a job in Fort McMurray.” He rubs the top of her hands as if to warm them even though they're not cold, then says, “Myles gets homesick when he goes to Gander.”

In the silence, Jeremy returns his hockey cards to their box; Lynette searches through her book for a colourless picture she might have missed, humming as she does. Kent looks down at her hands. Plays with her wedding band, pulling it in the direction of her fingernail, then back again. “Getting loose,” he says.

She looks down at it, remembering that long ago blustery September when he'd knelt on her front stoop and offered it to her, how he'd had trouble sliding it on at first, how he'd hugged her too hard even though she hadn't said yes yet.

“Let's take a drive,” he says.

“What?”

“Yay!” Lynette pushes out her chair.

“It's getting late,” she says. “They need their baths.”

“They can do that afterwards.”

She pauses for a moment, then says, “Where?”

“Around the shore. Then afterwards we'll get french fries at the marina.”

“Yay!” goes Lynette again.

Jeremy's eyes lighten a bit too at this suggestion.

“But they've just had their supper.”

“A few fries won't kill them. Get your coats on youngsters.”

She watches them run to the foyer, then fight to get into their coats, to shove on boots without tying the laces.

He's still between her thighs. “There's something else I wasmeaning to mention.”

“What?” she says.

“It's about Friday.”

She's unable to speak. Wonders if he's somehow figured out what her intention had been for that day. Has she left some clue behind? A floorboard not quite in place? A phone call that he might have been listening in on?
It's about Friday. Friday.
Funny how it was just a day of the week not that long ago. “What about it?” she says, finding herself sitting a little more erect, her bum perched on the chair's edge.

He leans in closer, his nose almost touching the space between her breasts.

What if it's all been an act, she thinks – his gentleness? What if his intention all along has been to get her out of the house? Some place secluded. Outside of town. Could really let her have it then. With the kids, though? No way he'd bring them along.

“Can't do it.”

She looks down at him. Holding her breath. “Can't do what?”

“Let's go!” Lynette shouts from the foyer.

“In a minute,” Kent tells her. “Your mom and I are talking.”

“Tie up those laces,” Emily says.

Jeremy's tucked his pant bottoms into his boots. He's wearing a blue windbreaker, his hand on the knob of the door, watching them.

“This Friday,” Kent says, his nose grazing her chin now. “I know I said we'd leave then, but – ”

“What?” she says. If not for gripping the edges of the seat, she'd be on the floor by now.

“I can't. There's a big meeting called for Friday morning that I can't miss. Severance package stuff. And Mr. Fisheries and Oceans is supposed to have a say about the future of the plant too.”

A fluttering in her chest. “That's too bad, I was looking forward it.”

“We'll still go, don't you worry. Saturday. And instead of coming back on Wednesday, we'll stay for the whole week. How about that?”