Road Ends (3 page)

“I don’t understand you, Megan,” her mother said. “All these years, and now suddenly out of nowhere you say you’re leaving. Truly, honestly, I do not understand you.”

“I know you don’t,” Megan said, her tone more gentle now that it was over. “You never have.” She thought how pretty her mother was still—even now, when she was upset. Her face was as round and smooth as a child’s.

Her father was next. He would be easier, Megan thought, if only because he wouldn’t care so much. Nonetheless, an audience with her father always made her anxious. Whenever you knocked on the door of his study he gave the impression that you were interrupting him in the middle of something critically important.

“Leaving?” he said, gazing at her from behind his desk. Abutting the desk at one end there was a long table heaped with books and at the other end there was a small bookcase, so that he was surrounded on three sides. Like a fortress, Megan thought. A fortress of books. Protecting him from us.

“Leaving home? Or leaving Struan altogether?”

“Both,” Megan said. “I’m going to Toronto to start with. And then when I’ve saved up enough money I’d like to go to England.”

“England?” He looked startled, which Megan found gratifying. “Why England?”

“I have a friend there. Cora Manning. You remember Mr. Manning, the pharmacist? They moved to England a few years ago. Cora works in London now. She shares a house with friends. I could stay with her; she’s invited me. And I’d like to see England.”

“I see,” her father said. He looked out of the window. Megan waited. She thought this was possibly the longest conversation she had ever had with him. Generally one sentence apiece would do it. The only one of his children he’d ever taken any notice of was Tom, and even then it hadn’t been much.

“Do you have a job to go to in Toronto?” he asked finally.

“No,” Megan said. “But I’ve saved enough money to last me for a couple of weeks. I’m sure I’ll find something by then.”

“I see,” he said again. “You’ve been planning this for some time, then.”

He made it sound like a bank raid, Megan thought, or maybe premeditated murder. But she would not allow him to make her feel guilty; she had done far more than her share. “Yes,” she said briskly. “I’m twenty-one and I think it’s time I started my own life.” (It didn’t sound so bad this time.) “I’ve arranged for Mrs. Jarvis to come in twice a week to help Mum.”

Her father looked at her strangely for a moment as if he’d never noticed her before and was wondering who she was. Then he looked out of the window for such a long time that Megan began to wonder if the interview was over and she should simply leave the room. But finally he looked back.

“What sort of job do you expect to find in Toronto?”

“I don’t know,” Megan said. “Anything. Waitressing. I’ll find something.”

Her father nodded thoughtfully. “And how long do you expect it to take, working as a waitress, to save up enough money to go to England?”

It wasn’t surprising that he sounded like a bank manager, Megan thought, given that he was one. What was surprising—amazing, in fact—was that he was interested enough in what she was doing to ask questions. It was most unlike him.

“I’ve no idea,” she said truthfully. “Probably quite a while.”

Her father picked up his pen, unscrewed the cap, screwed it back on again and put it down. “Quite a while is right,” he said, still looking at his pen. “In fact, a very long while. You’ll be paying rent for a start, and in Toronto the rents will be high. And you’ll have many other living expenses. My guess is that you will be hard pressed to save anything at all for quite some time. Possibly years.”

Megan opened her mouth to say that was okay, she didn’t mind how long it took, that in fact going to England wasn’t the important thing as far as she was concerned, it was leaving home,
living her own life, that mattered. But her father looked up and something in his expression made her pause.

He said, “If you want to go to England and you have a friend there now, you should go now. These things—opportunities—have a habit of slipping away. I will stand you the money for a plane ticket and a little to tide you over until you find a job there. I believe there is an arrangement whereby Commonwealth citizens can work in the United Kingdom for a limited period. You’ll need a passport, of course. I imagine you don’t have one?”

Megan stared at him. She couldn’t have been any more astonished if he’d suddenly climbed up onto his desk and danced a jig.

“Do you have a passport?” her father asked.

“Yes,” Megan said faintly.

He looked surprised again but Megan was too confused to enjoy it.

“You seem to be well organized,” her father said. “It’s all settled then.” He gave her what Megan thought of as his end-of-interview smile.

At the door she turned and said, “Thank you very much.”

Her father was gazing out of the window again but he turned his head and looked at her. “I dare say you’ve earned it,” he said, which was his most amazing comment yet, suggesting as it did that he’d actually noticed.

Megan went out and closed the study door and stood for a moment, not thinking of England or even of leaving home, but thinking instead how sad it was that she had never known the strange man who was her father and now she never would.

She phoned Tom to tell him. He was in a hall of residence down at the University of Toronto, so it was a long-distance call, but she decided it would be worth it to hear the astonishment in his voice. She timed the call for six o’clock at night, reasoning that
he’d be home from his classes by then and not yet out for the evening with his friends, and she was right.

“
England
!” he said. “
England
—holy cow, when did all this happen?”

He’d been urging her to leave home and predicting that she never would for years. “You’re gettin’ old, Meg,” he’d say, shaking his head over her. He was only a year older than Megan but he’d always acted as if she was his baby sister, and it drove her mad. “You keep saying you’re going but you never do. How much do you want to bet you’re still here when you’re thirty?”

Now she said casually, “I’ve been planning it for a while. Dad seems to think it’s a good idea. He’s paying for the ticket.”

“He’s what?” Tom said. “He’s
what
? You got
money
out of him?”

Then he said seriously, “That’s really great, Meg. Congratulations—I never thought you had it in you.”

Oh, but that last comment tasted sweet.

She told the rest of the boys at suppertime. She summoned them a few minutes early while her mother was still in the kitchen making the gravy. Their father ate separately in his study after the rest of them had finished. Megan had suggested the arrangement some years before and it had been a great relief all around.

The boys came promptly; there was a house rule—also of Megan’s devising—whereby anyone who wasn’t sitting at his place within five minutes of being called went hungry. No excuses. It had proved to be very effective. When she first instituted the rule Tom had accused her of being a dictator, and Megan had said, “Absolutely.”

They shambled in two by two—like the animals in the Ark, Megan thought, apart from being all the same sex and considerably less appealing. Donald and Gary, age seventeen; Peter and Corey, age ten and nine. The latter two were bickering, as always.

“I never touched it,” Peter said.

“You did too,” Corey said. “I saw you.”

“You couldn’t have,
pig
, ’cause I never touched it.”

“If you two don’t shut up, I’m going to tear your heads off,” Donald said. He sat down and heaved his chair closer to the table.

“Sit down, all of you,” Megan said, stuffing Adam into his high chair. “I have something to tell you.” She tied Adam’s bib firmly around his neck and manoeuvred the high chair up to the table. Tom’s empty chair was still there, taking up valuable space. Megan would have liked to shove it back against the wall, but her mother insisted on it staying where it was, like a ghost at the feast.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Peter said to Corey.

“Yeah, I am. Liar, liar, pants on fire!”

Donald half stood and reached across the table to cuff him, but Corey dodged out of the way.

Megan picked up a spoon and rapped the table warningly. They all looked at her. “I have something to tell you,” she repeated.

Peter looked back at Corey. “Snot-head,” he said.

Megan stepped around the table and rapped him on the head with the spoon.

“Ow!” Peter said, outraged, rubbing his head. “Megan! That really
hurt
!”

“Pay attention!”

Donald put his hand up.

“What?” Megan snapped.

“I’m really, really sorry to interrupt,” Donald said languidly, “but I thought you’d like to know the baby is strangling.”

“No, he’s not,” Gary said. “He’s just having a crap.”

“He doesn’t go blue when he’s having a crap, he goes red.”

“Would you
please
not use words like that at the table,” Megan said automatically. She glanced at Adam. He was making gasping noises and pulling at his bib and was indeed a little blue. She undid the strings of the bib, did them up again more loosely and patted
him on the back. He took several deep breaths, yelled briefly and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Megan patted him again in approval; he was a stoical little soul. He was the only one of them she was going to miss.

“Now all of you, listen,” she continued. “In two weeks’ time I’m leaving home.”

“Good!” Peter said.

“This is great, great news!” Gary said.

“Really?” Donald said. “You mean, for good?”

“Yes,” Megan said. “For good. And it’s going to affect all of you. You’re going to have to do more to help around the house.”

Corey said, “Can we eat now?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Megan demanded. “You’re going to have to help Mum. She won’t be able to manage without help. Did you all hear that?”

“Yes,” Donald said. “Not being stone deaf, we all heard that.”

“Good. I’ve made out a list of chores for each of you and I’m going to pin them to the wall next to the fridge. I’ll go through them with you, individually, before I leave. You are to do them
without being asked
. Do you understand?
Without being asked
! I will be checking,
regularly
, with Mum.” How she was going to do that from England she had no idea, but in any case she held out no hope that it would work. It just had to be said.

“Okay,” Gary said. “Fine. Can we get on with supper? I’ve got homework.”

“Corey?” Megan said. “Peter?”

“Okay! Okay! Okay! Can. We. Eat. Now?”

None of them had asked where she was going. I’m sick to death of the lot of you, she thought. I really am.

She told Patrick on Saturday night over coffee at Harper’s. They always went to Harper’s on Saturday night, along with everyone
else in town under the age of thirty. The only other place to go was Ben’s Bar, which on Saturdays was jammed with drunken loggers. In the summer there was the beach, but now it was February and minus twenty-six degrees outside and it hurt to draw a breath. In Harper’s it was so hot everyone was stripped down to their shirt sleeves, but the snow tracked in on people’s boots refused to melt. Mounds of parkas and hats and gloves were heaped onto hooks and stuffed into the corners of benches.

Patrick didn’t say anything for a minute or two after Megan made her announcement. He studied the menu printed on the paper table mat in front of him as if he ever had anything but a cheeseburger and fries.

Finally he looked up and said, “Megan, will you marry me?”

Megan said, “Patrick, please.”

He picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee. His head was tilted to one side, the way it always was when he was out of sorts. Not that he was often out of sorts, Megan conceded. He was a very even-tempered man.

“I’ve always said I was going to go,” she said. She felt even worse than she’d thought she would. “Always.”

“Not to England. Why England, for God’s sake?”

“I’ve always wanted to see it,” she said, which wasn’t true, but going all that way just because her father would pay for the ticket and a friend was there didn’t seem good enough reasons even to her.

Patrick went on stirring his coffee. “How long will you stay?”

“I don’t know. A while, I think. I have an open ticket.”

“How long is a while? Are we talking weeks? Months? Years?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a long pause.

Megan said, “Patrick, I’ve never been anywhere in my whole life. I’ve never been to a city.
Any
city. I want to
see
things.
Do
things. I’ve never done
anything
. I’ve never been
anywhere
.”

Patrick shrugged. “Neither have I. Well, college in Sudbury.”

“Don’t you want to?” Megan asked. “Don’t you want to see things? See other places?” Then she held her breath for fear he’d think she was asking him to come with her.

“Sure, someday,” he said, and she let out her breath. “At the moment there are things I want more.” He smiled at her wryly. “A lot more.”

“Yes, well,” Megan said.

There was another pause.

“England’s a hell of a long way, Meg.”

“Yes. I know.”

So many things weren’t being said but were nonetheless plain as day, chief amongst them that Patrick loved her and she did not love him, or at least not as much. The knowledge made her feel guilty, which in turn made her feel cross, because she had never led him on, never pretended to feel more than she felt. Maybe we’re just at different stages, she thought. He’s older, he’s been to college. He’s ready to settle down. I’ve been settled down my whole life. I’ve never been anything
but
settled down.

“When are you leaving?” Patrick said.

“The Thursday after next.”

“
The Thursday after next
!”

“I booked it today. There was a seat on a cheap flight.”

More silence.

“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Patrick said at last.

“That’s very nice of you but it’s way too far to drive. Really. It would be silly. I’ll take the train to Toronto and get a bus or something to the airport. There must be all kinds of buses.”