Small-Town Girl

“I’d planned on you coming back fairly regularly, anyway. Can’t expect you to give up all your theater and shopping. This way the trips will be a business expense.”

“Yes.” But only one ticket would. Or perhaps Russell had no plans of joining her. Separate holidays, then. The last thing, Julie feared, her marriage needed right now.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FIRST SIGN OF CHATSWORTH, approaching from the west along the Yellowhead highway from Yorkton, was the white grain elevator sitting next to the train tracks running parallel to the highway.

The boxlike structure—which resembled a milk carton more than a building, in Julie’s opinion—was a tangible reminder of why this town existed; to service the surrounding farms. Farmers hauled their grain to the elevator so it could be sold. They banked in Chatsworth and collected their mail there. Picked up groceries at Lucky’s grocery store, filled their tanks at Stanley’s garage and bought parts at the Handy Hardware to fix their broken-down tractors.

“This is it, isn’t it, Dad?” Ben slipped his earphones down his neck and leaned forward.

“You bet, son.” Russell had his foot off the gas and the left indicator light flashing. He waited as a grain truck heading west passed by, then turned the Volvo onto the main road toward Chatsworth. Behind them, the rented U-Haul bumped over the twin sets of train tracks.

The town wasn’t ugly, Julie conceded. Late-afternoon sunlight sparkled on the lake. The surrounding trees were tinged with early-autumn highlights. True, most of the homes were small and utilitarian, of little architectural interest. But the majority were well tended, and some of the flower gardens still looked spectacular, with late-blooming dahlias and mums.

Russell turned left again and stopped in front of the three-story, brick elementary school. “That’s where we’ll be going a week from Monday, Ben.”

Julie tried to put herself in her husband’s shoes. Could he really be happy to have exchanged his responsibilities at the university for the prospect of working here, in this modest structure, teaching grade-five students everything from spelling to art? Judging from the expression on his face, he was.

“Worried, Ben?” he asked.

Their son shrugged. “Not really.”

“Well, you’ll have to be good…with the church across the road and all.”

Julie turned to view the small white clapboard structure. “Your dad and I were married here, Ben.” How long ago that day seemed. She’d been so stressed, dealing with her parents and sister, all quite annoyed that she’d chosen to have her wedding so far from an international airport.

Having the ceremony in Chatsworth had been her concession to Russell and his family. And they’d been bouncing between her family and his ever since. One year Julie would take Ben with her to London; the next year their son joined Russell for a visit to Chatsworth. Rarely had they made these trips as a family, saving the bulk of their vacation dollars and days for Saltspring.

“Are we going to Grandma’s now?”

“Sure. Let’s just drive past our new house first.”

Julie could read the implications of the glance Russell shot her. He wanted her to like this house. He wanted her to like this town. He wanted her to think this was a wonderful adventure, a fresh start for their family. And she didn’t want to let him down.

But when Russell parked their Volvo in front of the unassuming bungalow on Lakeshore Drive, finding compliments was hard. This place wasn’t terrible. The white siding seemed in good shape; the windows looked new. The small porch in the front was cute, though desperately in need of paint. But it wasn’t their house in West Van. Not even close.

Oh, Russell… Where have you taken me?

“Look at that tree house! Do you see it, Dad?”

“You bet. I’ve always wanted a tree house. Maybe there’ll be another in the back for you.”

Finally able to smile, Julie pointed out one redeeming feature. “There’s a raspberry bush next to the garden.” They all loved raspberries.

“Awesome. Can I pick berries whenever I want to?”

“In the summer, sure. They’ve finished for the season now, though.” Russell put the car back into Drive. “We should get going. Grandma will be holding supper for us.”

Julie, tense already, felt a suspicious pressure in her temples. Surreptitiously, she dug one of her pain-relief pills from her handbag.

“Headache coming?” Russell asked as he glided the Volvo and U-Haul two blocks farther along Lakeshore Drive.

She nodded, swallowing back the medication with a swig from the water bottle she’d purchased at their last stop for gas in Regina.

Briefly, Russell rested his hand on her knee. Before she could cover it with her own, he’d reclaimed the steering wheel.

“We’re here.”

“Yeah!” Ben shot out of the back seat, not bothering to close the door behind him. Rivaling him for speed were his grandparents, who must have been watching at the window because they were already on the steps. Betty Matthew held out her arms and Ben hurled himself into her embrace.

Watching, Julie blinked rapidly. She’d been dreading this first encounter with the Matthews and now the moment had arrived.

Russell had her car door open. He held out his hand.

“Just a minute. I need to close my purse. You go ahead.”

She zipped the leather bag, then slung it on her shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she spied the keys dangling in the ignition. She imagined herself unhooking the U-Haul from the back. Driving off, windows open, music blaring.

That she found the image so appealing scared her. She didn’t really want to abandon her family. She wanted to rush from the car the way her husband and son had. She longed to be able to hug her in-laws, to smile naturally and joke about the misery of two twelve-hour days spent traveling.

But she’d never achieved that comfort level with her in-laws.

She felt stiff as she walked up the sidewalk, and had to force a smile when she reached the group.

“Julie. You look a little tired, dear.” Betty Matthew made the first move. Julie succumbed to an awkward embrace with the plump, shorter woman before turning to Russell’s father.

Age had rendered Larry an inch shorter than his son, but he was still slender and the almost-white hair on his head remained thick and curly. He smiled and pecked her on the cheek, while her lips touched only air.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you all! How was the drive? Come on in. I’ve got a roast waiting in the oven.”

Julie leaned close to her husband. “Should we lock the car?”

He smiled indulgently. “It’s okay, Julie.”

She glanced over her shoulder. A significant portion of their worldly goods were stowed in that U-Haul. Clothing, family photos, her favorite pieces of art. “I’m going back to get the keys, at least.”

Russell shrugged, following his parents inside. When Julie returned, keys in her purse and both car and U-Haul safely locked, she found the men in the living room. Larry had already served his son a cold beer, still in the bottle.

In the five years since her last visit, little had changed in this room save the addition of a few more framed photos and a couple of new knickknacks on the fake mantel. Fifteen years ago the Matthews had purchased their living room furniture with comfort and price the main concern. Those same principles guided the decor of the entire home.

“Mother’s in the kitchen,” Larry told her.

She nodded, accepting the dismissal, barely registering her husband’s faintly apologetic smile.

The kitchen was past the dining room to the right. She heard her mother-in-law before she saw her.

“Here’s a wooden spoon, Ben, honey. Stir the gravy for me, would you? I’ve made Yorkshire puddings. I remember how much you liked them last time you were here.”

No one seemed to notice Julie when she first stepped into the room. She stood straight, hands clasped in front of her, like a schoolgirl summoned to the principal.

“May I help?”

“Sure.”

Julie couldn’t miss the subtle tension that stiffened Betty’s voice. She noticed the effort with which Betty gave her a smile.

“I have a salad on the table. Could you put out the bottles of dressings? I’ve got Thousand Islands, Ranch and Italian.”

Julie smothered the impulse to offer to make a vinaigrette. She uncapped the bottles that she’d found lined up on the refrigerator door, then put them on the table as they were.

“Larry already carved the roast.” Betty took a white platter from the oven and removed the covering of foil. The meat was uniformly dark gray—very well done. “I’ll put out the gravy, then we can eat. Ben, would you call your dad and grandpa, please?”

Sitting at the table, listening to her husband say grace, Julie had a flash of prescience. This was only the first of many times the five of them would sit here. From now on, she would mark off the weeks of her life with Sunday dinners just like this one. She would become middle-aged in this town. Accumulate wrinkles and gray hairs. Maybe in time she would develop a taste for overcooked beef, and sofa sets covered in afghans, and pictures hung about a foot higher than eye level on the wall.

Julie tried, but she couldn’t eat the food on that particular Sunday. She couldn’t focus on the conversation, either. Ben looked happy. So did Russell. Her husband and her son seemed so real to her right then. Their voices were strong; their laughter, assured. She marveled at their ability to fit in, to adapt, to accept.

And secretly worried that this had been their kind of world all along.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE NIGHT BEFORE SCHOOL started, Julie and Russell had their first visitor who wasn’t family.

The moving truck with their furnishings had arrived four days earlier, and the hours since then had been a tangle of unpacking and sorting, arranging and rearranging. Ben had spent most of that first week with his grandparents. Tonight, though, he was reading in his room. Julie had made an effort to set up his furnishings as similarly as possible to how they’d been in Vancouver. Though Ben didn’t seem to care much.

He hadn’t complained about anything to do with the move. Nor did he appear unduly concerned about his fast-approaching first day at a different school.

“I’ll get the door,” Julie told Russell, leaving him standing at the back window, holding a sheet of fabric she’d been pinning for new curtains.

The window treatments were for show more than necessity. Julie couldn’t imagine wanting to shut out the view of sparkling lake, with green pastures and woods beyond. In Vancouver, they’d enjoyed a peek-a-boo view of the ocean. But here, the lake literally lapped at their backyard.

See? You’ve found something about this house that you like.

Walking down the hall, Julie smoothed her shirt, her hair. Stopping at the mirror by the front entrance, she checked her lipstick, then she opened the door.

“Hello?”

The woman on the welcome mat—an attractive, disheveled, smiling redhead—looked surprised to see her.

“Oh. You must be Julie.” She stepped forward, offering a wicker basket full of cookies. “I’m Heather Sweeney—an old friend of Russell’s. Just wanted to welcome your family to town.” Her gaze dropped to the pincushion in Julie’s left hand. “But you’re busy. Perhaps another time….”

“Now is fine. We were just measuring for draperies. Please come in. I’m sure Russell will appreciate the break.” She glanced at the basket in her hands, the still-warm, aromatic cookies. “How lovely of you.”

“Basic chocolate chip. Can’t really miss with those.”

“Julie? Do I have to keep holding this?” Russell’s voice traveled from the back of the house.

“No. We have company. Come and say hello.” She swiveled at the sound of his footsteps in the hall.

“Heather!” Seeing their visitor, Russell broke out in a smile, the kind that still made Julie’s toes curl. The kind she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“I thought it might be nice to have a chance to chat before the mayhem of the first day of school,” Heather said.

Julie stepped to the side as the two friends hugged. Heather, shorter than Julie, had to stand on her toes. In Russell’s arms she closed her eyes briefly. To Julie, it seemed she deliberately took a deep breath, as if to inhale Russell’s very essence.

Silly thought.

“Let’s have a drink on the deck,” she invited. “It’s a splendid evening.”

“Good idea. I take it you two introduced yourselves?” With a hand on each of their backs, Russell led them down the hall, to the kitchen. Julie set the cookies on the counter. “We’ll have them for lunch tomorrow,” she said.

After taking orders, Russell poured a glass of pinot gris for Julie, a lager for himself and juice for Heather. They sat out on the cedar decking in padded aluminum chairs that Julie hadn’t yet had time to wipe down.

“I’m sorry for the dust.” She brushed off her own seat with her hand before sitting. “We’ve been concentrating on the inside.”

Heather wasn’t perturbed. Of course her denim shorts would wash easily.

“You must have been working hard,” she said. “The inside looks amazing. You have a talent for decorating. But then, that’s what you are, isn’t it? An interior designer?”

“Julie studied interior design in London, before she got her master’s in journalism from UBC.”

“Wow. Maybe I could have you over sometime. Get some pointers. I’d feed you dinner in exchange.”

The woman had a very friendly smile. Her light-blue eyes seemed incapable of hiding even the smallest of uncharitable thoughts.

“I’d be happy to,” Julie said, not entirely honestly. “But tell me how you two know each other.”

Their glances met and they both smiled.

“We went to school together,” Russell said. “Although I was two grades ahead.”

Heather paused to sip from her glass. “Then Russ went to university in Vancouver. We didn’t see much of him after that.”

“Heather earned her education degree in Saskatoon,” Russell told Julie. Turning back to Heather, he said, “Mom passed on the news about your wedding.” His smile faded. “And the accident.”

“That was no accident.”

“No, I guess not.” Again he made an explanation in an aside to Julie. “Heather’s husband was an officer with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. A couple of years ago, he stopped a guy on the highway. The crazy idiot pulled out a gun….”

“Oh, no.” Julie’s stomach lurched at the picture her mind all too vividly provided. Immediately her feelings toward her guest softened. “How tragic. I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, it was terrible.” Heather’s open face made it clear she was still dealing with the loss. “The man responsible turned the gun on himself right after. Somehow that made it worse for me. If he hadn’t wanted to live, anyway, why did he have to take Nick?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know this kind of thinking is pointless.”

“It’s difficult not to focus on how easily a situation could have resulted in a different outcome,” Russell said. “All it takes is a second to change your life forever.”

Julie thought about Ben and the morning of April 30. If the phone had rung two minutes later, they would have been out the door; she wouldn’t even have heard it….

“Life deals some hard blows,” Heather agreed. “I was so sorry to hear about Ben’s accident. How’s he doing?”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

Russell’s and Julie’s answers collided in the quiet evening air.

“He’s getting stronger every day,” Russell elaborated. “The doctors warned us it might take some time before he fully recovers.”

To Julie, Russell sounded totally confident that one day Ben would be completely well. Yet the doctors hadn’t provided any guarantees.

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Heather said. “I know your parents were terribly worried. I can only imagine how hard it must have been on the two of you.”

Julie stared out at the lake, which lay framed between two spruce trees growing at either end of their spacious backyard. The water had turned navy in the fading light. A new chill in the air sent goose bumps over her arms.

Russell finally responded to Heather’s comment. “It’s been a tough few months.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him—I promise,” Heather said.

Julie blinked, feeling as if she’d missed a couple of steps in this conversation. After a few seconds of silence, she acknowledged the obvious. Heather had already referred to the craziness of the first day of school. Russell had mentioned her education degree.

“You’re a teacher.”

Heather glanced at Russell, then back to Julie. “Grade four.”

“Ben’s in grade four.”

“Yes. He’ll be in my class this year. I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She smiled at Russell. “And to working with you.”

“After all these years,” Russell said. “Who would have thought?”

THE KING-SIZE BED JULIE and Russell had shared in Vancouver dwarfed the small bedroom in this new home of theirs. Julie sat on one corner of the mattress, brushing her hair and listening to the creaks of an unfamiliar house.

Often she’d heard Russell complain about the never-ending noise of traffic and sirens in the city. But she found the quiet of this town much more oppressive. According to Russell, the birds would wake them at dawn. But right now, at just past eleven, she felt as if she and Russell were the only ones in this town still awake.

Ben had fallen asleep hours ago, with clean clothes for tomorrow laid out on the chair in front of his desk and a new backpack, filled with supplies she’d purchased in Vancouver, sitting on the floor next to his shoes.

Julie stopped brushing her hair and closed her eyes. The picture came, as it always did…

A size-three Converse running shoe, flying through the air, laces untied…

To replace the ruined pair, she’d bought Ben Boarders. He’d been so pleased. Apparently they were all the rage at his old school. Would they be here, too? She hoped so. She wanted badly for him to blend in and be happy. What concerned her most, of course, was his performance in the classroom. Just how slow was Ben now? Would he fit into the average of his class? Or somewhere below?

What if he couldn’t even maintain his grade level?

She’d give him a few weeks, she decided, then talk to his teacher. Heather Sweeney was certainly approachable enough. Her friendship with Russell would make her even more eager to help.

Russell came into the room from the washroom, face and neck damp. He pulled his white T-shirt over his head, balled it up and tossed it into the wicker basket just two feet from where Julie sat.

“Nice that Ben had a chance to meet his teacher before the big day tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes. I suppose I’ll get used to people dropping in unannounced around here.”

Russell had his jeans unzipped. He paused and stared at her.

“Sorry. That was churlish. I do appreciate that she took the time to stop in. I guess I just wish I’d had a chance…to tidy up a little first.” That was a lie. The condition of the house hadn’t bothered her. She wished she could have brushed her hair, freshened her makeup, put on a decent pair of sandals, instead of padding around in her bare feet. With chipped nail polish, no less.

Not that Heather Sweeney had been perfectly groomed. But the other woman had the kind of looks that benefited from being untamed. Fresh and outdoorsy.

Stealing a glance at her husband, who had stripped to his white boxers and was climbing into his side of the bed, she thought of another adjective.

Sexy.

Yes, Heather Sweeney, in her denim shorts and pink tank top had definitely been that.

Julie exchanged her brush for the novel she was currently reading. Once settled under the covers, she adjusted her pillows and looked across to her right.

“Were you good friends?”

Russell lowered a sheaf of papers to his chest—lesson plans for the upcoming week. His dark eyeglasses slid down his nose a quarter of an inch. “With Heather, you mean?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She opened her book, trying to remember which chapter she’d finished with last night. After she’d found it, she realized Russell still hadn’t answered her question. She glanced back at him.

He was staring out the window, his gaze thoughtful.

Actually, he’d seemed unsettled, in a quiet sort of way, ever since Heather left.

“She’s an old girlfriend, right?”

Russell sighed. He removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. “Yeah.”

Julie tossed her book aside. Leaning on her side, head propped up by her bent arm, she asked, “Were the two of you serious?”

“For a while. I took her to my grade-twelve grad.”

“Was that the end of it?”

“More or less. We’d planned on attending different universities, in different provinces, so it didn’t make sense to make promises to each other we’d probably be unable to keep. After all, we were young.”

The ending sounded a bit too pat. “And you never dated again?”

“Well, we saw each other occasionally at holidays—Christmas and summer.” He paused for effect. Raised his eyebrows. “Then I met this new girl in the UBC library….”

He’d met her.

For the first time since the accident, Julie felt her husband focus in on her as if he was seeing Julie his wife, not Julie the mother of his son. His eyes lingered on her face, then dipped to the neckline of her silk chemise.

Russell set his papers gently on the floor, then edged closer to her. His move made her nervous. It had been a long time. Too long. But who felt like making love when their child’s life hung in the balance?

Even as she had the thought, Julie recognized it as an excuse. Making love could have been a comfort. For both of them. And Russell had initiated a few overtures. But she’d been too stressed….

She willed her body to relax. That Russell was gentle helped. First he stroked her hair. She felt the muscles in her neck relax a fraction.

“My beautiful Julie.”

They kissed tentatively, like strangers who were trying to get to know each other again. In a way, Julie realized, that was exactly what they were. Four long months had elapsed since they’d last been intimate.

Russell slipped one hand between her and the bed, drawing her nearer. Inside his embrace, Julie tensed again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied, angry with herself. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest. Inhaling, she thought of Heather and that brief second when Russell’s arms had encircled the woman. What had been going on in their minds in that moment? What had Heather felt? And what about Russell?

With her husband’s hands on her body, Julie wondered about the past love affair, and suffered again the unfamiliar bite of jealousy. Why had Russell never mentioned this woman? Did that mean she hadn’t been very important to him? Or maybe the very opposite.

With her mind distracted, her body began to react and respond of its own accord. She moved beneath Russell’s touch now and reached out to him, as well. Soon the old heat and ache were rekindled.

She needed this. It had been so long. So long…

“Russell, you don’t by any chance have a condom, do you?”

“What?”

“I haven’t been taking my birth control pills. Not since…”

In the past, she had a morning routine. Vitamin C, iron and birth control. All with her morning glass of grapefruit juice. But after Ben’s accident, she just couldn’t. To worry about her vitamin levels when her son was in such a serious state had seemed selfish. And sex had been the last priority on her mind.

“Oh, Julie…” He groaned, pressing his body to hers, so she could feel the hard length of him. “Of course I don’t have a condom. We haven’t used them in years.”

“Maybe you could run out—” She cut off her sentence as soon as she remembered where they were. No such thing as a twenty-four-hour drugstore in Chatsworth, Saskatchewan. And even if there were…the clerk would probably know Russell by name. How could anyone buy a package of condoms at midnight from someone who knew their name?