Algoma (25 page)

In the winter, Algoma read seed catalogues like romance novels, full of blooms, shade coverage, and ideal circumstances. She thought almost entirely in zones, sunlight and rainfall. She was already thinking about what she would plant next year. Spring seemed far off, an impossible stretch of time away, but it would come and she would plant the garden again for another year. Each seed was like a rosary bead. Small miracles for her discipline. With gardening and religion, there were consequences for taking the easy path.

When the sun began to set, Algoma stood up, her knees cracking as she rose. She went into the shed and grabbed a wood chisel. When she returned to the garden, she sought out the still-green pumpkins. Using the chisel, just as her mother had years ago, she carved the names of her husband, son, parents, and sisters into the hard rinds. One name on each pumpkin. By fall, she would see which pumpkins had survived mole or mildew, which had grown fat and ripe, which had grown lop-sided, half rotted into the earth. She left one pumpkin blank for the unnamed baby inside her, a slow swelling tarot.

______________

6:17 p.m. 23°C. No wind.
Jam stain on the table cloth.

Algoma was setting the dinner table for two when the police arrived. She had just put a bowl of sliced cucumbers from the garden on the table when she heard a knock at the door. A police car was parked at the end of her driveway. She wondered if she should make them a key.

It was Monday and Ferd was staying over at Steel’s house. Simon was sleeping downstairs, still working off his hangover from the night before. When Algoma had found him sleeping on the sliding swing in the backyard, she’d regretted asking him to leave and invited him back in.

“Mrs. Beaudoin. It’s the police. Please answer the door,” a man’s voice called out.

A police officer stood on the other side of the door, his hand cupped against the glass as he tried to look inside the house.

“One minute,” Algoma said. She wiped her hands on a dish towel. Her gut told her that the visit was not about Ferdinand or Gaetan. Maybe one of the neighbourhood kids hadn’t arrived home for dinner yet.

Just as the policeman was about to knock again, Algoma opened the door. “How can I help you?” She was polite, but not friendly.

“Mrs. Beaudoin?” the police officer asked.

Algoma nodded. She hadn’t met this officer before, which surprised her. She thought she knew all of them by now.

“I’m Officer
Dore
and this is Officer Faucher,” he said, pointing at the second officer standing to his right.

“How can I help you?” Algoma asked. “I have dinner in the oven.” She motioned to the kitchen behind her.

“We’ve received information that Simon Beaudoin is residing here. Can you confirm if that’s true.”

“Simon?” Algoma asked. He’d barely left the house since he’d arrived. As if hearing her thoughts, Algoma heard Simon stirring on his mattress below, the coils creaking beneath his weight. He was up. She could almost feel him willing her to send the police away, to say that he wasn’t here.

“It’s just me and my son,” she said. She felt a blush rise up her neck.

“And where is your son right now?” Officer
Dore
asked.

“At my sister’s house.”

The officer noted the table set for two in the kitchen behind her and made a sucking sound with his teeth. “I’m going to ask you again. Is Simon staying with you?”

“I’m right here,” Simon said. He was standing at the bottom of the basement stairs, dressed only in a pair of jeans. “Just give me a minute to get my things.”

“Simon,” Algoma said, but he’d already walked away.

When he returned a moment later, he was fully dressed. He ascended the stairs to the side door landing where the two grim-faced officers stood.

“I’m Simon Beaudoin,” he said. “I was wondering how long this was going to take you.”

______________

6:49 p.m. 22°C. Wind E, gusting.
Every door in the house thrown wide open.

“What are you doing, Mom?” Ferd kicked at a pile of his father’s clothing that was strewn across the floor. In fact, there were piles of Gaetan’s clothing all over the house. Every closet, drawer, and box had been emptied.

Algoma was seated on the bed in the guest bedroom, two of Gaetan’s sport jackets draped over her arm.

“I’m making a dress.”

“Can’t you just buy one?”

Yesterday, Bay had left a message on Algoma’s answering machine asking her to be her date at a wedding the following weekend. “I just can’t bear to go alone,” she’d said. While Algoma was sure that Bay could get a date if she’d wanted to, she’d called back and said yes. Her sister seemed different lately, distant. A night out would be good for both of them. Maybe she’d find out what was going on. Even Port had seen less of Bay lately, and Bay had always been someone who wanted to be seen, even if only by family members.

Lacking any formal wear that would fit over her pregnant belly, Algoma decided to make a dress. While not ready to destroy her own clothing yet, and still missing her own previously permanent date—her husband—she came up with the idea of making a dress out of his clothing. Even if he were to come back, she was sure he would not fault her a couple of destroyed jackets. It was probably to be expected.

The night before, while Ferd slept below, she’d been up into the early hours sketching the dress she would make. Today, she was looking for the right fabric—something that was light, but had structure. Since no one piece of clothing of Gaetan’s would accommodate her new girth, Algoma was looking for several pieces of like colour to build her dress from. In the end, she settled on three twill suit jackets, clothes Gaetan hadn’t worn often, but that Algoma had on hand just in case they were ever invited to something nice.

Ferd picked up a white T-shirt from the floor. “Can I have this?”

“Sure,” Algoma said, not looking at him. She was ripping out the lining of one of the jackets.

“If you’re making a dress, then why do you need a pair of jogging pants?” he asked.

Algoma fingered the fabric on the grey jogging pants. They were well worn, and cut off at the knees. “I need the elastic.”

Over the next week, Algoma spent most of her spare time at her sewing machine in the guest bedroom. From the living room, Ferd became accustomed to the hum of the machine, the needle going up and down, and his mother’s soft swearing whenever she made a mistake, which was often. She liked to make clothes, but was not especially gifted at it. He made dinners for both of them—sandwiches and soup—and offered to clean up afterward. He did not want to break the spell of his mother’s good mood. It’d been a week since Simon had left, and she’d been especially quiet since his departure. A new job, she’d said, on the other side of the country.

When Saturday finally came, Steel came over to the house early to watch Ferd while Algoma got ready. The guest bedroom was an explosion of knotted thread and cut-up fabric, and it was where she chose to get ready, dressing amid the scraps.

Bay pulled her car up in front of Algoma’s house and punched the horn three times. After five minutes of waiting, she leaned on the horn with her elbow until she saw Algoma’s hand in the window. Ten minutes later, Algoma emerged from the side door. Impatient, Bay tapped the top of her steering wheel while Algoma locked the door and put her key back into her purse. They were already late, which wouldn’t be so bad if they hadn’t decided to skip the actual wedding. “They’ll never even notice that we’re not there,” Bay had suggested on the phone the night before and Algoma had agreed.

Algoma slowly walked toward the car, holding the wrapped wedding gift in front of her. Bay waited until the gift was safety tucked into the truck before asking her sister what the hell she was wearing. “I mean, where did you get the dress? The Shop? We can still swing by the mall if you want to change.”

For once, Algoma was immune to her sister’s tongue. She was proud of her dress, everything about it. “I made it,” she said.

Bay sighed. “Of course you did. What kind of fabric is that anyway?”

“Jacket and jogging.”

From the three jackets (each a different shade of brown) and the elastic band from the jogging pants, Algoma had sewed together a twill dress with a boat neck, short sleeves, and an empire waist that stayed in place because of the elastic band she’d built in.

“It looks like a man built that dress,” Bay said as she sped through the streets.

“Thank you,” Algoma said, and she meant it.

Well after the speeches and hours after most people had left for home, Algoma and Bay remained behind. There were still twenty people going strong in the rented hall. Even the bartender was joining in on the festivities, downing shots with the best man at the bar. Algoma recognized the best man as the officer who had taken Simon away from the house. She’d been right all along: there had been no girlfriend. The police had been looking for Simon in connection to a series of heavy machinery and vehicle thefts at construction sites in and around Drummondville. When Algoma asked how the police had known her brother-in-law was staying at her house, he’d said they’d received a tip and refused to say more. Despite the circumstances, she wasn’t mad at Simon. Selfishly, she missed his company, the space he’d filled now empty again. She’d never had a brother before, never even considered the idea before he’d come along.

“I need another beer,” Bay said, although she hadn’t even finished the one she was drinking. “This one’s warm.”

“I’ll get you one,” Algoma said. “Just wait here.”

At the bar, the officer was using his finger to stir his rye and cola.

“Hi,” Algoma said.

It took a moment for the officer to recognize her. “Simon,” he said quietly. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, the collision of his personal and professional life. He tried to stand straighter, to look sober, but his head spun with the effort.

Algoma turned to the bartender. “One Molson and one ginger ale.”

“I’m sorry about that,” the officer said. “About him.”

“Thank you,” Algoma said, cradling the beer and her drink in her arms. She was about to walk away when she turned around. “Can I just ask you one thing?”

“Sure,” the officer said, sounding unsure.

“Who told you Simon was staying at my house?”

He sighed, a defeated look on his face. “What does it matter?” he said, and walked away, leaving Algoma standing alone with her drinks.

As soon as Algoma returned to her table, Bay asked her who she’d been talking to.

When Algoma told her, Bay stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

“I owe that man a dance.”

By the time that Algoma pulled the car into the driveway at her house, Bay was fast asleep in the back seat, her mouth open. Algoma had never seen Bay drunk before. She rarely let go of her control of any situation, let alone in public.

“Get up,” she said. “We’re home.”

“Home?” Bay croaked from the back seat. She was sleeping on her side like a child.

“Come on. Get up and come inside unless you want to sleep out here. I have your keys. You’re not driving home tonight.”

Bay groaned and sat up. “Why did you let me drink that much?”

“There’s Advil in the bathroom. Go take two.”

While Algoma tried to be quiet when she walked into the house, Bay dropped her purse onto the floor and flipped her heels off into the corner where they banged against the wall.

“You can sleep in the guest room, if you want.”

Algoma went into the kitchen and put in two slices of bread to toast. She was already hungry again. She wasn’t used to staying up this late.

As Bay shuffled off in her nylons to the washroom, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes, Algoma listened for Ferd. Nothing. He was asleep.

Once the toast popped up, Algoma slathered it with butter and sat down at the kitchen table. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she saw Steel sit up on the couch.

“You home?” she asked and yawned.

“Bay, too. Why don’t you just stay the night?”

“Mmm,” Steel said and pulled her blanket up to her chin. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Do you have bacon?”

“Yes, we have bacon. Goodnight, Steel.”

“’Night.”

Algoma went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of cold milk. It felt good to have a full house, even if most of them were sleeping. She walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

“You okay in there?” No answer. She tried again. “Bay, you good?”

“Come in.”

Algoma opened the door and found her sister sitting cross-legged in front of the toilet. Her nylons tossed into the tub.

“I drank too much beer.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m just sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” Algoma walked around her sister and sat on the edge of the tub. “Did you take the Advil?”

Bay nodded.

“Then why don’t you just get changed and go to bed. I’ll put out some pyjamas for you.”

Bay pointed at the right sleeve on Algoma’s dress. “Is that from Gaetan’s jacket, the one he wore to Christmas last year.”

It was Algoma’s turn to nod.

“Can you make me one? I mean, a dress?”

Algoma laughed. “You hate this dress and you’ll still hate it in the morning. You really are drunk. Go to bed.”

“I’m just going to stay here for a while,” Bay said, leaning on the toilet seat. “Just in case.”

Algoma told her she would put out some clothes for her in the guest bedroom. “See you in the morning.”

It was almost 1:00 p.m. when Bay woke up. She walked into the kitchen and stretched. “What’s for breakfast? I want coffee.”

Algoma was doing dishes and Steel was watching television in the living room with Ferd.

“It’s cold now, but you can microwave it,” Algoma offered.

Bay yawned and opened the fridge. “I’m starving.” She grabbed the plate of leftover bacon that Steel had cooked and sat at the table with it. “I meant what I said last night.”

“What was that?”

“I want you to make me a dress.”

“So you can laugh?”

“Just make me one, okay?”

“Okay,” Algoma said. “But it will have to be after the baby.”