Bow Grip (15 page)

“Hey, Raylene? I think I changed my mind. I think you should put your mom in the picture after all. Just don’t draw us so we’re kissing.”

Raylene sat up straight, reached for a different crayon. Her face split into a quick smile, then settled back into serious concentration. “I’m going to make her wearing a pretty dress then. A new one, for special.”

We hung out like that for a while, chatting and drawing and writing. Raylene finally announced to me that her picture was done, and could I untie her hood for her. I slipped her out of her parka and she curled up under the covers of the other bed, her stuffed moose tucked up under her chin.

“You can put the TV on if you want,” she said. “I can sleep even through a lot of noises.” Soon after, she crashed right out. I nodded off too at some point, on top of the sheets with my boots still on. The eleven o’clock news was on when Kelly woke me up with a soft knock on the door. Raylene was snoring, a lot louder than I thought a little girl could. I let Kelly in, and she sat on the edge of Raylene’s bed, her cheeks red from the cold, her hand absentmindedly stroking her daughter’s foot through the covers.

“Was she good? She looks so innocent when she’s asleep. You’d never know by looking at her now, how bad she can be if she feels like it.”

“She was a perfect angel. She drew me a picture, and then passed out around eight or so. We had a good time. She’s a smart kid. I like her a lot.”

“Well, I guess I should pack her up and get myself to bed. I’m opening tomorrow, at six.”

“What do you do with Raylene that early? Is her daycare open all weekend, too?”

Kelly shook her head. “I take her with me on Saturdays. She likes it. She helps me straighten out the chip bags and stuff, put the paper towels in. My friend Dianne picks her up on her way to work at eight and drops Raylene and her daughter off at her Grandma’s place on weekends. Sometimes I babysit for Dianne as a favour back, if she has to work late or something.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Well, I’m around till Monday afternoon, at least, if you need a hand with her again. She’s no trouble at all.”

“You’re so nice to us, Joseph. You still gonna come by for pork chops on Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Kelly pulled the covers off Raylene, who didn’t move a hair. I picked her up; she was damp with sweat and her small shape radiated heat like a barbecue briquette. Kelly slung her onto her hip, picked up her backpack with her other hand.

“Could you toss that bag of crayons in here, Joseph? Raylene probably wants you to keep the drawing. She always does.”

Kelly left, mouthing a silent good night to me, Raylene still not lifting an eyelid. I took the drawing and studied it
for a minute before tucking it between two empty pages of my stress journal. Raylene had drawn all three of us in a neat row. A quarter of a yellow sun hung in the top corner of the page, its orange rays touching our perfectly round heads. Her mother smiling with cherry red lips, and a light blue triangle for a dress, complete with a smoking cigarette that dangled between two of her three oversized fingers. Raylene in the middle, her triangle dress purple to match her shoes. The image of me was huge, way out of proportion to her and her mother. She had written my name under her stick rendition of me, spelled with an f on the end. Just like it sounded.

I
was up and showered by seven o’clock the next morning, wide awake and ready to go. I couldn’t believe it, but I was actually missing the feeling of getting my hands dirty.

I could hear Hector moving around next door, flushing his toilet, the bang of water running through old plumbing. I wondered if he would mind if I started in on the cello this early. I didn’t have that much to do with myself.

I opened up my stress journal.

Maybe I could take Hector out for breakfast. I picked up the phone to call him, instead of just knocking. Maybe he wasn’t decent yet.

“Good morning, Hector McHugh residence.”

“Hector. It’s Joseph. Can I take you out to breakfast? I heard you up over there. Hope it’s not to early to call.”

“Not at all, my friend. In fact, it’s the best time of the day. I’ll be over in a minute or so.”

I went to put my journal away in the bureau drawer, but thought again. I should keep it with me. Hector would understand. I could tell him I was writing a book, too. Or I could tell him nothing. Fuck it, I could tell him it was my stress journal. He’d made his own hair fall out from stress, he’d told me so. Maybe Hector already knew all about stress journals.

Hector rapped three times on the door, then opened it
himself. He smelled like soap, and like aftershave, but not the obnoxious stuff. Kind of woody like.

“You got a favourite place you like for breakfast? I’m buying this time.”

“Do you like crepes?”

“Never had them, I don’t think.”

“What a tragedy. We can take my truck.”

Hector drove me to a tiny little house converted into a restaurant, with a picket fence around a deck and sparse winter garden. It smelled amazing inside, a combination of coffee and cakes in the oven. When the waitress came, Hector ordered for both of us without even opening the menu.

“Two Americanos with steamed milk, and two apple and cheddar crepes, please. Thank you, Bernie.”

“Sure thing, Hector. And this one’s name is…?”

I remembered the ladder-boned cowboy from a couple nights ago. “My name is Joseph.”

“Hector has the best-looking friends, I swear.” She winked at me and disappeared into the back. I felt the red warm the back of my neck, and Hector smiled.

“I believe she’s taken a fancy to you, Joseph.”

“She probably talks to all the guys like that. Make more tips.”

“She’s actually not like that at all. She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine. I’ve known her since she was a baby. Bernadette. She’s both the cook and the server here.”

“I’m sorry Hector. No offense. I didn’t know you were friends.”

“I’m her godfather.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “I’m trying to set the two of you up, to be quite honest. I was already thinking of asking you here for breakfast when you called. She’s long past due to meet a decent guy, and if you
don’t mind me saying so, Joseph, you’ve got lonely all over you, and I thought you two might hit it off. I told her about your cello. I hope you’ll forgive me for meddling, but I wanted her to meet you.” Hector whispered this last bit, looking past me over my shoulder.

Bernadette appeared with two sturdy mugs of coffee and raised a sly eyebrow at Hector, then disappeared back through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

I leaned forward across the table, keeping my voice down. “I’m very flattered, Hector, believe me, but I don’t think I’m good dating material right now, if you know what I mean. I’m having panic attacks. I have to keep a stress journal. I’m supposed to be taking things easy. Avoiding stimulants.” I spooned sugar into my coffee, shaking my head at myself.

“I just thought a bit of female attention might do you some good.”

“The last thing I need is more women in my life, Hector. My wife is a lesbian, and my mother is a pit bull.”

“All the more reason to meet a new woman, if you ask me. Reacquaint yourself with the benefits of the fairer sex.”

Bernadette appeared with our breakfasts, and Hector fell silent, his eyes focused on the beautiful plate she placed front of him. Three perfect crepes, steaming under a light cheese sauce, fresh herbs on the top, a fan of fresh fruit and parsley.

“Bernadette, you are an artist.”

“Eat your breakfast, old man. Call me if you need more coffee. I’m making a soufflé and have to keep an eye on it. I’ll come chat when it’s out of the oven.”

It was the best breakfast I ever had and I ate every scrap
of it, would have licked the plate if I were home alone. Hector ate his in an orderly fashion, cutting it into careful bites. I finished way before he did, and found myself eyeing his plate.

“You could order yourself another, if you’re still hungry.”

“Sorry. That was the most delicious thing I think I ever ate.”

“Maybe you should think again about asking her on a date.”

“I can’t just ask someone out because I like her cooking. That wouldn’t be right.”

“You see, that is why I want you to go out with her. You’re a good man.”

“I’m a mess.”

“Who isn’t?”

I changed the subject. “How long were you and your wife together before she died?”

Hector sipped his coffee. “Thirty-two years. I married her when I was twenty, and she died on my fifty-second birthday. Almost eleven years ago. She was fifty-four. Overdosed on painkillers. She had been losing a long argument with cancer for several years. She was in a lot of pain. Some might call it suicide, she would call it bowing out gracefully.”

“I’m really sorry, Hector, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

“I don’t mind at all, it was a long time ago now. I can’t expect you to do all of the talking. Wouldn’t be much of a conversation then, would it?”

“My mom said pretty much the same thing to me a couple of days ago.”

“Your mother sounds like a smart woman.”

Bernadette came out, wiping her hands on a clean rag, and sat down next to Hector.

“Breakfast was perfect, as usual,” Hector said. “I had to fight Joseph off to keep him from eating mine as well.”

Bernadette smiled at me. “Where did you meet this old rascal then?”

“We’re both staying at the Capri. We’re neighbours. I actually live in Drumheller.”

“I love that town. I drive out to the Hoodoos all the time. I should look you up next time I’m through. Does Hector have your number there?”

“I’ll make sure I leave it with him. What do we owe you for breakfast? I’m buying.”

“It’s on me. Hector’s helped me out a lot. The least I can do is feed his friends crepes.”

“Well, thank you very much. It was the best breakfast I ever had.”

“You probably say that to all the ladies.”

“No.” I said. “I’ve never had crepes before today.”

Bernadette then looked at me with the same direct gaze as Hector. “It was nice to meet you, Joseph. Come by any time. This guy’s here almost every morning.”

Hector kissed Bernadette on both cheeks, and didn’t say anything until we were back in his truck.

“She’s a lovely young woman, no? She had a bad experience with her last beau, who was heavy-handed with her. She hasn’t really dated since. The whole experience left her a bit gun-shy.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type of woman who would put up with any bullshit,” I said.

“There is no type of woman that allows a man to hit her.
There is only the type of man that would beat his wife.”

“I guess. I just can’t imagine anyone hitting a woman like that and getting away with it.”

“What makes you think he got away with it? Don’t delude yourself into thinking women are the weaker sex, Joseph. They are just expected to tolerate more bullshit than we are.”

“You go to college, Hector? You talk like a professor sometimes.”

Hector shook his head. “I went to work in the bush as soon as I got through with high school. Driving a bulldozer for the government, fixing up the Alaska Highway. They had built it in such a panic during the war, because of the Japanese threat. I met my wife in Dawson Creek, she was a waitress in her father’s restaurant. I was just a grunt at the time, but after two summers of overtime, I went back there and asked her to marry me. I had saved up for a truck and started my own little business, supplying mining camps all over the north with food and parts, stuff like that. We had good fun together, working like dogs all summer and then travelling five or so months out of the year, spending our winters all over the world.”

“You never had kids?”

“No. Anna was an exceptional woman, very strong-minded. She wanted a different life than her mother’s, or any of the other women she knew. We read books, we travelled, we dined. We did whatever we wanted. People with children are not usually afforded those kinds of freedoms. Especially women. Anna believed childbirth was largely responsible for the enslavement of women.”

“You never wanted a son? Pass on the family name, all that stuff?”

Hector shrugged. “I guess I never felt it was for me to decide, lacking a womb, as I do.”

“Sounds like you two were kind of radical.”

“If a marriage between two equals seems radical to you, then I guess we were.”

“I meant for forty years ago. Ally and I were kind of like that, too. Equals. We did our own things. We never had kids, but that was only because I lack the necessary sperm count.”

Before we knew it, we had arrived back at the Capri. Hector turned the engine off and turned to look at me.

“So how do you feel about that?”

“I was pretty bummed about it, actually. I really wanted kids, like, three of them, but Ally wanted to start with just one, and see how it went. I was heartbroken when I first found out. Deep blue funk, even. At first I blamed my sperm count when she left me for Kathleen, which is ironic, if you think about it. But now I watch Kelly with Raylene, and how my sister thinks she can’t leave the dink she married because of her two daughters, and I try to imagine how much harder my divorce would have been, you know, with a baby in the picture. How I’d feel only seeing my kid on weekends and every other Christmas, and having to watch someone else raise them up, like some of my buddies have to. Then I think maybe I’m grateful. Raising kids seems a lot more complicated than it used to be.”

“I think the very same thing all the time. Evidence of it everywhere.”