Somewhere In-Between (14 page)

After a few moments Ian whispers, “Julie?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think we'll ever find our way back to each other?”

She swallows, afraid to answer right away, and then says quietly, “I don't know.”

“Well, I guess that's one step above a no,” Ian says as he turns over.

Back to back, they lay still in the darkness. Julie can sense his body heat across the bed. It's been so long since she's felt a warm body next to hers in the night. Such a simple pleasure she once took for granted. Ian is one of only two people in her entire life that she has ever shared a bed with. The other was Darla.

Within minutes Ian's breathing is shallow and even. It's unlike him to fall asleep so quickly. He must have taken a sleeping pill. She rolls over onto her back, certain she's destined to lie there all night staring into the darkness.

Sometime later, she emerges from a dreamless slumber, her sleep-filled ears trying to locate the strange sound that awoke her. Beside her Ian shudders. It takes a few moments before she realizes what's happening. He is weeping, stifling his tears in his pillow. She recognizes the pain. She knows all about waking up in the middle of the night hanging onto a dream of Darla that is so real, so vivid, that she believes her daughter is still alive, only to have that feeling snatched away. And then having to face the unbearable truth all over again. Until now, it has never occurred to her that she isn't the only one this happens to.

She wants to reach out for him, to comfort him, but they are too far beyond that. His inability to share his grief, to even speak their daughter's name, stops her. His sorrow is private. She swallows a rising sob. Remaining still, she wills her breathing to a slow and even rhythm, feigning sleep. After Ian's shudders quell, she moves slowly, as if settling her body in sleep and lets one leg stray over and furl around his warm calf.

Ian's side of the bed is empty when Julie rises the next morning. Sorting through the clothes that she had moved into the walk-in closet yesterday, instead of her usual baggy pants and a sweatshirt, she chooses a pair of freshly ironed jeans with a tailored shirt. She puts on her pearl earrings, brushes her hair and attempts to arrange it in some sort of style with a hair clip. “Who are you trying to kid?” she asks her mirrored image as she applies lipstick and rouge.

Downstairs Ian is already ensconced in his office, the bevelled glass door closed for the first time. Julie brews a fresh pot of coffee, finishing just as her mother enters the kitchen. “Is Ian hiding from me?” she asks.

“Good morning to you too,” Julie says from the other side of the central island. “No, he still works every day.”

Taking in her mother's taupe pantsuit, heavy gold earrings and matching necklace—an outfit more appropriate for high tea at Victoria's Empress Hotel—she smiles and asks, “What can I make you for breakfast?”

“Toast, and some of that coffee I smell would be wonderful.” Doreen sits down at the table, waiting to be served. “So, you really don't miss working?”

Right to it then?
This is one question Julie doesn't have to give any thought to. “No, not at all,” she answers. It's the truth. At one time the passion for all aspects of her career had been second only to her family. Now, it means less than nothing to her. Not one thing about her old job calls her back, not the buyers, sellers, bankers, lawyers, the co-workers, nor the long hours.

“I'll bet your clients miss you.”

“I doubt that. I'm probably ‘Julie Who?' by now.” She pours a cup of coffee and places it in front of her mother.

“It just seems to me that you would want to work more, not less, now... now that... well you know.”

The teaspoon drops from Julie's hand and falls onto the table with a clatter. “What? Now that
what?
”

“Oh Julie, don't be like that,” her mother sniffs.

Be like what?
She's always wondered what her mother means when she says those words. Julie takes a deep breath, and counts to ten.

“I'm sorry I didn't wait for an invitation if that's what this is all about,” her mother continues. “But I was afraid that would never happen. I just wanted to spend some time with you.” She concentrates on stirring sugar into her coffee. “It can't be easy, living way out here, in this big house and no… no...”

“Darla. You can say her name, Mom. Darla!”

“Yes, Darla,” her mother says, her voice catching. “I'm sorry. I didn't come all the way up here to upset you.”

Then exactly why did you come?

Five days into her mother's visit Julie still hasn't figured that out. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she takes her early morning coffee out to the back patio. She needs this time before her mother rises to fortify herself for another day of avoiding verbal pot-shots and holding her tongue. Here she is, a forty-four-year-old woman, and she still can't stand up to her mother. Like Ian, her mother tiptoes around the most important connection between them. But it isn't just Darla she never talks about, Julie notices; it's Jessie's girls, Emily and Amanda, as well. Not boasting about her granddaughters is so unusual for her mother that the absence is glaring.

Julie lowers her coffee mug, cupping it in her lap as it strikes her that, whenever she talks to her sister on the phone, Jessie never says anything about her girls anymore either. When was the last time she emailed photographs of them? Is everyone afraid that the subject of her sister's children is too painful for her now? Are they right?

Just then the harnessed Clydesdales emerge from the shadows behind the barn and plod out into the orange glow of the morning sun. Virgil follows behind. Julie swallows her last few mouthfuls of coffee, combs her fingers through her hair and stands up. Pulling her shawl tighter she walks over to the railing. “Good morning,” she calls out, as the team clatters across the yard. “Beautiful day, isn't it?” Then she feels herself blush, because, of course, he can't answer.

He glances her way with an acknowledging nod. She lifts her hand to wave back, then lowers it self-consciously when she sees that he has already turned away.

“Virgil Blue?” Her mother's voice startles her.

She spins around to find her standing in the mudroom doorway. How long has she been there? “Yes, that's our tenant,” Julie says.

Her mother comes over and joins her at the railing. “Interesting name,” she says watching the team plod down the road. “Strange that you've never mentioned him before my visit.”

“Why would I?”

“So, when do I get to meet this wild cowboy?”

“That's not likely. He's a bit of a hermit,” Julie says retrieving her coffee mug. “And he particularly steers clear of women, so I'm told.”

“Too bad. He's a rather handsome devil, isn't he? Quite an intriguing-looking black man.”

Startled, Julie stares down the road. “He's not
African-American
,” she says. “He's First Nations.”

“He may be part Indian,” her mother replies, ignoring the correction in Julie's voice. “But my dear, I know a black man when I see one.”

Julie moans in her sleep. A growing warmth radiates from her core. In her fading dream she lays spooned in the arms of a faceless lover, feels his breath on the back of her neck. The forgotten desire, the lustful passion, is independent of her being as long as she can hang onto a shred of sleep. And in the trying, she loses it. She is suddenly aware of Ian, moving with her, moaning with her. She tries to recapture the abandon, the freedom of surrender. In her last wisps of slumber she lets him continue, sensing that he too is just rousing from sleep, his morning erection pulsing against her back, his expert hands searching. He has always been such a generous lover, so tender, so giving, taking his time, her pleasure as important as his. She has never known any other.

He kisses the nape of her neck and whispers her name. And the moment turns too real, the feeling nothing more than carnal lust, the satisfying of an itch. Sensing the change in her, or coming fully awake himself, Ian suddenly pulls away. Julie climbs from the bed leaving him lying on his back, one arm covering his face.

Later when she hears Ian come downstairs and go straight to his office, she prepares a breakfast tray of toast, eggs and coffee. Rapping lightly on the glass she opens his office door and enters before he can wave her away. She sets the tray down on the end of the desk, takes the mug of coffee and places it in front of him. He stops whatever he is working on and places one hand on hers. “I'm sorry,” he says quietly. “I thought you wanted it, too.” When she doesn't respond he removes his hand. “It won't happen again.” He turns his attention back to the computer screen.

“I'm sorry, too,” Julie whispers, closing the door softly behind her.

She glances up to see her mother slipping into the kitchen. Even in this big house it seems she's always there at the most inopportune times. If she came here to console Julie, there is very little evidence of it.

During the last few days they have established a kind of routine. In the afternoon, while her mother watches her daily soaps, Julie goes out for her walk. Since her encounter with the bear she keeps to the open fields, within view of the house. Ian works in his office with the door closed most of the day. After the evening news he normally heads upstairs to his room for the night. Her mother—unimpressed with the reality shows that Julie has become hooked on since moving out here—usually retires early as well. Last night, however, they had all gathered in the den after dinner to watch the conclusion of the Democratic convention.

They had sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, Ian on the recliner, Julie on one end of the couch, and her mother on the other. Watching Barack Obama's acceptance speech, Julie thought about Darla's schoolgirl crush on the handsome senator.
How Darla would have loved to see this day.
She had wanted to say it out loud, to share the flood of bittersweet memories—Darla's excitement over the historical election, the family discussions it caused. Stealing glances at her husband and mother, she had wondered if watching the newscast was triggering their own memories of Darla. Were they thinking of her, missing her as well? But like Julie, for the entire evening neither of them said a word.

Now Julie straightens her shoulders and follows her mother into the kitchen. “I hope you have something a little more casual to wear,” she says retrieving the coffee pot from the stove. “You and I are going for a walk after breakfast.”

Fully expecting an argument, Julie's relieved to hear the “Okay, Dear” response.

A walk together will do them both good. Her mother loved Darla, too, and Julie is determined to find a way that they can share memories of her.

In the mudroom Julie takes the leather case down from the shelf above the washing machine.

“What's that?” her mother asks.

“Bear spray,” Julie says strapping it around her waist. “Bears, cougars. You never know around here.” She has to hide her smile at her mother's horrified expression. Opening the door, she adds, “Don't worry, we'll stick to the open fields, so it's unlikely.”

Searching her daughter's face, Doreen hesitates. Then walking past her, she mumbles, “You're just messing with me now, aren't you?”

Outside she glances into the pasture. “Your man must not be working today.”

Julie follows her gaze down to the creek where the horses stand in the shade of the willow trees. “Probably gone to town,” she says, as they cross the ranch yard. “And he's not ‘our man.' He doesn't have to work to anyone's schedule, but his own.” Ignoring her mother's raised eyebrows she opens the corral gate. If Virgil has gone to town he must have left very early because Julie hasn't heard his truck pass the house this morning. The moment the thought enters her mind, so does the realization that she is becoming attuned to his comings and goings.

“So, how often do
you
get into town?” her mother asks while Julie closes the gate behind them.

“Not often. Ian picks up whatever we need when he goes into the office every few weeks.” She doesn't mention that she avoids going because she fears that she will see Darla in every young dark-haired girl on the city streets, or at the mall. And the even worse fear, that she won't.

“You let him do that?”

“Do what?”

“Go to town alone?”

Turning away, Julie rolls her eyes. They enter the empty field in silence and make their way along the snaking fenceline. The dried stubble crunches beneath their hiking boots and Julie finds herself surprised by her mother's pace. Although it isn't the speed walking that Julie is used to, it's more than a leisurely stroll.

“So, exactly how long do you intend to bury yourself out here?” her mother asks.

Unsurprised at her directness, Julie slows down while she contemplates the question. Finally she answers, “I don't know. I think Ian plans to stay forever.”

“Does he do any real ranching? I haven't seen him working outside since I got here.”

“There isn't much to do, now that haying is over. The cattle are out on the range until the fall. And Virgil looks after the horses.”

“And what if this Virgil leaves?”

Walking side by side now, Julie looks over at her mother and shrugs. “I suppose we could always lease out the land to another rancher. Ian never intended to make money at this anyway. It's really just the space, the privacy, he wanted.”

“And you?”

Julie stops and breaks off a long stalk of yellow grass by the fence. “I don't hate it, if that's what you're asking,” she says. Then with a grin she puts the grass stem in her mouth and chews on the end of it, fully aware that the clichéd move, the corniness of it, will irritate her mother. And sure enough, her mother clucks her tongue and mutters, “You better watch out that you don't get ‘bushed.'”