The Memento (27 page)

Don’t be afraid
, it whispered.

Running on the path now, I flew along and it grabbed me. I twisted and kicked it and heard it fall down on the grass before I had a chance to look closely. In the moonlight, when he leaned back, it was Hector sitting there holding his arm.

“Shit, Fancy. Holy fucking shit. What are you, some freaking mercenary running through the night?”

My heart was pounding. “Holy fucking shit yourself, Hector. What the hell are you doing out here at this time of night? Didn’t you take Margaret down to the valley?”

He stood up, rubbing his arm. “I took her home a long time ago and then come back to do extra work. Buddy said he could give me a hand. Lots to do for the garden party. I could hardly wait to get her out of the car. It wasn’t my fault she went making fun of Marigold, you know. She’s got to be running somebody down, that’s how Margaret is. She don’t ever stop talking around me, giving me her slit-eyed look. You know fat girls. Anyway, I can’t get nothing done in the day with them people all around, the gardeners, the city ladies planning out the party like they’re putting on some end-of-the-world banquet. I told Margaret she should be more careful with what she says, especially around here where the walls got ears. It was good you come along to get her to shut
the fuck up. But I will say Margaret’s not a bad dancer, the way she moves her hips.” Hector chuckled. “What are
you
doing out here? Now I’m all sore and beat up from you molesting me in the dark.”

I am ashamed to say even now what come over me there in that garden with the moonlight flowing down over us, like it seeped through my skin and filled me up with liquid silver. My heart was pounding, and he kissed me, licking the sticky marshmallow bits still on my lips, pressing his body on mine, my back against the cold stone wall. “Well, well, well, will wonders never cease. You’ve been drinking, Fancy Mosher. All grown up in one evening. Let’s see how grown up you are.” He pulled my dress up, and went down on his knees. I felt his wet mouth on me. He unzipped his pants and I could feel his hand moving fast. His tongue was hot and hard as the night air licked icy around the edges of my hot flesh.

“That’s just between me and you, Fancy,” Hector said when he sent me back to the house. “We all need some love to make us feel good. When you’re a bit older I’ll give you something better than that.”

I threw up by the back door. Loretta had left me a bedtime note on the kitchen table beside a plate with a cookie.
Have a snack, get some sleep, and remember to be thankful. God Bless, Loretta
. Through the kitchen windows I could hear coyotes howling and yipping, all stirred up for the hunt on such a deep and starry night. I remember how I reeked, and how dizzy my head was, how badly I didn’t want Loretta to find me stinking of wine and vomit and sex, how much easier it had been last summer when Art and I played on the beach and in the forest.

I close my eyes and rock my old body here in this chair but really, I am still that little girl about to go up the stairs when I hear a creak in the hall. The floors are no stranger to me and it’s easy to cross them without making a sound. I peek around the corner to see Jenny there in a pink nightgown with Margaret’s rosewater in her hand. She’s on her tiptoes and her fingers are stretched out
straight. She didn’t have near as much wine as I did. She crooks her index finger, hooks it around the bottle and pulls.

It was such a pretty bottle, glistening there in the cloakroom in the soft light spilling in from the kitchen lamp that was left on. Jenny moved it forward until her fingers encircled the glass and then she clutched it to her chest. She set it down on the table and took the lid off. It was hard to see and my head was spinning, but it seemed to me she took out another small bottle and tapped a few drops into the rosewater. She shook the rosewater bottle and put it back where she’d found it. Finally, Jenny grabbed the bottle she’d brought and scurried down the hall out the door into the main house as I stood there watching her from the other side of the room, my mouth sour from the wine and marshmallows and from Hector’s kiss that tasted of smoke and beer.

T
HE NEXT
morning I was up early with bloodshot eyes and a throbbing head and out to the garden to cut flowers. I glanced toward the carriage house. It was a different place by daylight. I had bathed first thing, soaking in the claw-foot tub, scrubbing myself. My mouth was dry and my lips cracked. I felt like a child version of Ma. The night before felt like a nightmare, the hazy memory of Hector touching me, of Jenny sneaking around.

When I had finished doing up the vases Loretta came in with lists she must have been writing in bed. She bustled about getting her breakfast, already thinking of her conversations with the party planners and the caterer and the gardeners and the cleaners. I was glad to have her natter on. I poured a glass of wholesome milk.

Loretta waved me out of the house, told me to have a bit of fun after how much we’d done yesterday, to come back for baking
once Art arrived, and to pick raspberries. Harry had come into the kitchen as I was slipping out and she’d started in on him in her prim way—he and Dr. Baker should have known better. She still did not realize he’d given us wine, and he was apologizing for that, not for just keeping us up late, but there was no point in telling Loretta if she wasn’t putting it together.

I took a bicycle from the carriage house. Hector still wasn’t there. I didn’t want to be thinking about him right then. I wanted the night to stay in the night. It was Sakura’s story I was thinking about mostly, dead spirits who come looking for payment. And my own story Jenny had dragged out—spirits wandering around before their time. It was eerie going down the lane, for the shade seemed darker than it ever had before. I wanted to see Art and I wanted, for the first time, to get away from Petal’s End, to leave that world enclosed by the greenwood. The Parkers and Ma had no real use for the bay but I did. It was the first summer we had no time to play on the shore, and being on the beach for the fire, and then being against the wall with Hector, these things had me pedalling like mad for my childhood. I stopped and looked back at the pillars on either side at the end of the lane, the gates open. I whistled as the bike moved over the road.

The stone wall ran around the entire property and I could see as I pedalled where it was beginning to crumble. The wall disappeared into the tomb of forest as the road veered away and then dipped into a hill. I soared into the village, the road meeting the main road by the bridge. I saw Art coming out of the driveway of his grandmother’s over on the other side of the village, where their house was perched on the eastern slope that came down to the harbour. The sky and the sea were the same soft blue and the island seemed suspended between them. I waited for Art at the end of the road. Across the harbour were fishermen with their lobster traps. The season was over until the autumn and they
were stacking them up. Seagulls swirled overhead in a white funnel and the sky was dotted with puffs of clouds. It was almost high tide.

Art came down the road. He smiled when he saw me. “Just like old times,” he said. I couldn’t look him in the eye when he said that. I remember at that moment knowing the worst thing that could happen would be Art taking his friendship away if he found out about Hector. No one would approve. Even I didn’t approve of Hector. But there wasn’t that side to Art, judging people. His torment came from his loyalty.

We rode to the beach and left our bicycles on the ground, running down on the rocks. Art had a camera in his backpack and we took turns snapping photos of each other. Toward the west was where we’d had our fire but we didn’t go there. We sat on big rocks until the water came closer, the waves breaking all around, watching our rocks become islands as we stood and peered out across the bay. We waded through the water until the waves got bigger and we scrambled back. I was soaked and self-conscious about the way my dress clung to my breasts. Art didn’t look. The balmy wind was strong and blowing our words off, and I don’t know why but we kept laughing and laughing, holding hands as waves broke and we’d turn and run before they could catch us. Later, we rode our bikes through the village and back up the hill, finding comfort in our familiar silence until we turned down the lane to Petal’s End.

“Did you have bad dreams,” Art asked, “about warriors coming for you and ripping off your ears? My head hurt this morning. Grandy knew I’d been sipping, that’s what she called it. She was upset. She doesn’t know Harry gave it to us. I did have dreams, and not good ones, but I can’t remember them.”

By the time we got back the lawnmowers were buzzing and there was an army of people in Briar Patch uniforms, white T-shirts and green shorts, with sun hats and tool belts, with
wheelbarrows and clippers. We were close to the day of the party. The Happy Helper van was parked with the nursery trucks. We’d been on the beach for longer than we thought.

We were with Loretta in the kitchen when Margaret came in from the garden. I watched her while I swept the floor. She was in her maid outfit and she was blotchy and panting. “Now, Margaret, I don’t know what’s come over you. Are you ill? Have a glass of water. You must stay out of the sun,” Loretta said.

“I’m not feeling so good. All this rushing about waiting on people.” Margaret looked at me and Art. “Can you keep that Jenny away from me? She keeps popping up like a damn gopher. I can’t take it today. It’s giving me the creeps.” I shrugged and went into the hallway to the broom closet, peeking into the cloakroom. The rosewater bottle was not on the shelf. I came back into the kitchen and Margaret was now sitting, looking pathetic. I grabbed the pitcher of chilled water from the fridge and poured her a glass. She looked grateful and took a few sips.

Loretta held her hands up by her ears, like she was having a sudden ache. “Please don’t keep complaining about her, dear. You have talked of nothing else all morning. I can’t take any more unpleasantness this summer. Every time we seem to be getting on a nice path it turns rough. Now take the food up. They’re eating in the parlour today.” Loretta went into the pantry.

Margaret leaned over and held her stomach. “I’m not used to working hard in this sort of swelter. It’s making me dizzy.” She went down the hall into the bathroom, and came back with her face wet.

“Marigold’s making more rosewater. Your skin is looking real nice.” It was effortless lying to Margaret. Lying wasn’t a natural ability but it seemed to be coming to me easier as the lies piled up.

Margaret scrunched her face as she rubbed her cheeks. “The nerve all of you have talking about my complexion. What are you, a bunch of fucking beauticians?”

Loretta returned from the pantry. “Margaret, please. Off with the lunch for the ladies. Fancy and Art, take this picnic out to the garden for Harry and Sakura, and find Jenny. And please make sure you take lunch to Pomeline. She’ll be in the music room, but she should eat on the verandah and get some fresh air. She’s been wasting away these last few weeks.” Loretta shut her eyes and clapped twice, like she hoped we’d all have disappeared by the time she opened them.

Art and I went through the door into Evermore. “Do you think Jenny is following Margaret around?” he asked me.

“I’m not sure.” Lying to Art felt different than lying to Margaret. One lie will lead to another.

As we approached the Water House, Harry called out to us. “Hello, hello. Fancy, you look as though you barely slept. I hope Sakura’s story didn’t keep you up all night.” Sakura was there beside him, not saying a word, her talk used up by the beach fire.

“Good morning, Art. I guess it’s good afternoon. Go in and see what we’ve done this morning. You can help us later. We have to put them in bags with ribbon.” Inside on the counter were trays of hand soap, bars they’d cut from bigger blocks. There was one large brick left to be cut. Bits of crushed dried rose petals lay on the counter where they hadn’t finished cleaning. There was a box of small cotton bags with thin ribbon ties.

“We want to plan an expedition. We’re thinking about a trip out to the island in the bay. It’s very mysterious and downright primeval.”

“I got to find Jenny for Loretta. Make sure she gets her lunch. Grampie said that island don’t like people coming on it no more. It likes being remote.”

“Well, your Grampie certainly sounds like he was an absolutely fascinating man. Jenny’s somewhere out here, back by the lily pond. She’s been playing in the garden all morning, waiting for the two of you to come back. You are both a fine influence on her. The years of home-schooling have certainly isolated her, but it’s
never too late for learning social skills and interactions. Oh, and we’re ever so sorry for last night. We didn’t think a single toast would cause so much trouble.”

“I’ll run and find her.” Before anyone could say a word I took off.

I spotted Jenny over to the east of the garden singing off key to her swans. “Loretta wants you for lunch. There’s lunch in the kitchen or lunch with your grandmother or lunch with your cousin and Sakura.”

She looked down at my feet. “Why won’t you keep shoes on your feet?”

“You sound like Loretta.”

“My mother would get mad if I went without shoes. But wrathful is her normal state of being. Imagine if she knew we were drinking wine. You drank too much, Fancy Mosher. You look green.”

“Well, your mother ain’t here, is she? And if you think I look green you should see Margaret. She’s not feeling good at all, complaining all the livelong day.”

Jenny lifted her head from my feet, eyes fixed on mine. “Maybe she should take time off,” she said blankly.

Art, Harry and Sakura were eating on the table outside the Water House and waved as we came closer. “Well, look what has come forth from the garden,” Harry said. “Join us.”

Pomeline appeared then, dark circles under her eyes, her skin white like the water lilies on the pond. “Granny has sent me out here to see how things are going. She wants us to hold another choir practice, although I think we sound as good as we’ll get. She thinks I need a distraction. If it makes her happy … she doesn’t understand that I need to practise.”