“Sara…”
“Oh… sorry… I guess maybe you want to get in on Suzanne Tremblay first, before she gets any older. She’s even older than me… and maybe you’ll make a play for Katie Walker, see if you can squeeze her in before her wedding day… but then… I know you’ll circle on back to Kayla. You want her… do you think I can’t see it? Everytime the two of you are together… mon dieu… it makes me sick.”
I was losing my temper. I didn’t deserve to be treated like that. “You’re being ridiculous―”
“And once Kayla’s old news, how long until Fiona’s ready to go? Will you at least wait until she’s eighteen before you bend her over the kitchen counter? Can you do that for me? Wait until she grows up at least ?”
I never hit Alanna, not once in the thirty years we’d known each other; I’d never come close. And I’d certainly never hit Cassy, either. But there are times when you lose it, when it’s like you’re on the outside watching, not really able to do anything to stop what you’re about to do. Maybe that’s what happened when I hit Marc Tremblay… I don’t know.
I hit Sara, my open hand against her temple, like I was just trying to shove her away. I hit her and then I pulled back, shocked that it could happen so quickly.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I said. I climbed off the bed, pulling away from her.
She looked just as surprised as I was, staring at me while she gingerly felt her face with her hand.
“I don’t know why I did that,” I said. “Honestly, Sara… I don’t know what just happened.”
“Get away from me,” she said.
“Sara…”
“You need to leave this house right now. Get out of here… or I swear to Almighty God I will get a knife and I will slit your throat.”
She didn’t sound angry. She sounded more self-assured than anything else.
I left the room.
I went down the hall and grabbed a pillow and a couple of heavy blankets from Lisa’s closet.
Tonight I’m testing out the wood stove at a cottage halfway between us and the Tremblays, the one we’ve chosen for the Marchands. Luckily Lisa and Alain had already brought over enough firewood, and all I had to do was clean the stove and wipe down the dusty sofabed.
I think tomorrow morning I may be eating my breakfast out of a can.
FIONA
Fiona is like a girl in a Norman Rockwell painting. She has those rosy cheeks, that pretty brown hair, and those next-door looks that make you feel like you have the hots for your baby sister.
I think I could see my way past the guilt on that.
Fiona stands away from the rest of us, much like Baptiste. If we were all planets, Baptiste would be Jupiter, all big and gassy, and Fiona would be Pluto. She’s a little erratic… sometimes she dips out so far that you barely even notice her. (I’m Uranus, naturally.)
From what Kayla told me, Fiona had only been in Cochrane for a couple of years before The Fires came. Apparently her parents were Mormons, which is odd since they only had the one kid; maybe that had made Fiona an outcast in Brampton, too, since she certainly fell into the role pretty easily when she got here. Kayla knew her from around and never liked her; to be honest, I don’t think Kayla’s ever given me a reason for it that makes any sense.
Fiona’s just as smart and funny as anyone who isn’t me, and she doesn’t have any odd ticks aside from the occasional God and Jesus schtick. But she is a little too attached to Baptiste… it’s pretty weird… and I’ve never been sure if she wants him to be a father to her or just fuck her. Either way, I’m sure she’ll end up disappointed with the result.
Maybe one day when she’s a little older I’ll let her know that I think she’s more than fuckable. Obviously I’ll find a better way to say it… I’ll probably feed her some bullshit about her eyes.
Church girls love compliments about their eyes. I think it’s because they’re too repressed to appreciate God’s good word on their tight little asses.
Today is Tuesday, January 1st.
I woke up yesterday morning to a visitor. She brought Irish coffee and some kind of impromptu egg and cheese breakfast sandwich.
“Thank you, Fiona,” I said, giving her a smile despite how cold and depressed I was feeling.
She sat down on the pulled-out sofabed right by my legs, which wasn’t surprising since every other surface in the cottage was still filthy. “I figured you needed a friend,” she said.
I pulled my legs in and sat up. “You’re a good friend to me.”
“I meant the whiskey, but I guess you and I can be buds, too.”
“Nice. Did Sara tell you what happened?”
“Sara’s not talking to anybody. Everyone’s sure you must have done something pretty terrible.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah… it was pretty bad.”
“She’ll get over it. She loves you and she’s not about to change.”
“I hope so.”
“Well I still think she’s lucky to have you.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Well, I would. I think you’re pretty awesome.”
“Uh, thanks.” I was getting pretty uncomfortable.
“Do you think you two will get married someday?”
“I doubt it.”
“Oh.” She seemed disappointed.
“I still feel like I’m already married. I don’t know if that will ever change.”
“I understand. I still feel like I’m a kid, even after everything that’s happened.”
“You are a kid, silly. That’s why I’m not sharing any of this delicious coffee.”
“That’s fine.” She reached into her jacket and pulled out a silver flask with an eagle outlined upon it. “I don’t drink coffee.” She took a deep swig.
I laughed. She’d come full circle.
“You’re awesome, Fiona,” I said. I leaned in and kissed her on the lips; only after I’d done it did I realize that I hadn’t gone for her cheek.
She smiled and let out a little giggle.
“Uh, sorry,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. Now eat your embryo sandwich and let’s head back home.”
I ate my breakfast and then we walked back together. From what I could tell, Sara was still hiding upstairs.
That suited me fine; I was still hiding from her.
Pretty much the entire morning and afternoon of the 31st was spent helping the Marchands to get set up in their new home. Graham, Matt and the skinny kid (whose name I still didn’t know) had several more loads of supplies and equipment to do, but the rest of us minus Sara were on the job, cleaning and dusting and testing out the various appliances that were there.
The Marchands’ new kitchen was completely electric, so that meant that it would be mostly useless until we could set up some power. There are still transmission lines connecting all of the cottages and beyond; we’ve never done any kind of inspection, but I’m pretty sure the lines are intact.
But even if we can hook up the new Marchand place to ours, we’d probably end up draining our battery banks faster than we could charge them. So for now, the Marchands will have to get used to cooking dinner on top of the wood stove, unless they decide to use our place as some kind of restaurant; I don’t know what we’ll do if that starts happening.
Before I’d pissed her off, so obviously before I hit her, Sara had invited the Porters and Tremblays over for New Year’s Eve. She’d felt it was an important gesture given that we’d both done our best over the past few days to make them hate us. Obviously the Marchands were invited by default, so by the time everyone had arrived almost the entire first floor of our cottage was jammed with people.