happy.
During those three days, Bay had watched Gaetan from the living room window, her forehead pressed up against the glass, leaving behind a greasy oval smudge of make-up. She watched intently as newly cut branches fell to the lawn below. It was like he was taking apart a puzzle and littering the yard with its pieces. Bay begged her father to let her give Gaetan his pay at the end of the job. Richard saw the economic advantage of having an amateur landscaper in the family and obliged. He patted her on the back. “Wear something nice.”
“Can I borrow the car for this weekend?” she asked.
“As long as you fill the gas tank back up.”
Like her mother, Bay knew it was only a matter of time before she got what she wanted. She was already planning ahead for her first date with Gaetan. She’d seen his truck, and decided her father’s would be better.
On the last day of the job, Bay, dressed in an ankle-length cotton skirt and white cotton blouse, breezed out onto the front lawn and smiled demurely in a way that she was not. When Gaetan noticed her, she lowered her eyes, laughed, and passed him the money. He stuffed the bills into the pocket of his jeans without looking to see how much was there.
“Tell your dad thanks,” he said, his face flushed.
Bay beamed and neither one of them spoke or made motion to move.
Algoma watched the exchange from her bedroom window. A hand on her hip, she tried to cock her head the way her sister did. “Hi, I’m Algoma,” she said. “Oh, my name? It’s Algoma. Call me Al. No, Allie.”
By the weekend, Gaetan was seated beside Bay at the Belanger dinner table, accepting helpings of Ann’s scalloped potatoes and trying to remember everyone’s names. By Christmas, his name was penciled onto a strip of masking tape in the coat closet. There was a strip of tape for each family member, lengths of heights and dates rising like cattails; however, by spring Bay had grown bored with her amateur landscaper. She sought the company of another semi-professional: the man her father had hired to fix the roof. She liked the way the word shingle rolled off her tongue. “It sounds like the name of a cocktail,” she said to her twin, Port.
After Bay broke up with Gaetan, Algoma found him sitting on the front porch, an untouched beer tucked between his knees. Richard’s attempt at an apology on behalf of his daughter.
“She broke up with me,” he said. He was staring at the trees he’d trimmed the year before. He could see where new growth had exploded from his rough cuts.
“She does that,” Algoma said. She sat down beside him, so that their thighs touched. He was warmer than she had expected. A small furnace.
“The shed door broke off its hinges this morning. Could you take a look at it?” she asked.
By the weekend, Gaetan was back at the Belanger dinner table, this time sitting next to a different sister and he knew everyone’s names. Within the year, Algoma—only seventeen years old—was pregnant with the boys, their future decided.
Algoma could hear Gaetan snoring in the bedroom. His shirt was abandoned on the floor in the hallway.
“Goddamn it,” she whispered.
She picked up his shirt and emptied the rest of the gin in her flask down the sink. She turned off the lights, grabbed the blanket from the couch, and walked into the boys’ old room to sleep.
______________
1:01 p.m. 3°C. Wind S, calm.
Fist-punctured ice puddles.
For the moment winter had retreated. An unusual warm front. Heavy drifts of snow had shrunk back to reveal blankets of wet fall leaves and vast mud flats that made it nearly impossible to walk anywhere off the sidewalk or street. Once robust snowmen were now pitiful lumps of misshapen snow the kindergarteners kicked at with their bright neon boots. They ruthlessly stomped on the half-rotted carrots, tossed the charcoal eyes into the ditch. The rest of the kids had abandoned their thick winter coats and wandered around the schoolyard dressed
During those three days, Bay had watched Gaetan from the living room window, her forehead pressed up against the glass, leaving behind a greasy oval smudge of make-up. She watched intently as newly cut branches fell to the lawn below. It was like he was taking apart a puzzle and littering the yard with its pieces. Bay begged her father to let her give Gaetan his pay at the end of the job. Richard saw the economic advantage of having an amateur landscaper in the family and obliged. He patted her on the back. “Wear something nice.”
“Can I borrow the car for this weekend?” she asked.
“As long as you fill the gas tank back up.”
Like her mother, Bay knew it was only a matter of time before she got what she wanted. She was already planning ahead for her first date with Gaetan. She’d seen his truck, and decided her father’s would be better.
On the last day of the job, Bay, dressed in an ankle-length cotton skirt and white cotton blouse, breezed out onto the front lawn and smiled demurely in a way that she was not. When Gaetan noticed her, she lowered her eyes, laughed, and passed him the money. He stuffed the bills into the pocket of his jeans without looking to see how much was there.
“Tell your dad thanks,” he said, his face flushed.
Bay beamed and neither one of them spoke or made motion to move.
Algoma watched the exchange from her bedroom window. A hand on her hip, she tried to cock her head the way her sister did. “Hi, I’m Algoma,” she said. “Oh, my name? It’s Algoma. Call me Al. No, Allie.”
By the weekend, Gaetan was seated beside Bay at the Belanger dinner table, accepting helpings of Ann’s scalloped potatoes and trying to remember everyone’s names. By Christmas, his name was penciled onto a strip of masking tape in the coat closet. There was a strip of tape for each family member, lengths of heights and dates rising like cattails; however, by spring Bay had grown bored with her amateur landscaper. She sought the company of another semi-professional: the man her father had hired to fix the roof. She liked the way the word shingle rolled off her tongue. “It sounds like the name of a cocktail,” she said to her twin, Port.
After Bay broke up with Gaetan, Algoma found him sitting on the front porch, an untouched beer tucked between his knees. Richard’s attempt at an apology on behalf of his daughter.
“She broke up with me,” he said. He was staring at the trees he’d trimmed the year before. He could see where new growth had exploded from his rough cuts.
“She does that,” Algoma said. She sat down beside him, so that their thighs touched. He was warmer than she had expected. A small furnace.
“The shed door broke off its hinges this morning. Could you take a look at it?” she asked.
By the weekend, Gaetan was back at the Belanger dinner table, this time sitting next to a different sister and he knew everyone’s names. Within the year, Algoma—only seventeen years old—was pregnant with the boys, their future decided.
Algoma could hear Gaetan snoring in the bedroom. His shirt was abandoned on the floor in the hallway.
“Goddamn it,” she whispered.
She picked up his shirt and emptied the rest of the gin in her flask down the sink. She turned off the lights, grabbed the blanket from the couch, and walked into the boys’ old room to sleep.
______________
1:01 p.m. 3°C. Wind S, calm.
Fist-punctured ice puddles.
For the moment winter had retreated. An unusual warm front. Heavy drifts of snow had shrunk back to reveal blankets of wet fall leaves and vast mud flats that made it nearly impossible to walk anywhere off the sidewalk or street. Once robust snowmen were now pitiful lumps of misshapen snow the kindergarteners kicked at with their bright neon boots. They ruthlessly stomped on the half-rotted carrots, tossed the charcoal eyes into the ditch. The rest of the kids had abandoned their thick winter coats and wandered around the schoolyard dressed
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