wind his whole life. The younger man, skinny and tall, had very curly brown hair that didn’t know which way to go. He looked excited.
The older man spoke in a clipped mainlander accent. “Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Calhoun. We’ve reason to think there is a dangerous offender in the area . . .” He paused briefly. “. . . from St. John’s. We’re just doing a routine check. Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary today or tonight.”
The young one broke in: “In the woods, have you heard any noise or seen strange lights in the woods?” The older man shot him a mean look and Curly subsided.
Edna stared at them, thinking. Government folks. Suits. At her front door spouting about Danger. Danger. It was obvious they wanted the aliens. Would almost smile if she were to stand aside and motion towards her kitchen. Edna was not a brilliant woman, but she was shrewd. She could see how hungry Curly was for a taste of the aliens. On the verge of the highway, she could make out dark shapes of cars. She could see Sherri’s front light on—they must have a couple of men over there too. The suits must want them bad. Wanted to take them away and act like they know best. The same way they knew best when they resettled all the folks from Kearley’s Harbour, closing down a whole community just because they said so. They never stuck around long enough to see the results either. Her Aunty Gwen moved after her whole life on the water. Within the year in St. John’s she’d gone blind and died. She may have been seventy-one but they were long livers in her family, nearing ninety most of them. Standing just behind her front door, looking at the contained arrogance of the men, Edna was suddenly furious, furious as she’d ever been. Furious in a way she had lost in the tidal wave of grief she’d felt looking at Jonno keeled onto the carpet, gone from her for good. Opening the door wider, Edna drew herself up as stern as her rounded body allowed, solid as a lighthouse. She glared at the men.
“Who d’ye think ye are? Disturbing me in my house with nary a warning? What’s yer talk about lights and bad people? In this place? We’d be lucky if we get a drunk from Bonavista on the highway. What are ye thinking of? Disturbing an old woman with scary talk. Get away from me now. Get back to where ye came from.”
Mr. Formal looked startled. “It’s simply a public service . . .” Edna glared again. He shot Curly a rueful glance that implied “typical newfie” and pulled a business card smoothly from his coat pocket. “If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, call right away, although I’m sure you’re right. There is nothing to worry about.” Edna took the card ungraciously.
“Nothing to worry about?” she snapped. “I’ve got plenty to worry about. No cod. No more summer berries. Storms one day and a drought the next. A pension that gets smaller every month. Everybody leaving like Maberly died and was left out in the sun, stinking. What’s left in this place ’cepting worries and memories, boy? You leave us be with your big city talk of bad people. Everybody here knows where the rotten apples are.” Edna thought she saw Curly’s face turn red as she struggled to shut the door.
She stood for a moment behind the shut door, her heart pounding against her chest. Edna hadn’t yelled at anyone since she was young. She felt ashamed of herself, screaming at strangers. Screaming at human strangers, to protect the alien ones in her kitchen. She took a deep breath. What’s there to feel bad about, Edna dear? It’ll make a good story to tell the girls tomorrow, and however much they purse their lips, you know every woman there will wish she’d done the same. I won’t tell them about the aliens, though. Don’t think they’d understand that part. She tried not to think about how she didn’t understand her behaviour either. They were aliens in her kitchen after all, strange no matter what names she
The older man spoke in a clipped mainlander accent. “Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Calhoun. We’ve reason to think there is a dangerous offender in the area . . .” He paused briefly. “. . . from St. John’s. We’re just doing a routine check. Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary today or tonight.”
The young one broke in: “In the woods, have you heard any noise or seen strange lights in the woods?” The older man shot him a mean look and Curly subsided.
Edna stared at them, thinking. Government folks. Suits. At her front door spouting about Danger. Danger. It was obvious they wanted the aliens. Would almost smile if she were to stand aside and motion towards her kitchen. Edna was not a brilliant woman, but she was shrewd. She could see how hungry Curly was for a taste of the aliens. On the verge of the highway, she could make out dark shapes of cars. She could see Sherri’s front light on—they must have a couple of men over there too. The suits must want them bad. Wanted to take them away and act like they know best. The same way they knew best when they resettled all the folks from Kearley’s Harbour, closing down a whole community just because they said so. They never stuck around long enough to see the results either. Her Aunty Gwen moved after her whole life on the water. Within the year in St. John’s she’d gone blind and died. She may have been seventy-one but they were long livers in her family, nearing ninety most of them. Standing just behind her front door, looking at the contained arrogance of the men, Edna was suddenly furious, furious as she’d ever been. Furious in a way she had lost in the tidal wave of grief she’d felt looking at Jonno keeled onto the carpet, gone from her for good. Opening the door wider, Edna drew herself up as stern as her rounded body allowed, solid as a lighthouse. She glared at the men.
“Who d’ye think ye are? Disturbing me in my house with nary a warning? What’s yer talk about lights and bad people? In this place? We’d be lucky if we get a drunk from Bonavista on the highway. What are ye thinking of? Disturbing an old woman with scary talk. Get away from me now. Get back to where ye came from.”
Mr. Formal looked startled. “It’s simply a public service . . .” Edna glared again. He shot Curly a rueful glance that implied “typical newfie” and pulled a business card smoothly from his coat pocket. “If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, call right away, although I’m sure you’re right. There is nothing to worry about.” Edna took the card ungraciously.
“Nothing to worry about?” she snapped. “I’ve got plenty to worry about. No cod. No more summer berries. Storms one day and a drought the next. A pension that gets smaller every month. Everybody leaving like Maberly died and was left out in the sun, stinking. What’s left in this place ’cepting worries and memories, boy? You leave us be with your big city talk of bad people. Everybody here knows where the rotten apples are.” Edna thought she saw Curly’s face turn red as she struggled to shut the door.
She stood for a moment behind the shut door, her heart pounding against her chest. Edna hadn’t yelled at anyone since she was young. She felt ashamed of herself, screaming at strangers. Screaming at human strangers, to protect the alien ones in her kitchen. She took a deep breath. What’s there to feel bad about, Edna dear? It’ll make a good story to tell the girls tomorrow, and however much they purse their lips, you know every woman there will wish she’d done the same. I won’t tell them about the aliens, though. Don’t think they’d understand that part. She tried not to think about how she didn’t understand her behaviour either. They were aliens in her kitchen after all, strange no matter what names she
Similar Books
It's Always Darkest Before the Fridge Door Opens: Enjoying the Fruits of Middle Age
Phil Callaway, Martha O. Bolton
