Inactivity had turned her into an enormous woman, nearly three hundred pounds. She wore a pink housecoat that billowed around her stump-like legs. A half-burned cigarette dangled from her mouth. She stopped when she saw her son.
“That awful woman banged on the door this mornin’. Screamin’ ’bout the noise. I din’t answer.” She paused to breathe heavily.
“Don’t worry ’bout it, Ma. There’s nothin’ they can do. I’m a fisherman by trade an’ I’m allowed ta keep my bait in a cooler.”
This seemed to satisfy her. She stared at the little pile of groceries. “Where’s my haddock?” she asked.
“Weren’t none, Ma. No fresh fish at all today.” He looked at her sad face. She could still pluck his heart strings with her obvious suffering. She was the only woman in his life. Always had been and always would be. When she died there would be no one on this earth who would care about him one whit. Sometimes that thought overwhelmed him to the point that he nearly cried.
He sighed heavily, then tried to smile at her. “Never guess who I ran inta, Ma. Garrett Barkhouse. He’s goin’ ta be the new RCMP officer in the area. I tol’ him ta drop by ’n see ya.”
Rose had no friends either. Her only visitors were Roland’s cousin, Hank, his wife, and two kids who stopped by once a month. The truth was she didn’t much like the visits. The kids were unruly and destructive. She and Roland had developed a system over the years. They each had their space, she in her La-Z-Boy surrounded by piles of craft supplies. She made knick-knacks and table mats for sale to tourists. Roland spent his time upstairs in the back room with his computer.
That was their life.
“Garrett? Yeah, I ’member him. A’w’ys used ta pick on ya when ya was little.”
He winced. He and Garrett had tussled once or twice when they were in high school. He’d hated Gar because everything always seemed to work out for him. He got good grades, was a good athlete and as for the girls … well … they just went for him. It used to drive Roland crazy. Still, Gar had always tried to be neutral to his neighbor. When they clashed, it was because Roland brought it on, almost in spite of himself. He actually appreciated what he’d heard from others, that Gar never said anything bad about him behind his back.
“Aw—that was a long time ago, Ma. He don’t seem like sech a bad guy now.”
“Then you get him ta come ’roun’ here and tell those La-de-dah ar-teests next door ta leave me alone. Bad ’nough I havta listen ta their silly parties on their back deck, all their nudie, artsy friends from Halifax sunnin’ themselves nekkid.”
“Aw, Ma, you can’t see nothin’. It’s the back side o’ the house.” Roland knew because he’d tried every way he could think of to get a look without success. Once, he’d brought his boat in close as he pretended to take a wide approach around the wharf, but they all covered up when they saw what he was doing.
He slipped past his mother down the narrow hall and closed himself into his room. Sometimes, he just needed to be alone. Heck, maybe it wouldn’t be all bad once she died. He’d have the whole place to himself with no one needing constant help and errands run. Course, he wouldn’t have anything to do all day once fishing season was over.
He flipped on the computer and sat in front of the screen, stooped over as usual. Maybe today he’d meet someone new online.
9
G ARRETT STOOD NEXT TO ALTON Tuttle, who leaned into the podium in the RCMP Press room as if the tiny microphone might somehow hide his bulk from the assembled reporters.
“You identify the girls yet, Commissioner?” shouted a petite, meticulously dressed woman with an insistent, shrill voice.
Tuttle had on his hangdog, I’m-the-most-maligned-man-on-earth expression that Garrett knew so well. “That’s Deputy Commissioner,” he said. “Those poor girls were no more than thirteen, obviously Chinese in origin,
“That awful woman banged on the door this mornin’. Screamin’ ’bout the noise. I din’t answer.” She paused to breathe heavily.
“Don’t worry ’bout it, Ma. There’s nothin’ they can do. I’m a fisherman by trade an’ I’m allowed ta keep my bait in a cooler.”
This seemed to satisfy her. She stared at the little pile of groceries. “Where’s my haddock?” she asked.
“Weren’t none, Ma. No fresh fish at all today.” He looked at her sad face. She could still pluck his heart strings with her obvious suffering. She was the only woman in his life. Always had been and always would be. When she died there would be no one on this earth who would care about him one whit. Sometimes that thought overwhelmed him to the point that he nearly cried.
He sighed heavily, then tried to smile at her. “Never guess who I ran inta, Ma. Garrett Barkhouse. He’s goin’ ta be the new RCMP officer in the area. I tol’ him ta drop by ’n see ya.”
Rose had no friends either. Her only visitors were Roland’s cousin, Hank, his wife, and two kids who stopped by once a month. The truth was she didn’t much like the visits. The kids were unruly and destructive. She and Roland had developed a system over the years. They each had their space, she in her La-Z-Boy surrounded by piles of craft supplies. She made knick-knacks and table mats for sale to tourists. Roland spent his time upstairs in the back room with his computer.
That was their life.
“Garrett? Yeah, I ’member him. A’w’ys used ta pick on ya when ya was little.”
He winced. He and Garrett had tussled once or twice when they were in high school. He’d hated Gar because everything always seemed to work out for him. He got good grades, was a good athlete and as for the girls … well … they just went for him. It used to drive Roland crazy. Still, Gar had always tried to be neutral to his neighbor. When they clashed, it was because Roland brought it on, almost in spite of himself. He actually appreciated what he’d heard from others, that Gar never said anything bad about him behind his back.
“Aw—that was a long time ago, Ma. He don’t seem like sech a bad guy now.”
“Then you get him ta come ’roun’ here and tell those La-de-dah ar-teests next door ta leave me alone. Bad ’nough I havta listen ta their silly parties on their back deck, all their nudie, artsy friends from Halifax sunnin’ themselves nekkid.”
“Aw, Ma, you can’t see nothin’. It’s the back side o’ the house.” Roland knew because he’d tried every way he could think of to get a look without success. Once, he’d brought his boat in close as he pretended to take a wide approach around the wharf, but they all covered up when they saw what he was doing.
He slipped past his mother down the narrow hall and closed himself into his room. Sometimes, he just needed to be alone. Heck, maybe it wouldn’t be all bad once she died. He’d have the whole place to himself with no one needing constant help and errands run. Course, he wouldn’t have anything to do all day once fishing season was over.
He flipped on the computer and sat in front of the screen, stooped over as usual. Maybe today he’d meet someone new online.
9
G ARRETT STOOD NEXT TO ALTON Tuttle, who leaned into the podium in the RCMP Press room as if the tiny microphone might somehow hide his bulk from the assembled reporters.
“You identify the girls yet, Commissioner?” shouted a petite, meticulously dressed woman with an insistent, shrill voice.
Tuttle had on his hangdog, I’m-the-most-maligned-man-on-earth expression that Garrett knew so well. “That’s Deputy Commissioner,” he said. “Those poor girls were no more than thirteen, obviously Chinese in origin,
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