Beholden Page 17

  “Look, George, you and I have never been close, but I do care about you. I think you need help, so do yourself a favour and get some. If not here, then somewhere else. Go to Halifax. See a therapist. Talk therapy is becoming more accepted now. Get yourself on an antidepressant. I’m tired of seeing your long face haunting these halls. If nothing else, go on a two-week fishing trip. Surely that would help.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  He got up from the chair. “I’m no good at this sort of thing, but think about what Dad would say to you if he were here. I wish he were.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Gotta run. Have a bowel re-section first thing this morning. What a shitty way to start the day!”

  “Thanks for dropping by.”

  He closed the door behind him.

  How bad must I have been if Donny was trying to help?

  The words fishing trip kept replaying themselves over and over in my mind. The more I thought about it, the better I liked it. And then suddenly I had a plan. Maybe there was a way out after all.

  12

  “This meeting will come to order.”

  My family stared at me from around the dining room table. I’d even asked Patty and Ray to come over, and Mom was visiting.

  “I’m not sure if any of you know this, but I happen to be a crackerjack at reading the stock market, and I’ve made a little money over the years that I’ve squirrelled away.”

  Mavis’s mouth dropped open. “Why all the griping about the cost of the wedding, then?”

  “I was trying to manage expectations, Mavis. That’s all.”

  “Let him talk, Mom.”

  “I’ve decided that since life is short, I want to do something for all of you. A little token of my appreciation. I want you to think of something that you’d like to do or have, and I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

  “I want to go fishing with you,” Bridie said.

  “Think harder, Bridie. That’s hardly enough.”

  “It’s more than enough. We could go for a week.”

  I smiled at her. “Okay. Done.”

  “I want to go to Paris,” Mavis said.

  “Done.”

  Mavis nearly fell off her chair. “Really?! Are you serious?”

  “Why not take my beautiful wife to the city of love?”

  Everyone looked at me as if I’d lost my marbles, but I meant it. Mavis jumped up and kissed my cheek over and over. “I can’t wait!”

  Patty and Ray exchanged glances. “Would you have enough for a down payment on a house we saw last week? It’s not extravagant, but it’s really nice. We were wowed by the price.”

  “Done.”

  Patty jumped up and kissed me as well. “Oh, Daddy, thank you, thank you!”

  Ray reached across the table to shake my hand. “That’s very generous, George.” I’d told him to call me that. I was afraid he’d call me Dad otherwise.

  I looked at my mother. “And you? What do you want, you sweet woman?”

  “I want you to take care of yourself.”

  “Spoken like a true mother,” I smiled.

  Mavis pointed at her. “At least ask for a fur coat, Jean. Remember how cold you were last Christmas?”

  “And a fur coat.”

  We laughed. I looked at Bridie again. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?”

  “I got the best gift of all.”

  I went with Patty and Ray to see the house they’d chosen. It was just off Cottage Road. It impressed me. Solid, not huge, but not too small either. They would grow into it. Then off we went to the bank to make the arrangements. They shook the banker’s hand and we stood outside on Charlotte Street, on a lovely August afternoon, smiling at each other. They both hugged me before they walked hand in hand down the street. At that moment, I was elated. Patty would be safe and sound in her new house with the man she loved. She was a good kid, and Mavis and I had done as good a job as we could bringing her up. Correction—Eileen had done a great job making her feel loved and secure, with a normal routine and good food on the table. A friend Patty could rely on.

  My next stop was to Vogue Furriers with my mother. She was reluctant at first.

  “This seems too extravagant, George. Why don’t we buy a nice wool coat?”

  I put my arm around her shoulder as we walked towards the store. “Mom, it gives me great pleasure to see you in something you deserve. You’ve sacrificed all your life for Dad, Donny, and me. A warm coat is not foolhardy in the face of a lifetime of thrift.”

  “Oh, well, when you put it that way,” she laughed.

  In the end, she chose a mid-calf caramel-coloured mink coat with a high collar and a matching hat. It looked amazing on her.

  “It makes you look twenty years younger.” I smiled.

  She looked at herself this way and that in front of the tri-mirror. “You know, you’re right. Oh my, I’ll be kicked out of church for being so brazen!”

  I could tell she was tickled pink with her purchase and that gave me a warm feeling all over.

  It was time to take Mavis to Paris, before she started bellyaching for a fur coat too.

  We left the third week of September after two colleagues agreed to look after my patients while I was gone. Mom stayed with Bridie and Patty said she’d be sure to check in on them, and I knew she would. The travel agent made all the arrangements. The first surprise for Mavis was that we flew first-class across the Atlantic, and as we toasted ourselves with champagne in our seats, the look on Mavis’s face was exactly what I wanted to see. I knew with this flight alone she’d have enough fodder to entertain her girlfriends for years.

  But I didn’t expect to fall in love with Paris just as much as Mavis did.

  It was complete culture shock just driving into the city. The traffic was mesmerizing, with scooters and motorcycles whizzing past our taxi on either side. We both laughed at the number of women driving scooters with high heels on.

  The neoclassical architecture took my breath away—long, tree-lined boulevards of warm, cream-grey limestone buildings with symmetrical windows and wrought-iron balconies. There were shops and cafés on every corner, with the Seine River flowing through the city and bridges everywhere we looked. Parisians gathered by the Seine in the evening, drinking wine and having impromptu picnics with their baguettes and cheese. It was a lifestyle so foreign to us that we really did feel like country mice.

  We spent two weeks walking around the city, seeing the sights. The enormous Notre-Dame Cathedral made us quake just walking into it. Striding through the grounds as the Eiffel Tower loomed before us felt unreal. You see it on postcards, but to look up into the tower itself made us feel very small. We drove up to the Arc de Triomphe in a taxi and our driver kindly agreed to take us around it a few times, before letting us out to wander down the Champs-Élysées on our own. To think that Nazi troops had walked up this same route made me shiver. Suddenly the war seemed very close again.

  When Mavis stood in front of Versailles, she threw her arms in the air. “Finally! My dream house!” We laughed together and that felt nice.

  There was a crowd of people standing in front of the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, so we didn’t get a chance to get too close, but it was so much smaller than we imagined it. While we loved the Louvre, I think my favourite museum was the Musée d’Orsay, originally built as a train station for the 1900 World Fair. The openness of it left a great impression on me. It let me breathe, as if I were in the middle of a river back home.

  Every night we wandered to a different café for dinner. All our meals were exquisite. Sitting outside on the sidewalk, our chairs facing the street, we pretended we were world travellers used to eating side-by-side with strangers who gestured with their cigarettes and drank wine endlessly. Parisian French is a beautiful language to listen to, even if we didn’t have
a clue what they were saying. Fortunately, our white-aproned waiters knew English so we didn’t have to struggle too badly making ourselves understood.

  Our hotel was very comfortable, but the room was small. It had a creaky elevator that only held about two people and took forever to arrive, so after a day we trekked up three flights of stairs because it was faster. Our breakfast consisted of buttery croissants, brie, strawberries, and café au lait.

  Mavis wanted me to try the hot chocolate. “This is divine!”

  I couldn’t do it.

  At night, we would open our immense rectangular windows that skirted the floor and look out on our still courtyard before crawling into bed. We’d hold each other as we listened to the rain and the sounds of the city. It was the best part of our day.

  “We should’ve done this years ago,” Mavis whispered, as she traced her fingers along my chest. “The world is so big, and not everyone lives as we do. I wonder what our lives would’ve been like if we were born here.”

  “We’d have gone through a hellish and frightening war up close and personal.”

  “True.” She turned towards me. “Do you love me, George?”

  “Yes, Mavis. I do.”

  “Are you glad we got married?”

  “Sure. It’s a good thing we did, or poor old Ray would be single. Can you imagine life without Patty?”

  “No.” There was a long pause and I knew she was going to say it before she did. “But I can imagine life without Bridie.”

  All the goodwill that had built up the last few weeks melted away in that instant.

  “Mavis—”

  “I’m sorry, George. That’s not exactly what I meant. I guess what I want you to know is that life might have been easier if it had been just you, me, and Patty. Having Eileen become a second wife in the house made me feel expendable. I know I took advantage of Eileen, but it’s almost as if I did it to punish her because I knew you loved having her around, and I felt invisible half the time. I know you think I’m jealous of Bridie, and I guess I am. I always felt you loved her more than our child. It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but this trip has made me realize that if we’d had time to be on our own, maybe we would’ve been happier together over the years.”

  It was the first time she’d explained herself without rancour and I knew it was from her heart. I squeezed her tight.

  She was right: it would’ve been easier. But the trouble was, I knew Nell before I ever met Mavis. Poor Mavis was doomed to failure from the start. How unfair.

  “I understand what you’re saying. It’s true. But I hope this trip will go a long way in letting you know that I do love you, and I’ve loved our life together, and Patty wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I’m grateful for everything and I don’t want you to forget that.”

  We made love that night, without obligation or guilt. It was a genuine expression of gratitude for the years we’d travelled together through life. Just because our marriage wasn’t always happy didn’t mean we weren’t fond of each other. There’s power in being beside the same person for most of your life. If they aren’t there, there’s just a big hole.

  One of our last stops was Les Puces, a massive antique market. We went on the Metro. The market was like an outdoor maze of tiny shops, tents, and cubbyholes filled with antique jewellery, rugs, linens, picture frames, machinery, housewares, fabrics, clothing, and purses. We arrived at lunchtime, which we soon found out was not the best time. The vendors sat together on makeshift chairs in front of their stalls and had their hot meal together, heedless of us standing there waiting to buy something.

  “Revenez dans une heure,” we were told. Clearly, their meal was more important than our money. Now that was something I admired.

  We picked up gifts, an antique jewellery box for Patty and a lace handkerchief for Mom.

  “You’re going to have to pick up something for Bridie and Ray. I have no idea what they’d like.”

  Rummaging through what looked like a tool shop, I found the perfect gift for Bridie. It was a vintage green metal tackle box that had three trays inside. There was a bit of rust, and it was obviously used, but it was sturdy and reminded me of the one Dad used to have. I wondered what ever happened to his. Bridie could use this one on our trip together.

  I picked up Ray a couple of vintage model cars, a 1926 Arcade Model T Coupe and a cast iron 1930s motorcycle with sidecar. Apparently, he liked to collect them.

  Our last night in Paris we went to a nightclub and behaved outrageously.

  “No one knows us!” I shouted in Mavis’s ear. “We can do what we want!”

  We drank too much and danced with the best of them on the crowded dance floor. I’ll never forget singing and swaying together as we walked the streets of Paris at two in the morning. It was a full moon that night, and the sound of Mavis’s high heels clicking on the sidewalk stayed with me as we climbed the stairs of our hotel and collapsed, laughing, in a heap on our bed.

  Mavis held her hands to my face. “Thank you, George. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Thank you, Mavis.”

  We fell asleep in our coats and almost missed our plane the next morning. We toasted each other again, this time with a non-alcoholic ginger ale, while flying first class back to the real world.

  “That was the best two weeks of my life,” Mavis said, beaming.

  That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

  When we got home, Mom had made a roast chicken dinner with her lemon meringue pie for dessert. She’d invited Patty and Ray over, so everyone was there when we walked in the door.

  I could tell the family was amazed at how happy and relaxed Mavis was. She fairly bubbled with joy as she recalled what we had seen and done. My mother and girls were clearly enthralled with the stories, and all of them loved their gifts.

  “What was your favourite thing, Pops?”

  “Seeing the curtains blow and listening to the rain when the windows were open at night. Knowing I was in Europe. It felt like the movies.”

  I called Sydney Academy and told the principal I was taking my daughter out of school for a week. He asked why and I said it was a personal matter. He said since Bridie was an exceptional student, it wasn’t likely her studies would suffer. I agreed.

  Bridie and I hit the road after Thanksgiving, again taking advantage of my colleagues’ generous offer to keep my office ticking. One of them said before I left, “I hope this helps you, George.” I told him it would.

  We packed the car with our fishing gear, warm clothes, and boxes of food. I took her up to the Margaree Valley, where we stayed in a small cabin used by fishermen on holiday.

  In the morning, we got up with the sun and had our fill of eggs, bacon, and toast. I put on a pot of coffee for myself and poured orange juice for Bridie.

  “May I have a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “How old are you?”

  “Pops, you know how old I am.”

  “Six?”

  “Sixteen. My birthday was only last month.”

  “You’re right. It’s high time you took up caffeine.” I took down an old mug in the cupboard and poured her a coffee. “You’ll probably want some cream and sugar in it.”

  “Let me taste it without.”

  “If you say so.”

  She blew on the coffee to cool it a little and took the smallest sip. “Okay, that tastes like a blackboard. Pass me the cream and sugar.”

  We drank our coffee on rocking chairs on the front porch while I smoked my pipe.

  “We look like we belong on the Beverly Hillbillies,” she said.

  “I learned something while I was away. The French make sure they take time for relaxation. They don’t feel guilty lingering over a meal. There’s more to life than rushing somewhere. Always remember that.”

  “Which is why you’ve always
enjoyed fishing, Pops.”

  “I feel more at peace with the world when I’m standing in the middle of a river with hip waders on than I do in church.”

  Bridie looked at me seriously. “I believe God is Mother Nature. I don’t believe in an old bearded man dressed in robes. Animals, trees, people, the sky, water. They are godly. I pray to the moon, myself.”

  “Well, I suggest we go catch a few godly salmon.”

  The Margaree River is about as holy a place as I’ve ever found for fishing. It meanders along the curve of the land, creating deep pools with long stretches of shallow waters cascading above the rocks, interrupted only by islands of loose gravel that poke through the surface and make a great foothold from which to cast your fly.

  The banks of the river can be marshy, with long grasses that bend in the direction of the wind, but there are also stretches of sandy shore, perfect for a rest. At this time of year, with the autumn leaves shimmering gold, red, and orange, you can’t quite believe the beauty.

  We picked a spot I knew of, a little off the beaten track, and set up our equipment on the shore. We even had a small propane stove to make tea, and camping chairs to ease our legs later in the day. Bridie opened her tackle box and showed me how she had organized her flies.

  “There’s no real system to it. It’s more colour-coordinated, which sounds very girly, but I like it like that, so call me crazy.”

  “Everyone has their own system. Let’s go.”

  We waded out into a section of river that came up to our knees. It made things a bit easier. I went over the technique of fly fishing and made Bridie cast her line several times before I went downstream to give her space. At first, she made the classic mistake of overreaching with the rod.

  “Remember,” I shouted, “it’s more of a flick! Like taking a whip to a horse.”

  “Don’t ever whip a horse, Pops!” she shouted back.

  She kept asking me questions for the first hour, but eventually she realized that it didn’t matter if she cast it perfectly. It was just fun to see the line sail away in the air and land in the water so you could slowly reel it in, hopefully thinking of nothing at all.