Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

As she left the parking lot, a black pickup sped around the corner in front of her. It barreled past, kicking up rocks into her windshield, and screeched to a dusty halt near the pub doors. She watched in the rearview mirror as a man in a cowboy hat and long jacket jumped out of the truck. Even with his back to her, she knew it was Sarge, the idiot who had almost run her off the road earlier.

And my neighbor from across the river.

She was tempted to charge in after him, give him a piece of her mind, but she chickened out. Confrontations weren’t her thing. She had proven that more than once.

“There. That should do me for a while.”

Sadie placed the last package of meat into the decrepit freezer outside Irma’s cabin. The rusty hinges of the lid screeched when she lowered it. She winced and looked at Irma. The old woman was leaning against the cabin, puffing on a cigar as usual.

“Ed said he’ll drop off more ice tomorrow,” Sadie said.

Irma grunted. “So… did he make a pass at ya?”

“Just a little one.”

“No such thing as a little pass, dear. Ed’s a lecherous old fool. Don’t know how Martha puts up with him.” Irma lifted a bony shoulder. “He’s harmless enough, though. All mouth.”

“I can take care of myself, Irma.”

“Don’t doubt that for a minute. Just watch out for the townies. ’Specially Sarge.”

“You mean the idiot in the black Ford?”

Irma broke into a fit of coughing. “Yeah, him.”

“Does he live nearby?”

The old woman’s eyes shifted to Sadie’s left hand. “No ring?”

“Divorced. Well…” She gave a quick shrug. “Almost.”

“No such thing—”

“As almost divorced,” Sadie finished for her.

“Coulda used you for a daughter,” Irma mumbled. “You’re quicker than most.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Sarge lives across the river and down aways. He’s not married, if you were gonna ask.”

Sadie blushed. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure you weren’t. Stay clear of him, dear. He’s a loner and not much of a people person. ’Specially since his wife and kids died.”

“That’s too bad.”

“A terrible tragedy, it was.”

“There’s a lot of that going around. Did you know them very well?”

Irma took a drag on her cigar. “His wife Carrie was friends with my Brenda. ’Cept Sarge didn’t want her talking to anyone, even when he was in Iraq. Kind of possessive, that man. And them kids… poor little lambs.”

“What happened?”

“House caught on fire four years ago, night of the big storm. Only Sarge made it out alive. He lost everything. Carrie. The kids. Had no insurance either. The man was so sick with grief after that, he wouldn’t even level the house.”

“What’d he do?”

“Left it standing—what’s left of it. Ed said he won’t let no one near it, or on his property. That Sarge… he’s just not the same. Can’t imagine what it must feel like, not being able to save the ones you love.”

Sadie shuddered. “I can.”

“Oh, dear. I’m so terribly sorry. Your husband?”

“My son.” Sadie turned away, heading back to the car. “I can’t talk about it. Sorry.”

“People tell me I’m a good listener, dear.”

“Thanks, Irma. But I’m here to forget.”

Praying she hadn’t offended the woman, she grabbed the remaining bags from the car and lugged them down the path until she reached the steps. She navigated them carefully, then enjoyed the short walk along the riverside. At the cabin, she juggled the bags and unlocked the door. After she put away the canned goods and stored the fruit and veggies in the cooler, she made a quick tuna salad sandwich, bundled herself in a wool blanket and settled into one of the wooden chairs on the veranda. She nibbled on the sandwich and stared out over the river, watching the sleepy sun begin its leisurely descent.

She thought of Sam, of how much he loved the outdoors.

“You would’ve loved it here, Sam.”

She didn’t know how long she sat there watching the peaceful ripples on the water and thinking of Sam. He was never far from her thoughts. Sometimes she felt almost smothered by malignant, cancerous guilt.

She shook off the shadows. “I miss you, Sam.”

A few water birds scrabbled on the shore, occasionally calling out to each other. The chill air caressed her face, making her feel alive and free as she inhaled the fresh aroma of pine and spruce, and listened to the resonance of Mother Nature. All around her was pure peace. Heaven.

She shut her eyes… just for a moment.

“Cawwww!”

Sadie’s eyes flew open. She gasped.

A crow perched on the wood rail of the veranda, its beady eyes no more than three feet from hers. It stared at her, unmoving.

“Go away!”

It cocked its head to one side, giving her an inquisitive look.

“Stupid bird, shoo!”

She waved her hand, but the bird just hopped up and down. Bizarre behavior for a crow, she thought.

The crow emitted another raspy shriek.

“Just so you know, I hate birds,” she said. “Except when they’re Shake ’n Baked.” She grinned stupidly.

“Squacckkk!”

She stood up, expecting her movements to dislodge the annoying pest. It didn’t. She was tempted to approach the bird, but then common sense took over. Why would she want to?

Maybe it’s diseased. Maybe it has the bird flu.

Ignoring the crow, she stretched. Then she frowned. The fading light made her take a second look out over the water.

It was late. She must have been asleep for a while.

“Must be the country air.”

She strolled toward the sliding door, mindful of the crow. It watched her every move, and that was unnerving, so she released a pent-up breath and stepped inside. She lit an oil lamp and checked the clock on the wall. 8:55.

With a sigh, she glanced around the room, then set to work building a fire. There was no TV to watch and nothing much to do except sleep. But she was wide awake now and somber thoughts were creeping into her mind.

What she needed was a drink.

She reached into a cupboard, her hand hovering over the three bottles of red wine. “No. I’m saving you.”

She moved toward the cooler and pulled out the bottle of Jamaican rum that she’d bought in town. She opened it and poured a healthy shot into a beefy silver travel mug, topping it up with a can of cola. Then she curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

The rum went down fast. Maybe too fast. Its smooth undertone made her warm, tingly. She enjoyed its mind-numbing effect, a welcome reprieve from the constant torment and grief that followed her everywhere.

She got up, poured another drink. “I’m in control this time.”

Philip’s condemning voice came to mind. ‘Don’t delude yourself, Sadie. You’re an alcoholic. One drink is never enough.’

“I can stop whenever I want, Philip. I just don’t want to.” She chuckled. “Is talking to yourself a sign of insanity?”

Only if you answer back.

That’s what her mother always said.

Sadie finished her second mug of rum and poured another.

The glow from the lamp and the simmering fireplace radiated over the wood walls, enveloping them in a golden sheen. Yet the room lacked something tangible, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“What’s missing here?”

The answer came to her, clear as glacier water.

She awkwardly made her way to the bedroom. When she returned to the living room a few minutes later, she had three framed photographs in hand. A small one of Sam found a place on the coffee table, and one of Leah decorated the oval table by the armchair.