David Nickle - The 'Geisters

Eva nodded, and leaned in forward, a little confidentially. “And he is a handsome young man. I assume he’s good… you know.”

“Eva!”

“Oh, I’m not a prude,” said Eva, laughing. “Don’t you be. Sex is important. It’s part of a marriage.”

Ann didn’t know what to say. Sex was important. And it was… fine with Michael, she guessed. Not great… not as frequent as she’d have thought. Something, she’d supposed, they could work on, on the honeymoon.

“Don’t worry, Eva,” she said. “Michael keeps me more than satisfied.” She made a show of winking. “If you know what I mean.”

Eva nodded again, and this time had the good grace to blush—at least a little. “Well good,” she said, and they sat quietly.

Ann had ordered a grilled chicken sandwich. The waitress came with it, finally.

“I had a dream about you last night,” said Eva when the waitress had gone. “Very vivid. I think it might have been the new place I was sleeping; all that Christmas stuff. It was a good dream.”

“Oh?”

“It was at the house by the lake,” she said. “Before… well, before it sold. We were all younger—your Nan was there. It was Easter I think, because I remember a basket of eggs on the dining room table. You weren’t actually in the room….”

“That’s not surprising,” said Ann. “I didn’t go back there once during the time you knew me.”

“Oh, I know, believe me. That was the last place you should have been, then,” said Eva. “Your Nan and I sometimes went back there. Particularly as it was getting ready to go on the market.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t want to be there alone. I didn’t want her to, either.” Eva paused for another bite of poutine. “We had good talks there.”

“So it wasn’t really about me.”

“We were talking about you. You were going off to a new school in the fall—a private school. Your Nan thought it would be good for you.”

“I probably hadn’t studied for the exam,” said Ann. “That’s how my dreams about going off to school usually end up.”

“This wasn’t going to be like that.”

“You could tell that?”

“She knew you could do it.”

“Of course she—” Ann stopped and swallowed. Eva sat quiet, waiting. But Ann didn’t cry. Outside the window, a truck pulled by, gears grumbling as it crawled down the street.

“The marriage is a good thing,” said Eva. “Michael—he’s lost his family too, really. They’ve driven him off, it’s the same thing. So it’s no surprise that you want to make a new one quickly, now that you’ve found each other. And you must be feeling pretty secure in each other. In everything.” She punctuated with a raised eyebrow.

Ann raised both, to say: Go on, Eva.

And Eva went on: “I mean to say, if you weren’t secure—if you didn’t feel really safe… you never would have invited him. ”

The van had pasted on its side a photograph of trees, blue sky—across its tail, hands joined together, pale as clouds. MARGARET HOLLINGSWORTH RESIDENTIAL CARE, written in fine script. If you passed it on the highway, you might mistake it for a minibus—something that would carry residents well enough for day outings to the nearby mall. Stuck in traffic, you might notice some other things about it—the reflective shades drawn down over the windows; the eighteen-inch caduceus stencilled above the license plates… the small blue light on the roof.

While it was true that the Hollingsworth Centre had those other kinds of buses, the ones for the mobile residents—this one wasn’t one of those.

Ann knew about this kind of bus. Point of fact, she knew this one. Ann recognized the attendants, although she couldn’t remember their names: the woman had short brown hair and a deep tan, she liked to snowboard; the man was black-haired and balding. He waved at Ann where she stood hesitating on the ramp to the winery, and jogged across the drive while the woman (Ellen? Alana?) opened the tailgate of the van and manoeuvred the hydraulic lift into place.

“Hey there!” said Ann, and squinted at the name tag, and (when he was near enough) finished: “Paul.”

“Hi, Ann.” He stopped and put a hand on the railing, looked around and nodded—taking in the grounds. “This is a beautiful spot. This where it’s going to be?”

“This is it.” Ann spread her arms as if to indicate the world. “Ceremony and reception.”

“Very nice.” He regarded the ramp and nodded again. “Elaine—” (Aha! Elaine!) “—is getting him ready.”

“Was the trip okay for him?”

“Very comfortable. Traffic was smooth, so we made good time; he didn’t need anything until the last leg. So he’ll be a little sluggish now. But trust me—he’s in great spirits.”

Ann sighed. “That’s good,” she said, in a way that was apparently unconvincing.

Paul suddenly became very earnest. “Ann—it is good. He’s very excited to be here for you today. He called this his ‘road trip.’ He’s been cracking wise about dancing at your wedding all week.”

Ann laughed—more convincingly this time. That being the kind of gag she’d have expected, from him.

Paul stepped back from the railing and beckoned her back to the van.

“Let’s go say hello,” he said. “I’ve got to help with this next part.”

“Let’s,” said Ann. And she smoothed her skirt, and crossed the drive to the van.

“Hi Ann!” said Elaine, poking her head out of the back of the van. “Do you want to come up inside before we send him on his way?”

Ann peered inside. The interior of the Hollingsworth minibuses were well enough lit for their purposes; but in the afternoon light, the compartment looked like a black pit. She swallowed, and drew a breath, and said: “I don’t want to get in your way.”

“Okay,” said Elaine. “Paul, give me a hand?”

And when Paul turned away, and it was clear no one was looking, Ann shut her eyes.

She was in the corridor. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows facing the east. At the end of it, in a deep shadow, the ironclad door stood still. Ann walked carefully down the hallway, not tossing anything out this time, until she could lay a hand on the door, run her fingers over the cool iron locks and bolts there. She pressed her ear against the wood, and listened.

Inside, it was silent.

Good , she thought. Stay that way .

She opened her eyes at the touch of a hand. “Hey,” said Elaine, “say hello.”

“Hi big brother,” said Ann, as the wheels of Philip LeSage’s chair rolled off the lift platform. She stepped closer, Elaine still holding her arm. Philip wore a green Roots sweatshirt that she remembered hugging his shoulders like a skin. Now, he was lost in it. His head lolled in its brace, and his lips pulled back over his teeth in the thing that he did these days to smile. His eyes blinked over hollow cheeks, under brown hair sheared competently, by the hand of a Hollingsworth nurse.

Hello little sister , came the whisper.

Philip was tall for his age then, and strong.

To Ann he’d been a giant. They lived in a giant house by a giant lake, with their mom and their dad and their dog, all giants too. There was a town nearby but it was small, or that was what Philip kept calling it. Littleton, he called it, even though it was really called Fenlan.

Viewed from a certain angle, however, it too was giant-sized.

Ann had turned ten only a month before they came there. She wouldn’t remember much about that house for long because it was very boring. There was a little yard with a plastic slide in it. She had a little room in the back with a window too high up for her to see out of without climbing on the top bunk. Her dad hated the kitchen. Her mom hated the basement. She hated that window.