C.J. Carmichael - Small-Town Girl

“That was no accident.”

“No, I guess not.” Again he made an explanation in an aside to Julie. “Heather’s husband was an officer with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. A couple of years ago, he stopped a guy on the highway. The crazy idiot pulled out a gun….”

“Oh, no.” Julie’s stomach lurched at the picture her mind all too vividly provided. Immediately her feelings toward her guest softened. “How tragic. I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, it was terrible.” Heather’s open face made it clear she was still dealing with the loss. “The man responsible turned the gun on himself right after. Somehow that made it worse for me. If he hadn’t wanted to live, anyway, why did he have to take Nick?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know this kind of thinking is pointless.”

“It’s difficult not to focus on how easily a situation could have resulted in a different outcome,” Russell said. “All it takes is a second to change your life forever.”

Julie thought about Ben and the morning of April 30. If the phone had rung two minutes later, they would have been out the door; she wouldn’t even have heard it….

“Life deals some hard blows,” Heather agreed. “I was so sorry to hear about Ben’s accident. How’s he doing?”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

Russell’s and Julie’s answers collided in the quiet evening air.

“He’s getting stronger every day,” Russell elaborated. “The doctors warned us it might take some time before he fully recovers.”

To Julie, Russell sounded totally confident that one day Ben would be completely well. Yet the doctors hadn’t provided any guarantees.

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Heather said. “I know your parents were terribly worried. I can only imagine how hard it must have been on the two of you.”

Julie stared out at the lake, which lay framed between two spruce trees growing at either end of their spacious backyard. The water had turned navy in the fading light. A new chill in the air sent goose bumps over her arms.

Russell finally responded to Heather’s comment. “It’s been a tough few months.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him—I promise,” Heather said.

Julie blinked, feeling as if she’d missed a couple of steps in this conversation. After a few seconds of silence, she acknowledged the obvious. Heather had already referred to the craziness of the first day of school. Russell had mentioned her education degree.

“You’re a teacher.”

Heather glanced at Russell, then back to Julie. “Grade four.”

“Ben’s in grade four.”

“Yes. He’ll be in my class this year. I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She smiled at Russell. “And to working with you.”

“After all these years,” Russell said. “Who would have thought?”

THE KING-SIZE BED JULIE and Russell had shared in Vancouver dwarfed the small bedroom in this new home of theirs. Julie sat on one corner of the mattress, brushing her hair and listening to the creaks of an unfamiliar house.

Often she’d heard Russell complain about the never-ending noise of traffic and sirens in the city. But she found the quiet of this town much more oppressive. According to Russell, the birds would wake them at dawn. But right now, at just past eleven, she felt as if she and Russell were the only ones in this town still awake.

Ben had fallen asleep hours ago, with clean clothes for tomorrow laid out on the chair in front of his desk and a new backpack, filled with supplies she’d purchased in Vancouver, sitting on the floor next to his shoes.

Julie stopped brushing her hair and closed her eyes. The picture came, as it always did…

A size-three Converse running shoe, flying through the air, laces untied…

To replace the ruined pair, she’d bought Ben Boarders. He’d been so pleased. Apparently they were all the rage at his old school. Would they be here, too? She hoped so. She wanted badly for him to blend in and be happy. What concerned her most, of course, was his performance in the classroom. Just how slow was Ben now? Would he fit into the average of his class? Or somewhere below?

What if he couldn’t even maintain his grade level?

She’d give him a few weeks, she decided, then talk to his teacher. Heather Sweeney was certainly approachable enough. Her friendship with Russell would make her even more eager to help.

Russell came into the room from the washroom, face and neck damp. He pulled his white T-shirt over his head, balled it up and tossed it into the wicker basket just two feet from where Julie sat.

“Nice that Ben had a chance to meet his teacher before the big day tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes. I suppose I’ll get used to people dropping in unannounced around here.”

Russell had his jeans unzipped. He paused and stared at her.

“Sorry. That was churlish. I do appreciate that she took the time to stop in. I guess I just wish I’d had a chance…to tidy up a little first.” That was a lie. The condition of the house hadn’t bothered her. She wished she could have brushed her hair, freshened her makeup, put on a decent pair of sandals, instead of padding around in her bare feet. With chipped nail polish, no less.

Not that Heather Sweeney had been perfectly groomed. But the other woman had the kind of looks that benefited from being untamed. Fresh and outdoorsy.

Stealing a glance at her husband, who had stripped to his white boxers and was climbing into his side of the bed, she thought of another adjective.

Sexy.

Yes, Heather Sweeney, in her denim shorts and pink tank top had definitely been that.

Julie exchanged her brush for the novel she was currently reading. Once settled under the covers, she adjusted her pillows and looked across to her right.

“Were you good friends?”

Russell lowered a sheaf of papers to his chest—lesson plans for the upcoming week. His dark eyeglasses slid down his nose a quarter of an inch. “With Heather, you mean?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She opened her book, trying to remember which chapter she’d finished with last night. After she’d found it, she realized Russell still hadn’t answered her question. She glanced back at him.

He was staring out the window, his gaze thoughtful.

Actually, he’d seemed unsettled, in a quiet sort of way, ever since Heather left.

“She’s an old girlfriend, right?”

Russell sighed. He removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. “Yeah.”

Julie tossed her book aside. Leaning on her side, head propped up by her bent arm, she asked, “Were the two of you serious?”

“For a while. I took her to my grade-twelve grad.”

“Was that the end of it?”

“More or less. We’d planned on attending different universities, in different provinces, so it didn’t make sense to make promises to each other we’d probably be unable to keep. After all, we were young.”

The ending sounded a bit too pat. “And you never dated again?”

“Well, we saw each other occasionally at holidays—Christmas and summer.” He paused for effect. Raised his eyebrows. “Then I met this new girl in the UBC library….”

He’d met her.

For the first time since the accident, Julie felt her husband focus in on her as if he was seeing Julie his wife, not Julie the mother of his son. His eyes lingered on her face, then dipped to the neckline of her silk chemise.

Russell set his papers gently on the floor, then edged closer to her. His move made her nervous. It had been a long time. Too long. But who felt like making love when their child’s life hung in the balance?

Even as she had the thought, Julie recognized it as an excuse. Making love could have been a comfort. For both of them. And Russell had initiated a few overtures. But she’d been too stressed….