Robert McGill - Once We Had a Country

“Some people need peace and quiet,” says Maggie, trying to sound lighthearted but earning a scowl.

“My wife wouldn’t approve,” adds George Ray, looking hopeful that this will put an end to things.

“Wife, schmife,” mutters Brid.

Then Maggie has an idea. “What about—” she begins, trying to think through the consequences before saying it aloud. “What about having dinners with us?”

Brid looks unimpressed by this suggestion but holds her breath and waits. For a time George Ray ponders the idea, then nods.

“Dinners,” he agrees, and Brid rolls her eyes.

“How romantic.” Brid stands up from her chair. “All right, then, see you at six for pork and beans.” With that, she starts toward the door. Maggie hasn’t had a chance to talk things over with him as she’d like, but Brid lingers at the threshold waiting for her, so Maggie bids him goodbye and heads out too.

In the living room, they have set up TV trays to hold their plates as they watch the Olympics, Brid and Maggie from the couch, George Ray from the armchair. What they find when they turn on the television isn’t what they expected. Dead athletes, masked men with guns. An anchorman wearing a yellow blazer sits in a Munich studio recounting what has happened so far. At her mother’s feet, Pauline watches not the picture but George Ray, who occasionally glances back at her and sticks out his tongue, then smiles in a friendly manner. Pauline looks to her mother as though scandalized and expecting that Brid will put a stop to such behaviour, but Brid’s too focused on the television to notice.

The telephone rings and Maggie hurries to the kitchen, trying not to hope it’s Fletcher. When she snatches the receiver from the wall, she discovers it’s him after all. Right away she asks him where he is.

“My parents’ place,” he says. It’s where she guessed he would go.

“You see what’s on TV?” she asks.

“The hostages? Yeah, it’s crazy.”

“They’ve been at the airport for hours now.”

“Hell of a publicity stunt. Those guys have the whole world watching.”

“Publicity?” she says, incredulous. “They’ve killed innocent people.”

“They’ve also got people talking about the Palestinians.”

She tries to relax her shoulders. “Four days without calling, Fletcher. You want to argue about the Middle East?”

“No,” he replies. Then he says, “Rhea called today. She said everybody has left but Brid and Pauline.”

“And George Ray. Things are under control, don’t worry. Your instructions were very helpful.” She doesn’t bother to disguise her resentment. “Listen, what happened to the camera and all the film?”

“I took them with me.” He offers no further explanation. “You want them back?”

“Of course I do! The camera’s mine.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.” She worries it’s a bid for sympathy and doesn’t want to pay it heed, but she can’t help it.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay,” he replies. “The last couple of days have been hard. To distract myself I started volunteering for McGovern.”

All pity in her vanishes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Just at the local campaign office. A few hours a day.”

“What about the farm? Aren’t you coming back?”

“Right now?” He says it like it’s unthinkable.

“You said you couldn’t face people, remember? Well, now there’s no one left to face.” With the phone tucked under her chin, she goes to the cupboard, pulls out a plate, and imagines throwing it against the wall.

“I need a bit more time,” he says.

“How much?”

“Two weeks.” He says it as if expecting an argument.

She takes a breath and slides the plate back onto the shelf. “Fine,” she says.

“Thanks for understanding.” Then abruptly he asks, “You going to keep watching TV now?”

“I doubt it.” Already he’s bringing the conversation to a close. Is he so eager to be rid of her? “Fletcher—”

“Hey, did you pay the electricity bill?”

“Yes, I’ve looked after everything.”

“Thanks. Listen, I’ll call you again soon.” His voice is tentative, as though he knows what he’s getting away with.

“Sleep well,” she says wearily.

“You too. Bye.”

In the living room, George Ray seems to relax upon her return. Brid says there’s good news: the TV people have received a report of the Israelis freed and the terrorists killed. Neither she nor George Ray asks who was on the phone, but once Maggie has settled onto the couch and they’re all waiting for more details to be announced, Brid remarks offhandedly that she just remembered Maggie’s granny called earlier. She wanted Maggie to know that her father went upriver to some village and that’s why he didn’t get in touch. With closed eyes, Maggie thanks her for the message.

Friday morning, she feels nauseous again. It has been almost a week since Fletcher left. She should see a doctor. Opening the medicine cabinet, she hunts for something to settle her stomach and finds a stockpile of other people’s sanitary towels, nail polish, eye drops, and deodorants. Everything but what she needs.

In the camper van, she drives through Virgil without stopping, loath to run into someone who was at the party, and continues a few miles to Niagara-on-the-Lake. There she goes into a pharmacy for some Gravol before finding a hardware store that sells bathroom scales. A construction detour on the way home leaves her lost among side streets with her stomach so bad that she’s forced to pull over at a park beside the river. Sitting at a picnic table, she gazes out across a beach cross-hatched with driftwood logs to the place where the river meets Lake Ontario. An old American fort with a watchtower stands on the far side, hemmed in by garrison walls. Incredible how close it is. She could return so easily. Just a few miles’ drive to the nearest bridge, and she could be in Boston by nightfall; she could make Syracuse in time for lunch. What would she say to Gran if she turned up at her door? The news of Fletcher’s departure would seem only to justify her grandmother’s warnings.

Back at the farmhouse, Maggie goes upstairs with her purchases, steps on the scales, and finds she has gained four pounds. It’s surprising that Brid hasn’t said anything; surely she’s the type who would notice. In an old medical manual among the books on the living room shelf, Maggie looks up the symptoms. Dry skin—yes, but then that’s always been a problem. Cramped legs—well, of course, she’s on her feet all day. The indigestion and constipation—they could just be from stress. But all of these things together, and a month late? With the phone book in front of her, she calls the only doctor listed for Virgil and is told he can see her in a week.

The next day after dinner, Brid cajoles George Ray into staying a little longer and watching the Olympics with them again. It’s the last day of competition, but there’s still a miasma hovering over the events. Once more they play clips from the memorial service earlier in the week, and Maggie can’t believe they didn’t send everyone home already. George Ray’s beside her on the couch, while Brid takes up the armchair with Pauline on her lap. Half an hour earlier than usual, she announces Pauline’s bedtime. The girl bawls in protest, but Brid’s unrelenting and carries her upstairs. Eventually she returns alone with a bottle of red wine.

“Just grown-ups now,” she says, squeezing between them on the couch. To Maggie’s surprise, George Ray accepts the offer of a drink. Maybe he’s warming to the idea that he has gained the attentions of an attractive woman far from home. Brid treats his assent as a victory, then turns her focus to Maggie, urging her to have some too. Reluctantly she agrees, thinking she’ll just swish it around and nobody will notice. When Brid leans over to pour herself a glass, Maggie glimpses her small breasts swinging freely within her blouse.