Robert McGill - Once We Had a Country

“George Ray’s going home in ten days,” she says. This morning she promised herself she wouldn’t mention him. “The second extension on his contract is up. He’d have come down for this, but migrant workers aren’t allowed to cross the border.”

“You’re going to miss him,” says Fletcher. There’s an insinuation in his words that she chooses to ignore.

“He’s been a big help on the farm. Most days he’s the only person I see. Sometimes there’s Father Josef and Lenka. I go to their place for dinner.” Fletcher seems surprised. “Don’t look at me like that. You think I want to hang out with priests?” Then she adds, “It’s hard having a social life when everyone’s run out on you.”

Fletcher takes on a pained expression. From her pocket she produces a pack of cigarettes and lights one.

“You still stuck on your plan to buy the farm?” he asks.

“I told you I was serious, didn’t I? As soon as the lawyer gets Dad’s finances sorted out, I’ll know where I stand.” She has other means now too, but she isn’t about to mention them.

“And more Jamaicans in the spring?” he says. “You sure this is something you want to do?” She sets her mouth, stays silent. “I mean, I’ll make sure you get a fair deal, but it’s company property, I can’t just give it to you—”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I promise not to make you look bad in front of your old man.”

His shoulders slump. “That isn’t what I meant. Don’t you think you should wait, at least? It hasn’t even been two months. You need time to mourn—”

“Fletcher, I don’t think you’re in a place to judge what I need.”

He hangs his head, and she takes a long drag on her cigarette, then flicks it away. A mist has settled on the cemetery lawn and it’s begun to drizzle, beading on the brim of her hat.

He points toward the gate leading to the street. “Walk with me to the car? I have something for you.” They move onto a paved walkway lined by thick elms with amputated limbs. Halfway to the gate, he stops and says, “Listen, Brid came with me.”

“She’s here?” Maggie turns back toward the burial site.

“Where—”

“Coffee shop a few blocks over. At the last second she decided it would be too much. She’s a wreck. Completely broke down last month.” His voice slows along with his pace. “She took pills.”

“Oh,” says Maggie.

“She spent three weeks in a sanatorium—how do they put it?—under observation.”

Maggie moves closer and takes his hand, pulls him to a halt and hugs him. “Why did no one tell me?”

“She didn’t want you to find out. You had the news about your dad to deal with.”

Holding him isn’t what Maggie expected. She hoped its familiarity would be a relief, but his body doesn’t feel right, doesn’t fit. She draws away and resumes walking toward the gate.

“Pauline’s been at her uncle’s,” he says, “and this week Brid stayed at my place. But lately—” There’s a hitch in his step. “Well, she’s got the idea that she should spend some time on the farm.”

“What, now?”

“She thinks you need looking after. I told her you wouldn’t want visitors, but when she’s got something into her head …”

They pass through the gate and onto the street, waiting to let a man go by with three spaniels straining against their leashes, leaping together like one animal.

“She’d be a handful,” says Fletcher. “If you don’t want her, you should just tell her no.”

Maggie tries to imagine Brid back at the farm and remembers her last night there, her fury, her glassy eyes.

“Fletcher, I’d take her, but it’s really not a good time.” Surely she can’t be the answer to Brid’s problems. There must be someone else. “What about Wale? Still no word from him?”

“Not since he left the farm. Don’t mention him to Brid, okay? To be honest, I thought the sanatorium was wrong to let her out, but somehow she convinced them she was doing better.” He pulls a set of keys from his pocket. “Will you come say hi, at least?”

Maggie looks at her watch. “I’m due at Aunt Harriet’s—”

“Just five minutes. Please?”

A little way down the sidewalk, he stops beside a silver Bentley. The dented, rusting camper van sits farther down the street, where she parked it. Opening the car’s trunk, he draws out a cardboard box. As he lifts it, there’s the clang of metal against metal.

“Here,” he says. “The camera’s in there with the reels.” But she can’t bring herself to reach for them, and he has to press the box into her hands. “You don’t want them?”

“I don’t know. For a long time I did.” She rests the box on a hip, thinking of what’s inside. “You edited out—” Solemnly he nods, and Maggie has a terrible, cruel thought. “Hey, did you show it to Cybil? She might think it’s a turn-on.”

He only stares at her with pained eyes. “I told you, Cybil and I aren’t—”

“I know,” she says. “But sometimes I think it would be easier if you were.”

In their separate vehicles, they drive half a mile before pulling into a small parking lot with a row of storefronts. Brid sits on the other side of the coffee shop window reading a book. She isn’t wearing sunglasses or makeup, and her coat is draped around her shoulders like a blanket. With a wave, she greets them from behind the glass, then frets over a run in her stocking until they enter and she stands to give Maggie a long embrace.

They begin to talk with fragile smiles, and Maggie has a sense of growing distant from herself, observing the conversation from outside. At one point Brid starts up and runs for the bathroom, leaving Fletcher and Maggie to stare at one another across the table. Finally Maggie goes off in pursuit. A few minutes later she returns with Brid on her arm and nods to him. The coffee shop door jingles as they exit. From the trunk of the Bentley he retrieves a suitcase and loads it into the camper. He and Brid hug, exchange a few words, hug again. Then Maggie and Brid get into the van and drive off.

The farmhouse at night. No crickets, moon, or stars. In Maggie’s bedroom, all is dark but for a line of light from the hall. A shadow disturbs it and the door swings open.

“You awake?” says George Ray. “I brought company.” He has Elliot over his shoulder. When he sets him down, the cat crosses the floor with headlight eyes and jumps onto the bed, starts purring, gently pummels her with his paws. George Ray remains at the threshold.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispers. “We agreed you’d stay in the barracks tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I came with great stealth.” He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “Are you all right? You want to talk?”

“Later. God, I’ve missed you. Hurry, get into bed.”

He takes off his clothes and lies down next to her. At the edge of the mattress the cat grooms itself. George Ray touches her a long time between the legs until she squirms away.

“Enough,” she says. “Inside me.” He shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I’m shy,” he replies, and she gives an unbelieving laugh. “No, not shy, but, you know—it’s a sad time for you …”

She climbs on top of him. Afterward, she can’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It was just so horrible all week.” He strokes her hair. “You think Brid heard?” He doesn’t think so. “Is it okay, her being here? She bawled when we crossed the border.”

“Don’t worry. Only a few more days for me anyhow.”

She groans and holds him tighter. He says he wishes they’d met long ago, when he was still young. She asks him if he was being honest when he said he’d liked her even in the summer, and he says it’s the truth. Then she starts to question him about his wife. At this, he rolls to the far side of the bed, but she pursues him across it. Will Velma meet him at the airport? Will they make love the first night, or will she make him wait to pay him back for being away so long?