After You've Gone Read online

  “Huh,” he said, and put his arm around me. Then he slid his hand to the back of my neck. “So do you feel like eating right now?”

  I shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Me neither. Let’s go upstairs.”

  Maybe I should have refused, should have demanded we continue the discussion. But the pull of him was too strong, my body’s response to his touch was too hard to fight, I wanted him too much. I followed him and soon I forgot all about Darlene. For a while.

  Nine

  Elsa

  Seattle, Washington

  May 1983

  IN SOME WAYS, MOVING TO SEATTLE was like moving to another planet. For one thing, there was the ocean, which I’d never seen before, and which I fell in love with immediately. The ocean, and the mountains. Bridges and water everywhere, and hills. In Regina we had Wascana Lake and Wascana Creek, pretty small time compared to the Pacific Ocean. And Regina was flat, oh so flat. I mean, it’s well known that Saskatchewan is flat, but I didn’t really realize how flat until the clear, warm day that Mark and Bill and I drove out of town on our way to our new home, and I kept looking back for one last glimpse of the Queen City. And it kept being a little speck on the horizon behind us for a long, long time.

  Regina to Seattle’s a long drive. We’d tried to keep our stuff down to a minimum, but still, with baby gear and guitars and amps and all that, we ended up renting a U-Haul van. Mark wanted to barrel through, take turns driving, do it all at once. I would have been okay with that except for having Bill along with us. I was nursing him and if I wanted to keep my milk up I had to have some rest. I’d learned that pretty quickly. A non-stop thousand-mile road trip was not my idea of resting, even if we did share the driving.

  “I’ll take care of the driving,” he’d said. “You can just take care of Bill.”

  “No way. That’s got to be a good twenty hours or more driving, even with no stops. Forget it. We are going to stop and sleep in hotels or we’ll get into an accident. We can afford two nights in hotels. And anyway, what’s the big rush?”

  “No rush. I just can’t wait to get out there and get started, is all.”

  Sure, I knew what he meant. I couldn’t wait, either. Getting out of town with my new family, starting a new life. I couldn’t sleep much thinking about it — well, that and Bill seemed to want to eat every couple of hours right then.

  So we ended up stopping in Lethbridge the first night, which is a pretty city, if a bit windy, with lots of old houses and winding streets and the coulees. We must all have been pretty tired because Bill was down from about nine that night until almost six the next morning — first time he’d slept through the night. Mark and I were almost delirious with joy from having almost eight consecutive hours of sleep for the first time since Bill was born. It felt like we were new people.

  Good thing, too, because the next day was long. We drove through the mountains in the southeastern tip of B.C. and crossed the border at Eastport, Idaho, which seemed to me to take longer than it needed to. Probably because the customs guy took a dim view of our hair and tattoos and such. But we did have all our paperwork in order and we did have a screaming infant with us — nice timing, son — so they processed us. Then we drove through to Spokane before stopping. That night wasn’t quite so peaceful as the one before had been. The hotel room was hot, but if we turned the air conditioning on it got too cold. So sleep was spotty, uncomfortable. Bill fussed a lot. He’d start nursing, fall asleep before he’d had much, and then wake up hungry a little while later.

  But the next day we made it to Seattle. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have been more impressed by the beauty of the city. As it was that day, I just felt overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. It took us forever to get to Bonnie and Dave’s place in Fremont, and we got lost because we were so tired. Still, we made it.

  Bonnie and Dave put us up for a week before we found an apartment that worked for us. It was a walk-up in an old brick building not far from them. The building wasn’t in the greatest location; the street was kind of busy. But there was a little yard out in the back, and a playground for Bill about a block away. The neighbours seemed nice and I loved the dark wood mouldings and glass doorknobs everywhere.

  The first night there, after we got Bill to sleep, we stood and looked round at the mess. Boxes everywhere, almost nothing unpacked.

  “The hell with it,” said Mark. “We’ll unpack tomorrow. Bill’s asleep, it’s been a long day. Let’s have a beer.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We sat, backs against the wall on the futon in our bedroom, surrounded by our stuff. I stroked the stubble on his chin.

  “How you liking Seattle so far?” he asked.

  “I love it. It’s so beautiful. I had no idea how much I’d love just looking at the ocean.”

  “Pretty cool, isn’t it? We’re not in Saskatchewan anymore, that’s for sure. What about the apartment?”

  “It’s great, too. I think we’re going to like it here. And did you know we have an ocean view?”

  He laughed. “I didn’t notice. Where?”

  I stood on tiptoe in front of our bedroom window. “Get up here. See? You can just see a little glimmer around the corner there. Hey — ”

  He had grabbed me and was pulling me down onto the futon.

  “You’re right. I do love the view in here.”

  Sometimes I think those early days after we moved to Seattle were about the happiest we ever had.

  Ten

  Lita

  September 1935

  THE SYNCOPATION FIVE PLAYED A GIG at The Terrace at the Regina Beach Hotel on the Labour Day weekend. Working people would take an excursion train from Regina out to the beach for the day, and The Terrace had acts booked to entertain them all summer. We’d been regulars since the start of August. That afternoon we drove out was hot and still, glimmering pools of sky disappearing on the road ahead during the hour in Bill’s Packard, all five of us, with George’s bass roped up on the roof. Bill wanted me to put the National up there, too, but I refused. It sat on my lap the whole way.

  Maybe if I’d been in a better mood I would have considered it, but Bill confused the hell out of me. I wasn’t at all sure I liked what was going on between us. He had the car radio on CKCK, and sang along with everything. I tried not to listen to him, tried to tune him out and concentrate on the steady thuk of locusts against the windshield. He’d been out a lot lately and I was still suspicious about Darlene. And his mother would return from Ontario in a few weeks and I had no idea where I’d live yet. It made me feel like those locusts had it pretty easy, dumb things. They’d hatch, eat their faces off, procreate, and then end it all in a numb second by becoming a green smear on the front of the Packard. Not so bad, I thought. At least they didn’t have to watch the man they loved eyeing all the women in the audience every time the band played. Or watch him talk through entire set breaks to Darlene, who was supposed to be going out with Otto. I almost talked to Otto about it once, but decided in the end to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want to start any trouble. Any more trouble, that is.

  Anyway, since the weather was good the band decided to stay at Regina Beach overnight. Henry’s brother, Jimmy, lived in Lumsden, only a few miles from the beach, and we stayed with him, all five of us sleeping in the living room. One good thing about being the only girl was that I tended to get the little niceties, like the couch. The rest of them had to sleep on the floor in front of me. In spite of the mournful look Bill sent me as he turned out the lamp, I couldn’t help smiling broadly at him. The arrangement suited me at that moment.

  The sand blistered my feet the next day as I wove between sweaty bodies and blankets. It looked like everybody in Regina wanted one last summer day on the beach. No wonder, with the winters. In less than a month no one would think of being near the beach and in two there’d likely be a foot of snow on the ground. That particular day, I wasn’t thinking about that, though. I was thinking what a shit Bill was. I wondered why
he treated me like he did. I couldn’t think why, I only knew I loved him. He’d become necessary to me in some way I couldn’t explain.

  I watched him get into the water, wave at me, flash a smile. I did not wave back. I jammed my wide-brimmed straw hat further over my face, kept my eyes on his dark blue suit as he swam way out, past the buoys. Why did he do things like that? He could be hit by a motorboat. Why didn’t the lifeguard say something? How could I be in love with such a damned fool? Eventually, he turned around, started back, and I relaxed once he got back into the swimming area. I opened my book and started to read when he got closer in, when I could relax. When he might be able to see me.

  He came and lay on his side on the blanket, and I watched him towel off when I was sure he wasn’t looking my way. He’d be all red and freckled when we got back home. Maybe Darlene wouldn’t talk to him so much then.

  “Got a cigarette?” he asked.

  I tossed him my case, after lighting one for myself.

  “Good book?” he asked after a minute.

  “Yes.”

  “Lost Horizon, eh? I don’t know, it looks pretty long. Say, are you going to sit under that hat and read all day?”

  “I guess I might.”

  I started to read again, kind of. I wasn’t really reading, I just looked at a spot in the middle of a page. But he didn’t know that. He couldn’t see through my sunglasses that my eyes didn’t move back and forth across the page. He probably wasn’t even looking at me anymore, anyway. His attention had probably been long ago caught by some girl down the beach, some fat little blonde. He probably wondered what Darlene was doing, maybe thinking about calling her.

  “Hey, you’re not sore or something, are you?”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “What makes you think that?”

  “I don’t know. You haven’t been talking much.”

  “I didn’t think you’d notice a little thing like that.”

  He flicked some pebbles around on the sand a minute before he said anything else. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you just seem to be so busy talking to other women.”

  “Oh, so that’s what this is about. Listen, can’t a guy talk to people anymore?”

  “Sure. Talk to whoever you want. Only if you spend entire set breaks talking to Darlene, don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

  “Darlene? That girl would talk you to death if you gave her half a chance. She just starts. What am I supposed to do?”

  “You could say, ‘Excuse me,’ and come over and talk to me.”

  “Well, I had no idea it bothered you. Really. Otherwise, I’d never even . . . I mean, how could you even think I’d be interested in her?”

  I shrugged. “You’re not the only one. Ask Otto.”

  “Exactly. Otto. That’s who she’s interested in. I’m just a target for her mouth. But listen, no more. I promise.”

  I shrugged again, turned back to my book. After a minute or so, I felt his finger run gently along my shin. He smiled when I looked at him, squinted a little for the sun in his eyes. He’d never think, all on his own, to bring sunglasses with him to the beach. Little patches of sand clung to his arms, and I thought how easy it would be to reach over and brush it off his warm skin. I turned a page, still feeling his finger run up and down my leg.

  “Want to go for a walk?” he asked.

  I considered for a moment, a little distressed at the reaction of my entire body to the small movement of his finger. “Where to?”

  “I don’t know. There’s some trees over there. Or over there.”

  We walked down the beach to where the sand stopped, then on the grass on the rocky shore of the lake. The noise of the crowd got smaller. We paused briefly in the cool shade of a stand of trembling aspen, then he held back some branches and I made my way in, careful not to trip on roots and branches. Some ways into the knot of trees we found a little clearing. The light softened, the damp ground gave under our feet a little. I breathed in the smell of earth and trees, and when we stopped and Bill stood close to me, I breathed in the smell of him. “Aren’t you going to take that hat off now?”

  “I guess I don’t really need it in here.”

  He took it off and hung it up on a nearby branch. He looked me in the eyes for a minute, then found my mouth. After a while I noticed faint music coming from somewhere, a piano.

  He slid the black straps of my swimsuit down my shoulders.

  “Listen,” I said. “What’s that music?”

  “I don’t know. Beethoven, I think.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is. Beautiful.”

  He wasn’t really interested in the music right then. I was, but then women have this ability to do two things at once. Faint dapples of shade and light flickered through my closed eyelids, and I listened with awe while we sank slowly to the ground and a little awkwardly rocked on the earth and grass and leaves. A gnarled tree root stuck into my lower back, I noticed after a while. It didn’t really matter. Eventually, I must have lost track of the music, too, because afterward all I heard was his breathing, and the pounding of my own pulse. We’d gained a little skill at making love. It seemed to me that it had taken a long time, though I really had no idea how long these things usually took. It used to be that people didn’t talk about things like that. Well, most people didn’t. Darlene did.

  “Did you bring your cigarettes?” he asked.

  I pulled them from my bag. “So how are you?” I asked.

  “Fine. I have mosquito bites in some pretty strange places, though.”

  We leaned back against a tree, tangled in each other, and smoked. He ran his fingers through my hair and buried his face in a handful. We stayed there a long time, talked and smoked until it started to get dark.

  “I guess we’d better get back,” I said, and slid into my swimsuit.

  “Yeah. I could eat a horse. But before we go, I’ve been thinking about how Mum will be home soon, and what we’re going to do.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, too, Bill. I guess I’ll have to find a place. And I’ll have to get a job. I’ve been keeping my eye out for something, but there isn’t much around. I might have to go back to the Belleville.”

  “You can’t do that. Besides, I couldn’t let you go now. So I was wondering if you’d want to marry me?”

  Maybe I should have expected it. But I’d had no idea that was on his mind right then, or ever, for that matter. When I thought of how mad I’d been at him earlier in the day, I was pretty amazed that we were even talking, astounded that we’d had sex. Or maybe not, maybe sex was a whole lot easier than talking. Right before he asked me if I wanted to marry him, I’d thought he was going to ask me for yet another cigarette. And I actually wasn’t so sure I wanted to give him one.

  Marry him? Not that I didn’t want to. I did, badly, wanted to be with him always. But it scared me to feel like that, scared me to think that I could feel about anybody with that kind of intensity. It made me feel weak, vulnerable. That there was something wrong with me to feel like that about anyone, that it would be stupid and possibly dangerous to let him know the extent of my affections.

  “Lita?”

  I had to smile at the expression on his face. He looked worried, must have wondered what was taking me so long to answer. Even worried, though, even in the dusk in a stand of aspen trees, his grey eyes glowed as if lit from within. I couldn’t have said no to him if I’d wanted to.

  Being in love, I was discovering, was like standing at the edge of a huge canyon. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring and all that stuff. It was also scary, made you feel dizzy and nauseous, like your stomach and lungs were fighting to see who’d get out your throat first. The worst part was the vulnerability. Being in love seemed to mean you were prone to injuries of all kinds at the hands of your beloved: purposeful, accidental, what have you. It seemed like the kind of thing reasonable people would want to avoid. Unfortunately, it also seemed like the kind of thing you di
dn’t have a choice about.

  Then again, I thought as we strolled back down the empty beach hand in hand, love had its good points, too. Make no mistake.

  Eleven

  Lita

  Regina

  Fall 1935

  AT THE END OF SEPTEMBER, JUST before Bill’s mother was due to return, we moved our things from the MacInnes house to a suite in the upstairs of a house we rented on Scarth Street. Then we got in the Packard one Friday morning with the marriage license we’d applied for a few weeks earlier, and took it to the justice of the peace at City Hall. Then we drove down to Minot, North Dakota for a brief honeymoon. Being a guest in a hotel, being on the other side of things, seemed strange. In a nice way.

  There weren’t too many other guests in the hotel dining room that evening, though I would hardly have noticed if the place had been packed. The whole day had seemed unreal and now sitting in this fancy dining room, eating steak with my husband — it was still hard to comprehend. Bill wore his suit and I wore a new pale green and cream print silk chiffon dress, the clothes we’d been married in that morning.

  “I don’t know, Bill. Do we really have the money for champagne?”

  “Aw, relax. I’ve been squirreling away a little for this. Besides, how often do you get married?”

  I smiled. “Not too often, I hope.”

  “When the Syncopation Five starts to make some real dough, I think we ought to move.” Bill was perpetually convinced that we were on the verge of success, about to become the next big thing. I preferred to take it one day at a time and see what happened.

  “Where to? Toronto? Montreal?”

  “No, somewhere warm. A guy could freeze to death in Regina. Maybe we could go down to California. I’ll bet there’s lots of work in pictures there.”

  “I think we’d have to be making a lot more than we are now before we could move to California.”