(6) The Night Nurse
Vee had been operating as something of a night nurse for a while now. All the Rosedale residents had required various levels of care at various times, and she had, perhaps more dutifully than happily, been there when needed. Which, as she well knew from day one, was her function within the arrangement. Okay say it, the arranged marriage. That’s what it was in essence. Be a governess to a bunch of grown-ups, a cover for a well-placed bi businessman, and a free spending party girl when not otherwise engaged. Usually it all played out without a hitch, everyone got their agenda met, and life unfolded quite melodiously. But since ‘the incident’, with its unfortunate shocks and wounds, the rhythm of cosy domesticity and glamorously swishing about town had been, if not exactly shattered, then at least irrevocably altered. Earlier, in the shabby collapse, she had shied away from ‘irrevocably’, convincing herself it was all transitory, a family crisis that could be cared for and mended. She could see light bulbs dangling at the end of tunnels.
But now it was apparent that such notions were illusions sustained by fond hopes. No, faint hopes. Fainter by the week. Anna seemed to be teetering on some downhill slope, repeatedly losing her balance and requiring regular assistance in regaining it. Assistance that Alex was rarely able to give, slunk in his own slough of despond. Vee wondered if they’d both had mini-strokes, such was their apathy toward each other’s conditions. Eleanor, surprisingly, was managing better than her parents. She spent most of the day shadowing Katerina as she maintained the order and cleanliness of the family home. She never seemed to tire of her cheery chatter. Vee had taken, on her nights staying over, to helping clear up after dinner, mostly to share in her endless good humour. She said she was happy for the help and the company and they nattered away endearingly to each other as the kitchen slowly resumed its pristine character. Katerina asked if she missed her old life. Vee feigned puzzlement, rather convincingly she thought. But no, Katerina was not to be had. Sometimes you are social worker, sometimes you are night nurse, but never are you Vee. Maybe you are Vee in your own house, yes?
Maybe I am, she’d replied, wondering, and then recalling that she had still to phone the maid service and bitch about the upstairs bathrooms. That lady of the house thing, she used to do it so well. What happened? Sometimes she felt like a teenager again, sulking in her room and making elaborate escape plans. ‘Always running from something’ had been her mother’s sentence. It had started with homework in grade seven, which, admittedly, she’d quickly grown reluctant over. Pencil sketches and sci-fi fiction had suddenly consumed her. Nothing else mattered, not even boys. A late bloomer, skinny as a stick and flat as a board, she had retreated into the artsy intellectual she thought her friends would fawn over. But she’d got the scheduling wrong. That was a grade ten trip, as she found out when Marcy, Meagan and Zoe formed a triumvirate of same and scored bigtime with not just the geeky boys but some of the cool ones too. But by the end of the spring semester she’d bloomed and quickly had several more reasons to run.
By the winter of grade ten, just after Valentine’s Day, she finally connected with Richard, the grade twelve boy genius who’d already got an acceptance from McGill. She’d noticed him from a distance several times and thought he was staring. Jenny told her to get a grip. Half the grade twelve girls were in love with him already, what chance did she stand? But Vee knew different. So when he crossed her path one day and asked her to go for hot chocolate at Tim’s while staring at her breasts, she was not surprised. Terrified maybe, but not surprised.
In from the cold and coats off, she knew she should have worn another sweater. The blue was not right and never would be. But it was tight enough. His eyes rose from her breasts to her eyes at least four times during their halting conversation, and when they did she saw someone even more rickety than she was looking back at her. Between sips there were long pauses with his eyes down you know where. Then he would speak, oracle like in her eyes. She asked about university. Yes, it was true, he was going to McGill in September. Then why are you talking to me, she asked, amazed at her pluck. Later she thought no, stupidity. She could have him for at least five months before he left. Most relationships didn’t last five days never mind five weeks. He was talking to her because he was nuts about her. That’s what he said, nuts about you. Couldn’t sleep at night. Couldn’t even tire himself by going through old physics problems. She said she was sorry. He said it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t help being gorgeous. Something like blood rushed to her head, she thought she’d feint. She must be beet red. But he said no, she looked fine. Could they go to a movie? Maybe on the weekend? She said sure, knowing she would have to lie to her parents and say she was going with Jenny. Jenny would have to be bribed. He walked her home. It was February but a mild spell made it seem like March. She showed him the dark spot in the driveway where the cedar hedges made a nest. They stood there unobserved, and unbuttoning her coat she asked if he wanted to put his hand on her breast. He lifted his right hand slowly and put it where she suggested. It lay there, unaccustomed. They gazed at each other for a long moment but did not kiss. She didn’t care. He removed his hand without squeezing and said he should go.
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