Small-Town Girl

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“Nothing,” she lied, angry with herself. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest. Inhaling, she thought of Heather and that brief second when Russell’s arms had encircled the woman. What had been going on in their minds in that moment? What had Heather felt? And what about Russell?

With her husband’s hands on her body, Julie wondered about the past love affair, and suffered again the unfamiliar bite of jealousy. Why had Russell never mentioned this woman? Did that mean she hadn’t been very important to him? Or maybe the very opposite.

With her mind distracted, her body began to react and respond of its own accord. She moved beneath Russell’s touch now and reached out to him, as well. Soon the old heat and ache were rekindled.

She needed this. It had been so long. So long…

“Russell, you don’t by any chance have a condom, do you?”

“What?”

“I haven’t been taking my birth control pills. Not since…”

In the past, she had a morning routine. Vitamin C, iron and birth control. All with her morning glass of grapefruit juice. But after Ben’s accident, she just couldn’t. To worry about her vitamin levels when her son was in such a serious state had seemed selfish. And sex had been the last priority on her mind.

“Oh, Julie…” He groaned, pressing his body to hers, so she could feel the hard length of him. “Of course I don’t have a condom. We haven’t used them in years.”

“Maybe you could run out—” She cut off her sentence as soon as she remembered where they were. No such thing as a twenty-four-hour drugstore in Chatsworth, Saskatchewan. And even if there were…the clerk would probably know Russell by name. How could anyone buy a package of condoms at midnight from someone who knew their name?

She felt Russell’s hand on her hip. His fingers glided over the silk of her chemise, down the outer side of her thigh. Then he touched bare skin and traveled upward, finding her silk bikini briefs, already wet.

“We could improvise,” he suggested, his breath hot in her ear.

He was still pressed up against her, still obviously ready. Desperate, in fact.

It had been a long time since she’d seen her husband this way. She thought, maddeningly, of Heather again. Had his libido been revved by the sight of her shapely legs in her short denim cutoffs? Or the lush cleavage beneath that thin tank top?

Stop it! she ordered herself.

Russell had slipped her chemise from her shoulders. Now he kissed a trail from her breasts to her navel. And lower. Finally, her mind turned blessedly blank. Julie fell back on her pillow, breathing out a constrained moan at the sweetness of this pleasure.

“Yes,” she told her husband as he showed her precisely how inventive he could be. “Oh, yes, Russell, yes.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Russell and Ben walked to school together.

“Good luck!” In her black leather mules, Julie stepped out the front door. A cool breeze nipped through her thin cotton blouse, and she hugged her arms around her ribs.

Despite the chill, a translucent blue sky indicated that perfect Indian-summer day lay ahead. The birds Russell had promised chattered around her. A couple of doors down, two little girls dashed outside and raced in the direction of the elementary school.

Behind them strolled Russell and Ben, side by side on the road. Julie stood watching her son and her husband become smaller and smaller, smelling the fermenting raspberries on the bush under the living room window. No one had bothered to pick them this summer and they were rotting on the branches.

Eventually Russell and Ben turned right, as had the girls, disappearing from her sight. This morning Julie had awakened feeling better. Not quite happy, but a little more relaxed. Now anxiety gripped her again as she fretted over the challenges facing Ben today. How would the other kids react to his presence in their classroom? Would he be teased? Ignored? Bullied?

Her stomach constricted over the juice and toast she’d had for breakfast. If only there were something she could do to help Ben with this transition. But there wasn’t. Unable to stand the worry, she focused on planning her day. Someone from the phone company had called earlier to let her know a serviceman would be arriving later that afternoon to set up Internet access. And Ben and Russell would be home for lunch. The very idea was a novelty. In Vancouver, coming home for the noon meal had been impossible—for all of them. Here, apparently, everyone did it.

As for the morning, she needed to organize the spare bedroom, which had been designated as her office. Before that, though, were breakfast dishes to wash, beds to make.

Thinking of all the tasks she had to accomplish gave Julie an illusion of control, and that calmed her. She went inside and started with her and Russell’s room. As she pulled the sheet taut, she recalled last night and how they had tried so hard to please each other.

How was it that a man and woman could kiss and touch each other in the most intimate ways and still feel so distant? She suspected the problem was with her. She still loved Russell, although she wondered if she knew him as well as she’d once thought. Quitting his job, moving to Chatsworth—she never would have guessed these things would make him happy.

She’d believed he wanted the same things she did. But apparently not. No wonder making love wasn’t as easy as it had once been, birth control issues aside. A huge distance seemed to span between them, even when they were right next to each other.

Hopefully things would get easier over time. They’d definitely taken a step in the right direction last night. Although she still suspected she had Heather Sweeney to thank for that.

As before, the idea hurt, and Julie tried again to chase it from her mind. She was probably all wrong about Heather. After all, Russell had never mentioned her….

Julie moved on to Ben’s room—a disaster as usual. She snapped the bed linens into place and fluffed his pillow.

Usually she took pleasure in these easy, domestic tasks. She liked keeping order in their house—craved order, actually. But today she felt out of sorts, lonely…empty. Partway down the stairs with a load of laundry she realized this was the first time she’d been in this house by herself.

This house. It didn’t feel like a home, even though they’d filled it with their furniture and belongings. Despite her best efforts, the rooms somehow felt wrong.

And the place was so quiet.

Julie set the dial on the washer to permanent press. She added a scoop of detergent, then went back upstairs. Unwashed dishes from the morning’s French toast and grapefruit cluttered the counter. The boxes of office supplies she’d meant to unpack lined the hall to the bedroom.

Despite the chores requiring her attention, she grabbed her purse from the hook by the door, as well as her black cardigan. She couldn’t stand the atmosphere in here any longer. She had to get out.

Julie followed the same route her son and husband had walked that morning. Critically she assessed the homes of her neighbors, before turning right. The brown brick elementary school sat stoically on the left. The school yard stretched around it, deserted, waiting for recess.

She wished she could peek into Ben’s classroom to see how he was doing. Her husband, she was certain, would have charmed his entire grade-five class by now. Oh, maybe there’d be one or two holdouts. But not for long.

She walked up another block to Main Street. The little café on the corner seemed an obvious destination, although it made no attempt to lure customers.

Perhaps because customers wanting something to eat or drink had no choice but it.

Trying hard not to think of her neighborhood coffee shop in Vancouver—of the hand-painted wall murals, the rich, fragrant coffee aroma that hit the second she opened the door, the friendly staff who all knew her name—Julie stepped inside the café.

Beige was her first impression. Tired was her second. Not one thought had been given to decor in this utilitarian room, where the air hung thick with the odor of frying bacon and freshly made toast. The booths by the front windows were occupied—a farmer and his wife in one, a young mother and her toddler in another. A short counter with a half-dozen bar stools divided the dining area from the kitchen. To the right were another couple of booths and tables for four. Beyond those were what appeared to be video games.

Julie perched on the edge of one vinyl-covered stool. Eventually a gray-haired woman—probably in her early fifties—emerged from the kitchen, coffeepot in hand. Without a word, she put a cup in front of Julie and poured.

No sense even asking if they had espresso, Julie decided.

CHAPTER SIX

“YOU MUST BE Russell Matthew’s wife.” The woman set the coffeepot back on its burner.

“Yes. Julie.”

“I’m Donna Werner. Me and my husband, Jim, own this place. He’s in the kitchen, burning breakfasts. Want one?”

She was joking. No scent of scorched anything marred the high-fat aroma.

“Coffee will be splendid, thanks.”

Donna shrugged as if to say, Well, I can’t force you, but you’re really missing out.

The coffee was good. Hot and strong. Julie sipped and wondered if lack of caffeine had been her problem this morning. As she contemplated the improbability of this, another woman came in from the street. Her hair—wildly curly and vividly auburn—drew and held Julie’s gaze.

This red was nothing like Heather Sweeney’s obviously natural, glowing shade. With tints of pink and mauve, it had to have originated with a variety of chemicals Julie hoped she never had the misfortune to encounter.

The woman however, was cheerfully unaware her hair was a disaster. She smiled at someone—or maybe everyone—in the front booth, then sat at the counter on the stool right next to Julie’s.

Given that every single other stool was vacant, her choice baffled Julie.

“Hi, I’m Adrienne. You must be Julie.” The newcomer held out a hand, with fingernails frosted blue. Donna Werner appeared from the back again and poured the ubiquitous cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Donna. I really need my fix this morning. First day of school you’d think the kids would be excited and get out of bed on time for a change. But no.” She spilled sugar into her coffee, then poured cream to the top of the mug. “How ’bout your son? He’ll be the new kid today. Was he nervous?”

Disconcerted that these people, who were perfect strangers to her, seemed so familiar with her life, Julie kept her answer brief. “Ben’s recovering very well, thank you.”

“Oh! Nice accent. I didn’t know you were from England. I heard you met Russ while you were in university.”

“My father’s company transferred him to Vancouver for a few years. I decided to go with my parents and study journalism at UBC. I’d intended to return to London with my family, but then I met Russell….”

She’d fallen in love that autumn, with everything. The university, the city, most of all the amazing, unflappable man who was so kind and gentle and funny in a silly sort of way she found quite adorable.

“What about you?” Julie asked. “Have you lived in Chatsworth long?”

“All my life, give or take a year,” Adrienne replied, apparently proud of the fact. “I took my beauty training in Yorkton. And now I have my own salon. Run the business in my basement. Let me give you my card. It’s kind of inconvenient to drive to Yorkton every time you want a trim—” she examined Julie’s hair “—or a little color touch-up.”

This woman was a professional hairstylist? Julie took the card and relegated it to her purse, certain she’d never refer to it.

“Well.” Adrienne stirred her coffee, oblivious to the liquid spilling over the edge of the serviceable white ceramic mug. “What do you think of Chatsworth so far?”

“The lake is lovely.”

“Like to swim, do you? You’ll have to give the golf course a try, too. We cross-country ski there in the winter. A shame you didn’t move in a few months earlier. We had a real celebrity wedding in July. Didn’t we, Donna?”

“Catered from Yorkton” was Donna’s only comment.

“You’ve read Warren Addison’s book, haven’t you?” Adrienne asked.

“He wrote Where It Began, didn’t he?”

“You bet. We went to school together. Grades one through twelve. This summer he married another girl from our class. Miranda James.”

“Don’t know why they bothered to have the wedding here in Chatsworth. Ordered everything from food to bouquets from Yorkton.” Donna wiped up the mess Adrienne had made on the counter, then placed a clean napkin under her mug.

“Well, we don’t have a floral shop, for one thing,” Adrienne pointed out. “Though I do think Miranda would have done well to have her hair styled at my shop. I offered my services free. As a wedding gift,” she elaborated, in case Julie might get the idea to request the same deal for herself.

“Nothing but the best was ever good enough for Annie James’s daughter,” Donna stated.

Julie had no idea who any of these people were. But she had to admit the conversation was interesting. Her book club had read and discussed Where It Began. “Does Warren Addison actually live here?”

“Last winter he moved into his parents’ deserted farmhouse to work on his new book. He and Miranda live in New York most of the time.” Adrienne sighed, as if imagining another world, far, far removed from the one she’d always occupied.

“You should have seen the press,” she said after a moment. “They were everywhere that day.”