Chapter 41 Peggy
The sun has some strength today. It is rising higher in the sky and there’s heat on my cheeks as I hang out laundry on the small rear deck for the first time this year. We have a rotary washing line anchored into the boards.
A few hours ago I saw a kingfisher. I could not draw my eyes away from its blue plumage: iridescent in the sharp morning light.
The first one I have seen. Its beak was long and it sat atop a rock as it fished.
Shades of orange in its feathers: vermilion, ochre, and coral; and it shimmered like water, like mercury.
Drew and Sammy train together on the towpath.
I am still wary, but I am pleased they enjoy each other’s company.
For so many years he seemed intimidated by his father, scared of him, and now, seeing them so easy together is a pleasant thing.
It is a surprise every time I notice. Drew is doing push-ups, showing Sammy how to execute them properly, and the breeze is traveling from them to me, from the bank to the clothes I am hanging out to dry.
“Don’t know why you’re surprised,” says Drew, just in earshot, his nose close to the earth, his back rod straight. “Never rely on women for anything. You can’t trust them, boy. Say they’ll meet you down at the park and then they never show up. Probably with some other guy.”
Sammy kneels down on the ground and starts doing push-ups.
“All the way down, boy, that’s it, come on, put your back into it. If you don’t feel pain you won’t get stronger, remember that. Down. Nose to the dirt.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
I watch all this from the corner of my eye.
“That’s it, Samson. Back straight, arms extended.”
They start doing squats.
“Thing is, they’re not like us. They’ll say one thing and mean another. Riddles. They’ll twist things around and before you know they’ll be in charge. Not having that, are we, boy?”
“No, Dad.”
A chill runs down my back and I know it is my responsibility to correct all this once we are away.
“Girl stood you up. Good life lesson, that is. Don’t expect anything from women. Heartache and disappointment, that’s about it. More bills than you could ever imagine.”
“Maybe she had an accident?” says Sammy. “Or a detention?”
“Don’t believe a word she says. Lesson learned.”
I walk inside the boat.
Drew will not talk to me about the money side of things but somehow, miraculously, we now have a full tank of diesel and full tanks of propane and water.
The toilet cassettes have been emptied. Our pantry is stocked with cans and jars and packets.
We have hot water, and we can cook. The lights are back.
Coincidentally, all this happened yesterday, exactly two days before my first home visit from a social worker.
I know what I need to do. Pull myself together. Sit down and write another book as quickly as possible. Send it out like before. I need to gather in a little money of my own, no matter how, and then I will move Sammy away from this.
They come inside.
I cook fish sticks and fries. Afterward I stew apples on the gas burner.
“Just because we’ve got gas doesn’t mean you have to use it all up, Peg. Cook on the woodburner next time.”
I glance over at his desk. I noticed a pack of expensive paper earlier.
Heavy-grade paper with a watermark. The kind of paper you don’t need to use for your manuscript but maybe it will help to get you noticed.
Now I have fire in my belly again, like I did as a teenager, I’m tempted to remark on the paper.
I bite my tongue.
Not now.
“A kingfisher was out before,” I say. “I saw it perch on a rock by the bank.”
“Serious?” says Sammy.
I nod.
“Don’t listen to her,” says Drew.
“It was there for a short while, I swear. Saw it come and go. Beautiful blue it was.”
He lowers his voice. “You never saw it.”
“I did.”
“You think you did.”
“I saw it.”
“We believe you.” He nudges Sammy with his elbow. “You think you saw a belted kingfisher near the water. We believe you think you saw it. But, you never. It wasn’t there, love. If we’d had a kingfisher out in broad daylight near the boat I would have seen it myself, wouldn’t I?”
“It was there,” I say, defiantly.
“You don’t know your own head.”
“If I’d had a camera I’d show you proof.”
“You might be getting better but there’s a ways to go yet, Peggy.”
I look at him, gritting my teeth. “I feel fine.”
“You think you do. We know different, don’t we, Samson?”
Sammy squirms on the dinette bench. He doesn’t say a word.
I hand them both their stewed apples, the bowls steaming, and Drew pushes his away. “Not eating it.”
“Don’t then,” I say loudly. “Not my problem.”
His forearms tense on the table. I see his knuckles turn white: bone pushing out against the thin skin covering his fists. “What did you just say?”
Sammy mutters, “I need the toilet.”
“Not my problem,” I say again, even louder, urging Sammy to stay seated. I feel an inch taller now. “Eat it or don’t.”
“Cook it better next time.”
“You haven’t even tried it.”
He breathes in and out slowly through his nose. “Don’t need to.”
A boat passes by. The windows darken for a moment.
“We’re out of money,” he says. “Hope you’re satisfied.”
“Pardon me?”
Sammy leaves the table.
“Your nurse friend is coming by in the morning, right? Forcing us to pay out for propane so you don’t get dragged back inside. Hope you’re grateful, Peggy.”
“I… am.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Why are you like this?”
He snarls and says, “Better ask your mother. We were doing fine until she started interfering if you remember right, which you probably don’t. That bungalow. Cost of repairs, pest control. Just about ruined us.”
“It’s her bungalow that gave us this boat and you know it.”
He says nothing. He simply fixes his stare and then taps his temple with the tip of his index finger. An unspoken renewal of his threat.
I go and check on Sammy. I find him with his knife out, the knife Drew gave him for Christmas when I was in the hospital. He hides it as I enter. I shake my head desperately. He looks panicked. I whisper, “We’re not arguing anymore, Sam. It’s OK.”
He breathes out like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.
When we walk back together to the dinette Drew is sliding his stewed apples into the trash. He turns and says, “I’m writing from eight thirty so I’ll need hush from then. Man can’t hear himself think around here.”
Sammy sits down to eat his apples and says, “OK, Dad.”
Rage from my belly. I can’t hold it back. “You working on your book or someone else’s?”
He pivots and walks toward me slowly, his jaw clenched, his shoulders back. The energy of him, like he is prickling with static. He lifts his chin. I feel his breath touch my lips. “Say that again.”
Sammy moves his arm and his bowl drops to the floor and smashes. Splinters of porcelain and raisins and apple sludge all over the floorboards.
Drew exhales through his nose. “Best place for it.”