enough already, stop yelling at me.”
“I’m not,” she cried, then clicked her teeth shut. “Yelling,” she said in her normal voice.
“Jesus Christ,” he said to his kneecaps. “I’m so done.”
She put her own back up against the door and exhaled heavily. “You are. I’m drawing the line now. You stay on this side.”
He fell sideways into her lap and agreed.
Spring takes its time coming to the Maritime Provinces, but one Sunday morning in late March was full of sunshine and promise. In only a light fleece jacket, Erik sat on the concrete slab outside Barbegazi with his big cup of tea, looking out over the water. Looking into his past and his future at the same time, leaving him in a perfect, present moment.
The sun had sliced through the bathroom window that morning and he’d frozen with a mouthful of toothpaste, shocked at how the light glinted off the silver in the hair around his ears. Surely he wasn’t going that grey. He bent his head this way and that. No denying it: the stress of the past year had made its mark.
Daisy burst out of the shed with the wheelbarrow. Crappy jeans, mud boots and a fleece. Her hair in braids under her wool hat.
“Hello, fiancé,” she said.
Erik raised his mug. “Hello, financier.”
She laughed. “Damn straight.” She parked by one of the large island beds, waded in and started clearing it out with a vengeance, throwing handfuls of grasses into the wheelbarrow.
Erik watched her, swelling with love. He was home on a perfect Sunday. Dais was doing her thing and leaving him free to unpack for good. Or he could just sit here and do nothing.
He finished his tea and went to get his boxes of tools and supplies which had been in the garage all these months. Finally he’d set up the workbench which ran the length of the rear wall. The previous owner had been a tinkerer. And slightly OCD. Shapes for tools were outlined all along the pegboard on the wall. Erik followed precedent and put his things in the pre-designated places. For now. In time, he’d make it his own space.
Plenty of time.
“You in here?” Daisy called from the doors.
“Here to stay,” he called back.
SPRING LAMB WAS ON La Tarasque’s Easter table. Along with wedding plans.
Francine passed the bowl of new potatoes to her daughter. “Have you thought about where you—”
“Here,” Daisy said.
Years ago, Joe and Francine had raised a beautiful new barn on the ridge overlooking the vineyards. Fully equipped and glossy with exposed wood, it made Bianco’s a sought-after venue for all kinds of celebrations. Caterers could use the farm’s produce and wines. For a nominal fee, Francine would do the flowers. Joe had amassed a collection of pedal tractors for younger guests. Brides and grooms often stayed in the carriage house on their wedding night.
“How convenient for us,” Joe said, smiling. “But you—”
“Here,” Erik said.
“Of course, we’d love it,” Francine said. “But have you looked at other—“
“Here,” they said.
Joe shrugged and poured more wine into everyone’s glasses. “Here.”
One April afternoon, Will’s father lay down for a nap and never awoke.
Will was devastated, although he kept insisting, “If you have to go, that’s the way to go. Eat a nice lunch with your wife, lie down in your own bed and just slip away smiling.”
But he cried hard, caught up in the arms of his mother and sisters. At the funeral home Erik watched all the Kaegers weep over the loss of their beloved joker, while Erik himself mourned one of the kindest men he’d ever known.
A week passed in an exhausting blur of arrangements. Maurice was not only father and grandfather, but a popular and beloved professor at UNB. The line at the funeral home stretched for blocks with students past and present. The family had to extend two viewings to three. Runs were made to the airport, people needed to be shuttled here and there. Daisy covered the theater and Erik took time off from work to cover the home front.
Finally the chaos dissolved back into a semblance of routine. Ségolène Kaeger went out to Vancouver with one of her daughters for a spell. His filial duties wound up, Will appeared at Barbegazi with a six-pack under his arm.
“Mind if I use your dock?”
“Go ahead,” Erik said. “You want company?”
“I want to get drunk and contemplate this gaping hole in my life,” he said. “And I’d like to be looking at the water while I’m doing it.”
“Take a blanket,” Daisy said,