Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) (18 page)

“No, no, I'm fine,” Jillian insisted as she wiped away her tears with her fists.

“I'll do everything I can to help you forget Matt,” her friend offered after a moment. “Look, there's a Macdonald's.”

They stopped at the roadside restaurant, bought lunch and went outside to eat it on a picnic table by the highway amid the drone of cars passing in either direction. They drove on through small scattered towns: Lakefield, South Beach, Burleigh Falls— names out of Ontario folklore. In winter the whole region would have been covered in snow, stretching for miles as far as the eye could see. At this time of year, though, the locals took full advantage of the tourists and cottagers attracted by the warm weather. They stopped at a quaint antique shop and a second-hand clothing store to look for bargains, fascinated by the small towns, and the granite outcrops thrust up from the depths of the earth, looking dangerous looming above the highway. In places loose red boulders had chipped off and fallen perilously onto the road below.

By 4:30 p.m. they had arrived. The drive had taken longer than usual because of their stops and had left them both exhausted. Slowly they emerged from their car and stretched their arms out wide, looking around as if in a daze. Molly was sniffing the ground, tail wagging and running frantically around the property. It was eerily quiet. The air was heavy with insects, mosquitoes and black flies, and the scents of pine needles and decayed leaves moist under their feet.

The cottage stood on a remote bay of the lake, reached by a long narrow unpaved driveway. The main house was a log cabin that went back at least three generations, surrounded by tall majestic pines, in a clearing that sloped steeply to the water's edge. Adjoining it was the guest cabin, where Jillian, Amelia and a few other guests would be staying.

Annie Treadway appeared on the veranda of the main cottage, bronzed from the sun. She looked relaxed, and her eyes were shining bright. She held her arms out wide as she called out, “Amelia! Jillian!” But to Jillian her smile and show of friendliness seemed forced and overdone; her cheery voice sounded too loud, as if she were trying to revive feelings of old. She showed Jillian and Amelia to their rooms in the cabin, and they quickly settled in.

Walking back through the dimly lit upstairs corridor, the pine floorboards creaking under her feet, Jillian stared up at the large open cathedral ceiling with its aged knotted pine logs. Each beam was carefully secured into place with pitch; the dark crevices between them looked like mocking eyes. She heard a scurry of what sounded like footsteps on the roof: a chipmunk or maybe a larger animal— a racoon? Maybe it was all in her head. She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline come and quickly made her way down the stairs to the living-room. In the centre of one wall she saw a huge fieldstone fireplace, and then through the windows that took up the whole wall opposite she viewed the placid deep waters of the lake. The yellow afternoon sun reflected off the water, splashing orange gold around her and over the interior walls and pine floor like swift-flowing water. For long minutes she stared at the bright glistening water as if in a trance.

Later, by the lake, the group of friends gathered beside a campfire, where crackling red flames rose to nearly ten feet. They were breathing in the smell of burning wood, the taste of smoke bitter on their tongues. Their faces were illuminated and softened by the high flames that coloured everything red. Waves from the lake crashed onto the shores in crimson foam. Around them was what seemed virgin forest of frowning pines, while wisps of cloud scudded past a moon that looked like a giant white balloon hovering just above the trees. Sitting around Jillian were high-school friends whom she had known for years, but who now seemed spirits from another life.

They were eating hamburgers and hotdogs. Jillian went over and sat down next to Amelia, who turned to her with an apologetic smile. “You got a bit of a sunburn today,” Amelia said.

“I burn so easily,” she answered in a low tone, trying to smile.

“Are you glad you came? Are you having a good time?”

“Oh, you know, just another weekend getaway,” she lied. The old nagging disquiet was returning.

“You don't sound like you're having a good time.” As Amelia spoke, Jillian was trying to keep her eye on Annie and Matt, but she kept losing them.

Later someone was telling her about some natural disaster in Peru— an earthquake followed by a tsunami on June 23— but she couldn't follow the discussion or remember what was being said. “What do I think about it?” someone asked. She was about to reply that the disasters around the world foreboded something bigger, something menacing, but thought it best not to. Wasn't her own life enough of a tragedy? She kept wondering where Matt and Annie could have gotten to.

“Oh, that Matt!” Jillian heard someone exclaim. “Isn't he gorgeous? Don't they make a lovely couple?”

A wave of jealousy washed over her, and not wanting to hear the rest, she hurried away but still managed to hear the tail end: “I hear he's a super star at the hospital. He's one of the up-and-coming surgeons.”

Jillian was now on the move and out of earshot, walking briskly along a beach that stretched for miles with cottages interspersed along the way. From somewhere in the distance came the mournful cry of a loon— separated from its baby chick or perhaps a mate who had failed to return? She was imagining their red eyes, scanning effortlessly under the water in search of food.

She stood by the lake, next to a tree that was bent and gnarled from growing on a flat rock too close to the water; the wind carried whispers from the lake. She scanned the night sky for the moon, and there it was, just above a pine tree, big and white, with dappled contours that for once really did look like a man's face gazing down on her. “Who am I?” she asked it. “I don't who I am!” But the moon said nothing and disappeared behind a cloud. All she heard was the roar of the waves, for the wind had come up and was driving them hard on shore.

Now she was crying. She caught her breath and swallowed hard, tasting the odour of lake weed. She turned back and headed for the cabin. The wind whipped her hair; her eyes were stung with tears. Walking on along the shore, she spotted a figure up ahead, a tall shadow that seemed oddly familiar. Then she saw it was a man, playing ducks and drakes, swinging his right arm wide and tossing flat pebbles over the water to skip three or four times above the lake's surface. She stood watching him, and then, as if sensing her presence, he turned around to look at her. She cleared her throat and called out, almost sobbing, “Isn't it beautiful?”

“Jillian!”

“Andrew!” She walked eagerly towards him.

Andrew simply smiled and looked at Jillian as if he had expected to find her here. She tried not to look into his face, for fear that he might see she had been crying. They both fell silent. The lake water, now black under the light of the moon and stars, stretched westward until it merged with the sky on the horizon; the trees and vegetation growing on the outcroppings of rocks, stood clean and black. She didn't want him to say a word, but he was whispering something below his breath that she could barely hear. His whole body was rigid and upright. Everything about him seemed tense and awkward. Then he took hold of her hand, gripping her fingers tightly: “Jillian, why do you keep running away from me?”

She stood there with a perplexed look. She felt cold and then began laughing, “What? I don't know what you mean.”

On his lips was a fixed smile. “Jillian will you hate me if I tell you that— ” he hesitated for an instant, then finished his sentence in a whisper: “— I think I'm in love with you.”

For long suspended moments she remained silent, with her head lowered. When she finally raised her head, she asked timidly, "Why do you love me?"

“I've always loved you, Jilly. I can't even remember when it all began.”

“But you see, I don't know what this thing called love is.”

He gave a nod with his head that meant yes. Yes, he knew. “I'll help you find it.” He then took hold of her hand as they walked back to the cabin.

Later in the evening, a fire was crackling on the hearth at the cabin; an atmosphere of laid-back friendliness and cheer prevailed. The lamps were lit but turned low. Jillian, Lauren, Amelia and Mary-Ann and Andrew were watching the Discovery Channel. “Do Annie's parents stay up here much?” asked Lauren.

“Oh, didn't you know? They divorced two years ago. They don't communicate much, I imagine— never did. It's a miracle Annie was ever conceived,” replied Mary-Ann laughing.

“Her mom does come up here once in a while” Amelia added, “but mostly it's rented out through a real-estate agent.”

Jillian got up and peered out the window into the darkness, where rain was falling like teardrops sliding down an invisible sheet of glass, pelting Lake Kasshabog with a fury that seemed at that very instant the expression of her mood. Her eyes fell on the next cottage, half screened behind a row of stark pines, and on one window in particular where sheer curtains were drawn. As if through a mist, she glimpsed the ghostlike images of her best friend Annie and her ex-boyfriend Matt walking past it. Her mind went into a whirl. She was standing in a different room, peering out onto another scene. Her heart began to beat wildly, and she was seized by a longing, a sense of loss not only for her childhood friend of many years but also for Matt. Her emotions resolved into a single need -- to escape!

Hoping not to wake anyone, she tiptoed down creaky wooden stairs in slippered feet, shuffling along the narrow hallways that were still in darkness, making her way through the swinging kitchen door and into the mud-floored screened porch where Molly still lay sleeping, her thick fur rising and falling with each breath. Hurriedly, before the others awoke, Jillian threw on a wool sweater and sat down, stretching each leg as she slid her feet into rubber mackintoshes. Molly looked up and gazed quizzically at Jillian with her head tilted, thumping her tail in anticipation. Then she lowered her head again to the floor between her two front paws, pretending to go back to sleep, with one eye closed but the other persistently open, alert, following Jillian as she got ready. The clatter of the leash being taken down from its hook alerted Molly that Jillian was about to take her out. Slowly and with seeming reluctance she got up, stretched one hind leg, then the other, yawned and shuffled to the door.

Holding the leash with one hand, Jillian fastened it to Molly's collar as she crouched in obedient, welcoming affection, her tail whipping rapidly, panting noisily and licking Jillian's face. Molly nudged her furry head forward and tried to burrow it into Jillian's right armpit, while Jillian caressed Molly's floppy warm ears and crooned in a low whisper, “Such a good doggy, Molly!”

They slipped out the back door into the chill morning air. Molly bolted off rapidly and excitedly down the path towards the lake, while Jillian stood for a few moments looking on as Molly's legs leapt into the air, her paws barely touching the ground as if she were flying, only the white tip of her tail visible whipping from side to side. Jillian smiled to herself. Animals had such freedom!

At the top of the slope, she turned briefly to take one last look back at the cabin window, imagining her friends still asleep. Her breath was turning thinly to vapour as it mingled with the morning mist; her arms were folded tightly around her waist; she had brought no coat, but wore just the wool sweater she had put on before taking Molly out, which now felt too thin. The sound of her breathing and the crunch of her footsteps were amplified in her head. She took the path towards the lake; her footsteps were quick and her breathing still audible. Out over the lake a faint mist hung just above the surface, obscuring the horizon. Around her native wood flowers sprouted and dazzled; insects hummed loudly and birds flashed their wings among the shadows of the trees as she made her way down the steep incline to where a single canoe stood by the water's edge.

Annie crept down the stairs, saw a light under Jillian's door and hesitated whether to knock. She wanted so much for things to be like old times. She wanted to make amends. She gently turned the doorknob, stepped into the small room, which was dimly lit by a floor lamp, and saw that Jillian was gone.

Jilly?