I believe the nature of joy
Has little to do with an absence of sorrow,
Or even with the presence of some ‘wonderful event’.
My encounters with true joy
Have always resulted from simple things:
Drinking coffee to the sound of birdsong;
Sunshine dancing on ice-covered branches;
Clean air filling my lungs;
Knowing my words are reaching a friend.
15 -- The Nature of Joy
“People often ask me,” Leda wrote, “how I stay so positive. They can’t help questioning my attitude, as if no one could possibly rise above the sorrows I’ve endured.
“They are right, of course. Time doesn’t heal this kind of grief.
“The best one can hope for is to set aside the pain and get on with life. How? By paying attention to the smell of fresh-cut grass, the music of the poplars moving in the breeze, the warm comfort of a friend’s voice.”
The shrill whistle of the kettle broke her stream of consciousness. Fifteen-year-old Darren Bigelow was making breakfast, a task he seemed to enjoy. Leda Maguire pulled on her terry robe and brushed her hair before joining him in the kitchen.
They ate quietly, lost in thought. Afterwards, she carried the dishes to the kitchen.
The day he’d arrived Darren had asked her why she didn’t have a dishwasher. She’d replied ‘I do’, holding her hands up with a smile. The truth was she enjoyed the sound and feel of the soapy water. There were many domestic chores she disliked – resenting the time they stole from her writing – but washing dishes was not one of them. Sometimes, if the suds rose just so, she would even find herself singing while she worked.
“You look nice,” she said, studying Darren’s new sweater and jeans at the doorway.
“Thanks. You, too.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Uh-huh. What about you?”
“Me, I’ve been alone too long. Besides,” she added, “you don’t seem to eat much, or take up much space.”
They both laughed at that one. Darren stood nearly six-foot-two and his teenaged appetite was a thing of awesome beauty. Leda’s shopping budget had more than tripled since he’d moved into the spare bedroom a week ago.
“I’ll get a part-time job to help out,” he said.
“Let’s take it one day at a time. We don’t even know whether this is going to be approved.”
“I’m never going back,” he said.
“Never,” she agreed.
***
Stacey Bigelow slid the money into her pocket and kissed her new friend on the cheek. She hadn’t heard his name over the throbbing loud music, but it didn’t really matter. She wasn’t likely to see him again.
He wasn’t bad looking, especially when he smiled. She had been known to hook up with less appealing dates. Why, then, this sudden feeling of disgust? She did her best to hide it, holding his hand as they left the club.
After all, money was money.
It was only much later, when he was gone and she lay staring at the corner of the nightstand, that she understood her change in attitude.
Damn it, Darren, she thought, why did you have to come here? I wasn’t ready for you.
She did a mental tally of her secret savings. It was growing but was still not where it needed to be to secure the apartment she had her eye on. She figured she needed to cover the first and last month’s rent as well as living expenses for at least six months, in case it took her awhile to find the right job. Once she landed the dream job, she’d be in a position to support herself and Darren.
Her little brother had jumped the gun and thrown her fantasy into a harsh new light. She’d seen herself through his eyes, and the picture wasn’t a pretty one.
“Stacey,” Masha called from below, “can you come downstairs? There’s someone here to see you.”
Stacey lifted herself slowly from the bed. Depression had a way of catching her off guard, when she wasn’t paying attention. She shook her head, trying to find her smile, but it was out of reach.
She got dressed, ran a comb through her hair and joined Masha in the kitchen. She was curious, after all, to find out who the visitor was. If it had been one of her dates, Masha would have sent him upstairs. But who else could it be at this time of night?
“Stacey,” Masha said, setting a plate of cookies on the table, “this is Mr. Hudson. He has a proposition to offer you.”
“Nice to meet you,” Stacey said, not offering her hand. She reached instead for a cookie, waiting to hear what Mr. Hudson had to say.
He looked her up and down, wrinkling his nose at the faint odour that clung to her. She hadn’t had time for a bath after what’s-his-name left.
Refusing to meet his cold stare, Stacey studied the cookie.
“I thought you said she was cheerful,” he finally said to Masha.
“She's tired, Roy. Believe me, Stacey is one of the brightest girls I know.”
Mr. Hudson touched Stacey’s chin and turned her face toward his.
“Why is she so angry?” he asked.
“I’m right here,” Stacey said. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“That’s better,” he said. “Good to know you can speak. You’re right, Masha, she does have a nice voice. One night’s work. She has to be on time and she doesn’t leave till noon the next day. Ten thousand dollars. No drinking, no drugs, no swearing. My guys are not looking for a night in the gutter.”
Stacey digested the offer. She could only guess there must be a number of men involved, in order for that amount of money to change hands. Five thousand was a jackpot – along with her savings, it would allow her to move into her dream apartment. She would be able to take care of Darren the way a big sister should. She’d finally leave ‘the life’ and have a chance at a real job.
Somehow, though, the prospect failed to make her happy. She closed her eyes, searching inward for a spark of enthusiasm, but discovered only a renewed sense of disgust. She stood to leave.
“Stacey,” Masha said, “sit down.” The landlady didn’t raise her voice, but her words were nonetheless a command.
“She’ll do it,” Masha said to Mr. Hudson. “We’ll want five thousand up front, payable to me. The other five goes directly to Stacey, in cash. Also, she needs a suitable dress. You’ll have to give her extra money for that.”
Mr. Hudson reached for his wallet and tossed a roll of bills onto the table in front of Stacey.
“Make it blue,” he said, “to match your eyes.”
_______________________________
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK, FOR VOLUME 16 OF "TWO GOOD HANDS", a Leda And Strachan mystery!
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Comments (1)
Between my laptop being down & out for repairs for a few weeks, and crazy busy work, I've missed a bit. I'll have to back up, but I'm intrigued by the changes! Nice job! :)
Posted by Jemi Fraser | May 16, 2010 3:00 PM
Posted on May 16, 2010 15:00