The Carpenter Read online

  — But Judy, said Eleanor, bad as she might get, she wasn’t ever, like, she wasn’t the kind to kill herself. That wasn’t part of it. So that’s why, Stan, that’s why …

  Judy was admitted to hospital again after their mother died. Eleanor, back home between terms, started going with Tommy Spencer. He was a local boy, his dad did roadwork contracting. Then the doctors at the hospital started releasing a lot of the patients to reintegrate them with the community. Judy was discharged two years ago, the same time Eleanor started at the National Trust. Judy and Eleanor moved together into their parents’ old house, the house they’d grown up in. Eleanor’s benefits covered a prescription for amitriptyline.

  The pill was called Elavil and it kept Judy level. She put on some weight, but not much, and before that she was really too skinny anyway. She slept a lot. But for once she was even-tempered.

  Still, Eleanor considered that Judy might grow bored. One thing about the hospital was that they kept you occupied. So Eleanor talked to Alda Shipley at Busy Beaver Janitorial, who’d had the cleaning contract at the National Trust for a long time, and for the first time in her life, Judy had a job. Busy Beaver was a bonded local outfit. They’d arrive in the afternoon before the branch closed and they’d clean until eight o’clock at night. The bathrooms, the carpets, the wastebaskets. Alda reported back to Eleanor that Judy didn’t have much to say but she usually smiled faintly and she worked steadily and didn’t object to any of the tasks.

  Then Eleanor told Stan about the man who’d come into Judy’s life. Around May or June, Judy started getting agitated. She was quick to put you off if you asked her anything. She would say, I’m fine, why do you want to know? It wasn’t any kind of agitation Eleanor had seen in her before. Eleanor was already guessing what it might be.

  And why not? Judy wasn’t unattractive, and since the medication had taken the swings out of her mood, she was good company. She wasn’t forthright about whoever the man might be and Ellie didn’t press her, but then she happened to meet him at the bank one day in the summer. The Busy Beaver crew had started their work in the late afternoon. Eleanor had a dentist’s appointment and was given leave fifteen minutes early. She went down the rear corridor and said goodbye to her sister and went out through the back door. She was halfway across the parking lot behind the bank when a man got out of a car and said: Hey, Judy.

  This man was kind of singing an old song, It’s Judy’s turn to cry, it’s Judy’s turn to cry. Judy’s smile was so mean, sang the man.

  Eleanor guessed it took her coming closer, twenty feet or so, for the man to realize she wasn’t her sister. They looked enough alike until you got up close.

  — You’ve got to be Ellie, said the man. I’m sorry to have mixed you up.

  Eleanor said it was okay, it happened from time to time. She let on that she knew about this man in Judy’s life, that he wasn’t something she’d only guessed at. So that was probably why he didn’t tell her his name. Eleanor couldn’t exactly say what he looked like. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, she remembered. Good for the weather but not like he’d come from an office or anything. He had sunglasses on, the kind with mirrored lenses. The car he was leaning up against wasn’t anything special. He was older than Judy, maybe even ten years older, but otherwise he just looked like anybody.

  He was nice enough. He seemed easy to talk to. He asked how Ellie liked working at National Trust and how she liked living in town. He smiled. Eleanor might have been late for her dentist appointment if Judy hadn’t come out the back door just then. She was surprised. She chewed at her bottom lip and spoke in singular phrases, and the three of them-Eleanor, Judy and the man-made the points of a triangle as they stood talking to each other. So Eleanor, laughing a little, pleased for her sister, took her leave. As she was going she heard him sing it again, Judy’s smile was sooo mean. And Eleanor heard her sister laugh.

  That weekend they had a barbecue over at Tommy Spencer’s house. Judy didn’t bring the man and didn’t make any mention of him. But then Eleanor got Judy to herself for awhile in the lawn chairs at the back of the yard. They watched Tommy horsing around with his brother’s kids.

  — So when were you going to tell me? said Eleanor.

  — Tell you about what? said Judy, not meeting her sister’s eyes.

  It took a bit of pressing but Judy eventually told her. Once she got talking about him, she had a hard time stopping. The last six weeks or so, since the weather got nice, Judy had started walking to work every day. This was a big thing for her, a twenty-five-minute walk, but it was good exercise that was managing the weight the Elavil wanted to put on her frame. The midpoint of the walk was a little joint called Donut Line, and she’d started stopping there for an early meal before work. And this is where she’d met him.

  Eleanor told Stan she could imagine it. Her sister at a table by herself. Bowl of soup, sandwich, day-old tabloid. There’s this seasonal labourer who comes in around the same time every day for a coffee. This guy with the nice smile passes Judy at her table, the first time just saying hello, the next time asking how are you, and the day after that asking if this seat’s taken.

  The man’s name was Colin.

  It wasn’t clear how long it had taken Judy to go on a date with him. Judy told Eleanor they went to the A amp;W mostly. They just talked. Colin was a good listener. He didn’t ask a lot of questions, like how she was feeling that day, was it an up day or a down day. Judy would tell him all about how she liked riding on the train, like when she’d gone to and from the city, or how she’d loved it when her dad used to take them to the drive-in before he died. You couldn’t go to the drive-in any more, of course, since it had burned down.

  Eleanor wanted to ask Judy about the other dimension to it, but was embarrassed. Even now, telling Stan, she blushed fiercely. What else might be going on, other than chats in the A amp;W parking lot? But she made herself ask, and Judy stood up and said: Oh my God, Ellie. I’m twenty-eight years old. I know what I’m doing.

  Eleanor only saw Colin once or twice more. Both times he was dropping Judy off at the National Trust. It seemed like a sign that maybe their lives were moving forward.

  But then, around the third week of August, something happened. At work one afternoon, Eleanor didn’t see her sister. Alda hadn’t seen her either. Eleanor hurried home, found her sister in her bedroom, pale, haggard, as bad as she’d been in a very long time. She was unwashed and the room was musky.

  It was Colin. Eleanor couldn’t draw the particulars out of her sister but they didn’t really matter. He’d been around for awhile and then he’d broken it off. He’d been casual about it.

  Judy stopped eating, quit showing up for work. She quit taking her pills. She spent entire days inside with the blinds drawn and the television on. Eleanor called the doctor but he said little of substance. Judy wasn’t aggressive or volatile. She was her own custodian as far as the law was concerned. Nobody could force her to medicate. They could only watch her. She’d been worse in the past, and she’d come out of that.

  Eleanor told Stan that she didn’t really think she could hold Colin to hard judgment for what became of Judy. Her sister had no prior experience with men. If a man wanted to take advantage of her, or just tell her this and that to keep her around for sex, she wouldn’t know any better. And even if Colin didn’t intentionally misguide her, Judy had probably made it a certain way in her mind and her heart that wasn’t the same as reality. So Eleanor couldn’t judge him too harshly.

  Eleanor spent as much time as she could with her sister. She and Tommy cancelled a camping trip they’d planned for Labour Day. Then, the Tuesday after the long weekend, Eleanor came home from work and saw a dent in the front bumper of their mother’s old car. Some bad scratches were raked into the paint. She found Judy on the back porch. Judy was different from how she’d been for the past ten days. She was smiling again. She looked half asleep. She looked like she’d resumed her medication.

  Eleanor asked about the car. Judy
told her sister a little bit about what she’d done, how she’d gone to a roadhouse where Colin liked to hang out. But this was the middle of the afternoon and he wasn’t there. So she went to another place, a place he’d taken her a few times. A nice quiet place out at Indian Lake, twenty-five minutes east of town, where he lived in a motorhome, the kind you wish you could drive across the country in. Judy told Eleanor that she’d parked the car and gotten out and walked up the driveway. It was a long driveway. She’d come in sight of the motorhome. Outside, there was some s-l-u-t suntanning in a chair. Asleep, Judy guessed, because then when she heard Colin’s voice calling this girl from inside the motorhome, calling her baby, calling, Hey, baby, come on inside, the girl in the chair didn’t even move.

  — You could tell just by looking at her what a tart she was, said Judy.

  Judy turned around and walked down the long driveway and got back in the car and drove back to town. She cried the whole way. She hit a mailbox at one point but didn’t care. She just wanted to go home.

  Some real s-l-u-t, Judy told Eleanor. The flat way she said it, she might have been commenting on how the fall was right around the corner. She was feeling better now, she said. She had half a mind to get in the car and drive back out there and rain on the little party they were probably having.

  — But you won’t go, Judy, will you.

  — No, Ellie. I’m staying right here.

  — I keep thinking about how I shouldn’t have left her for one minute, said Eleanor. But I’d made plans with Tommy that night to make up for the trip we’d cancelled. I thought Judy was okay because she was on her pills again, and would probably fall asleep early, and we’d be able to talk about it more in the morning …

  Eleanor had been sitting at the table in the reading room with her cheek propped on her fist for quite awhile. No tears had been shed. She just looked tired.

  — You couldn’t of known, said Stan.

  He didn’t believe that. He could see Eleanor’s lapse in judgment for what it was and he knew she would carry that with her for a long time to come.

  — Do you remember what time it was you found her?

  — Oh, said Stan. Had to of been ten o’clock.

  — Three hours after the last time I ever saw her.

  There wasn’t much else to the story. Judy had left a note on the dashboard of the car. All it said was I’m sorrey amp; I love you. Ellie. Eleanor answered questions for the police and went through Judy’s personal effects. She received cards in the mail. The women at the bank brought casseroles. If Eleanor never had another casserole again, she said, she’d be happy.

  Stan walked with Eleanor back to where she’d parked at the Owl Cafe. She was driving Tommy’s car. She’d gotten rid of the car Judy died in.

  — What will you do now, Stan?

  — I don’t know, Ellie. First, I’ll have a word with a couple friends of mine.

  — Maybe there’s nothing to know. Really. Maybe you shouldn’t even trouble yourself.

  — It’s no trouble for an old guy with nothing much to do.

  She opened her car door and said: Thanks for hearing me out, Stan.

  — No. Thank you.

  — I loved my dad, said Eleanor. I loved my dad, but he was wrong about you.

  In the morning, Clifton took Lee with him to pick up building materials. The heavy labour at the cottage where they were working was wrapping up, Clifton said. He didn’t know how much longer he’d need Bud or Lee on the site. Lee nodded, frowning.

  — You’re not losing heart, are you? said Clifton.

  — I guess I liked the way things were going out at the big place.

  — You’re just supposed to keep heart as always. Think about your Matthew. If you have faith as small as this mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, move from there to there, and it will be so. 17:20.

  — Faith I got, Mr. Murray. A job is what I need to keep.

  — Well, it so happens that I got the bid for another place. We’ll be starting there soon enough, and I’ll have enough work for you and Bud straight to Christmas if we’re lucky.

  Lee looked at Clifton. He was driving his truck very fast, weaving between other vehicles on the road. He was perched forward on the seat. Lee had never spent so much time alone with him.

  At a little after nine o’clock, they pulled into the parking lot in front of Heron Lumber.

  — I’ll go in and give them the order, said Clifton. You go on into the yard and I’ll meet you there.

  Lee got out of the truck and went into the lumberyard adjacent to the store, lighting a smoke as he went. October was cold if you were just standing around. A kid in a Heron Lumber shirt came by and asked Lee if he was waiting on anything. Lee had just opened his mouth to answer when he heard his name being shouted. He looked, expecting to see Clifton. Instead, a wiry man was briskly coming his way. The man’s hair had thinned and he had a burn-scar on the side of his face. He shouted Lee’s name again.

  — Speedy, said Lee. I’ll be damned.

  Speedy Simmons stopped short and scrubbed his hand across the front of his chinos and then offered it for Lee to shake. He said: Jesus Christ. I was in the parking lot and I thought that’s Leland goddamn King. You’ve got grey hair, but. Hey, I didn’t even know you were getting out. How long you been home?

  — Six weeks or so, said Lee.

  — Say, Lee, good for you.

  Speedy was a face from the distant past. They’d run with the same crowd when they were teenagers, had spent a night or two sharing the drunk tank. Now they made small talk for five minutes. Lee told him about his place downtown and about working for Clifton Murray. It wasn’t clear where Speedy was working. He’d been at Heron Lumber to buy tools, he said, when he saw Lee in the parking lot. Then Clifton’s truck appeared behind them. Clifton leaned out the driver-side window, looked at Lee and clapped his hand against the door.

  — I better get going, said Lee.

  Speedy offered his hand again. He said: You bet, Lee. Say, it was really something to see you. I’ll come look you up sometime soon, we’ll play a game of pool or euchre or what-have-you.

  Clifton fretted over an invoice while Lee loaded materials into the back of the truck. Among the materials was a selection of oak and maple with which the kitchen cabinets were going to be made. Lee ran his hands over the wood. He could picture the cabinets as they took shape and came together. He knew that feeling of satisfaction.

  When they were loaded, they got back into the truck and drove out of the lumberyard. Clifton was in a talkative mood: There’s a tailor I got to stop at quick. Next month, my niece is getting married. A wedding in November-some of the gals say it’s nice, some can’t figure it out. I don’t know. This is my brother Irving’s daughter. Were you ever married?

  — No.

  — Oh.

  A few minutes later Clifton broke the quiet again: So you know a thing or two about cabinetmaking?

  — Say again? said Lee.

  — Isn’t that what you told me?

  — Yes, that’s true. When I was living in the St. Leonard’s house in the city I was working at a shop that built office furniture. All the woodworking stuff, that was mine to do. I built a lot of desks-

  — Desks aren’t the same as cabinets. And what was this Saint-Saint who?

  — St. Leonard’s Society. They ran the halfway house where I was living.

  — St. Leonard. Was this some kind of Catholic outfit?

  — It wasn’t Catholic. It was just named for him. For Saint Leonard. If I remember right, he was a guy from the old times, a monk, like, who freed a number of prisoners and took them to live with him out in the woods away from people. Taught them things and so forth, taught them how to be productive.

  — Hmm. Long as you keep in mind the real way to salvation.

  — I do, boss. Every day.

  They drove in silence for some minutes more, until Clifton abruptly said: But I’ll admit, mister man, you are a hard worker.

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nbsp; That afternoon, Bud was lively. He wanted to know had Lee seen the Maple Leafs kick the heck out of Buffalo the night before. They were cutting and packing fibreglass insulation into the exterior walls. Lee’s skin was itchy. He and Bud both had bandanas wrapped over their mouths and noses. His eyes were stinging.

  He turned back from the wall to cut a new piece of insulation. Clifton had given them a kitchen carving knife to use. The fibreglass dulled the blade quickly and they had to sharpen the knife frequently.

  — You want to watch a game, you let me know, said Bud. We’ll go to my friend’s place. He’s got a big colour TV.

  Lee nodded. He was thinking about Speedy Simmons, thinking about the old days. His youth, what there was of it. There was Speedy, there was Jim Robichaud, Terry Lachlan, some others. None of them came from much, and nobody in town thought they had much ahead of them either. They battled constantly with kids of better means. At age twenty or twenty-one, Jim Robichaud had the idea that they should start an outlaw motorcycle club-he’d seen The Wild One a few too many times-but none of them, as far as Lee knew, ever actually ended up with a bike. Not in those days, anyway, even if they tried to dress the part. But there were lots of good times with those boys. They worked what straight jobs they could get, not ever really worrying about whether or not they kept the job for long, and whenever money was really scarce, they stole cars for a man two towns away who bought them at a good premium, or they moved crates of stolen liquor and counterfeit cigarettes for some people Speedy knew. They drank hard and fought hard and looked out for each other, and anyone who wasn’t a cop did not fuck with them. For the most part.

  — Smoke? said Bud. It’s the hour.

  — Yeah. Good idea.

  They went outside and pulled their bandanas down and lit their cigarettes. Lee leaned against the wall and set to sharpening the knife they were using to cut the insulation. They watched Sylvain. He had begun work on a path that would lead down to the lake. He was crouched on a bed of gravel, eyeballing a string-line down the centre of the path. He’d brought on a kid from town to work with him. The kid was moving the string in slight increments side to side.