He stood just inside the door, looking down at his feet, his thin shoulders shivering inside the light black jacket he wore over a gray track suit. I knew he was nine, but he was small for his age and wiry, with thick, curly black hair, neatly cut. He must take after his father in looks as his sister took after her mother with her blonde chubbiness. Bonnie staggered under her weight up the path. Will ducked out to take the child, but she clung to her mother, her face burrowed in the collar of Bonnie's sweater.
“It's okay,” Bonnie said to Will. “She's not that heavy.”
“Come in by the fire,” I gestured towards the front room. “You look like you're all freezing.”
“Mom rented a car with a busted heater,” the boy said. “No big surprise.”
“Ryan,” Bonnie groused, “I've had just about enough of you for today.” She put Megan down inside the door and turned to us, smoothing her face into a social smile. “These are my kids, as you've guessed. Ryan and Megan. Say hello to Mr. and Ms. Cairns, Megan.”
The little girl shook her head.
“I'll get the beds ready,” Will said. He turned to Ryan. “Want to help?”
The boy glanced at his mother, then back to his feet. He didn't reply. Will waited for a moment, then turned away.
Bonnie sighed. “I've got to go back down to the car to get our sleeping bags,” she announced. “Ryan, take your sister and go with Ms. Cairns. I'll only be a minute.”
Megan began to cry, a hopeless sniffling. Bonnie peeled the child's hands from the grip around her waist, then knelt down beside her. “Everything will be all right,” she murmured. “I just have to get our things from the car and then we can all go to
bed. In the morning there'll be the lake and a beach and lots of things to explore. It'll be fun.”
“I want to go home,” Megan wailed. She began to cry even louder.
“Oh, hell,” Ryan swore. He pushed past me and went to stand at the picture window, staring through his own reflection into the darkness.
“Ryan,” Bonnie pleaded. “Your language.”
He ignored her. She sighed again and bent back over her daughter, trying to soothe her cries.
I heard Will punching the mattresses flat on the bunk beds. It seemed to be taking a lot of effort.
“Give me your keys,” I said to Bonnie. “I'll get your things from the car while you get the kids settled.”
“It's all right. I'll do it.”
“Don't be ridiculous. You stay with your children. It'll only take a minute.”
“Thanks.” She handed me a ring of two keys. “One's for the trunk. The doors aren't locked. We don't need everything; just the sleeping bags and the blue backpack. Oh, there's a box of groceries too on the back seat, milk and cereal, hot dogs ⦠I didn't know what you might have.”
“There's lots of chili,” Will said. “Plenty for everyone.”
I looked out at the rain. It was coming down hard, and beyond the small circle of light by the door it was very dark. I stepped out on the stoop under the overhang of the porch. A cold wind blew in from the lake, rattling tree branches and flapping the tarpaulin on the car parked by ours in the drive. Beneath the odour of wet earth and composting leaves was another scent I couldn't identify but which reminded me of hamburger left too long at the back of the fridge.
Will joined me. “I'll help.”
“You just want to get away from Bonnie and her lovely children.”
“She's your friend,” he retorted.
I sighed. “I know. Well, I'll go get a couple of those garbage bags from the kitchen. We can use them as rain capes.”
Bonnie had the two kids with her on the rag rug in front of the fire. Ryan was busy stabbing the smouldering embers with the poker. Megan had stopped crying. She leaned heavily
against her mother, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide on the dancing flames.
Will and I held the garbage bags over our heads and made a dash for the parking area. The path was slippery and my shoes were soon wet through. The three cars were parked in a straight line, the tented one in the middle between our Honda and a Ford so white it seemed fluorescent.
Will fumbled with the keys. When the trunk opened, a small interior light shone on a jumble of bulging suitcases and bags of books and toys.
“Looks like she's planning a long holiday,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.
“I didn't know anything about this.” I dropped my plastic cape and reached for the sleeping bags which were stuffed under the overhang of the back window.
“What do you think she's up to?”
I shrugged.
“And where's Robin?” Will continued.
“How should I know? I'm getting soaked. You get the groceries. I'll take these back to the house.”
With the pack over one shoulder and my arms full of sleeping bags, I couldn't hold on to the plastic. I let it fall to the ground. My eyes had accustomed themselves to the dark and I could make out the line of the path back to the house with its welcome promise of warmth and light. By the time I reached the door, I was drenched. From the curses following me, I knew Will was too.
Bonnie met us at the door. “Thanks,” she said again. “Megan's just about asleep. I'll get the kids settled and then we'll talk.”
“You bet we'll talk.” I dumped my load inside the second bedroom door. “You'll all have to fit in here.”
“Fine.” Bonnie knelt to unroll the bags and looked up at me through a curtain of hair. “I really appreciate this, Rosie. I can't tell you how much it means to me.”
I just shook my head. I had a feeling I knew what my friend was up to and I didn't like it, not one bit.
Will was back in Marilyn's bedroom, peeling off his soaked shirt and pants. He had brought our suitcases in here along
with a pile of towels he'd pulled from the wardrobe. The heat from the fire had done nothing to warm the damp chill of this room and I dried and dressed as quickly as I could. I kept my eyes away from the bed and its awful secrets.
“What'll we do about Marilyn?” Will whispered.
“She'll have to wait.” I toweled my hair vigorously. “A few more minutes now can't hurt. And we've got to find out what Bonnie's doing here.”
“An outhouse!” Ryan's voice rose in outrage. “You've got to be joking.”
“Pretend you're camping,” Bonnie snapped. “Take the flashlight and wash your hands in the kitchen when you come back in.”
“You're not making her go out there.”
“Megan's a baby,” Bonnie began, but was interrupted by the little girl, “No, I'm not.”
“Just go, Ryan. No more arguments.”
The screen door slapped and feet splashed angrily through puddles. A thin wavery light passed the window of our room.
Will and I looked at each other. He put his hand on my shoulder and I suddenly threw my arms around him. We hugged hard.
“What a hassle,” I whispered fiercely, “So much for our romantic night at the cottage. I'm sorry.”
Will didn't answer, but his grip tightened. I felt his lips on my hair.
The screen door banged again.
“There's spiders out there,” Ryan shouted. “And it stinks. It's gross.”
“Did you use it?” his mother replied.
“Well, yeah,” the boy mumbled. “I had to go the bathroom, didn't I?”
“Then just go to bed, okay? We'll talk in the morning.”
“This is so dumb, this whole trip. They don't want us here. It's obvious.”
“Shush. That's not true. Rosie's my friend. It's just so late, that's all.”
“We should go back to Grammy's house.”
“We'll talk in the morning,” Bonnie repeated, her voice sharp. “Now get into your pyjamas and no more nonsense.”
“Dad lets me stay up late when we go to Lynne's cottage.”
“Well, I say it's late and time for you to go to bed. Hop to it. Right now.”
Will and I met Bonnie in the hall. She shut the door to the bunk bedroom. In one hand, she carried a covered cooking pot. She saw me looking at it, and blushed.
“I'll just take this outside,” she gestured with the other hand towards the door. “I ⦠I couldn't persuade Megan to go to the outhouse so I thought it would be okay to use this old pot. It is okay, isn't it?”
It was a little late to ask permission to use it now. I nodded briefly and turned to the living room.
Will rummaged in the kitchen. “We should have brought some scotch. I need a drink.”
“I've got a bottle in the car,” Bonnie came back in. She set the pot inside the bedroom door, then closed it tight. “I'll go down and get it.”
She wrapped herself in a garbage bag and ran out. When she got back, she was out of breath, but she brandished a bottle of Glenfiddich in her hand.
“Thank the Lord for small mercies.” Will brought three tumblers and a plastic jar of water over to the coffee table. He sat down beside me on the sofa.
Bonnie settled on the rug before the fire. She put her glass down on the stone hearth and hugged herself fiercely, shaking her hair so that raindrops flew, sputtering on the embers. I noticed she'd cut her hair after all, so that it hung only to her shoulders; not only that, but as it dried, I could see that she'd tried to change its colour, her natural blonde appearing as highlights in the new brunette dye.
“What have you done to your hair?” I asked.
She brushed it back from her face, but didn't reply.
“It looks like you've brought an awful lot of things for one weekend, even a long one. Is there a kitchen sink in the trunk, too?” Will tried to joke. Neither Bonnie nor I smiled.
“We'll leave in the morning,” she muttered. “I wasn't planning to stop, but it's a long way from Ottawa and driving in that storm was no fun. I didn't think you'd mind putting us up for just one night.”
“It's not that we mind,” I objected. “But you could have
warned us that you were thinking of bringing them.”
“There's no phone,” Bonnie pointed out. “Besides, I figured the less you know, the better it is for you.”
“Oh, Bonnie.” I was too angry â and worried â to play games with her. “Does Harold know you've brought the kids here?”
She picked up the poker and viciously stoked the coals, pushing them into a heap under a green log that hissed and smoked instead of burning.
“Well?” I goaded her.
“They're mine too,” she replied.
“But it's kidnapping. You could go to jail.”
“Only if I get caught.”
Will interrupted, “Where's Robin?”
“I don't know.” She poured another drink. “He's supposed to meet us⦔
“You're not going to tell us anything, are you?” I asked.
“It's better for you not to know,” she repeated.
“I can't believe you're doing this.” I shook my head.
“Bringing them here? I told you, I had to get them out of the storm. And I thought you were my friend.”
“I am. That's why I'm so worried. Where were you headed?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It does so.”
“If you had kids, you'd understand.”
“You're kidnapping them,” I said, straight out.
Bonnie flushed. “It's not kidnapping when they're your own kids. I'm their mother. I know what's best for them.”
“What's best for them?” I repeated. “Being snatched away from everything that's familiar, their schools and friends, to live a life on the run? Where will you live? How will you live? You know Harold will have the police looking for you.”
“I've come into some money we can live on for awhile. Then I'll get a job.”
“Doing what? And what will the kids do while you're working?”
“They'll be in school.”
“Not all the time.”
“Other single mothers manage.”
“When they haven't any choice.”
Bonnie didn't answer me. She drained her drink too quickly and burst into a fit of coughing.
“It's not too late to go back,” I suggested when she regained her breath.
“Harold phoned me yesterday to tell me I could have the kids this weekend,” she said. “As if he was granting me a great privilege and I should be on my knees thanking him for it.”
“Is this all about you and Harold? What about the kids? Do they know you're not going back?”
She shook her head. “I think Ryan suspects. He's being very stubborn and hard to get along with. As you might have noticed.”
The log collapsed with a hiss of sparks on its bed of coals. Will got up to add another. It was a length of birch and when its bark ignited, it crackled with blue flames. We all watched them flare and settle.
Bonnie began to cry, silently, the tears streaking her cheeks. “I just can't stand it any more. I thought if I said I'd leave Robin, Harold would let me have the kids, but he won't. He says that I gave up all rights to them when I left the house. He's getting married again. He says they need a real mother. I'm their mother. It's me they need.” Her voice rose.
Ryan rushed across the room and hugged her. He glared at us. “What did you do to her?”
“It's not us⦔ Will began.
Bonnie shushed him. “It's all right, Ryan.” She sniffled, wiping her sleeve across her face, smearing tears. “Go back to bed.”
“What's all this about Dad?” he demanded.
“Were you listening? Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop?”
“For goodness' sake, Bonnie,” I said. “It's his life too you're talking about.”
“He's only a child.”
“I'm not a child, I'm almost ten.” Ryan stood tall in his Batman pyjamas, his hands on his hips. He stared down at his mother, a frown creasing his forehead. “This is more than a holiday, isn't it? Dad doesn't know where we are?” His lips trembled, but he pressed them tightly together.