Moving On

Stéphanie and her older sister, Brianna, were at the family cottage in the Laurentians for Thanksgiving weekend. It was a perfect autumn day—the leaves of the deciduous trees in full flame. Warm enough to roll up their shirt sleeves. The smell of woodsmoke from the chimney of the Anderson’s cottage next door. The sisters had planned a picnic Sunday lunch on the cliff overlooking the lake. Stéphanie bent over and laced up her worn leather hiking boots. Brianna, who was twenty-six, stuffed her feet into the rotting pair of canvas sneakers she found on the back porch.

“You’re wearing those, Bree? Where are your hikers?”

“Forgot them. I’m not wrecking my new boots on a stupid hike.”

It wasn’t like Brianna to forget things or not to want to go for a hike. Was she feeling guilty about moving out last month? But it was Steph’s turn. Brianna had done most of the heavy lifting with their mother, Claire, when they were growing up.

On Friday morning at breakfast, Stéphanie had pleaded with her mother to come with them. “It’s Thanksgiving, Mom.”

Claire had avoided the cottage since their dad’s death two years ago.

“Can’t. I’m chairing the bird re-naming committee this weekend. We’re changing any eponymous or offensive names. Audubon himself was an anti-abolitionist. Can’t use his name anymore.”

Stéphanie spread her fingers over the hummingbird tattoo on her right shoulder. Eponymous. Why not say “named after people” like Anna’s Hummingbird? Her tattoo was changing too—the fine lines on the wings less sharp than ten years ago, when Claire threw Dad out. The time when Stéphanie had sex with that gardening guy. Her heart still sped up when she thought of it like she could outrun the memory.

“Is Fiona going with you?” she asked re-stacking the dishes in the dishwasher to make room for her cereal bowl.

Mom didn’t answer. Her gaze was locked on the screen of her tablet. Fiona and Mom were good friends. She liked to tease Stéphanie that Fiona had known her since before she was born. And since Brianna had moved out, Fiona hung around the house more often.

Maybe it was better that Mom hadn’t come to the cottage. Stéphanie wanted to tell Brianna about the gardening guy—tell her she’d chosen to go with a guy she barely knew. Now, she knew that no fourteen-year-old was ready to decide that—to consent to sex with a guy in his twenties. She’d been raped.

If she told Brianna maybe things would get easier. Brianna might say it was OK that Stéphanie made a mistake—she wasn’t to blame. She’d been so young. She’d have fewer panic attacks. She’d feel lighter. She wouldn’t be exhausted pretending to be happy all the time.

Thirty minutes later, Stéphanie crunched through the leaves on the trail staring at her father’s ancient knapsack on Brianna’s back. Her sentimentality about their dad’s things was irritating. She’d been his favourite. When she wasn’t in her airline uniform at work, she lived in his ratty, band T-shirts with their cracked logos and his pilled sweaters. She refused to wash his navy velour dressing gown and buried her face in the sleeve when she thought no one was looking.

Stéphanie was carrying two other secrets. She should tell her sister that she was seeing Fischer, a purser with the airline and stationed in Toronto. She spent a lot of time wondering where he was, if he was thinking about her and when he’d text again. The spotty cellphone coverage at the cottage made her more anxious.

She should also tell Brianna that she knew about their half-sister, Sophia. She’d seen Brianna’s wide eyes and slack mouth as her mother pointed to Fiona and her teenage daughter with gingery hair like hers at Dad’s funeral. They should have told her about Fiona and Sophia but instead, they’d excluded her. How could she not know? It was so obvious. What was the point in pretending that people didn’t know? People had a way of finding out secrets no matter what. Maybe Brianna already knew about her rape.

Brianna stopped and looked back at her. “This old backpack’s heavy. We’re lucky the canvas hasn’t ripped. Your turn, Stéphanie.”

“Sure. give it to me now we’re at the steep part of the trail,” she said, pointing at the tree-root ladder up the small rise ahead.

“What’s in here anyway?” Brianna asked, sliding the felt-backed leather straps from her shoulders.

“Water, tuna fish sandwiches. Like Nan used to make.”

“Ever think about Nan?” Brianna asked as they trampled the sandy soil between the pines.

“Sure, I do.” When Mom was busy blaming herself for not noticing the weight loss, Nan’s unquestioning love saved her. “All the care she gave me when I was sick after Dad left with that graduate student he was fucking that spring.”

It wasn’t their dad’s first affair, but it was the one when their mother threw him out. And then the rape. Ten years without sharing her secret with anyone. Not Brianna, not Claire. Not therapists. And now never Dad or Nan. No one. Could Brianna understand? Be sympathetic? Not blame her? If there ever was a time to tell Brianna it had to be soon.

“How weird was that road trip with Nan last year?” Brianna asked.

Stéphanie laughed. “Other than crossing back into Canada in the RV with her dead body in the back. Not so much.”

“Dad would have loved that Nan’s Last Wish was a road trip to Disney World.”

Oh, Brianna. Always wondering what Dad would have thought. Stéphanie was taller and prettier than her now. Mom liked her better because she was more agreeable. Last November, she’d even helped Stéphanie with her mature student application for Concordia. Journalism school. She didn’t get accepted, but she’d try again next year. If Dad hadn’t left, if she hadn’t gone with that guy, if she hadn’t lost a year of school with her anorexia, would things have been different?

The root ladder led up a five-foot cliff. Sometimes, there were ropes that hikers had left to help with the climb but that day the worn roots of the trees were the only handholds. Stéphanie clasped her hands and bent over to give Brianna a foot up to the first waist-high root.

Brianna waved her foot in Stéphanie’s face as she clambered over the lip of the cliff. “Look at me. These beat-up sneakers are perfect for finding footholds.”

Stéphanie stood on her tiptoes and passed the pack up to Brianna. She hauled herself onto the rise. “So much for these leggings,” she said inspecting the rip over her right knee as she stood up. She wriggled the straps of the pack back on.

They fell into a gentle pace and wound their way across the ridge to the viewpoint. At the grey granite rock overlooking the lake below, Stéphanie slipped the pack off her sweat-soaked back. They stretched out on the warm expanse of rock.

“Brianna, I’ve been thinking more about secrets,” Stéphanie started.

“Like what? Nan’s dying wish? Not to tell Mom she has a half-brother?”

“That’s the thing, choosing to tell a secret. You gotta’ figure out why you’re telling it—are you doing more harm than good,” said Stéphanie. Nan, as she was dying, had told them about her illegitimate baby, making them promise not to tell their mother. Another burden to carry. Could Claire somehow have already figured out her mother had given away her first baby as a teenager? Something Nan said or did? Something like the way that Stéphanie knew about Fiona and Sophia?

“What would Mom do if we told her?” Brianna asked.

Stéphanie didn’t want to see Mom hurt again. She was struggling—widowed and then the death of her mother. “She’d wonder why Nan didn’t trust her enough to tell her when she was alive. She’d be mad that Nan told us but excluded her.”

“So why do you think Nan told us?” Brianna asked. “She didn’t need to.”

“She was dying. But right now, it’s not important. If an old man in his sixties turns up at the house claiming to be Claire’s half-brother—we’ll talk about it then.” She offered Brianna a drink from her scratched-up, pink Nalgene bottle. Mom had brought it back for her from a conference—Harvard logo and motto, veritas. “Meanwhile, we’re stuck carrying a secret we don’t want to.”

“That’s my water bottle,” said Brianna, grabbing it.

“Nope, it’s mine. Yours was blue. You lost yours.”

“But if we told Mom about Nan’s illegitimate baby, she’d understand why Nan was such an unloving mother and—”

“If Nan wanted her to know, she’d have told her herself,” Stéphanie said flicking the clumps of dried mud off her thighs. “Mom doesn’t need to know she has a half-brother.”

“So, you’re not sending your cheek scrapings away to some ancestry company to try and find him?” Brianna asked.

“I’m keeping my DNA to myself. I’m not looking for more crazy relatives.” She should tell Brianna she knew about Sophia. She wanted to tell Brianna about the rape. But what if she blamed her? Was disgusted? What if she told Claire? 

The sisters bathed in the glow of the autumn colours as they lay on the granite outcropping. Stéphanie handed Brianna her sandwich.

“I love tuna fish sandwiches,” Brianna said, pulling the bread off the filling and inspecting it. “You remembered the celery. And the right amount of mayonnaise. Wasn’t expired, was it?”

“What about the view of the lake from up here? The trees turning. I love how different each season is. There’s the dock and the island we swim to,” Stéphanie said, stretching her arm. She remembered the afternoon of the rape—cannonballing off the dock into Lac Brome—the warm water scrubbing the place between her legs. Even now, she thought about it almost every time she jumped into the lake.

“I love this oily, WD40 smell of Dad’s pack,” Brianna said rummaging inside it looking for the napkins. “Wonder when he used it last?”

“Before we were born. It’s ancient. Probably his mother’s.”

“What would make you tell Mom about her half-brother?” Brianna said, wiping the mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth with a poinsettia-covered cocktail napkin. “I feel bad for knowing something so private that she doesn’t.”

“Give it up Brianna,” said Stéphanie irritated that Brianna was withholding what she knew about Sophia. “It’s not lying unless you’re asked directly. It’s a kindness. Mom’s still adrift—cut off from that energy she got from constantly being furious with Dad. And still grieving for Nan.” Stéphanie shuffled her hips on the rock, thinking about Nan and Claire’s relationship

“It’s harder for an unloved daughter to lose a mother. There are no more chances to make things right.”

“You’re saying Nan didn’t love Claire,” said Brianna picking at the crust on her sandwich.

“No. I’m saying Nan didn’t love Claire enough.” Since Nan died, they’d had this conversation a thousand times. Brianna always choked on it. She refused to accept Stephanie’s idea that the damage done to Claire had affected her love for them. 

“And what about fathers? Clever of Dad to die suddenly so we couldn’t be angry at him for cheating on Mom,” said Brianna.

“We had a lot of years to be angry but we’re adults now. Don’t you think we deserved more of an explanation, an apology from him?” Stéphanie’s righteousness surprised her. She sounded like Claire, insisting that people are owed things. Did she owe Brianna honesty? To tell her that she knew about Sophia? To tell her about the rape.

“Oh Stéphanie, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Dad was careless with us, Brianna. Very careless.”

“Did you pack those brownies?”

Stéphanie pulled the flattened plastic bag from the bottom of the pack and tossed it at her.

“You should have put them in a Tupperware,” Brianna said.

Stéphanie stuffed a mashed brownie into her mouth. “Still tasty though.” She packed the lunch things back into the knapsack. There was no space today for her to share her story. It would have to wait. Brianna was too busy fussing over whether to tell Mom about Nan’s baby when she should be worrying about telling her about their half-sister, Sophia. But she won’t, she’s protecting Dad.

“Race you back,” yelled Brianna as she took off down the trail.

Stéphanie was near the top of the rise when she heard the thud and Brianna’s scream. She peered over the edge and saw Brianna writhing on the ground and clutching her left ankle. “My leg. I’ve broken my leg.”

Stéphanie scrambled down the rise and knelt beside Brianna on the hard soil of the narrow trail.

“GD sneakers. Caught my foot on that last root.” Brianna’s ankle was expanding, the canvas tongue of her sneaker shrinking into the swelling.

“I’ll go and get help. The Anderson twins are up.”

“Try phoning?” Brianna’s voice was jagged.

Stéphanie looked at her phone. “No reception. No 911.”

Tears dripped down Brianna’s cheeks as Stéphanie pulled out their puffy jackets and propped her foot on the knapsack. “I’ll make you a pillow with one of these jackets. Cover up with the other one.” She offered her the water bottle. “There’s some water left.”

“Don’t leave me.”

Stéphanie’s heart clenched. Her sister never pleaded like that. “Bree, this is exactly what Dad would want us to do. It’s not far. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” Brianna’s tear-stained cheek tasted salty as she kissed her goodbye. “Soon. I’ll be back soon with help.” As she started running, Stéphanie glanced at her watch—four-thirty. The sun was low and it was cooling down. When she glanced back, Bree had buried her face in her orange puffy.

Stéphanie was breathing heavily when she hammered on the Anderson’s kitchen door. A tall young man with floppy bangs and a snug black T-shirt pulled back the screen door. Behind him, the teenaged Anderson twins slouched at the kitchen table, playing cards. He smiled at her, showing his large white teeth. “Running away from a bear? I’m Josh. You?”

“It’s my sister. She broke her ankle on the Viewpoint Trail,” she said.

In a few minutes, the Anderson boys, their cousin Josh and Stéphanie were jogging up the trail. Brianna’s pale face lit up when she saw them. Her flannel shirt was open at the neck, clinging to her skin. She was shivering.

Josh took charge while the Anderson boys, freckled and goofy, stood back. He knelt beside Brianna and leant over her. He spoke softly. “We’ll lift you onto my back and carry you down the trail.”

Oh my god, thought Stéphanie, he’s checking out her chest. For a second, she was jealous. Guys flirted with her, not Brianna. Her face burned at her selfishness.

Brianna grimaced as they helped her up. “Somebody, please, my ankle.”

They set off down the trail, the guys taking turns carrying Brianna on their backs and supporting her leg. Stéphanie carried the pack. Florid streaks of pink stained the sky as the sun lowered behind the ancient mountains.

At the cottage, Josh insisted on driving Brianna to the local hospital. He helped Brianna arrange herself in the back seat, propping her leg on a folded blanket. Stéphanie opened the passenger door to join them.

“We’re fine. Wait here,” Brianna said pointing at the cottage. When Stéphanie moved away from the car, she saw Josh patting Brianna’s thigh. Definitely, hitting on her.

Stéphanie wandered into the empty cottage and slumped on the couch. It was strange to be alone in the quiet and dark. Excluded. She’d take a shower and clean up. She’d wait. All those secrets, Nan’s baby, her half-sister and even her rape weren’t important now. What was important was Brianna. Was she coping with the hospital smell, her pain, the waiting, and the strangers prodding her?

It was ten o’clock when Brianna called. Her ankle was broken in three places. She’d need surgery tomorrow. A temporary cast would be put on overnight. They’ll be back in an hour.

Josh guided Brianna up the porch steps. Her crutches thumped on the wooden cottage floor as she made her way to the couch. Stéphanie tiptoed around her plumping up the cushions and covering her with the faded quilt Nan had made for her when she was a baby.

“I hope you ladies have a good night,” Josh said, grinning as he waved goodbye from the door.

“Did he just wink at you?” Stéphanie asked.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Brianna sighed.

“Want a White Claw?” Stéphanie asked, offering her one of the cans she’d found in the fridge. “It’s lime.”

“Better not. I’m stoned on the pain pills from the hospital.”

Stéphanie pulled open her can and took a gulp. “So, who is he? What’s he like?

“Kind. Funny. He’s Rory and Dave’s cousin. He’s here from Ottawa for the weekend. An engineer. Something to do with building acoustics.”

“You two got along pretty well,” Stéphanie said. It was weird but they were cute together.

“He did haul me off the trail.” Brianna shifted her hips. “Hurts when I move, even a little.”

“Want me to rearrange the pillows under your leg?”

“No thanks. That hurts too. Josh’s coming back tomorrow morning to check on me.”

“Guess you’ll have to move home for a bit after your operation,” said Stéphanie. She’d cancel some shifts at the airline. She’d help Brianna up and down the staircase to her old bedroom. She’d cook the meals and tidy up the kitchen even better than Brianna had done for all those years. She’d manage Claire’s daily dramas—lost car keys and misplaced chargers. She’d be kind to both of them—accommodating all the directions and advice.

“Actually, no. I’ll be mobile enough with the crutches and happier at my place,” said Brianna, turning her face away.

Stéphanie took a slug of her drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She’s made an arrangement with Josh. Brianna’s moving on. She pitched her empty can into the garbage bin by the door. It rattled against the metal as it landed.

“Nice toss, Stéphanie.”

“You going to be OK here on the couch?”

“I can’t bear the thought of moving again. Might need help to pee later.”

“‘K. Call if you need anything. Night.”

Stéphanie crawled under the comforter in the dark bedroom and curled up. All those times, she and Brianna had lain here, nestled together like spoons in a drawer, sheltering each other from all the crazy things in their lives. Well, not all the things. She sniffed. The story of her rape was hers. Heavy. Not for sharing. Not now anyway.