FICTION
I’ll Say Goodbye Before I Leave
A short story by Robert Cormack
I don’t live in Montreal anymore, but I have friends who do. One of these friends called the other night. “Hey Tommy, it’s Charles,” he said. I hadn’t heard from Charles since I left Montreal two years ago. We’d worked together at an advertising agency down on René Leveque Blvd. He had news about my old art director partner, Derek.
Derek was sick, and Charles wanted me to come down and see him. That in itself surprised me. Before I left, Derek’s wife, Maggie, said they never wanted to see me again. “Just go away,” she’d said, and that’s exactly what I did. I moved back to Toronto, got a job, hoping all this would pass.
I sent them a Christmas card last year, figuring enough time had gone by. Charles said it might not have been forwarded. They weren’t at their old address anymore. They’d packed up the twins, the dogs, and moved down to her parents’ place in the townships. Charles said Derek hadn’t worked in a long time. No agency would touch him after what we did. Then, last December, Derek found out he had Lou Gehrig’s. It was probably around the time I sent the Christmas card.
“I know it’s you!” she yelled. One of the twins was crying in the background. I hung up the phone.
Charles and I talked for about an hour, mostly about what was happening with Derek. They put him in Maggie’s old bedroom. She’s been staying home, taking care of him. For some reason, I started thinking about the last time I called Derek. It was just before I left Montreal. I wanted to tell him I was going. Maggie answered and I just sat there. I couldn’t think of anything to say. “I know it’s you!” she yelled. One of the twins was crying in the background. I hung up the phone.
I didn’t blame her — or the agency, for that matter. Firing us was the smartest thing they could’ve done. We got drunk afterwards. I don’t know what we were thinking. One minute we’re at the bar, the next we’re back in the office, trashing the place. At some point, I said, “Derek, that’s enough,” but he wouldn’t stop. I finally left him there pulling over a filing cabinet. Someone called the police and Derek was arrested.
Maggie said I deserted him. She said he wouldn’t have done any of those things if I hadn’t encouraged him. We encouraged each other. I didn’t say that to her, though. I didn’t get the chance. She told me to leave them alone. “Go back to Toronto,” she said. “Go back where you belong.”
I left Montreal a few weeks later. That’s the last I heard until Charles called.
“He’d like to see you, Tommy,” Charles said, telling me there wasn’t much time. Derek was already four months into it. What could I say? I told Charles I’d come down. “Soon, I hope,” he said, and I said I’d tidy up some work, get it out of the way. I didn’t have work, but he didn’t know that. “See you soon,” he said, and hung up.
Maybe it’s because Charles sounded so sad on the phone. Nothing looked promising, in other words.
I took the train down the following morning. It rained all the way. Everything was turning green, like any spring day. I used to like spring, the new growth, the colours. Now the whole world looked sad. Maybe it’s because Charles sounded so sad on the phone. Nothing looked promising, in other words.
Anyway, I got down there, checked into a hotel, and met Charles at a bar on Rue Bishop. He was still the same old Charles, tweed suit, hair down over one eye. Charles was our account guy back at the agency. He was the first gay businessman I’d ever met. He used to say, “How are my two lovelies today?”
We’d be working away, me writing copy, Derek doing layouts. Some days Derek’s hands shook. It all depended on the night before. “It wasn’t easy keeping you two majesties in line,” Charles was saying now at the bar. We were talking about old times. Mostly, we talked about Derek. After a few hours, he drew a map on a napkin for Maggie’s parents’ farm. Then he handed me his car keys. He wouldn’t be going with me tomorrow. “They just want to see you,” he said. “No accounting for taste.”
Sitting in my hotel room later, I wondered about that. I’d asked Charles the same thing at the bar, but he only shrugged. He knew I was worried about facing Maggie. “You’ll be all right, Tommy,” he said. “She’s a changed woman.”
I couldn’t imagine Maggie changing. Not the Maggie I knew. She hated Derek being in advertising, hated the way we drank. Trashing the office showed how far we were willing to go. We got what we deserved.
The next day, I find Charles’s Volvo in the parking lot across the street. I didn’t get going until after eleven. Charles said early afternoon would be fine. I start south, following Charles’ directions. Along the road, I see fields being plowed, gulls doing lazy circles in the sky. Off the main highway, there’s a flower stand. Charles suggested I take something. “A token gesture, Tommy,” he said.
So I bought some tulips. I didn’t know if Maggie liked tulips or not. “I’m sure she’ll love them,” the woman at the flower stand said. I put them in the back seat and carry on down the road to a dusty lane. Through the trees, I could see a house. There’s a Widow’s Walk above and a wrap around porch. Behind is a barn and a silo next to it.
I see children’s toys on the lawn and a vegetable garden with a shovel stuck in the earth. I turn off the engine and sit there, the engine ticking. Two Golden Retrievers come running around the side of the house. Then the screen door opens. Maggie comes out wearing a man’s work shirt. Her hair is up except for a few loose strands. She looks the same, big-eyed, a little worse for wear.
“Any trouble finding the place?” she asks when I get out of the car. She goes around picking up a kid’s plastic pail, shaking out the sand.
“Charles drew me a map,” I say. “Where are the twins?”
“Shopping with my parents,” she says. She puts the pail on the porch railing, motioning me to follow her inside. At the door, she pushes the dogs away. “They’ll be all over Derek if I let them in,” she says.
I bring the tulips, handing them to her in the hall. She leaves them on a sideboard. “I’ll put them in water as soon as I get you two settled.”
We go through the foyer and up the stairs. At the end of the hall, I see a room with big windows. They’re open. A breeze blows the curtains back.
There’s a smell in the room, too. I realize it’s baby soap.
Derek’s on the bed with a knitted blanket over him. I don’t know how to describe him. He’s got this expression, sort of like a look of wonder. There’s a smell in the room, too. I realize it’s baby soap.
“Guess who’s here,” Maggie says to him. “Remember this guy?”
Derek makes a rattling sound in his throat. He flops his hand on the bed.
“He’s a bit cranky this morning,” Maggie says. “Go say hello, Tommy. You remember Tommy, don’t you, sweetie?”
Derek makes another rattling sound in his throat.
“Hey, Derek,” I say. “Long time no see.”
I look around the room. On the dresser, there’s a television, a VCR, a stack of videos. Most of the sleeves look like children’s movies. I imagine Derek watching them with the twins. Maggie sees me staring at the videos.
“This is his favourite,” she says, picking up E.T. “I don’t know why he loves it so much. If you run out of things to talk about, turn this on.”
She picks up some used Kleenex, putting them in the wastepaper basket.
“Can you stay for supper?”
“I should get back,” I say. “I’ve got Charles’s car.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll leave you guys to it, then. Call if you need anything. I’ll be in the garden.”
She disappears down the stairs, every sound echoing. I hear the screen door slam. I glance outside. Maggie is walking across the lawn, putting on work gloves. Derek’s eyes follow me the whole time.
“Maggie looks good,” I say.
Derek’s eyes flutter and his hand flops again. I sit down on the corner of the bed. We stare at each other. “It’s nice down here,” I say. “You never told me Maggie grew up on a farm.” I keep looking around. “You’ve got a lot of movies here, Derek. Maggie says you like E.T.” His eyes move, not much, then he coughs. It’s like something’s caught in his throat. “You want some water or something?” I ask. He just keeps staring. “Water?” I ask.
I pick a glass up off the nightstand and go to the washroom. I fill it, bring it back, look out the window. Maggie’s digging in the garden. Every so often, she wipes her forehead with her sleeve and looks up. I pull back and move over to the bed. “Charles tells me he’s down here a lot,” I say, sitting down again. “We got together last night at Grumpy’s. Remember Grumpy’s?”
His eyes flutter, his hand flops. I don’t know if that means anything or not. I get up again, lean against the window frame. The dogs are barking off in the woods, running back on the lawn, then disappearing again. Down past the garden is an arbor falling over and a swing set with a broken chain. I watch the trees, a few birds flying around. I go over to the TV and pick up the E.T. video. “Spielberg’s okay, I guess,” I say. “He went downhill after Jaws.”
I finally stand over him. “I don’t know what the hell to say here, Derek,” I tell him.
Derek just stares at me. I look at him, then look away. What’s to say? What does Charles say? I talk about work, how things are going in Toronto, how I’m getting along. Nothing changes in Derek’s expression. I tell a few funny stories, something somebody said. Again, nothing. The more nervous I get, the more I walk around. I finally stand over him. “I don’t know what the hell to say here, Derek,” I tell him.
I give up at that point. I put E.T. into the machine, turn it on, then sit on the bed. The credits come up with this big moon. A bicycle goes across it, one figure pedaling, one in the front basket. Derek’s chest is going up and down. A soft rattle comes out of his mouth. Then his eyes close. He’s asleep.
I look out the window again, then go downstairs. Maggie glances up when she hears the screen door. She shades her eyes with one hand. The dogs run over and wiggle around me.
“What’s Derek doing?” she asks.
“He’s asleep. We were watching the movie.”
“Did you talk at least?”
“I tried,” I say. “Is it okay to leave him alone?”
“I’ll go check on him in a minute.” She takes off her gloves. “You’ve lost weight, Tommy. Charles tells me you’re not working.”
“Freelancing’s been slow.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“What about you? How are you doing?”
“Not great, obviously,” she said. “Charles offered us some money last week.”
“Did you take it?”
“I wish I had now. Derek needs a machine to clear his lungs.”
“I didn’t know, Maggie. Sorry.”
“That on top of everything else.”
“What else?”
“My parents are old, Tommy. This is a lot for them. The garden was my idea. I thought I could grow our own food.”
“Can I do anything to help? Out here, I mean.”
“You’re not exactly dressed for it.”
“I’m okay. What can I do?”
Maggie looks across the lawn.
“There’s some bags of manure behind the barn. You can bring those down. Dad shouldn’t be lifting heavy stuff at his age.”
“Where do you want the bags?”
“Here’s fine,” she says. “Can you stay for dinner?”
“I should get back.”
She looks at me for a moment. It’s hard to say what she’s thinking.
“I’ll bring the bags down and anything else you need,” I say. “Then I’d better get going. I’m sure Charles needs his car.”
“Okay,” she says, already turning towards the house. “I’ve got some things to do inside. You need gloves? Dad’s got some in the barn.”
“Well, don’t just disappear without saying goodbye, Tommy.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Well, don’t just disappear without saying goodbye, Tommy.”
“I won’t. I’ll say goodbye before I leave.”
Maggie starts up towards the house.
“Call the dogs,” she says. “I don’t want them jumping on Derek.”
I call the dogs and they follow me around the barn. I find the manure bags stacked up next to a bunch of old tires. There’s a rusty wheelbarrow turned upside down. I take six bags down to the garden, then six more. The sun’s getting hot. I sit down on a stack of tires. I hear a car coming up the lane. The engine stops; a door slams, I look around the corner and see the dogs wiggling around the car. Maggie’s parents get out, then the twins. I lean back, close my eyes. After a few minutes, I hear someone coming.
“Got yourself a perch,” I hear a man’s voice say.
I see Maggie’s father standing there. He’s wearing work pants and a white shirt. His hands are dark brown up to the wrists, then almost white beyond that. Same below the neckline of his shirt. He’s got these light gray eyes and a brush cut. He comes right up with those eyes twinkling away.
“I’m Howard,” he says. “Maggie’s got you doing manure duty, eh? Hear you can’t stay for supper. I could’ve used some male conversation.”
“I’m taking a train back to Toronto tonight,” I say.
“They got roast beef on that train of yours?” he asks. “Maggie’s mom makes a pretty good roast. I think we could feed you and still get you on that train.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” I say.
“No bother,” he smiles. “Maggie’s bringing Derek downstairs now. He roped you into watching that alien flick, I see. Aliens eating our chocolate bars. Never could figure that out. You’ll stay for dinner, then? Maybe we’ll hash out this alien thing over dinner.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let me finish up here.”
“No hurry,” he says. “We’re not on any schedule.”
Everyone’s putting stuff on the table when I come in the house. Derek’s at the end, Maggie next to him. The twins are between their grandparents. I wash my hands and sit down across from Derek. They start passing me plates of roast beef, potatoes, and green beans. The kids are quiet while we eat. Then Derek gets fidgety.
“Help me take him upstairs, Tommy,” she says.
“He’s tired,” Maggie says. “Time for bed, sweetie?” He grunts and she puts down her napkin. “Help me take him upstairs, Tommy,” she says.
I get Derek under one arm, Maggie gets the other.
Upstairs in the bedroom, we talk. Maggie and me, anyway. Derek’s eyes seem to wander around, a look of wonder still on his face.
“He likes listening,” she says. “His mind’s still sharp, isn’t it, sweetie?”
Derek grunts, and Maggie puts her arm around his neck.
“You should come back in the summer,” Maggie says. “We’ll have vegetables by then. Won’t we?” she says to Derek. “You like tomatoes, don’t you?”
“How often does Charles come down?” I ask.
“Every weekend. He’s been a rock for us, Tommy.”
“That must help a lot.”
“It does, actually. More than we realized.”
“I should go thank your mother for the dinner,” I say.
“She’d appreciate that. I’ll be down in a minute. Tommy’s going, sweetie. Can you say goodbye to him?”
He flops his hand on the bed.
“Bye, Derek,” I say.
I go down and thank Maggie’s mother for dinner, say goodbye to the twins, then go out on the porch. Howard’s there unwrapping a cigar. “You’re off?” he says, sticking the cigar in his mouth. “You want one of these? Better than pot.”
“I’ll have a cigarette,” I say.
“Neighbour down the road has a big telescope,” he says. “Showed me Pluto once. You ever seen Pluto?”
Howard’s staring at the sky, looking at the stars. “Neighbour down the road has a big telescope,” he says. “Showed me Pluto once. You ever seen Pluto?”
“In a photo.”
“Hell of a way off. Millions of miles. Whole galaxies beyond that. Maybe whole civilizations. Hope they don’t all want our chocolate bars.”
He winks and puffs on his cigar.
“Where’s Pluto?” I say.
“Out that way,” he says, pointing with his cigar. “Beyond Jupiter. That’s the big star over there. Not sure about the rest. Ned — my neighbour — he’s the astronomer.”
I get down off the porch and walk across the lawn.
“You figure Pluto’s over there?” I ask.
“There abouts,” Howard replies.
The screen door opens, and Maggie comes out on the porch. She stands next to her father with her arm around his waist. “What are you doing, Tommy?” she asks.
“He’s trying to find Pluto,” Howard says.
“You won’t see it from here,” she says.
Howard puffs on his cigar.
“Don’t let her put you off, son.”
I walk further out on the lawn.
“I should get Ned up here with his telescope,” Howard says.
The light’s still on in Derek’s room, the shadows moving across the curtains.
He clears his throat and says something to Maggie. The light’s still on in Derek’s room, the shadows moving across the curtains. Maggie’s mom must be up there with the twins. Maggie goes back inside.
“Want a cup of coffee before you go?” Howard says. “You’ve got time.”
I’m still staring at the sky.
“Pluto isn’t going anywhere,” he says.
We go back inside and sit at the kitchen table. I don’t remember everything we talked about. Pluto, mostly. “Maybe you should get yourself a telescope,” Howard winked at me outside later. I remember asking Howard what he thought telescopes cost. “No idea,” he said. “I can check with my neighbour.” He opened the car door for me.“You’re always welcome here,” he said. I told him I appreciated that. It was nice to be welcome again.
Robert Cormack is a satirist, novelist and blogger. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)” is available online and at most major bookstores. You can check out Robert’s other stories and articles at robertcormack.net
