Authors: Marina Endicott
New Year's Eve
MARINA ENDICOTT
New Year’s
Eve
Grass Roots Press
Copyright © 2011 Marina Endicott
First published in 2011 by Grass Roots Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
The Good Reads series is funded in part by the Government of Canada’s Office of Literacy and Essential Skills.
Grass Roots Press also gratefully acknowledges the financial support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.
Grass Roots Press would also like to thank ABC Life Literacy Canada for their support. Good Reads® is used under licence from ABC Life Literacy Canada.
(Good reads series)
Print ISBN: 978-1-926583-33-4
ePub ISBN: 978-1-926583-66-2
Distributed to libraries and educational and community organizations by
Grass Roots Press
Distributed to retail outlets by
HarperCollins Canada Ltd.
To Peter— for twenty years, November 4th
Chapter One
The snow started before we left home.
We were supposed to leave at nine that morning, but Grady had worked the night before. And for twelve nights before that. The other guys got time off, but Grady had worked right through Christmas. He was the newest RCMP constable in Drayton Valley, so he got all the rough shifts.
He was supposed to be through at four in the morning, but he didn’t make it home till noon. Then he was so tired he had to sleep for a while. The baby was already in her snowsuit. I took her out of it again.
We didn’t leave till three. The sun was already fading down the winter sky.
And then when we stopped at Edmonton an hour later for gas, the bank card wouldn’t work. I went inside to pay, but it still got declined. I re-counted the days since payday with a shaky feeling in my knees. Then I went back to the car.
“I made a big mistake,” I said, when Grady rolled down his window. “I thought today was payday, but it’s not till
next
Wednesday.”
“Oh, Dixie,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” I stood there, sick.
“Nothing left in the bank?”
I shook my head. He undid his seat belt. He walked inside, reaching into his wallet for the credit card his dad gave him. “For emergencies,” his dad had said. Grady hates using it.
I have to say that Grady did not blame me or say I spent too much money. We just didn’t make enough, we both knew that. But I was supposed to keep track.
By the time we left Edmonton, it was getting dark. Five more hours to Saskatoon.
Snow filled the air like feathers from a burst pillow. I never worried while Grady was driving. But with the baby sleeping in the back, the snow scared me.
I looked back to check on her. Sweet flower face in a sea of bright paper. We had packed the Christmas presents for Grady’s family around the car seat.
Her lips moved in and out as I watched, as if she was sucking.
“She’s hungry even in her sleep,” I said.
Grady didn’t answer. His eyes were nearly shut against the white glare of snow flying into the windshield.
“We should have left sooner. I’m sorry,” I said.
Then I wished I hadn’t apologized. We didn’t start late because of me.
He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “Not your fault. I couldn’t leave the office till I’d finished the paperwork.”
That was all we said for a long time.
The sky got darker. The snow fell. The black road ran ahead into the whiteness. At least there was no traffic. Everybody was at a party by this time on New Year’s Eve. Only us out on the road, driving and driving.
We were doing okay until the baby started to cry. Sometimes Grady sings to her, but not that
night. I turned in my seat to tickle her cheek. I gave her the soother, but she kept spitting it out again.
“Can’t you make her shut up?” Grady finally said. He didn’t shout, but he was getting tense. The stress of driving in the dark through a cloud of flying white.
“She’s hungry,” I said. “Sorry.” Some days all I ever said was
sorry
. “If I’d fed her just before we left, maybe she would have slept through.”
He laughed. “Right. She hasn’t slept more than three hours in her whole life.”
“Seven, last Sunday!”
He shook his head like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t answer.
We were only going 60. At this rate, the trip was going to take forever. I hummed to make the baby stop fussing, giving her my best good-mama smile.
She let the soother fall damply out of her mouth and grinned back at me. Drool ran down her chin. She looked pretty cute, actually. Never thought I’d think that about a drooling baby.
“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do,”
I sang to her.
“I’m half crazy, all for the love of
you...”
My mom used to sing me that old song all the time.
Daisy’s eyes were as dark blue as the night sky out the window. My back hurt, twisting around like that, but she started crying again if I turned away.
Grady pulled off the highway at the next exit and turned the car in at a closed-down gas station. The wheels grated over a pile of hard snow at the edge of the road. Grady likes to be safe. He’s seen too many accidents.
“Feed her,” he said. Leaving the car running, he made his seat lie back and closed his eyes. “If you weaned her, you know, we could keep going while she had a bottle.”
I hate it when he gets impatient like that, when it’s about the baby. He’s allowed to be crabby with me, but not with her.
I pulled her out of her car seat and lifted my top. She let out little whimpers, as if she was saying,
A breast, thank God, I nearly starved to death
.
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop nursing yet. It was too soon—she wasn’t going to be a year old till June. Then it would be summer, and maybe I would leave Grady and go to Regina
with her. I could stay with my dad for a while, till I got a job. So she would still have a father figure. My eyes hurt. I guess I’d been staring into the snow, too. I would not let myself cry.
The baby finished nursing and fell fast asleep. She didn’t even stir when I put her back in the car seat.
“Okay,” I said to Grady. “She’s good. We can go now.”
He opened his eyes. He looks so sad when he first wakes up. I think he has bad dreams all the time. After rolling his head right and left, he pulled the seat up straight again, but he didn’t start driving.
At the edge of the road, a sign shining in the headlights said: “Two Hills 32 km.”
“Two Hills,” Grady said. “That’s where Ron Cox is now.”
Ron and Grady had trained together at Depot Division in Regina. Being in the same training troop is a big deal for Mounties. Six months of getting whipped into shape together makes a bond.
Ron and Grady ended up near each other for their first postings, too, in small towns close
to Edmonton. Ron at Westlock and Grady at Drayton Valley. When Ron got married to Sharla, Grady was his best man. Ron had been moved to Two Hills last year.
The storm was worse. We stared out the windshield at the snow. A million sparks of white hid the road.
“I don’t think I can drive through this any more,” Grady said. “We could make it to Two Hills. It’s New Year’s Eve, let’s go have a party with Ronny.”
Cheered up all of a sudden, Grady got out and ran through the snow to phone Ron from the gas station phone booth. That’s what men do for each other. Or maybe I mean, that’s what friends do for each other. They’re good friends. You’ve got to have friends.
I put on some hand cream. My makeup was in my suitcase, somewhere under the Christmas presents. Sharla takes good care of herself. She’s always nicely dressed. I was in sweats, as usual.
Grady came back, nodding. “They’re home. Ron says come on over.”
“Great,” I said, trying to be nice. I reached over to touch his cheek.
He pulled back, screwing up his nose. “What’s that stink on your hands?”
He does have a very sensitive nose.
You have to be patient.
But you also have to figure out the difference between being patient and being a doormat. When you have a daughter watching you.