Finding Home Read Free Page B

trouble, made me respectable. When I was
going with Gord and living with the Wembles, that was the first and
only time I ever stayed in a foster home for more than three
months. But you know that.”
    “Yeah,” Nick said, “I do remember the
Wembles.” He picked up his coffee, then set it back down without
drinking any. “Gord went into the ministry, you know, to heal his
sorrow over losing you.”
    “Maybe,” I said. “But I certainly wasn’t the
only reason. Vera Wemble wrote me all about the United Church
accepting gay ministers, and Gord coming out.” I tasted my frozen
yogurt, which was supposed to be raspberry, but was far too bland.
“Actually, it was years before Vera gave up hope I’d see the light
and get religion again and come home to Middleford.”
    “But you didn’t.” There was more than a hint
of accusation in Nick’s voice. “I mean, I thought that maybe, I
mean, after we, well, you know…”
    I didn’t speak. Let him think I’d forgotten
all about Prom night and everything else. Not that I ever could,
but I wasn’t going there now.
    Finally Nick said, “Okay, we won’t talk about
that. What about after you left?”
    “I got a job at the Toronto Children’s
Agency. Back then you could still be hired as a caseworker without
a degree of some kind, and as a crown ward I had plenty of
experience with the system.” I watched my frozen yogurt melt in its
little plastic dish. I was remembering so much more than I was
about to tell him, and I struggled to hold back the memory of
things long forgotten. I didn’t want to relive any of it, and most
certainly not for Nick’s sake. But he stayed quiet, waiting for me
to continue.
    “Anyway, I worked at the Children’s Agency
for ten years. But I guess I worked too hard and I let it get to
me, so I ended up with nothing but a bad case of burnout.” No need
to mention Jay, and his part in my breakdown.
    Nick had taken the chair across from me when
he brought the coffee, and every time I looked up at him he was
staring at me. “Why do I get the feeling you’re glossing over a lot
of details?” he said.
    “Hmm, let me see. Because I am?”
    “C’mon. What next?”
    “I quit. And I left Toronto. I took the first
job that came along, at a lodge, Auberge Ciel, it’s a couple hours
north of Ottawa. I started out in the kitchen, waiting tables,
tending bar, and worked up into maintenance. I didn’t plan it, it
just sort of happened. It’s hard work, I have to cut grass and plow
snow and chop wood, but I love it.”
    “No wonder you look so good!”
    For some reason, perhaps because I was
feeling so desperate, I told him the truth. “Physically, I’ve never
felt better. But mentally I’m a wreck. See, it’s a hunting lodge,
and I loathe hunting. I can’t bear the people who do it.”
    “Oh?” Nick said. “One of those animal-rights
types, are you?”
    “They’re called antis, and I’m not active in
the movement or anything, just disgusted by hunters.”
    Nick gave me a quizzical look. “Any women
hunt?”
    “A few. More like to fish. But for hunting we
mostly get macho types who want to bag a moose or a bear. Talk
about an attitude. They think they own the world and can do
whatever they like. Every year it gets harder and harder to psyche
myself up for the season.”
    “Is it a good lodge?”
    “So they say. Modest, but comfortable, and
the food’s great. Baptiste’s an expert guide, and we offer just
about everything the big places do – exclusive rights, licenses for
nonresidents, boats, tree stands, fish and game storage and
preparation, fully-equipped cabins, dining room, lounge and
bar.”
    “Sounds okay!”
    “Just quoting from the brochure. We have
competitive rates on all-inclusive packages, May to November, and
we’ll even pick you up at the Ottawa airport, or over on Blue Sea
Lake, if you prefer to arrive by float plane.”
    Nick grinned. “Hey, book me in.”
    “No bloody way!” I knew he was joking,