The Daughters' Story Page 2

  “You’re all out of breath. Are those big bad soldiers chasing you down with their guns?” She switched off the reader and smiled up at him. He was the most categorical person she knew—he liked you or completely ignored you. No grey area with him, even when it came to his clothes. If he liked a certain T-shirt, he bought six of them and wore one for every occasion.

  “Not funny, Lise. It’s like a damn war zone. Army tanks and trucks all over the damn place.” He stood rigid beside her, fists clenched. “I’d love to throw a stick of dynamite right smack into one of them stupid jeeps and wipe the smug look off the faces of those frigging assholes.”

  “You sound like a comic book guerrilla fighter. Not a good model for your child. My womb might be safe and warm, but it isn’t sound proof.”

  He fixed his eyes on her a moment and shrugged. “You might think it’s crazy talk. But it still pisses me off to have them push us around like that.” He flung his head back to remove the strands of hair from his face. “Let’s forget all that bullshit for now.” He leaned down—“Nice to see you, Lise”—and patted her belly, “and whoever you’re hiding in there.”

  He didn’t crack a smile too often, but when he did, his whole face beamed. His ability to switch in a heartbeat from one mood to another still fascinated Lisette. He always kept her on her toes. Nothing predictable about him except in the way he dressed. Moving in with him and his roomies at the end of spring break last year hadn’t turned out too badly—if it wasn’t for politics. Whether it was Quebec’s independence, the war in Vietnam, or the shootings at Kent State University, the three of them ranted till all hours. Serge was so much sweeter to her when they were alone. Sylvie and Pierre had been good enough to allow her to stay rent-free, but it was time to move on. She and Serge were a family now and needed a place of their own.

  “You’re right on time, Serge. I was about to put my foot through that stupid screen.”

  “Find anything?”

  She reached for her bag. “No trace of me anywhere. I don’t know why I’m even doing this. If I do find her, I don’t know if I even want to see her. I’ve hated her all my life, so nothing is going to change that.”

  “Your hormones, Lise. Guess it’s like craving pickles with ice cream. Those urges will disappear once the baby comes. You won’t have the luxury of goofing around in stuffy archives after that.”

  She looked straight at him. “Goofing around? This is authentic boring research. I suppose you’ve been spending your time on more worthy things.”

  He grinned. “Only kidding you. You have extra time on your hands, so why not? I just don’t see how knowing the name of a woman who pawned you off with a complete stranger is going to make your life any easier.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and stretched her back. He was usually right about things. “I know my term papers are due, but I’ve got this neurotic urge to know. Call me obsessive all you want but I guess I just want to put a face on someone I’ve always hated. I did manage to get an appointment with Social Services, though. I’m glad you’re here. Now I don’t have to take the bus.”

  “Social Services? That’ll put a damper on things. They’re as tight-lipped as a nun’s twat.”

  “I still want to go in case something turns up.”

  “No problem. I’ll go with you. Just leave everything to me.” He smiled and helped her up.

  “No funny business, Serge.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to embarrass you. But I promise you’ll have the name you’re looking for by the time we leave the office.”

  His eyes swept the room. “Looks like you have the reading section to yourself. Is there a back exit out of here?”

  Lisette swung her bag over her shoulder. “Classes will be finished soon. The other students will be storming in here.” She took a step forward, turned back and fumbled for her glasses on the tabletop to her right. “What’s wrong with the front door?”

  “Nothing.” He pointed to the left side of the microfilm machine. “Your glasses are on the other side of that machine. I swear your eyesight is getting worse. You should get that checked.”

  “It’s only eye strain. And I did get my eyes checked, remember?” She bit her lip and groped on the left tabletop till she found her glasses. “If I get contact lenses, I won’t have to hunt for my glasses all the time.” Her loss of night vision had increased after the third month of pregnancy. The eye specialist, concerned about her occasional flashes and blurred vision, had suggested corrective surgery, but not if her medical history revealed that a genetic disorder was the cause of her problem. Any medication affecting her child in any way was out of the question. She hadn’t mentioned the surgery to Serge. He’d only obsess about it if she told him. Things just might go back to normal after the baby was born.

  “Contact lenses won’t change things. You’d lose those too.”

  She turned to him. “So what’s with the back exit?” He wasn’t making eye contact. Something was up for sure.

  The door to the microfilm room swung open and Serge jerked his head back. A student plopped down in front of one of the readers. Serge turned back, a look of relief on his face.

  She stared at him, her arms crossed. “What’s going on, Serge? Does it have something to do with what we talked about?”

  “Talked? Is that what you call it? More like being sent to the office in grade school.” He shook his head. “I’m parked out back. Saves time waiting for the elevator. Is that a crime?”

  “Only if you park your car where no one can see it.” She knew he still hadn’t gotten over the discussion they’d had the night before. He was right. It had been more arguing than talking. He had ended up crashing on the living room couch for the first time since they started living together. But still, things had to be out in the open. The baby was due soon and she wanted everything settled before that.

  He cocked his head to one side. “What’s with the raised eyebrows?”

  “You normally park in front of the café, so why in the back alley this time? I know that look of yours by now. You’re hiding something. Tell me what’s happening.”

  He turned on his heels and beckoned her to follow. “Let’s get out of here before the crowd comes piling in here.”

  “Hey. We haven’t—”

  I hate it when he turns his back on me when we’re talking.

  One day he’ll walk away and never come back.

  He wouldn’t be the first. But she wanted this one to stick around. He was her baby’s father and she intended to do whatever it took to give her child a real family.

  He pushed the door to the microfilm room open and was almost at the emergency exit when she caught up to him.

  “So where’s the logic, Serge? You’ve got seven flights of stairs before you hit the ground floor. Wouldn’t the elevator be a better time saver?”

  The doors to the elevator at the end of the hall swooshed open and Serge quickened his stride. “Let’s go. We’ll talk in the car.” He darted down the first stairway, straddled the landing with a wide step, and dashed down the next set of stairs.

  Lisette held on to the banister and took another careful step down, intent on taking the longest time possible to descend. She needed to gather her thoughts before this turned into another argument.

  “Where’s the damn fire?” Her voice echoed through the stairwell. He had promised her. No more banks. No more depanneurs. He was going to be a father soon. He had to find a better way. Let Sylvie and Pierre take care of getting funds. Sylvie’s father was a big-shot lawyer, so she’d have no problem getting help if they got caught by the cops.

  “What’s keeping you, Lise? Didn’t you say you had an appointment?”

  She paused to look down from the side of the banister. He stood three floors below, leaning back against the outside exit with his arms crossed. She continued her slow descent. “Go on
ahead if I’m too slow for you. I can take the bus.”

  “The bus? Don’t be silly. I came all the way here to pick you up.” A short silence and she heard his voice again. “Shit, Lise. Sorry about that. Take your time. It still hasn’t sunk in that you’re pregnant. You hardly showed the first few months and now you burst out like a watermelon. Taking all them stairs can’t be good for you.”

  “No kidding, Einstein.” How was it possible he forgot about the baby when it’s all she thought about these days? “Write ‘I’m going to be a daddy’ on the back of your hand as a reminder. You’ll just have to wait for me to drag my watermelon belly down the stairs. I’m sure in no hurry.”

  Going down stairs wasn’t that big of a problem for her. Her doctor had told her she was in great shape for a woman going into her eighth month. Yet she sometimes caught herself exaggerating her effort to tie her shoes or get into the car, just so Serge would pay her a bit more attention. Pregnancy brought out a needy side of her. Maybe she just wanted to be sure he’d be there for her and the baby. Not like her birth mother who’d abandoned her at birth, and her unknown father who probably didn’t know she even existed. It was vital to her that Serge stick around. No way was she going to allow her baby to experience what she had. A baby was a package deal, complete with a mother and a father.

  She crossed the third-floor landing and stepped down. The sound of his shallow breathing reached her from below. Something was bothering him. Whatever it was, she wished he’d come clean. The message from last night’s argument was clear.

  Stop playing Robin Hood or I’m gone.

  She had only wanted to shake him up a bit. Hard to imagine living without him. They had a baby to think about. She and Serge weren’t hitched, but they were a family just the same. The baby had a right to that, and she was going to do her damn best to provide it.

  She didn’t see herself living on her own. She’d miss waking up nestled under his arm. And tea. He made the best cup of tea—served on a saucer too, although it rarely if ever matched the cup. They got on well enough. He was the first guy who let her be. No pressure about anything. Not even about sex. The bedroom side of things was pretty good. She had never reached orgasm, but she didn’t miss something she had never experienced before. He didn’t much care either. That belongs to you, he told her. I can’t control any part of you, and I sure don’t want to either.

  Her part-time job at the depanneur didn’t cover rent and food. Applying for student loans wasn’t what she had planned, but she’d have to reconsider if she wanted to continue her studies. Not that she lived free at the apartment. Sylvie and Pierre had agreed to her sharing Serge’s room if she took care of all the housework, including everyone’s laundry. Sylvie insisted her clothes be washed and folded a certain way, but Pierre and Serge never complained.

  She stepped onto the ground floor. He was still leaning back on the emergency exit door, eyes closed and arms crossed. The urge to kiss his thick black eyelashes stopped her from probing further. Had she overreacted again? Did she expect too much of him? She didn’t want to fall into the same pattern as in her previous relationships. The guys had all been deadbeats. This one sure wasn’t. He was kind and tender, and he’d make a great father. She was sure he’d have a good explanation. She touched his cheek and his eyes flew open.

  “Sorry... I didn’t think about them stairs, Lise. I’ll get used to this father thing one of these days. Going out the back just seemed a safer way out.”

  Her chest tightened. She went to put her arms around him but sat down on the step instead. “Safer? Why? Did something happen?”

  He lowered his head and stared at the floor

  “You’re in some kind of trouble. I just knew it.”

  “I told you I’d try not to do anything stupid.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sylvie and Pit heard us arguing last night. They came to me after you left this morning and asked me to help out one last—”

  “Sylvie, again. She always has to have things her way. And Pit backs up every stupid thing she says.” Why did she even bother? Sylvie and Pit could do no wrong, in his eyes.

  “A bit harsh, don’t you think? Pit might be a little different, but—”

  “Strutting around in front of people with his hand in his undies isn’t normal behaviour for a grown man. And why is he always trying on her clothes?”

  He laughed. “It’s part of his brand. Last time I went to one of his gigs he came on stage wearing a pair of Sylvie’s silk panties and a huge plastic crucifix hanging from his neck.”

  “How do you know they were hers? Does she parade them for you while I’m not around? Reminds me of a foster home of mine. The husband used to strip and walk around naked when his wife left. They shipped me off to another family when I snitched on him.”

  He sucked his breath in. “Please. Don’t get clingy. Nothing kinky is going on. I’ve known those two since high school.” He stretched his back and gazed down at her. “I know you didn’t have it easy growing up, but you’re a big girl now. Ease up and give people a break once in a while. Pit and Sylvie might be hard to take at times, but those kidnappings have put us all on edge. And then there’s the damn army breathing down our necks. We can’t just give in because Ottawa set their dogs on us. This isn’t all about you, you know.”

  “Don’t tell me.” She pushed herself up and crossed her arms. “Sylvie convinced you guys to do another bank while she stayed home to polish her nails.”

  “No, Lise.” He frowned. “Nobody is making me do anything. But the FLQ needs ammunition. Pit figures he can do one last bank, but not for a while yet. It’s too risky with all those cops on our tail. I can’t see him trying this with someone else. We’re a good team, him and me. Don’t worry, we’ll come up with a safer way. Sylvie’s not as shallow as you make her out to be. She gets it… about your condition… they both do.”

  “What gets me most about her is that she’ll land on her feet no matter what. Her daddy will make sure she gets a happy ending.” Her shoulders relaxed. “You’re right, I have no right to judge her. I just got worried when I saw how jumpy you were.”

  “I promised you, didn’t I?” He pressed his lips together. “To be honest, we did have something planned for today. I told them it was out of the question. Pit was a bit ticked off but he’ll get over it. With armed soldiers and tanks all over the place, it makes our job a bit more difficult. Not impossible—just riskier. Stop stressing, Lise. Nobody’s blaming you for the change of plans. They get where you’re coming from.”

  She lowered herself down on the steps to tighten the laces on her running shoes. “I just want us to be a family. That doesn’t seem possible right now. I can’t see myself bringing our child to visit you in jail.”

  “Neither do I. Believe me. It’s just not going to happen.”

  “So what’s bugging you?”

  He hesitated. “You’re going to think I’m paranoid.”

  “Maybe. You can’t know unless you tell me?”

  “I think someone’s following me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stiffened and motioned her to be quiet, relaxing after a few moments. “I thought I heard someone on the stairs. You can’t trust anybody.”

  She frowned. “I hope that doesn’t include me.”

  “Should it?”

  “Don’t be stupid. What makes you think someone is tailing you?”

  “The other day when I was driving the cab I noticed this black car in my rearview mirror. It followed me till I got to the client’s home and it disappeared. But it showed up again a few cars behind me. The same thing happened with my next three fares. The car vanished once I dropped my fare off, and reappeared again. I thought maybe I was imagining things. The car had a tinted windshield, so I didn’t get a look at the driver.” He fell silent and combed his fingers through his hair. “And today on my way here—the same damn car. Wh
en I saw it in the rear-view mirror, I swerved and took a few shortcuts through the back alleys. I’m pretty sure I lost him, but I didn’t want to risk parking in front of the building.”

  It took a while before Lisette found her words. “What did you expect, Serge? You can’t go around planting bombs in mailboxes and government buildings without someone catching on to you. The big guys always get you in the end. They love it when you do something violent, that’s when they can control you by arresting you.”

  Serge leaned back on the door and slid down, squatting on the floor in front of her. “Come on, Lise. You know I don’t do any of that. My job is to help with the financing. I don’t even know who picks up the money. We’re just giving back to the people of Quebec what the capitalists took from them.” He stared at her, a pained look in his eyes. “You knew what I was doing when you moved in with me. I thought you were with me on this.”

  “You might not be planting the bombs, but you’re giving them the cash to do it. How is that giving back? The little guy isn’t getting a cut of what you steal. All you’re doing is investing in dynamite that has the potential to blow off the head of any innocent bystander. That might not be your intent, but it makes you just as guilty as the one who plants the bomb. I believe in what’s behind your actions, but not the way you’re going about it. I want the same thing as you for Quebec. But I can’t see how bombing mailboxes and robbing banks will help anything.”

  “Think for a moment. We have to get the English where it hurts—in their greedy capitalist pockets like the big banks and businesses.” He brushed his hair back with his fingers. “We’ve been trying to get them to listen for a hundred years. Nothing gets through to them. What do you want us do, Lise?”