Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline

Author:Cherie Dimaline
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House of Canada
Published: 2019-09-16T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Joan had convinced Zeus that it was time to put in an appearance at his own home, so she dropped him off and drove back to her place alone. She parked out front and sat in the Jeep. She missed Mere. Mere would have known what to do. Even if she didn’t, at least she’d be waiting with the kettle on.

What in the fuck is going on? she asked the emptiness of the car. Where had her life gone, the one where she roofed with her brothers, drank Labatt 50 with her mom, drove into town to shop for new clothes once a season with her favourite cousin? The life where she was married to a good and helpful man who turned her thighs unstable when he so much as touched her hand.

Her house was a cold, quiet tomb. In the foyer the lights were off, just as she had left them. There was none of the old music, or Victor singing in the shower, no footsteps coming toward her after a hard day at work, saying, “Let me take that belt off of you.”

He liked to do that: open the screen door for her and unbuckle her tool belt. Truthfully, she’d put it back on when she got out of her car—there was no way to drive with a hammer sticking out from your hip—but he liked taking it off of her so much, loving the idea of her sweaty and laden with tools.

“Mmm, poor baby,” he’d say. “You look exhausted. Here, let me help you out of those dirty clothes.” And she would obediently raise her arms as he pulled her T-shirt up over her head.

“Oh, look at that. You’re going to need a shower.” He’d run a finger down from her collarbone, along her sticky skin.

She’d nod. Yes, of course she needed a shower. “You too.” He was always still in his work clothes, smelling like clean wood and hot metal blades. She’d help him out of his shirt, sliding it off sunburnt shoulders that told her he’d worked shirtless that day. This would make her a bit jealous—a pinch in her lower stomach as she imagined the appraising looks from women who wandered by the job site. Her beautiful Victor, stripped to the waist, standing walls that should have taken two men to raise.

He’d bend down to unlace her boots, looking up into her face from where he crouched, so close to her crotch she could feel his breath. He’d pull off each one, and then her socks. Standing up, he’d lift her, a hand under each buttock, and carry her to the bathroom, her breasts pushed up under his chin so that he had a choice of either rubbing his face into the bounce or admiring her sun-darkened face. Such a dilemma for a man.

They’d leave the bathroom door open. There was no one to interrupt.

Tonight she pulled off her own shoes and wandered to the couch, feeling her life’s great emptiness like a weight that would not yield, pushing down and down and down.

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