Clear

Dominique Millette (c) 2024

Sheila saw Russell for the first time on a hot day at the beginning of June, swinging his legs in a fountain. He’d rolled up his jeans. Motorcycle boots perched on the edge of the fountain beside him. She thought he was washing up because he was homeless, so she tossed him a toonie.

He laughed as he caught it. “Is that for me, or are you making a wish?”

“Oh, sorry. I thought you might need some change,” Sheila said.

“Not particularly, but thanks.” He tossed the coin back. “How about I get you a coffee?”

She hesitated only a few seconds. On closer inspection, he was clean and his clothes well-kempt. She liked his long brown hair, beard and black eyes. His apparent lack of inhibitions sparked her curiosity.

“An iced Americano would be nice,” she said.

They went to her favourite coffee bar, the Diplomata Café, then spent the day walking around Bytown. Russell said he was a handyman from Pictou, Nova Scotia. He’d done plumbing and electrical work for a few years, saved some money, packed a tent, and was making his way across the country without any plans or schedules.

He had a spare helmet. They climbed onto his Yamaha. Sheila ran her hand along the seat. “Nice bike. I had one like this a few years back, but I sold it. The season is too short for me.”

“I ride all year,” Russell said proudly as he strapped his helmet on.

They rolled up to her bachelor apartment. He stayed overnight. One night stretched into a week, then a month. He got his gear out of storage and brought it over. She’d been used to her solitude but got used to his sinewy body slouching in her kitchen chair, or rolling in her bed, his legs tangled with hers. They shared buttered toast slathered with maple syrup in the morning. Summer festival days slid into fall walks along the Rideau canal. As she worked at her grant proposals, Russell made himself useful with errands and repairs, picking up odd jobs in the building.

He told her he loved her. She said it back. Sheila thought it felt real, all the more so since it was unplanned, like the beginning of every “how we met” story she remembered hearing from people celebrating a golden wedding anniversary.

One day, Russell said he’d found a bigger place for both of them. It came with his new job as a building superintendent. The apartment was in the east end of town, no longer walking distance from the charity where Sheila worked, but she’d only been going into the office a few times a month. They moved on a snowy day in Ottawa, the wind flapping at their furniture covers. He bought a bigger sofa, a recliner and a 60-inch television from online classifieds. They found a second dresser on a freecycle website.

The new place had a pool and sauna. After hours, they would sneak in to have sex on the wooden benches. Sheila felt daring and free, as if she’d moulted and left her old self on the tiles of the pool deck.

Russell liked to smoke up on the balcony after work. She sat with him most evenings. Wrapped in plush throws, they would drink tall cans of craft beer and watch his favourite reality shows, featuring gold miners dredging the Bering Sea, boat captains in Newfoundland and opal miners in Australia.

After a particularly long day slogging through multiple funding applications, Sheila sat down alone to watch the pilot of a new spy series with a comic twist. It starred one of her favourite actors. She laughed out loud at the pratfalls and snappy dialogue.

Russell came in and plopped down beside her. He frowned at the screen. “What’s this crap? I want to watch Harbour Heroes.” He grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

Sheila glowered at him. “Why can’t I watch my show this one time?”

“You have all day to watch whatever you want. I have to work in the building.”

She felt her temper rise. “Working from home doesn’t mean I’m not working.”

Russell shook his head. “Whatever,” he said. “Go ahead and watch your garbage on the TV I paid for.” He threw the remote on the sofa, got up and walked out of the apartment.

Sheila switched back to her show but couldn’t focus. Instead, she seethed on the sofa. She tried surfing through different channels, but nothing held her attention. After an hour, she turned off the television, took a sleeping pill and went to bed. In her dream, she found gold in Alaska, but it wasn’t the right grade, and she had to trade it for a fish with its head cut off.

She woke with a start to the sound of Russell in the kitchen. He’d brought her roses and put them in a vase on the table.

“I hate it when we fight,” he said, and kissed her.

Sheila felt herself soften against him. “I do too.”

The roses stayed fresh for a week. She collected the deep red petals and pressed them between the pages of her heaviest cookbook. The next time she wanted to watch her own shows, she waited until Russell was out.

On a warm early spring day, Russell surprised her with some new clothes: a bright red mini skirt with a cutoff sleeveless lace top.

“I thought of you right away when I saw these,” he said. “They’re made for you. They are you.”

Sheila loved the outfit, although it was uncomfortable to wear on the back of the Yamaha. For the next ride, she slipped on her favourite jeans.

Russell gave her a sullen look when he saw her approach the bike. “What are you wearing those for? They make you look a hundred years old.”

Sheila felt the words like a slap. She raised her voice. “I love these. And when have I ever told you your clothes look bad on you?”

Russell stared at the dashboard. “Maybe you should say something, if you don’t like what you see.”

“Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t,” she said. “I’m going back inside. You can leave without me.”

Later that night, Russell slid into bed and held Sheila’s face in his hands. “I still love you like crazy, even with that temper of yours,” he said. Before she could answer she felt the same, his lips moved down from her lips to her chest, her stomach and the inside of her thighs.

A few days later, she couldn’t find the jeans in their usual spot. She asked Russell if he’d seen the pair.

“They’re at the Sally Ann. Thought I’d do you a favour.”

“What?” Sheila found herself shouting. “Those are my jeans, Russell. Mine. You do not get to decide what to do with things that don’t belong to you.”

Russell gave her a withering look. “Calm the hell down. You don’t need to get hysterical. You’ve had those things for years.”

He went to the closet and rifled through her things. “You should stop hoarding clothes, anyway. I need more room in here for my stuff. I found this place. It’s my name on the paperwork, in case you don’t remember.” He turned to face her. “Besides, I’m your boyfriend. What belongs to you belongs to me and vice versa.”

“Oh, yeah? You’re cool with me giving away your camping gear? Or maybe I could just grab the Yamaha,” Sheila said.

She marched to the closet, grabbed jeans and shirts, and rummaged through drawers, pulling out socks, bras and underwear.

“What are you doing, Sheils?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She packed her things into a suitcase, got her phone and laptop, and walked out.

Russell left her twenty messages. The first few sounding frantic, the rest annoyed. Sheila deleted them one by one.

Her parents were away, but her aunt let her stay in a spare room. Sheila swore her to secrecy. She was an adult now and didn’t want any lectures, she said.

As she tried to work at her aunt’s kitchen table, Sheila felt the physical pain of absence, as if she’d pulled her heart muscle and torn it. She could hardly breathe, thinking about Russell, his leg on hers, his voice in her ear, his hand stroking her hair. The memories of him outweighed a lousy pair of jeans, she decided.

After three days, she let herself back in the apartment. Russell slid into bed beside her, held her, and said nothing.

A few weeks later, her slippers went missing. She hated the feeling of her bare socks on the floor and on the carpet. “It feels so gross,” she said. “Where did I put those stupid things?”

Russell chimed in. “It’s just as well you lost them. They’re ugly as shit.”

She felt a familiar tightening in her chest. “Did you throw them out?”

He shook his head. “No, but I’ll get you a new pair next time I go shopping. Better ones.”

Sheila found the slippers at the bottom of a gym bag she didn’t recognize. She took them out and put them on. When Russell saw her wearing them as she sat down on the sofa, he scowled and fixated on the television screen. He said he had a headache and went to bed early that night.

The next morning, Sheila took the slippers and dropped them off at the Sally Ann. On the way home, she got new black ones, with heels and feathered uppers. They were much prettier, she thought. It was nice to wear pretty things, to go with her new life.

Sheila’s birthday was the last day of May. Russell got her a tight black mini dress with cutouts at the shoulders and the midriff. She could barely walk after she slipped it on.

He gave her a wolf whistle. “That’s my girl. You are rocking that thing.”

She basked in his adulation. That was her real present, she thought: the look in his eyes as he ran his hands down her body. He made her feel like the sexy girl in every song on the radio. A whole lotta love.

Her parents invited them both for her birthday dinner. “We finally get to meet the mystery man,” her mother said.

An hour before they were set to go, Russell clutched at his abdomen and grimaced. Sheila put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “I feel like I might throw up any minute.”

Sheila looked at him with knit brows. “Should we stay home?”

“No, go see your parents. I’ll take a pill and go to bed.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave if you’re sick.”

“I’ll be fine,” Russell said. “I just need to lie down.”

She wavered, then called a taxi. Her parents were disappointed and said they were worried about Russell, but happy to see her. Sheila forced herself to smile and banter. After a pint of lager, she felt herself relax into the moment. At dinner, she savoured her rainbow trout with almonds, drank two glasses of wine, and declared she was looking forward to the German chocolate cake. “I’ll do my best, but I won’t be able to blow out all the candles.”

Her mother gave her a hug. “That’s fine, dear. I’m sure your wish will still come true.”

As her parents cleared the table for dessert, Russell called. “Hey, where did you put my Epsom salts?”

“They’re in the cupboard,” she said. “How are you doing? Why do you need them?”

“I’m still wonky. It usually helps when I take a really hot bath.” He kept her on the phone as he went to check the cupboard, then insisted he still couldn’t find them.

After ten minutes, she excused herself from the table. “I should go. I’m so sorry. This was great, really.”

Her mother packed the birthday cake, and her father gave her a ride. He would simply drop her off, just in case Russell was contagious, he said. They could meet another time.

As she got inside the apartment and put the cake on the table, Russell came into the kitchen. She ran her hands through his hair. “Hey. How are you?”

“I’m feeling better.” He saw the cake, opened the box and cut himself a slice.

Sheila felt exasperation flare up. “Are you sure you should eat that? Aren’t you sick to your stomach?”

He shrugged. “It’ll be fine. What are you going to do, eat the whole thing by yourself? You don’t need the extra calories.”

She felt her heart pound and stared at Russell. “I’m going to look for those Epsom salts, even if you don’t seem to need them anymore.”

“Don’t bother. I found them.”

Sheila’s voice boomed out. “Couldn’t you have let me know? I left my own party to help you look.”

Russell yelled back. “I didn’t see them when I had you on the phone. Excuse me for not being perfect while you were kicking your heels up at your parents’ house. Happy fucking birthday.”

He marched to the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Sheila reddened, and wondered if he was right, the way she lost her temper.

She looked at the cake box and saw her mother had put in the candles. She inserted them into the cake, lit them, and wished for happiness as she blew on them with her eyes closed. When she looked, half the candles were still burning. She put them out, cut the rest of the cake and ate four slices before going to bed on the sofa.

The next morning, Russell acted like nothing had happened. Sheila felt relief.

Summer came and went. September days flew away with the first of the maple leaves dancing in the wind. Sheila’s parents invited her and Russell for Thanksgiving. The bike wouldn’t start that day, and it took Russell a while to fix it. Sheila phoned to schedule another weekend for dinner.

Her mother sounded anxious. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Mom, everything’s fine, except for the bike.”

“We haven’t seen you since your birthday. We didn’t see much of you then, either.”

“Mom, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe how time flies these days. How is next Sunday? We can have you over instead of going there.”

“Are you sure Russell is okay with that?”

“It was his idea.”

“Oh.” Her mother sounded surprised. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure Sunday works for Henry. It works for me.”

On the Sunday, Russell told her he had to fix a leak in a unit a few floors up. It would take a few hours, he said. “Go ahead without me.”

She’d planned a roast with small potatoes, squash, leeks and asparagus. Despite the preparation and cooking ahead of her, Sheila felt her shoulders and jaw slacken after he closed the door.

Her parents arrived with a bottle of Bourgogne Pinot Noir and a sunflower bouquet. Sheila was buoyant as she served the meal. Her mother described her most recent needlepoint project for the upcoming church bazaar, and they all laughed at her impressions of the pastor and event coordinator. Henry declared he was enjoying retirement and had taken up woodworking.

“I’ve got five cutting boards now,” her mother joked. “They’re gorgeous. Now you know what you’re getting for Christmas.”

The bottle of Pinot was empty and they were enjoying Sheila’s cheesecake when Russell came in. A strong skunk-like smell wafted from his clothes and hair. His eyes were red.

Sheila’s father smirked. “Russell. Pleased to finally meet you.”

Russell turned and slowly focussed on the guests. “Yeah, hi.”

Sheila was gruff. “You’re stoned out of your mind. I thought you were doing some plumbing.”

“It was a complicated job,” Russell said. His voice had a truculent edge. “Ted lit up a spliff after I was done. I don’t turn down free weed. By the way, you’re all welcome for the meal in my home.”

Sheila stared down at the table. She got up and took some empty plates to the sink.

Her father looked at her with concern, then turned to Russell. “We had a lovely time, thank you. Didn’t we, Gina?”

“Absolutely,” Sheila’s mother said. “We’re so sorry you couldn’t join us.”

Russell wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “You look like you were having a great time without me. You were all laughing when I came in.”

Sheila turned to him and frowned. “You make it sound like we didn’t want you around. That’s just not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Please don’t say that,” Gina blurted. “You must be tired. You should get some rest.” She turned to Sheila. “Our door is always open. You know that. You can come stay with us tonight if you want.”

Russell steadied himself on the edge of the dining table as he interjected. “Why should my girlfriend stay with you? She doesn’t need you anymore. Stop treating her like she’s still twelve. She’s told me all about how you can’t stop meddling in her life.”

Sheila felt her cheeks burn and took a step back. “I’m sorry, Mom. He’s just high, and you’re right, he’s probably exhausted. I’ll be fine. Let me walk you out.”

Gina looked crestfallen. Henry looked at her sympathetically. “Let’s just go, dear. Sheila, we had a wonderful time.” He mouthed his next words. “Call us.”

Russell marched to the sofa, turned on the television and cranked up the volume. Sheila went to bed. After reading for a few hours, she finally drifted off to sleep, but Russell woke her up when he threw himself onto the mattress.

She closed her eyes. As he snored softly, she curled up with her arms around her knees and tried not to move. She thought of the rose petals in her cookbook. Maple syrup on toast. The taste of an IPA with Russell’s chicken carbonara. The feel of his mouth and hands on her. The picture on the wall of the two of them smiling on the bike, with the Rideau Canal in the background.

A recent headline came to mind: Housing Costs Have Doubled in the Past Seven Years. Sheila pictured her bedroom at her parents’ house with its chipped pine dresser and matching single bed covered in a fraying pink quilt. An earworm popped into her head. Don’t look back. You can never look back.

When she got up to make her morning coffee, the clock read nine. Later in the day, she noticed a message on her voice mail from her father. She meant to call back, but the new grant application she had to fill out took longer than she’d anticipated, she needed to buy more butter for dinner and then she had to empty the garbage.

Halloween soon invaded every window and yard in the city. As she neared the office, Sheila smiled at the skeletons dancing on plastic gravestones on the lawn and the ghosts hovering over lampposts. She found her manager Yaz in the conference room, setting up decorations. Sheila asked her if partners could come to the Friday afternoon costume party. Russell was her ride that day, she said.

“Sure,” Yaz straightened, shook her long hair out of her face and pushed her glasses up her nose. “One more person should be no problem. Could you give me a hand with these cobwebs?”

On her way home, Sheila picked up a Sexy Zombie Nurse costume at a pop-up shop, along with a few giant paper spiders and phosphorescent plastic bats, jack-o'-lantern and mummies. The thought of the party delighted her. The rush of giddiness she’s felt as a teenager returned. She’d never been particularly popular, but this time of year was always a chance for her to pretend she was glamorous and led an exciting life.

Russell dressed up as Alice Cooper, with a studded plastic top hat and some black eye makeup. Sheila thought they made a perfect pair. It was a cold day, and the wind bit her legs through her black pantyhose, but she shut her eyes and gritted her teeth for the 15 minutes it took to get to the office on the bike.

Yaz was Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, with a long black wig and black artificial nails decorated with spiders. She wore heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow. Her glasses were nowhere in sight.

“You look great,” Sheila said.

“Yeah, she does.” Russell looked Yaz up and down. “Hi, there.”

Yaz nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

Sheila thought she didn’t sound very pleased. They headed to the punch bowl table, where most of the staff was gathered.

Sheila chuckled at the IT specialist, Saul, who had a single maple leaf pinned to his shirt. “Fall guy?”

He grinned. “You’re the first to get it.” They toasted the day with a cup full of blood-coloured punch cooled with ice-filled plastic eyeballs.

Russell came up behind Sheila and nuzzled her neck. “My girlfriend is getting around,” he said. “I guess you’re irresistible.”

Saul tittered. He raised his glass. “Have a good one, Sheils. I need a sec to go talk to Marian about my expenses.” He turned and headed toward a woman in a purple wizard costume.

Russell looked at Sheila. “Who is that guy? He looks like he’s into you.”

“Saul? No way. You’re imagining things. But thanks, I guess?”

Yaz walked up to them and took Sheila’s arm. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

Yaz looked worried as she led Sheila into her office. “I just heard what Russell said. Does he check up on you a lot?”

Sheila shrugged. “He’s just really intense. It’s a rollercoaster. Every relationship has its ups and downs. I take the bad with the good.”

Yaz arched an eyebrow. “I really hope for your sake there’s more good than bad.”

Sheila felt irritation well up. “Yes, there is. I’m not stupid. Russell doesn’t beat me up or anything like that.” She took a step back. “I know you’re the boss, but I’d like to keep my private life private.”

Yaz squirmed. Her reply was circumspect. “No, of course. My apologies. And for the record, I absolutely don’t think you’re stupid. You’re one of our best workers.”

Once Sheila and Russell got home, he asked what Yaz had wanted to talk about.

Sheila studied the floor. “It was nothing important,” she said. “I just need to update my benefits.”

“She’s pretty hot. Maybe she could give you style pointers.”

“Gee, thanks. She usually wears glasses and they’re thicker than mine.”

 “Was she wearing contacts?”

“I didn’t ask. I don’t care.”

“You should,” Russell said. “You’d look a lot better without your glasses.”

His words hung in the air of the apartment, then followed Sheila to the street the next time she headed out to do the grocery shopping. She noticed a place called McSquinty’s was offering discounted eye exams and had a special on contact lenses. She went in.

A week later, while Russell was out fixing hallway lighting a few floors up, she hid her glasses in a pair of winter dress boots she only wore on special occasions, took out her new disposable lenses, and popped them in. It was cold and raining when she left the apartment to buy some milk and eggs. She relished the newfound freedom of seeing clearly without worrying about fog or droplets of water.

Russell was in the living room when she came back. He glanced at her, looked back at the television screen, then looked at her a second time as she put her purchases in the fridge.

“You’re wearing contacts!” He pulled her down onto the sofa and gave her a lingering kiss, then another. “My girlfriend is hot tonight,” he murmured.

Sheila had to remind herself constantly not to rub her eyes. One day she forgot, and a lens slipped out. Her eyeball stung. She rinsed it carefully, but it still hurt. It reddened by the next day. She dug out the winter dress boots, retrieved her glasses and put them back on.

Russell frowned when he saw her in the kitchen. He crossed his arms. “You know those things make you look like a schoolteacher.”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “I can’t see without my glasses on right now. Stop telling me what I look like.”

“Fine. I won’t tell you anything. Who cares about my opinion? I’m just the only guy who loves you around here,” Russell said. He stomped out.

She sighed, went to the living room, and switched the television on. The news kept her mind off her own life as she listened to the newscasters describe famine, war and several once-in-a-hundred-years droughts. Women in Afghanistan could no longer show their faces or speak in public. Those were real problems, she thought, not like a stupid argument about glasses. At least she had her freedom. She could go anywhere she wanted.

When Russell came back for dinner, they barely spoke. He left after his last forkful of ham, his plate on the table a discarded thing. The plate looked like she felt, thought Sheila. She started to cry. After she’d wiped her eyes and nose, she called her parents.

Her mother sounded alarmed. “Oh, honey. Come right on over.”

Sheila sniffled. “I need more time to get my stuff together. I’ll let you know.”

She started to pack, left her luggage on the bedroom floor next to the wall, then went to bed alone. She tossed and turned for an hour and a half before she fell asleep.

When she woke the next morning, Russell was kicking the suitcase. “What’s this? You going on vacation without me?”

“Maybe I will,” she said. “Maybe I won’t come back, if loving me is such a burden to you.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m only trying to help you. You’re so sensitive. You should learn to take criticism.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Come on, Sheila. You know I love you. I just want you to be the best you can be.” He sat on the bed and started to stroke her leg, then moved his hand higher.

She shuddered, then let him kiss her. She kissed him back, wetly. They stayed in bed until noon.

She called her mother back and got voicemail. “Russell and I made up. It was nothing. I overreacted. Thanks for being there, Mom, Dad. Love you.”

Sheila’s eye healed. She started wearing her contacts again. Freezing November rains washed over the city, drenching it in gloom. The sauna became a frequent sanctuary from the ice and wind clawing at the windows.

On a rare dry day, when the roads were passable again, Russell came into the kitchen whistling “Hot in Herre.” He put a brochure on the table. Sheila looked at it. Grin-N-Bare-It Nudist Resort. Open House Sunday 11-5. Singles Welcome.

“Let’s go check it out,” Russell urged. “It’ll be better than the sauna. They’ve got a pool, a hot tub and a steam room. We can swim, dance, lounge around on bearskins, you name it.”

Sheila felt anxiety nibbling at her. “Will there be an orgy or something?”

Russell scoffed and shook his head. “They don’t have sex in public. It’s just people walking around the way nature intended. Freedom.”

“You’ve been before?”

“I went to an outdoor one in P.E.I. a couple of years ago. It was a blast. It’ll be really cool.”

It was mild for the end of fall and the resort was only an hour away. Sheila felt a mix of anticipation and dread as they stepped off the motorcycle and went inside. She studied the wood-paneled walls and the white cornices on the pastel blue ceiling as Russell introduced them both. The man at the front desk greeted them effusively and gave them a silicone wristband with a key.

Russell turned to her. “Some of the women here might be single. Don’t freak out when they walk up and talk to me.”

Sheila creased her eyebrows and scanned her surroundings. There were no women in the immediate vicinity. She felt relief, then mortification. Jealousy is an ugly emotion, she admonished herself. Be cool.

The locker rooms were mixed and had no doors. Sheila felt the way she had when she’d peed herself all over the floor of her daycare at age four. She’d taken her pants off in front of all the other kids because she hated the feeling of being cold and wet more than the stares and giggles. She willed away her memories of childhood shame and glanced at Russell. He was talking to the man on his right about the best motorcycle gloves.

Sheila slowly peeled off her clothes, then took out her contact lenses so she could swim and try the steam room.

“This is your first time, isn’t it?” A large, tall woman with grey hair smiled at Sheila indulgently. “Welcome. I’m Astrid.”

“I’m Sheila. You guessed right. I’ve never done this before and yes, I’m nervous.”

Astrid patted her lightly on the arm. “You were brave enough to show up.”

Soon the two women were sharing their most embarrassing moments. They laughed as they walked to the pool. Sheila felt lighter, as if she’d thrown off a sleet-covered wool coat. She floated in the water and imagined herself as a dolphin in the ocean. When the first wrinkles appeared on the tips of her fingers, she climbed out and dried herself.

Several men milled about talking to each other on the deck. A red-headed man in his mid- to late thirties walked up to Sheila. “Nice place, isn’t it?”

She nodded and inspected the floor next to his right foot. He laughed. “I gather you’re new at this,” he said.

Russell approached her with a frown. “We need to talk.” He steered her away abruptly toward an open spot near a wall. “All these men are ogling you. You’re just standing there as if nothing is going on.” His voice had an edge like the underbelly of a thundercloud.

“I can’t wear my contacts out here, so I couldn’t tell,” Sheila said. “Don’t be an asshole.”

Russell scowled. “You’re enjoying this. You love the attention. Those men don’t know what you’re really like. If they did, they would stay the hell away from you.”

Sheila sputtered. “This was your idea. I’m enjoying myself. I am not leaving. You can go if you want.”

“What the hell?” Russell stared at her. “If you don’t come home with me right now, Sheila, you’re not coming home at all.” His face was hard, his eyes set in a cold fury.

Sheila felt her stomach drop as she thought of being left with strangers and no place to go at the end of the afternoon. She went numb, as if she were watching herself standing naked on the tiled floor. She saw herself back away mechanically to go retrieve her clothes.

As she neared the locker, Sheila studied the boots she’d stowed neatly under a chair. They triggered a memory of a long-ago ride up to the Kawarthas when she’d melded into the wind and speed, with no other people to tell her how to look, act or feel.

Sheila thought of her lost jeans and discarded slippers, of how words could cut you to ribbons but didn’t seem as serious as punches. She’d told Yaz she wasn’t stupid. Now she felt like a fool.

“Hello there.” Sheila heard Russell in the hall behind her, his voice suddenly dulcet. She glanced back and saw him talking to a woman.

“Hi,” the woman said. She had a slim, muscled body and full sleeve tattoos in a Celtic pattern on both arms. “I’m Miranda. How are ya?”

“Russell. I’m better now that I’ve run into you,” he said. “I was just leaving, but you might make me change my mind.”

Rage flooded through Sheila, sweeping away her despondency. She swung the metal locker door hard against its frame as she dressed in the empty room and put in her contact lenses.

Russell was still in the hall. Sheila heard his voice turn querulous. “Oh. So, this is your husband?”

Sheila hurried to the exit, her body shaking with adrenaline. The keys to the motorcycle jangled in her hand.

“Hey,” she heard Russell shout behind her as she roared out of the parking lot. The sound of the engine and the wind drowned out the rest.

Sheila squeezed the leather seat between her thighs. The road was clear.

She opened the throttle wide.