After River Read Online Free PDF

‘Nothing,’ I say then turn away to switch on the walk-in closet light.
    As I rummage through my underwear drawer I am suddenly startled by the thought of what to wear to a funeral.
    My mother’s funeral. Vern’s unspoken thought is more reality than probability.
    The idea of attending a ceremony in St Anthony’s Church, of sitting in the front pew while a priest’s monotonous voice chantsthe ceremony and speaks of my mother’s life, is almost too much. I stand in the middle of my closet, underpants in one hand, and bras in the other, and hold my breath to stifle the sneeze I feel building between my eyes.
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    At the downtown bus depot, Vern unloads my suitcase from the back of his pick-up truck. Pink light from the streetlamp filters down through the grey stillness of the early morning air. The smell of pulp, a rotten egg aroma, intensified by the heavy autumn mist, hugs our bodies. Long-time residents of Prince George seem to be immune to the pungent smell from the pulp mill; sometimes even I forget it. But on fall mornings when cold, dense air, presses down on the sleeping city, the odour is so thick I can almost taste it.
    As if he has read my mind, Vern wrinkles his nose. ‘Mephitic,’ he says referring to the noxious odour.
    And as clearly as if I could turn around and see him standing in the morning fog, I can hear Boyer’s youthful voice saying, ‘Well, there’s a ten-penny word for you, Nat.’
    Inside at the counter I ask for a ticket to Atwood. The sleepy-looking attendant wears a blue-striped shirt with a name embroidered in red on her pocket. Brenda.
    â€˜Atwood?’ Brenda repeats. It’s obvious she has never heard of it. Why should she have? The old mining town, turned ski-resort, with a population of less than three thousand, is not exactly a prime destination. She punches the computer keys, her ink-stained fingers moving with a studied effort. Her eyebrows raise and I assume she’s located it. ‘One way or return?’
    â€˜Return,’ I tell her. Oh, yes, return. Soon, I hope . Then I realize what soon could mean, and I feel the guilt of wishing to hasten my mother’s demise.
    â€˜One hundred and forty dollars,’ she says and attacks the computer again. She is all efficiency now, back in familiar territory. ‘You have a two hour wait in Cache Creek…’
    After I purchase my ticket I rejoin Vern outside. He has placed my suitcase in front of the only occupied bus stall. A young couple stands nearby, huddled in the cold, saying their goodbyes. White puffs of breath fill the air between them. The bus doors are closed and I can’t see through the blackened windows. I hope the bus isn’t crowded. I don’t want to have to sit next to anyone and make small talk.
    â€˜I want to be there for you,’ Vern says again. He takes my hands as he searches my eyes. ‘At least promise me you will let me come down and get you.’
    I slip the return ticket into my pocket as he takes me into his arms.
    â€˜I feel like I’m losing you,’ he murmurs into my hair.
    â€˜I’m just anxious to get going,’ I say and start to pull away.
    â€˜Not just this morning,’ he says. ‘Lately I feel like you’re getting ready to bolt.’ He releases me, then steps back with a crooked smile. He holds his arms out in an open-handed gesture of surrender. He won’t keep me against my will, I know, but he’ll do his best to interrupt this dance of leaving.
    That is Vern. His strength is what has kept me with him this long, his strength in being able to let go. But he’s right. It’s just a matter of time. This is what I do. I run. I leave. He’s the first man to recognize this, or the first one to place it in the light where we both have to look at it. And he’s the first one who will not be surprised when I go.
    The bus driver strides out from wherever it is bus drivers