The Carpenter

noticeable, but he saw how Mrs. Casey’s attention flicked quickly to the wound. Then she smiled.

Pete was shown into the living room. It was warm and there were a lot of gifts stacked under the Christmas tree. He could see Emily at the piano bench, her back straight. He wanted to touch her. Mrs. Casey told Pete to make himself at home and then she leaned over Emily and said that her friend was here. The back of Emily’s head moved but her hands stayed at the piano keys. The melody she was playing was recognizable but not graceful.

Pete had barely lowered himself to the couch before he stood again, for Mr. Casey appeared in his uniform trousers and slippers. He was carrying a drink that smelled like rye and Coke. Behind Mr. Casey was Stan Maitland, holding a beer.

Mr. Casey offered his hand in one firm shake. He saw the swelling over Pete’s eye. Pete knew he did.

— This has got to be Peter, said Mr. Casey.

— Thanks for having me, said Pete.

Stan told Pete it was good to see him again-that last time wasn’t so good, was it.

— How is your uncle getting along? said Stan.

— He’s fine, I guess. That accident was bad.

— Was that when the man died out at Grandpa’s house? said Louise.

— Louise, said Mrs. Casey.

Mr. Casey nodded at Pete: Your uncle, Leland King.

Emily stopped playing. One chord struck hard, reverberating. She turned around on the bench.

— Hi, Pete. I hope you’re hungry. It’s spaghetti night.

At supper, Mrs. Casey asked Pete if he would have a glass of wine. Mr. Casey answered for him, said Pete didn’t need any wine if he was to be driving later. He said Emily didn’t need any wine either. Emily and Pete had been seated together at the table. Pete did not want to keep stealing glances at her but he could not help himself. Once they were eating, Mr. Casey asked his daughters about school that day. They answered shortly, succinctly, school was good.

— Just a couple days till vacation.

— Yep.

Mr. Casey pointed with a piece of garlic bread, said: What kind of bonehead parties do they have planned for the weekend?

— I wouldn’t even know, said Emily.

— How about you, Pete?

— I’m not much of a party kind of guy. Mr. Casey grinned: Not big on the drinking and scrapping?

— Frank, said Mrs. Casey.

Stan touched his napkin to his lips. There was something unsaid in the air. He chopped through his spaghetti and chased each forkful with beer.

— Mr. Maitland, my uncle told me a little bit about your house.

Stan looked up: Did he?

— He said it was on a real nice piece of property. Good view of the lake. I’ve probably seen it at one time or another but I can’t think of when.

— From time to time I think I could hire some help out there, maybe an afternoon or a day. If ever you have a bit of time to spare. It’s an old house and it’s hard to keep up by myself.

Emily ate quietly, steadily. Her silverware made clipping sounds against her dish.

— Your mother, Pete, said Mr. Casey. What does she do these days?

Pete hadn’t realized his mother was known to Mr. Casey. He wondered vaguely how.

— She stays at home. Looks after my brothers. When we moved here from North Bay, she got a job as a secretary at the chemical factory, but they laid her off. That was four years ago.

— And your dad, he’s a pastor, right? Out at that Pentecostal church?

— Dad, said Emily.

— It’s okay, said Pete. Yeah … my dad is a pastor. I didn’t know you knew them.

— Not really well, said Mr. Casey.

They did not ask him anything further. After supper, Stan was quick to collect his coat. He said he had the dog to get home to and he asked if Pete would let him out of the driveway. Pete went out and backed his car onto the street. He passed the old man as he was heading to his truck.

— Good to see you, Mr. Maitland.

— Is your uncle working?

— No. He hasn’t been able to get anything. He tries, you know. Tries to find work … but, so far …

Stan nodded. He said so long and got into his truck.

When Pete went back inside, Mr. Casey gave him strict orders to have Emily back by eleven. They went out and got into his car. He kissed her before anything was said. Then they were driving.

— That was not how I wanted it to be, said Emily. I did not want everybody to be mad at each other.

— I thought maybe it was me.

— It wasn’t you. It was my grandpa and my parents. Fifteen minutes before you got there, my dad broke the news to him.

— They’re not going to take the house?

— No. They’re not going to take the house. And there’s more. There’s been something wrong between my grandpa and my dad for a month. I wish they’d just come out and say what it is.

— Oh, said Pete.

She was quiet for the rest of the drive. They went to the cinema out by the shopping mall and she insisted mildly that she would pay. She bought tickets for The Empire Strikes Back and bought popcorn and soft drinks. They went into the theatre. She allowed him to take her hand and he tried to think nothing of it. Pete lifted her hand to kiss it. After the film started she took her hand back to eat with.

Later, coming out of the theatre, they talked about the movie on their way back to the car.

— Did you want to drive around awhile? said Pete.

— Just drive around?

— Or go somewhere?

— And do what, Pete?

She was looking at him with a touch of amusement. He felt very small.

— I haven’t seen you in a week.

— I should probably go home. My dad will be waiting up.

— Okay.

She watched out the window while he drove. There was a faint reflection of her face in the window-glass. When they got to her house, there were lights in the living room window. She allowed herself to be kissed a little. She touched the swelling over his eye.

— I do not understand boys at all.

— I didn’t think it would be so noticeable.

— It was. But don’t worry about it.

She allowed him to kiss her again, then she said: I should go in now.

— Did I say something wrong? I didn’t go looking for a fight with your friends, if that’s what you thought.

— You didn’t say anything wrong, Pete, and I know you didn’t go looking for a fight. They are not my friends. They’re a bunch of spoiled brats. I can’t wait to be done with them all. Anyway, thanks for taking me out.

She was getting out of the car.

— Well, said Pete, should we plan something?

— It’s a busy few days. I have to play piano at the Christmas Eve service and I haven’t even practised. You heard it when you came in. It sounded horrible.

— It didn’t sound so bad.

— I need to practise more. I have to go …

— Emily, for Chrissake. What’s going on?

She paused with the door open. The cold flowed into the car. She sat back down on the passenger seat. She said: I think tonight wasn’t a good idea but it was too late to take a step back from it. That’s my fault, Pete, and I