The Second Part of Chapter 27: New Light

On May first, Christine and her now-fiancé, Zachary, organised a community garage sale, which was advertised as a way for various households to get rid of unwanted stuff. Zachary, an accountant, was keeping careful records of exactly who had contributed what, the price on the item, and the price it had been sold for; it was a very careful and detailed operation, considering that at least fifteen households had contributed clothing, old furniture, a few books, assorted knick-knacks, and various other pieces of junk.

Laura watched Clarissa as she solemnly laid the baby slippers on the table. “I won’t need these,” said she.

“Why not? Surely you can try again,” said Laura.

“Not for awhile; everything seems…to have fallen apart.”

Laura watched a single tear trickle down Clarissa’s cheek.

“Please, Clarissa, don’t say these things. How about we go out to see a comedy show, or a play?”

Clarissa responded, stammering. “Maybe.”

“I hear there’s a show on next week. Heck, I need an excuse to dress up. So do you.”

“Mmm.”

“I’ve seen you slowly degenerate. You looked positively glowing at the wedding, but after he died, it seemed to have fallen apart”

“Well, of course. What did I do to deserve it?”

“Nothing, same as anyone.”

“I met a guy last night. He seems nice,”

Eunice, who was getting rid of an old coffeemaker, interjected, “At a bar, you mean?”

“Yes, at a bar. It was a rather pleasant night, and we talked about all sorts of things: interest rates, our credit ratings, the Bank of Canada’s monetary policy, and of course, Employment Insurance, not to mention trade negotiations.”

“Sounds like a fascinating conversation,” said Eunice, who could have thought of a number of more interesting things to talk about.

“Then we got right down to business, if you know what I mean.” Clarissa then gestured to the baby slippers, which were of blue wool, and had a decorative ribbon.

“I hope these baby slippers have a happier life. They will be 50 cents. Say, do you know what happened to Belinda? I don’t know anything, and I’ve just been telling people stories; I told your mother something made-up, I can’t remember what it was,”

“I hope they’re nice stories, but no, I don’t know, I can’t help you,” said Laura.

Laura wondered why Clarissa would be getting rid of the baby slippers. Had she given up on having kids? They were decent slippers, and could be for either a boy or a girl; they were sufficiently unisexual.

Eunice told Clarissa about Belinda, and then asked, “Are you planning on trying to have children again? I hear there’s someone you met at a bar; are there any prospects there?”

“I’m hopeful, but I think that getting rid of these slippers would help me to get over the whole experience of losing the baby. I really need to move on; I have had too much death over the past year.”

“I understand,” said Eunice. She saw that Clarissa had also chosen to get rid of a number of picture frames. Some were small, while others were larger and ornate, the largest being the size of David’s flat-screen LCD television, which gave his living room the air of a theatre; she counted twelve frames in all.

Ten minutes later, a couple named Carolyn and Thomas picked the baby slippers up. Thomas had just moved from Toronto, where he had been fired from his job at CityTV, and was looking to start over with his wife.

“How I wish that were me,” Said Clarissa, motioning to the couple.

Eunice said, “I hope it will be, some day.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much trouble for you; you cared for me so much, even in my darkest days. Well, thank you, Eunice,”

“Don’t mention it; I just didn’t want to see a friend sad.”

“How are you doing otherwise?” It was a general question, but Eunice knew she meant her pregnancy.

“I’m due in July; we’re planning a baby shower in June. There’ll be cake, lots of food, and I’m inviting all sorts of people and family. You’re invited too, if you want to come,”

“Sure,”

Clarissa walked home, and Christine watched her. She then turned her attention to a seven-year old interested in a book.

“You’re interested in the Hardy Boys? It’s a very good series.”

“Yes ma’am. I’d like it. Here’s 50 cents.”

“Thank you,”

There was suddenly a loud crash, and then the sound of screaming was audible. Eunice dropped the book she was handling (a well-thumbed copy of Morley Callaghan’s Our Lady of the Snows), and almost instinctively ran to the edge of the driveway, where she looked down the street. Her eyes widened in shock when the scene confronted her. Clarissa was lying on her side in the middle of the road, with her legs at an awkward angle. She looked around, and was able to see a van with a cracked windshield speeding down the road.

“Clarissa!” screamed Eunice.

Laura’s hand went immediately to her cell phone and she dialled 9-1-1. What monster could have done this? She thought, in fear of Clarissa’s life. She swiftly looked down the street, and saw a blue car with a cracked windshield. Everything was happening so quickly; the emergency respondent at the other end of the line was talking to her, and she saw the monster in the car quickly speeding away, too fast for her to read the license plate. This is an injustice, she thought.

“Ma’am this may be an injustice, but please calm down.”

“Sorry. Some man in a blue car drove into my friend, Clarissa.”

“Did you get a license plate?”

“No. He drove away. Look for a blue car with a cracked windshield.”

“And Clarissa?”

“Clarissa seems to have a broken arm, at least, and she’s bleeding from her mouth.”

“There will be an ambulance over right away,”

“Thank you very much.”


Henry was talking on his cell phone:

“Well, could you email me those files?” he asked Cora, with whom he was working on a project.

Then it happened. She hit the windshield. She was a tall, pretty woman, crossing the street, and it seemed to Henry, as she screamed, to be three months pregnant. She slid off the windshield and left a large crack. Henry thought in horror, what will happen to me? He swore.

“Henry?” Cora’s voice sounded scratchy on the phone.

“Did something happen?”

“It’s… nothing,”

“Really?”

In a panic, Henry ended the call and turned off the phone. Surely I will be charged with careless driving. I might go to jail. He stepped on the gas, and drove in an effort to get away from the scene and dissociate himself from his deeds.


Cora thought that it seemed rather strange; he does not normally act that way. He’s usually much more focussed; he normally knows what he’s doing when he’s being unreasonable; his voice sounded positively strained. With these thoughts, Cora picked up the phone, and called Henry back.

“Henry, are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Yes, I’m sure,”

“You don’t sound so good.”

“Listen, could you call me back? I’m driving right now.”

“Sure. And get some sleep, you put in far too much time last night.”

“Goodbye,”

Well, that’s that, thought Cora. Or is it? She thought something was up. His voice simply sounded too strained for something not to be up; what if he did something on the road? Should I call someone?

Not wanting to be bothered further with these troublesome thoughts, she turned back to her work. She would surely find out soon enough about Henry.

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