Jackie

“What are you doing, Jackie?”

I was completely engrossed in my painting and hadn’t even noticed Charlotte sidling into the little studio I’d set up in the laundry room.

“I’m painting.” Ordinarily, I didn’t work while the kids were around, but with Tristan at soccer camp and Hannah and Charlotte playing a videogame with Noelle supposedly supervising them, I’d snuck away to paint. I still had so much to do for the show.

She did a slow circle of the cramped space. “May I look at them?” She motioned to some finished and half-completed works stacked against the wall.

“Sure.” I took a wide brush and dipped it in a yogurt tub of pale blue paint. I was starting a new canvas and I wanted to put a wash in the background to give it texture and depth. A task like this wouldn’t take too much thought, since Charlotte was bound to have questions.

It had been a week since she’d arrived in Vancouver, and the more I got to know her, the more I enjoyed her quirky ways. She was introverted and very adult in her speech. She was a mini-Leo with her strong opinions of right and wrong. Her shyness hid an iron will, and I was beginning to fear that she was never going to take to Noelle. Noelle was a big Golden Retriever puppy: all emotion and action. She was the perfect babysitter for a bunch of hyperactive kids or outdoor campers. Charlotte was a Siamese indoor cat: full of imagination and sensitivity, and a disdain for Golden Retriever puppies.

“You’re a very good painter,” she declared. “I love the one with Minx in it. Did you do the paintings in my bedroom?”

“I did.” I laughed and confided, “You know, your father still hasn’t realized that.”

She sat cross-legged on the striped mat in front of the dryer. “That’s because he’s colour blind. Did you know that?”

“Yes. It’s so sad to me. I don’t think I could live without seeing all the beautiful colours.”

“Papa says you can’t miss what you don’t know,” she answered. “But I agree with you.”

I continued to brush on the blue paint in textured criss-crosses, and Charlotte watched me. She was capable of being quiet for long periods of time, unlike Tristan and Hannah.

“Would you like to paint?” I asked her.

Charlotte nodded. From my ragbag, I dug out an oversized logo t-shirt of Brent’s and put it over her beautiful t-shirt and capri set. Charlotte’s stylish, expensive clothes seemed impractical to me. And Sophie would also have been horrified to see Charlotte’s messy pigtails, but neither Leo nor Noelle knew a braid from their butts.

I placed a good-sized sheet of paper on the table and taped down the edges. Then I filled a few small plastic containers with diluted paint and put an old brush in each one.

“If you keep the same brush in the same paint, the colours will stay bright and clean.”

“What should I paint?” she asked.

“Just take your brushes for a walk on the paper. Make marks and don’t worry if they look like anything or not. Choose the colours you like and relax.”

Charlotte carefully took out the purple paintbrush. For a time, we both painted side-by-side, each in our own heads. I had a lot of big decisions to make, and they were marinating in the back of my mind. Everything was physically in order for the move now, except for the big question: where were we moving to?

Sharon was excited about the idea of our buying a house together and fixing it up. I’d gone to see the East Van rental she’d found, and it was nice. But I still wasn’t sure about leaving West Van. Even after Hannah and Tristan both declared they didn’t care where we lived, I worried about how they would react to a new neighbourhood and new friends. I had tried so hard to keep their lives the same, but change was unavoidable. Brent and I were both dating, and now their home was gone. Uncertainty was probably worse than moving. But I couldn’t make up my mind.

My thoughts were interrupted by the clattering of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Noelle burst into the room. “I am so sorry, Jackie. Hannah and I were playing DDR and Charlotte’s so quiet, I didn’t even notice she had disappeared. Is she bothering you?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened and her expression communicated don’t-make-me-leave.

“It’s okay, Noelle. Maybe I could ask you to start the dinner? There are potatoes on the counter that need to be peeled and soaked.”

Noelle nodded. “Sure, no problem. I’ll set the table too.”

After she left, Charlotte released a sigh of relief. Clearly, the little girl made character judgements and didn’t back away from them. Apparently, Noelle had failed, but I had passed.

I looked over at Charlotte’s painting. She had covered the bottom half of the paper with crazy squiggles, so I encouraged her to cover the whole paper. Otherwise, I didn’t make any comments. Too often, kids got praised for making work that looked like something. Art was a fun journey when you didn’t worry about the final product. Making something was its own pleasure. I continued to paint and so did Charlotte. After she had covered most of the paper, I dug out a box of pastels and handed it to her.

“You can draw with these on top of the dry paint, that way you can still see what you did before.”

“I like doing this,” Charlotte said. “But I don’t like art class.”

“Art can be a meditation,” I said. “Do you know what that is?”

She nodded. “People do it when they do yoga.”

“That’s right. For me, painting is like that. I paint and try not to worry about what it will look like. It’s a flow state where I lose track of time and all my worries. That’s why I love painting.”

It felt funny to be telling this tiny girl something I’d never articulated before. But Charlotte was nodding as if she understood perfectly.

“Sometimes my tummy gets pains when I have too many worries. But when I read a book, it takes me away like that.”

We exchanged smiles and then kept painting. I couldn’t really get into my flow state with all the kids around, but I was getting things done. I checked my watch. Tristan would be home soon.

“Do you want to stay here?” I asked Charlotte, and she nodded. I dug into a drawer and pulled out a blank sketchbook. “Here, you can have this. The pages aren’t thick enough for paint, but you can use pencils, pastels, and markers in it. Are you finished with the paints now?”

She nodded, so I took the tray of paints to the sink and put lids on them. Then I began washing her brushes and mine. Charlotte came and stood beside me.

“Can I help?”

“Sure.” I handed her a brush. “It’s important to rinse these really well. Open the bristles and get all the paint out. Otherwise, the brushes will be wrecked.”

She tried hard to copy exactly what I was doing. Although Hannah and Tristan both loved doing craft projects, neither of them enjoyed drawing or painting. So it felt nice to have someone to pass on my silly tips to.

I heard the front door open and the sound of the boys. I dumped the unwashed brushes into a jar of water. “Be right back.”

Tristan and Wyatt were already in the family room arguing with Hannah over control of the gaming system. Wendy was hovering in the doorway.

“Thank you so much for bringing the boys home.” We had an agreement: I drove them to soccer camp in the morning which let Wendy sleep in a little longer.

“Not a problem. By the way, I saw that there’s a house for rent only three blocks from here. I got you all the info.” She passed me a folded piece of paper. I thanked her, and we talked a little bit about the move.

She sighed loudly. “I’m going to miss you so much. And Wyatt will be going absolutely bananas. Do you know anything about the new family yet?”

“I know they have kids, but I don’t know the ages.”

Just then, Charlotte appeared in the hallway.

“Who is this lovely girl?” Wendy cooed. Of course, she approved of Charlotte’s chic designer clothes and pretty looks.

“This is Charlotte Gauthier. Wendy Harris,” I added as an awkward introduction.

“Hello. Nice to meet you,” Charlotte said politely. Then she turned to me, “I finished washing all the brushes for you.”

“Thank you very much.” She went off to witness the arguing in the family room.

“Gauthier? So, she’s the coach’s daughter?”

“Yes.” I girded myself for the inquisition I knew was coming.

“Be careful, Jackie. You shouldn’t let a man use you like that.”

“Use me? For what?”

“As a babysitter. Maybe that’s why he wanted to go out with you, because you’re a mom.”

I bit back my anger. “Wendy, that’s ridiculous. Leo has a paid babysitter, she’s here too. Nobody dates a woman for daycare purposes.”

She rolled her eyes at my naiveté. “Oh really? Single mothers aren’t exactly an eligible man’s first choice for girlfriends. And haven’t you heard about those perverts who date women to get at their daughters?”

“Um, Wendy, calm down.” This was so ridiculous that I was beyond anger now and tempted to laugh. Yet I couldn’t ignore the underlying insult: nobody would want to date me without a hidden agenda.

And then the man himself walked in.

“Hey, Jackie. I got off early.” Leo leaned in and did the double-cheek kissing thing, which I had finally mastered: right cheek first. With Charlotte here we’d fallen into an oddly domestic arrangement. Noelle brought Charlotte here each morning and left once Leo arrived. Then he stayed for dinner, and we did things with the kids afterwards.

Wendy’s eyes were practically popping out of her head. Admittedly, Leo did look hot. He filled out business casual khakis with his strong thighs and muscular butt. And the sight of his broad chest in a polo shirt was raising the summer temperature in the hallway. Wendy made an unconscious fanning motion.

“Uh, Wendy Harris. Leo Gauthier,” I said.

“Hello, Leo,” Wendy said. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard all about you from Jackie, of course.”

More like she’d pried information from my son and then tried to confirm it with me. Leo greeted her politely and listened to her long explanation of how her husband’s company had done up his apartment. And how Wayne had given me the job even though I had zero experience.

“Ahhh, then I have you to thank for meeting Jackie,” Leo said. Which was only the perfect response. “And she did a wonderful job, so your husband can recognize talent.”

That personal compliment made Wendy flush. “Well, I have to go now. You two enjoy yourself. It’s very cozy here. Like you’re one big happy family.”

I fought the urge to harm Wendy slowly and messily on her beloved beige Persian rug. While the situation looked domestic, it wasn’t really. I regularly reminded myself what Leo had said: he wasn’t the type to get serious and settle down.

Thankfully, Wendy left. Leo went off to find Charlotte. And I went to finish cooking.

At dinner, Leo always sat in Brent’s chair, which felt weird. But Charlotte filled in any conversational gaps.

“Did you know that Hannah taught Minx a trick, Papa?”

“What trick is that, Hannah?” he asked.

“Oh, I can get her to stand on her hind legs to get a treat.”

“It’s stupendous,” Charlotte said. Leo and I smiled at each other across the table. “Can we get a cat too?”

“I told you, I can’t take care of a cat during the hockey season, I’m away too much.”

Charlotte looked up at me from under her blonde bangs, no doubt hoping that I would jump in and offer to feed any and all felines Leo owned. But it was really up to him. He wasn’t a pet kind of guy. Besides, I didn’t even know exactly where I’d be living next.

A sad silence followed. Then Hannah’s face lit up. “Oh, you know what you could do? You could foster a cat. They have cats that need extra care before they can be adopted. You could get a cat for the summer and look after it.”

“Oh, wow!” Again this adoring look came over Charlotte’s face, and Hannah beamed. My daughter thrived under all this admiration. “That is the best idea ever. Can we do that, Papa?”

Leo’s forehead creased. “I don’t know. You’re spending a lot of time here, are you ready to stay home now?”

Charlotte squinted, clearly trying to figure out which option would give her a better chance to get a cat.

“We could just go and have a look,” Hannah suggested. She was a devil in patterned leggings. Charlotte and Leo would never leave a shelter without a cat. “My friend’s mom is a volunteer at this place in Vancouver. We could all go.”

“Hannah, please. Don’t pressure Leo. A cat is a lot of responsibility.”

Unfortunately Minx was visible on the living room couch. She was lying on her back with four paws in the air and looked like as much responsibility as a cushion.

“Please, Papa. We could just look.” Charlotte had turned up her full adorableness, her eyes were wide and liquid and her voice was sugar-sweet. Tristan was a ninja master of pleading, but he had nothing on her.

The normally calm, cool Leo seemed to be breaking. There was a brief silence before he caved completely.

“Okay, we can take a look. But that doesn’t mean we’re getting a cat.”

Ha. Famous last words.