Beginnings: The Bonnard Family Series, #2

By Gwen Enquist

Following the suspense of Phone Calls After, Beginnings continues the Bonnard family story a year after Mathew’s tragic death.
Anna, recovering from grief and still holding secrets about Mathew, wonders if her friendship with Jim can survive the honesty that love demands.
Mitch’s domestic life crashes when a medical crisis overwhelms him and leads him on a path of self-destruction.
Fifteen-year-old Lauren, aching with an adolescent crush, struggles with problems of the adult world.
Sylvie strains her marriage when she fosters a traumatized homeless child found with his gravely ill mother in the kennel at Lauren’s house.
Marta, thriving in her business venture, faces a catastrophic event which threatens ruin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gwen Enquist
• Release date: Sep 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9780978352110

Gwen Enquist

Gwen Enquist discovered the fun and satisfaction of writing fiction in retirement. Enquist holds a Bachelor's degree in Nursing and a Masters' in Adult Education and has drawn on her 35-years of nursing experience to create believable characters who could be your relatives, your neighbours or yourself. She lives on Canada's west coast.

Book preview

Chapter 1

GEORGIE

C’mon, Connor. The dog won’t hurt you. Georgie Burnett crouched in the dog kennel, not yet standing after entering through the guillotine door. The area was high enough that she could straighten her body to its five-foot four-inch height. She motioned her young son forward. Not wanting to either scare the dog or alert the homeowners to her presence, she spoke softly. She stood firmly on the rubber-matted floor, stamped the snow from her shoes and motioned Connor to her.

See. She knows us now. Last night was fine and tonight will be too. Georgie projected a confidence she wasn’t feeling. Sleeping in a dog kennel belonging to who-knows-who wasn’t the most secure thing she could do. But, nothing was secure in her life. The shelters being full, it was either the kennel, a recessed doorway or a park bench. And it was hard to hide from authorities in the park. Too many people might see her with a child and decide that Family Service workers should be called. She knew about social workers and how they took your children and put them in foster homes no better than the cruel homes they had come from. She couldn’t trust anyone. And the kennel was warm. This was the way to go.

The dog stood at the intrusion of these strangers, ears up and alert, but less nervous this second night in her space. She wagged her tail and Georgie reached out a thinly-gloved hand to test her friendliness. Georgie knew they were lucky to have found this shelter with a dog that accepted them. The kennel butted up against the house, a back yard full of snow on the opposite side. The kennel was heated through a venting system. They’d be warm, again, tonight.

Luck had been on their side when they’d stumbled onto the dog kennel. They’d walked along the street behind a teenage girl who was exercising her dog. The pony-tailed girl talked to the dog about getting back to the warmth of the kennel. After several nights on a bench in the park, Georgie tuned in to the girl and listened carefully. She stopped just short of her at the end of a driveway. After that it was easy. Warmth! Wonderful warmth could be hers. She’d be back.

Look, Connor, she’s happy to see us, Georgie whispered. She coaxed her son forward with her hand. What do you think her name is? she asked.

Connor hung back with four-year-old timidity and let his mother make friends with the large dog. He retreated to sit in the corner away from them both.

I think it’s a collie. That’s what they call this kind of dog. Like Lassie. You don’t know Lassie do you? That was a dog story when I was little. Connor hugged the corner. I know─let’s call her Goldie. She’s such a pretty colour. Georgie petted the dog down its back and ‘Goldie’ responded with tail wagging. You’ll let us stay here, won’t you girl? Georgie crooned in an effort to soothe Connor along with the dog.

Georgie sat cross-legged on the mat and continued to speak quietly as she stroked the dog’s soft coat.

Connor hung back to the edge of the kennel, not fully trusting the dog. He jammed his hands into his underarms. I don’t want to be here. His mouth turned down in petulance. Why do we have to sleep here?

Shuush. We have to talk quietly. We don’t want anybody to hear us here. I’m hungry, Connor said from the corner.

Georgie opened the carry-all bag by her side and took out bread and peanut butter. A plastic knife served as a spreader. She handed Connor the bread and he ate it hungrily.

We have to save the rest for breakfast, Georgie said. She took a light blanket from her over-stuffed bag. Here. Wrap up in this. Try to get some sleep. Georgie moved to Connor and ran her hand over his hair, tender and with an attempt at soothing. She let her fingers stroke the hollow of his neck. Connor wound the blanket around himself; his jacket was bulky and he looked like he was in a cocoon. Georgie smiled at the thought. He closed his eyes. Georgie moved closer to the heat vent and caught some warm air.

The kennel was roomy, at least six feet by eight. Tall, too, she guessed, to make it easy for owners to look after the dog. Her mind stayed on the owners for a while. She didn’t know how they would react to her sleeping there if they ever caught her─angry, no doubt. They wouldn’t call the police, she thought. It doesn’t warrant that. Anyway, she’d do this as long as she could until the weather changed to the warmth of spring.

Today had been the best of the last four days. She’d learned about the soup kitchens in the downtown area, and there was a free dinner at a shelter close to the train station. More soup, but that didn’t matter when you were trying to make the welfare cheque stretch. She didn’t know when she would get another one. She had to find a place to live first, some address she could afford. But, without damage deposit money she didn’t think that was going to happen very soon.

The most important thing was to look after Connor. Keep him warm and fed, healthy while they were living rough. They’d sunk about as far down as a person could go. She looked around the kennel, board siding, chain link frontage. And the guillotine door that was left unlatched. She said a prayerful thank you to whoever had over-looked that lock.

Georgie pulled her light jacket and sweatshirt tightly over her thin frame. She found cigarettes in the pocket and lit up, dragging deeply, like she was sucking oxygen. She pulled her touque down over her ears, her straight hair draping over her shoulders. She caught cigarette ash in her hand and rocked herself into a semblance of peace. She was hungry, too, but she could wait it out. She groaned almost silently. She felt her eyes getting heavy and poked the cigarette through the fencing and into the snow. She pinched off the glowing tip and pocketed the ash and butt. She reached for Connor and pulled him into a close hug under the heat vent. If she slept soon, she’d waken before the homeowners discovered them in the morning. Her eyes closed and she fell into a light and troubled sleep.

ANNA

Anna Bonnard walked around the ER treatment room picking up the waste paper left from the dressing to the woman with the scalding injury. In Anna’s RN career she’d seen lots of burns, all very painful. The burns to the woman’s lower leg and foot were largely second degree with small patches of blistering and the woman felt lucky to be limping out of the ER with crutches. She’d been saved by the ice packs she’d applied to the injury before she came in for help.

It had been a busy twelve-hour shift and would soon be over. Anna was glad she had chosen to work it instead of staying home mourning this first anniversary of Mathew’s death. Activity was always better than sitting around dwelling on her misery. She’d done enough of that over the last year. She’d go home from the hospital and pour a glass of wine and call somebody and talk─her sister, Sylvie, probably. Sylvie understood grieving, knew how Anna had overcome a year of grief and exhaustion. Anna bet she was even waiting for her call. She checked her watch just as the next shift of nurses started arriving.

As she exited the ER and walked towards her car in the parking lot, a voice called out.

Hey, Anna, She turned and saw that Jim McKenzie had just parked his truck and waved at her. He was out of his RCMP uniform so it was strange to see him at the ER.

Is everything alright? she asked. You’re not working …. She motioned to his civvies. The nurses called him Sweet Jim for the sandy curls around a round and gentle face. His tall, lanky body shouted marathoner, not yet a fact but a possibility.

Everything’s fine, he said. I … wanted to see you. I know what day it is and thought I’d say … I don’t know exactly what, except that it has to be a rough day for you, he finished.

Anna swallowed. Jim remembered. Sweet Jim. He had been the RCMP officer at the scene of Mathew’s accident and had stayed with her at home the rest of that horrendous night. They’d become friends since then, family almost, with Anna’s brother-in-law, Mitch Bonnard, now living with Jim’s sister, Trish.

Do you want any company or am I intruding?

Anna smiled. You know─company would be very nice, she said.

Do you want to go for a drink somewhere or just go home?

Let’s go to my house. I’ve got wine and lasagna. How does that sound?

You don’t have to say it twice. I’ll follow you.

The drive to Anna’s house took fifteen minutes. Traffic was light in the residential area. They soon pulled into the darkness of the driveway on Camellia Court with Jim’s Chevy truck just behind Anna’s red Focus. Light sensors triggered as they approached the front door. Anna flicked on interior lights and moved towards the kitchen. It was a comfortable house, two-story design with large rooms decorated with objets d’art from Anna and Mathew’s many trips abroad. The kitchen was pure Anna and radiated the comfort and warmth of wood and French toile.

Jim had become familiar with the house over the last year and hung his jacket in the closet. Anna took a baking dish of lasagna from the fridge and put it in the oven. She handed Jim the bottle of wine to open while she changed out of her scrubs and into jeans and a T-shirt which rested easily on her compact frame.

Anna set out dishes while Jim stacked newspapers that were littered on the table. Each of them moved with an ease usually seen only with couples. They had never been a couple, their friendship being mostly professional but venturing into the personal this last year. Now, they exercised together at the rec centre track. Last summer they had run on well-travelled bush trails often finishing with a shared lunch at a café.

Anna and Jim’s friendship rested easily on Anna whose year of grieving kept the more tender emotions in check. Jim had become a good friend and Anna was content to keep it that way.

They had just settled at the table when the phone rang. Anna knew it would be Sylvie. Sylvie wouldn’t forget this date.

Hi, Sylvie, she said.

"Hi, Anna. I knew you were working today so that’s why the late call.

Not too late. I’m just eating and Jim’s here, too.

Oh. Oh, good. It’s best that you’re not alone. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I can’t believe it’s been a year.

I can’t either. Time moves faster than you think.

You’re quite a different person than a year ago. Remember how you couldn’t work, spent a lot of time weeping and unwashed? I think Mathew would be proud.

Yeah, likely he would. Anna became thoughtful for a moment. She looked at Jim sitting there, not wanting to intrude on her conversation. She’d talk to Sylvie later.

Sylvie, can I call you back in a while. Are you home for the evening?

Yeah, sure. Go back to dinner. Talk to you later.

Sorry about that. She gestured for him to take more lasagna. Sylvie wouldn’t miss calling today. She’s a good sister.

You’re lucky to have her here. I’m thrilled that Trish settled here with Mitch.

They’re doing alright, aren’t they? That motorcycle repair business of Mitch’s was needed around here. They do seem settled don’t they? You must have had misgivings at first, Anna said. Mitch never did present as the stable-family type.

Maybe not, but he’s shown good sense and has been wonderful to Trish.

They fell silent, each aware of the other. The silence lengthened into an uncomfortable void unusual for their relationship. Anna was remembering the hours she had spent in this kitchen with Mathew, how lonely some of her time was now and how nice to have Jim sitting there.

Do you want to talk about the 900-pound gorilla in the room? Jim asked.

What …?

Mathew. The accident. We’re both avoiding it. Maybe we shouldn’t, Jim said. He shrugged his shoulders. It’s up to you.

Anna sat thoughtfully a moment. I guess I don’t want to talk about it ‘cause what I feel is relief.

Jim raised his eyebrows.

Yeah. I’ve made it through a year. I’m back working. I’ve had some fun. I guess I’m surviving.

And you feel relief?

Yeah. People have these artificial time-lines for recovery. You know─be this way at a year; it’ll be two years before you feel that, and so on.

Is that good or not?

For me I guess it’s good. I’m feeling relieved that I’m making progress like I’m supposed to.

Any guilt in there? Jim asked tentatively.

Anna opened her mouth and closed it again. Yeah, maybe that’s why I’m not sure about where I am. I don’t want to acknowledge the guilt of feeling relief.

Well, if the calendar of feelings is valid, guilt must be in there somewhere. Isn’t it always with survivors? What you could have done, should have done, known about …. He moved his hand expansively.

Anna thought about the guilt floating around inside her. Nobody else knew its source and Anna wondered many times if it was justified. She’d kept so many secrets from Mathew’s family, secrets about his death─how he died and why. She had convinced herself she was comfortable with it all, that it would do no good to suggest to the family that Mathew’s death was no accident that he’d caused the car crash and, furthermore, she thought she knew why. There was pancreatic cancer found on autopsy. It had been almost a year since she’d pieced together the disparate facts surrounding the accident and had come to her own conclusions. But, the guilt was heavy on her and she sometimes wobbled under its weight, but not tonight. Tonight was for reflection on the good times, good memories that honoured her life with Mathew.

You’re so right. Anna raised her glass of wine in a salute. Here’s to healthy guilt, she said. May it tread lightly on our psyches.

MITCH

Mitch Bonnard, brown ponytail tied back with elastic in true cook-fashion, chopped garlic in his galley kitchen. The small rental house didn’t supply all the kitchen comforts for gourmet cooking. But, then he wasn’t expert at it─yet. Trish was the great cook and he was learning and loving it. Some day they’d have bigger, better stuff. But, not now while his motorcycle repair business was just getting off the ground.

As he chopped garlic and parley, basil and oregano─never use dried when you can use fresh─it occurred to him that the aroma of herbs defined his new life. It was real and tangible, just like his love for Trish. He felt like he could put his hands around it and hold it tight.

Setting aside the mixture of herbs and tomato sauce, he took chicken breasts from the fridge and pounded them with a mallet into cutlets. He coated the cutlets in flour followed by an egg wash then dredged them in bread crumbs and parmesan cheese and finished by frying them lightly in extra virgin olive oil until they were golden. He layered tomato sauce and chicken in a baking dish and finished with shredded mozzarella cheese. Done. A thing of beauty, if he did say so himself. He put the casserole in the oven. Thank you, Trish, for saving me from a life of peanut butter sandwiches.

Trish came through the back door in a rush, brushing snow from her boots and dropping packages on the hallway floor. Her long black braid sparkled with snow flakes.

Hi, babe. Sorry to be so late. They keep booking extra appointments on Friday. Trish’s job with a private physiotherapy clinic often kept her late.

Guess they need to work everybody in. Mitch crossed to her and took her in his arms. He hugged and kissed her and playfully ran his hands over her backside.

Trish nuzzled his neck. Mmmm, she said, but later, babe. She smiled. Something smells awfully good.

Aren’t you glad you’re teaching me to cook? It could have been canned beans and wieners. Trish’s cook books were one of the important things she had added to Mitch’s house when she moved in last summer. A small bookcase had pride of place in the kitchen.

Trish opened the oven door and inhaled.