Algoma by Dani Couture Read Free Book Online Page A

in front of his chest like a begging dog. “The good one?”
    “I don’t think so.” Algoma drained her cup and tossed it into the garbage can beside the table.
    “Three points,” Gaetan cheered. “The lady is a champ.”
    “Stop it,” she said, but she was smiling again.
    Gaetan saw the opportunity and slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her. It had been so long since they’d kissed that her lips felt foreign to him, but good. Encouraged, he pulled her closer.
    Self-conscious, Algoma laughed and pushed him away and slapped his chest. “Enough!”
    Ferd tugged on his mother’s jacket. “Doughnuts?”
    Gaetan poured himself another cup of punch and raised it in the air. “One for the road!”
    Arms laden down with bags of bread, cheese, meat, and winter squash, Ferd, Gaetan, and Algoma stood in front of their favourite bakery stand, the highlight of every visit. Under the home-made Plexiglass cover were an assortment of cakes, pies, and pastries. The doughnuts were kept on a painted wood shelf behind Mrs. Walschots. She was a Dutch immigrant who’d married a local man and moved to town thirty years ago. People in town still referred to her as “new.”
    “Three dozen doughnuts,” Ferd said, as politely as he could muster. “Please.”
    “He means we’ll take a dozen,” Algoma corrected, and handed over a five-dollar bill.
    Mrs. Walschots took the money and tucked it into her apron. “What kind, Leo? Sugar or maple?”
    “Ferd. It’s Ferd,” Algoma said, too quickly.
    Gaetan looked at the floor.
    “Oh, yes, yes,” Mrs. Walschots said, her face reddening. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me add an extra maple one. For Ferd.”
    By the time Gaetan pulled the car into the driveway, the plastic bag the doughnuts had come in was empty. Ferd’s hand prints were fossilized onto the back window, ice-hard syrupy prints that Gaetan would promise to wash off for weeks.
    Algoma threaded the grocery bags onto her arms and walked toward the house, the bags scraping against the bricks. She thought about the market. It was the most time the three of them had spent together in months. Gaetan ran up from behind her and opened the door. “Madam,” he said, and gave her a dramatic bow.
    Algoma nodded and walked inside, not stopping to take off her boots before putting the groceries in the kitchen. Ferd ran inside after her, and, to Algoma’s surprise, he started to put the groceries away, a job he normally shirked. He avoided housework whenever he could, so when he put the squash in the fridge, she did not correct him.
    After a dinner of roasted chicken, potatoes, and salad, Gaetan sat down on the couch and wrote in his weather journal, the television on in the background. Algoma cleared the rest of the plates and wiped down the table. Instead of doing the dishes, she sat down beside her husband and put her head on his shoulder. Gaetan switched the channel to her favourite show.
    “Going downstairs,” Ferd said, stomping down the stairs to his black-and-white twelve-inch television. A find from The Shop, the second-hand store where Algoma worked. “Goodnight.”
    Algoma and Gaetan said goodnight back.
    Gaetan muted the television.
    Algoma stretched her legs out on the coffee table, her hand now resting on his thigh.
    Gaetan switched off the television, looked at Algoma, got up, and went into his bedroom.
    Algoma followed.
    ______________
    6:58 p.m. -17°C. Wind NW, strong.
Frost spreading like road maps across the window.
    The cement floor in the back room of The Shop where Algoma sat was cold and uncomfortable. She was surrounded by a circle of plastic laundry baskets that were bowed with age and use, clothes spilling out where the faux weave was broken in places. The five baskets behind her were full of unsorted newly donated clothing; the five baskets in front of her empty and neatly labelled: women’s pants, men’s pants, women’s tops, men’s tops, and children’s clothes. Her lap held a treasure