The rain came down against the skylight, percussion to background her typing in the next room. She looked out the window and beheld the lake, some whitecaps to be seen way out in the distance. Ellen was nicely clad in tan-coloured wool pants and a long black cashmere sweater that had been her mother’s. Her dark brown hair was curly and drawn back from her face with a colourful scrunchie.
It was a grey, early fall day, another in a series of disappointments. Covid was brutal. Everything and everyone turned inwards with little possibility of social engagement. Ellen realized she was slipping into a depression, a boring and sometimes scary place to be. Alone, again – no - still -- she continued writing.
It was her only respite from the hard grinding news of ICU bed shortages and rising case numbers. Occasionally while writing, she felt transported away by the rhythm of the words at her fingertips. Stories with an arc of possibility, so different from the actual daily drudgery. Characters who felt deeply, were not depressed, and experienced the transformative power of good story-telling.
When she trundled back to the kitchen to prepare supper, she heard a knock at the door.
She left the latch on and opened the door a little, just enough to see her younger brother Lenny standing there. He looked dishevelled and, possibly, drunk.
She rarely saw him although they lived in the same city. He only came by when he needed something. That something was usually money.
“Oh, hi Lenny, What’s up?”
“Hey Sis. Are you going to let me in?”
“Okay, I just finished work and haven’t had dinner yet though.”
“Me neither. Good timing.”
She sighed as she headed back to the kitchen. She was not comfortable having him in the house. Their interactions the last few years have never ended positively. She would say no to his schemes and he would get angry and storm out.
When they were younger, they had been close. They had formed a kind of bulwark against their parents, who tended to be argumentative and demanding. In more recent times, that bond had been eroded by Lenny’s odd behaviour. It didn’t fit with her more orderly life.
He sat down at the kitchen table while she put together a light supper, spinach tortellini pasta with pesto sauce and a green salad. Lenny sniffed the air appreciatively and looked pleased at the prospect of a home-cooked meal.
“Where have you been lately?” she asked him.
“Well, I’ve been trying to get my money back from that bitch Monica.”
“What? You haven’t seen her for twenty years!”
“I went to her house to get the $400 she owes me, from the abortion, remember?” he said. “Her husband was going to pay me but then he didn’t.”
“Oh Lenny. You’ve got to get past all that. It’s so long ago and she doesn’t owe you anything. You got her pregnant, she didn’t do it herself. And you were in no shape to become a father.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I missed out big time on being a dad and I’ve never had a chance since.”
“That’s not her fault. Leave her alone, you hear?”
“Well, I left the town where she lives and I may not go back.”
“Good. There’s nothing there for you.”
Ellen served the supper and poured a glass of water for each of them.
“Don’t you have anything stronger?” Lenny asked.
“No, and you don’t look like you need any more to drink,” she said. “Besides, you really should start to take better care of yourself.”
Lenny didn’t say anything, but he tucked into his meal with gusto.
They ate in silence. Ellen continued to feel ill at ease. When Lenny finished his pasta, he said,
“I need $400 to pay my rent.”
She finished her meal and took the dishes to the sink. She didn’t want to just give him money. She wanted him to earn it.
She turned to him: “you could do some yard work for me,”
“And you would pay me?”
“Yes, that and some repairs around the house.”
“Okay,” he said and smiled for the first time. “I knew I could count on you Sis.”
“Fine,” she said. “Now it’s time for you to go. Come back tomorrow and I’ll show you what needs doing. You can start with the leaves.”
“All right. Tomorrow around 10.”
“Fine.”
*
Next morning, Ellen wondered if Lenny would show up. She made coffee and got down to work at her desk. It was early, just seven o’clock. She managed to accomplish a great deal of editing before the doorbell rang just after ten o’clock.
When she saw that Lenny was even wearing work boots, she thought, maybe this will turn out all right
“So, you ready to tackle the leaves?” she asked.
“Yup. Ready to go.”
They walked out to the garage and Lenny took out the rake and a couple of the paper bags for the leaves. She was relieved to have someone else do this work. Ellen went back inside to work for another hour before her walk down by the lake and lunch.
She filed away her drafts and went downstairs to get her coat. She put on her walking shoes, the brown ones with purple laces, perfect for the boardwalk. As she pulled on her old navy pea jacket, Ellen could see Lenny at work on the leaves at the side of the house. She figured it would be okay to leave for about an hour. She waved goodbye to him as she walked down the driveway.
The lake was only ten minutes away, on foot. Ellen soon arrived at the boardwalk and headed toward Woodbine beach. The lake was calm, sun glistening on the water. She could see some ducks in the distance and birds were singing overhead. She came upon the canteen and decided to pick up a cup of tea. As she continued her walk, she saw a mother fox with three kits. The city had built protection around their den so that dogs and people could not harm them. They were a beautiful sight – their copper-coloured fur shone in the sun as they frolicked.
Her mood was picking up, feeling nature close at hand seemed to help. She greeted a few people she recognized, one of them being the woman who changed her parka every day for one of a different colour. She had grey hair, always walking her small dog. And then there was the Canadian actor, she didn’t remember his name, who walked his two pugs the length of the boardwalk every day. Sometimes he said hello and other times he was caught up in conversation on his phone. She always nodded politely.
While this wasn’t exactly scintillating social interaction, it made her feel less alone to be out in the community. She saw some familiar faces, typical Beach residents, always sashaying about on Queen Street, coffee cups in hand. She wondered if they – or anyone else – thought of her in this way, remembered seeing her walking along the sidewalk and wondered about her life.
And that is how she passed the next hour. A walk out to Ashbridge’s Bay, around the large circle so she could see the lake in all its glory. She sat for a moment at the bench farthest from her point of departure, overlooking the water. There was a dredger hauling rocks and sand toward the construction site on the bay. She retreated from the noise and headed toward the boardwalk and home.
She saw the fire truck and an acrid smell seeped into her nostrils just as she turned up her street.
The fire fighters were putting out a fire at the side of her house.
She asked what happened.
“You better ask your brother,” the fire fighter said. “We got here just in time. It could have been a bad one. You’re lucky – nothing was damaged badly. There’s a dark colour to the side of the house where it was seared by the flames, but nothing permanent.”
She found Lenny sitting on the stoop smoking a cigarette, his head in his hands.
“I just wanted to burn the extra leaves, I ran out of paper bags,” he said.
“But that’s crazy!” she said. “There are lots more bags in the garage where we got them in the first place.”
“I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, obviously not.”
Lenny left soon after the fire truck. He seemed upset by what had happened, but she was not about to console him. Stupid man, she thought. A liability. She would not so easily let him into her life again.
*
Ellen made herself some lunch, but she really wasn’t very hungry. She was deeply disturbed by her brother’s irresponsible actions. What an ordeal. A betrayal, even. Lucky the house didn’t burn down.
She returned to her desk by mid-afternoon and wrote in her journal about the day’s events. At least, maybe there’s a story in this debacle, she thought. Lenny didn’t get his $400 but she wasn’t going to worry about him. Not her responsibility. She planned to cut him off. Definitively.
Her parents, if they’d been alive, would not have approved. They’d always impressed upon her that Lenny would need her help, even as an adult. He was on the autism spectrum and always had trouble concentrating on tasks. They thought it was her job to watch out for him, especially after they were gone.
“Well, that’s not how it’s worked out,” she said aloud. “He’s a train wreck and I don’t want to be part of it any longer.”
*
Several months later when her collection of short stories came out, Ellen included one about the fire. She wrote about her disappointment in her brother and how she had cut him out of her life as a result of his reckless behaviour. It was a heartfelt piece, full of dramatic tension. At her book launch one evening at the Book City on Queen Street, someone asked if the story was based on a real event. She answered that it was.
“A lucky break,” said the woman.
Ellen thought about that comment and decided it was apt. She had separated away from her brother as a result, and that was a positive thing – a lucky break - for her anyway. She would continue to write. And she would rake her own leaves.
Miriam Edelson is a neurodivergent social activist, settler, writer and mother living in Toronto, Canada. Her literary non-fiction, personal essays and commentaries have appeared in The Globe and Mail, Toronto Star, various literary journals including Dreamers Magazine, Collective Unrest, Writing Disorder, Palabras, Wilderness House Literary Review and on CBC Radio. Her short stories have been published by Narrative Northeast and The Wascana Review. Her first book, “My Journey with Jake: A Memoir of Parenting and Disability” was published in April 2000. “Battle Cries: Justice for Kids with Special Needs” appeared in late 2005. She completed a doctorate in 2016 at University of Toronto focused upon Mental Health in the Workplace. “The Swirl in my Burl”, her collection of essays, came out in October 2022. “Deep Roots, New Threats: Confronting the Rising Right” ed. M. Edelson, is forthcoming in 2024.