Runaway

husky little children, in the cold waters of the Inside Passage off the British Columbia coast.
    Not at all. She was living the life of a prosperous, practical matron. Married to a doctor, maybe, or to one of those civil servants managing the northern parts of the country during the time when their control is being gradually, cautiously, but with some fanfare, relinquished to the native people. If she ever met Penelope again they might laugh about how wrong Juliet had been. When they told about their separate meetings with Heather, how weird that was, they would laugh.
    No. No. The fact was surely that she had already laughed too much around Penelope. Too many things had been jokes. Just as too many things—personal things, loves that were maybe just gratification—had been tragedies. She had been lacking in motherly inhibitions and propriety and self-control.
    Penelope had said that she, Juliet, was still living in Vancouver. She had not told Heather anything about the breach. Surely not. If she had been told, Heather would not have spoken so easily.
    How did Penelope know that she was still here, unless she checked in the phone directory? And if she did, what did that mean?
    Nothing. Don’t make it mean anything.
    She walked to the curb to join Gary, who had tactfully moved away from the scene of the reunion.
    Whitehorse, Yellowknife. It was painful indeed to know the names of those places—places she could fly to. Places where she could loiter in the streets, devise plans for catching glimpses.
    But she was not so mad. She must not be so mad.
    At dinner, she thought that the news she had just absorbed put her into a better situation for marrying Gary, or living with him—whatever it was he wanted. There was nothing to worry about, or hold herself in wait for, concerning Penelope. Penelope was not a phantom, she was safe, as far as anybody is safe, and she was probably as happy as anybody is happy. She had detached herself from Juliet and very likely from the memory of Juliet, and Juliet could not do better than to detach herself in turn.
    But she had told Heather that Juliet was living in Vancouver. Did she say
Juliet
? Or
Mother. My mother.
    Juliet told Gary that Heather was the child of old friends. She had never spoken to him about Penelope, and he had never given any sign of knowing about Penelope’s existence. It was possible that Christa had told him, and he had remained silent out of a consideration that it was none of his business. Or that Christa had told him, and he had forgotten. Or that Christa had never mentioned anything about Penelope, not even her name.
    If Juliet lived with him the fact of Penelope would never surface, Penelope would not exist.
    Nor did Penelope exist. The Penelope Juliet sought was gone. The woman Heather had spotted in Edmonton, the mother who had brought her sons to Edmonton to get their school uniforms, who had changed in face and body so that Heather did not recognize her, was nobody Juliet knew.
    Does Juliet believe this?
    If Gary saw that she was agitated he pretended not to notice. But it was probably on this evening that they both understood they would never be together. If it had been possible for them to be together she might have said to him,
My daughter went away
without telling me good-bye and in fact she probably did not know
then that she was going. She did not know it was for good. Then
gradually, I believe, it dawned on her how much she wanted to stay
away. It is just a way that she has found to manage her life.
    “It’s maybe the explaining to me that she can’t face. Or has not
time for, really. You know, we always have the idea that there is this
reason or that reason and we keep trying to find out reasons. And I
could tell you plenty about what I’ve done wrong. But I think the
reason may be something not so easily dug out. Something like
purity in her nature. Yes. Some fineness and strictness and purity,
some rock-hard honesty in her. My father used to say of someone he
disliked, that he had no use for that person. Couldn’t those words
mean simply what they say? Penelope does not have a use for me.
    Maybe she can’t stand me. It’s possible.
    Juliet has friends. Not so many now—but friends. Larry continues to visit, and to make jokes. She keeps on with her studies. The word
studies
does not seem to describe very well what she does—
investigations
would be better.
    And being short of money, she works some hours a week at the coffee place