Robbers

Robbery: 8:00

Claire sits on the bed in her childhood room; sunbeams stream through the window and converge on her, bathing her in lemon light.

Her mother’s chatter – punctuated by the drum of her father’s voice - resonates from the kitchen, down the hall to her room. The percolator bubbling on the stove sends trails of coffee fumes, filling Claire’s nose.

She traces a slender finger along the spine of the little black book she bought as a wedding gift to herself. Claire saw it in the Domremy Drugstore, and pictured writing the story of her wedding day in it.

Tingling with excitement, Claire opens to the first page - crisp and fresh and gleaming white. She writes:

“Claire gets married. July 19, 1975.”

Claire smiles, then stands and looks at herself in the mirror. Her auburn hair falls like a shroud, new hairs around her face making a fuzzy halo. She smooths her black cigarette trousers against her hips, rolls the cuffs of her shirt. She paints her lips Cardinal Red.

“Claire!” her mother calls, “Cliff and Eddie are here!”

Like a spaniel, she springs off the bed and tears into the kitchen.

“You’re here!” Claire exclaims, throwing herself into her brothers’ arms.

“Didn’t think I’d miss my big sister’s wedding, did you?”

Claire laughs, untangling herself from Cliff’s embrace. She turns to their childhood friend, Eddie.

“Eddie! You, too!”

Eddie grabs Claire and lifts her high off the ground. She squeals, slaps him playfully on the back - “Set me down! Before you regret it!”

“Not this time Claire! We’re taking you to the bank!”

“The bank?!”

“I didn’t get you anything - and my big sister needs a wedding gift! Ed’s mom is working, she’d love to see you!”

“But - I need to get dressed! It’s my wedding!”

Still carrying Claire, Eddie turns towards the front door.

“Too bad - you’re coming with us!”

The young men walk boldly out the door, Claire draped across Eddie’s shoulder.

“Not long, Cliff!” their mom yells from the porch.

“Love you, ma!” Cliff climbs into the passenger seat of Eddie’s car.

“Wait!” Mom calls from the porch. She turns back in the house, then returns carrying Claire’s veil.

“Here - ” she holds the veil to Claire, perching in the backseat. “Take this! Annie will like that.”

Claire smiles, and gamely fastens the veil to her smooth hair.

“Bye, Mom!” Claire waves. Eddie hits the gas hard and they leave the yard, spitting gravel from under the tires as the Chevy Impala heads down the road to town.

Canary and violet fields are a prairie kaleidoscope; Claire looks out her right window and sees a vulture – its’ bald, pink head circling over a yellow rape field.

Claire wonders if Cliff saw the bird; but he’s laughing, and drinking beer.

She says nothing, her hand reaching for her DuMaurier’s. Claire lifts a cigarette to her red lips and lights it. She inhales the smoke, staring at the clouds in the big Saskatchewan sky. The boys laugh; Cliff spills on himself and they roll into town.

“Je suis arrivé!” Eddie says.

“Thanks, Eddie!” Claire says as she opens the door, and steps onto the dusty small-town street. She waves her half-finished cigarette to Cliff, asking to finish before they go in.

Two girls across the street recognize Eddie’s car, and come to his driver’s window to flirt. Eddie drapes an arm out the car door, right hand on the steering wheel.

Claire smiles at the girlish chatter and playful baits, three blonde heads bowed together at the driver window, reflecting the morning light.

As Claire takes a final draw from her DuMaurier, a mosquito lands on her.

She watches the bug settle, pushing its needle into her flesh. Claire kills it, and looks at her right hand, happy to see no blood on it.

The girls are still giggling with Eddie. “Coming, Eddie?” Claire asks.

“I’ll wait here - tell Ma I’ll see her for supper!” Eddie calls from the car.

Claire snuffs her cigarette. Arm in arm, the siblings walk into the bank.

Annie is behind the bank counter; she jumps when she sees them. “Claire? Sweet child - you should be home, painting your nails!”

“Well, I wanted to see you!” Claire leans over the bank counter, kisses Annie.

“Where’s my Edward?” Annie asks, kissing Claire back.

“Waiting outside - couple birds got a bead on him,” Cliff tells her. “Auntie Annie – I need a withdrawal!” He plants his hands firmly on the rosewood counter. “Claire’s wedding, and - ”

“Don’t move!”

Suddenly - a figure in a brown slicker coat is in the doorway of the bank. A nylon stocking distorts his face. He points a cut-down shotgun at them.

“You two – down on the floor. Now!”

Claire does as she’s told, legs folding like a filly. Floorboards are hard against her tiny bones. She smells him; his scent weighs on her chest, choking out the air in her throat. It’s undercooked onions and unseasoned meat, dank tobacco; diesel.

“You - ” he aims the gun at Annie, “Money! In the bag!”

Claire shifts her eyes to her left, sees feet in brown boots, laces tied in a particular pattern – a pattern she knows. A pattern from her childhood.

From family celebrations.

The blood in her head becomes thunderous, and there is a pulsation of life inside her, overwhelming her…she begins to spin…

Then - Cliff’s smallest finger touches hers, shocking Claire back into her body.

She bites her teeth, jaw tight.

Cliff sees a quiver of skin under her ear.

Claire breathes. In, out.

In.

Out.

“GO - NOW!” Cliffs words are an invocation - Claire is on her feet.

The man is caught unaware, focused on Annie piling money into a brown leather bag.

Claire runs towards the soft sunlight in the doorway; her black leather flats slap against the cement.

Eddie’s girls are gone, and Claire sees his bewildered face in the driver seat of the green Impala.

“Start the car, Eddie! Start it!” she screams. Her shaking hands open the door behind him, and she throws herself onto the floor.

“GO EDDIE! GO! Get the hell out of here!” Cliff screams, his body slamming onto the seat above Claire.

Tires squeal, gravel rains – then, an enormous crack rattles the car.

“He shot the tires Eddie!” Cliff yells.

“What – what do I do!?”

“Keep driving, Eddie! Please, just drive!” Claire cries, huddled on the floor.

The smell of him lingers in her nose, making her shake with fear.

Claire looks at the white veil in her hands.

Crumpled lace.

Ceremony: 12:15

Friends and family gather in the hot July heat. They drink fake champagne and eat wedding cake, talking about what happened in town that morning.

“Made it to the car…got away…burst tire…police took statements…Annie? Shook, alright…”

Claire stands outside the corral, stroking the white triangle between her palomino’s eyes. The horse’s golden hair shines in the sun. Claire leans forward, putting her cheek against the mare’s hot throat, breathing horse sweat and cut grass.

Claire looks the animal in the eyes, then turns, making her way across the emerald lawn. She rejoins the congregation.

Bobby brings her a glass of Blue Nun, brimming with effervescence.

Claire raises it, and speaks to her guests.

“This is a special day – I am very happy. But, I must say, I’m quite shaken from this morning!” She pauses. “So, Bobby and I decided we’ll leave when the ceremony is over.”

Bobby smiles, his dark, almost black curls snail around his ears. Claire’s heart bursts like a star looking into his clear blue eyes.

“Bobby and Claire!” a guest cheers.

Claire speaks again, “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long, long time.” She takes a measured sip from her flute and looks at the crowd.

She sees his bald head amongst the guests. Claire hates its pink, wrinkled, flesh, and she wishes he would cover it. She looks down at his feet – Uncle Joe always tied his shoelaces that way. Since she was a small girl.

“Please - eat cake! I made it myself.” Claire’s lips curve behind the rim of her flute. She looks at Bobby – “To us.”

His steady eyes meet hers.

“Well - ” she turns her gaze to the guests, “It’s time. Everyone to the front lawn?”

Claire finds her mother. “Help them to their seats, Mom? Bobby and I just need a minute.”

Mother complies, good in nature. Claire leads Bobby to the back of the house, where the guests parked the cars.

“Cold feet, Claire?” Bobby teases.

“Bobby - I have to pee! I knew mom would make a fuss, with this dress and all. Really – I can manage alone. Just keep watch around the corner.”

“Class act Claire-Bear,” Bobby says affectionately.

“Just tell me if anyone comes!”

Bobby turns; Claire sprints towards a brown diesel truck, dirty with mud. She knows too much about Uncle Joe – including where he hides things.

Silently, she opens the driver door, reaches behind the seat. Her hands search frantically.

There!

An old leather bag, stinking like him.

She pulls the bag from the truck, empties it onto the grass.

Claire falls to her knees. There - her loot! Big stacks of bills. Each stack wrapped in white paper, stamped with blank ink: $2000. Ten bill stacks in total.

Claire takes a bill stack in her hand, running her fingertips over the paper. Deftly, she stuffs the money into her white nylons – one stack after another, legs becoming mules. The pantyhose are lumpy, but the full skirt does a good job concealing the stash.

“Claire?” she hears Bobby calling.

“All done!” Claire examines her silhouette, and notices a protrusion. She takes the veil off her head, quickly tucks it under her gown and smooths it over her thighs.

She returns to Bobby. “Ready!”

“Sure you’re okay?” Bobby notices her flushed face. “You’ve got such a pretty face.” He wipes a smudge from her cheek. “Bit of dirt on it, though!”

Claire takes his hand, “I’m fine Bobby! I’m ready. Let’s go!”

Hand in hand, they walk to the front lawn together.

***

The bride and groom stand in front of Preacher John Fraser, who is the brother of Bobby’s father. His voice is thunder, and – dressed head-to-toe in black – the Preacher is a mountain.

Claire’s small hands are in Bobby’s; their eyes don’t leave the other’s for a moment. And soon, Claire hears Preacher John ask for her vows.

Her heart calms.

She says, “I: Claire Marie Neville…”

Getaway: 1:11

Two white stripes on the hood of Bobby’s marina coloured Camaro point to the horizon. He turns on the radio.

“Hey - Dumb Blonde!” Claire smiles, turning the volume up.

“Dolly’s great - don’t you think?” Claire asks her husband, lifting her dress. “Bobby - look.”

“Claire! What the hell is that?”

“$20 000.”

“Claire!” He shifts gears.

“Bobby no - don’t. Keep driving. We’re going to Banff. Drive, baby.”

“Tell me where you got that.”

She looks at him, her hair a flame – undone, falling all over her.

“It’s…mine.” She looks forward, out the clean windshield. “I know who did it – the robbery.” She watches the car eat up the yellow highway lines. “I was…I was - there.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She remains silent.

“I mean – how could you really know, Claire?” Bobby persists.

She looks at him - “I wish I didn’t know, Bobby,” her amber eyes flash, “But. I do.”

Bobby looks at her, at the set of her scarlet lips.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I trust you, Claire. You say drive – I drive.”

She smiles, kisses him. She settles back, and looks out her window.

“It was always mine. Never his.”

Bobby looks at her, confused; she disregards him.

Out the window, Claire sees an eagle perched on a piece of carrion; a single raven watches from nearby.

She brings out her little black book.

“Bobby and Claire. Forever.”