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Caroline (English)

by Christian-Eric Falardeau

205 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0701; ISBN 1-55369-888-6; US$20.00, C$23.95, EUR15.60, £11.50

Caroline is at a turning point in her life. Deeply wounded in her youth, she has to find out what is wrong with her life: herself. Surrounded by candidates, she moves from failure to failure. Is she unlucky or doing it on purpose?

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About the Book Caroline is at a turning point in her life. Deeply wounded in her youth, she has to find out what is wrong with her life: herself. Surrounded by candidates, she moves from failure to failure. Is she unlucky or doing it on purpose? After an unhoped-for meeting, but which cannot yield immediate results, Caroline is torn between waiting for her Prince Charming and accepting to make her life with another one of her choice. Time moves forward, and events and dilemmas accumulate. Meanwhile, her friends are also in questioning. Tracy wonders how to recognize a soul mate, Pauline has doubts on her marriage and Mary is still hoping that Michael finally starts to truly love her.

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About the Author Christian-Eric Falardeau was born in 1968, on a little farm near the village of Beaudry, now part of Rouyn-Noranda, in Abitibi-Temiscamingue (north-west of Quebec). He was raised amidst cows and some of them might have influenced several of his characters. He also has two brothers and three sisters. In 1990, he graduated from Sherbrooke University with a degree in computer science, embarked on a career as a programmer analyst and, later on, became a software development manager. He retired from the industry in March 2002. He wrote his first novel in 1993 (Saint-Jolivet of Pendleton) quickly followed by a second one (Paul III of Montreal) before slowing down to accommodate the demands of a busy profession. Writing on and off over the next few years, he came back to literature on a more serious level in 2001 with the completion of his third novel (Caroline) and various short stories. Now a full-time writer, many new novels and short stories can be expected in the coming months and years. See also: The Alas League (English) Caroline (French) Le faux écrivain (French) La Ligue des Helas (French) Paul III de Montréal (French) Paul III of Montréal (English) Saint-Jolivet de Pendleton (French) Saint-Jolivet of Pendleton (English) La simplicité de la vie (French) The Simplicity of Life (English) The Universe and Other Stories (English)

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Excerpt

Chapter I

    The alarm clock had been ringing for at least two minutes by the time a cautious hand groped out to silence it. Two little eyes opened with difficulty and closed again almost at once. A blonde head snuggled back down to rest comfortably on its pillow, letting reality slowly make its way in. Finally, Caroline drew herself up in her bed, briefly wondering, in a moment of panic, what time it could be. Fortunately, it was only eight o'clock.
     Sighing, she made her first effort to get up, but did not succeed. She knew too well what awaited her after she was ready. Her small counter, the deposit approval seal and an endless round of people coming one after another without pause. In less than an hour and a half, little Caroline would transform herself into a teller.
     Still, it was Friday. The weekend was approaching and, more to the point, an evening spent dancing. At this thought, Caroline perked up enough to definitively come to life. Moving towards the shower, she tried, after a fashion, to forget that that wonderful future would have to wait until the end of another painful day at the National Bank.
     She had gone out the night before, in spite of it being Thursday, with her sister Judith. The latter was studying in Quebec City and was visiting her hometown for two days, one of which had been dedicated to Caroline. The outing had made her feel better. Her sister, who she used to be very close to, was a year younger and had left their small town--like so many others--to adopt city life.
     Judith worried a lot about her older sister. It seemed to her that she was always either alone or with imbeciles. For the past while, she had been following from afar the progression of her affair with Charles. The latter had been charming during the first few weeks and, although pushy, appeared to respect Caroline's wish to take her time. But Caroline had finally admitted to her sister that she had discovered that the handsome Charles was married.
     At least this time it hadn't been Judith who had had to break the news to her. Twice already, she had discovered the truth and had had to announce it to Caroline. Either she was truly unlucky or she wanted, somewhere deep inside herself, to remain alone. Judith didn't know and at moments she despaired for her sister.
     Caroline finished her shower and decided to get dressed before breakfast. She went through her whole wardrobe. There were some nice pieces, but the choice was limited. She was not rich and, being only twenty-four, she did not have the advantage of years of accumulation. She took out one suit, then another. She quickly put them back.
     The clothing struggle lasted a few minutes, reproducing itself almost identically with each piece. The main reason she couldn't make a choice was simply that she didn't have her mind on the job at hand. She was thinking that, with each completed task, she was getting unpleasantly closer to work. This thought made her feel guilty and she chastised herself. She chose a pullover which looked nice with her black pants... but gave up that idea too.
     Finally, Caroline, fully dressed, went into the kitchen. Breakfast was easy. She always ate the same thing. At home, that is. At the restaurant, she had more imagination, but when it was a question of making something to eat, the law of least effort won every time. Milk bottle in hand, she grabbed the box of Corn Flakes and the sugar bowl, and plunked herself down to eat her cereal.
     She ate slowly. Caught between her wish to avoid having her flakes get soggy and taking her time, she nevertheless managed to finish within a reasonable amount of time. She was unfortunately running out of things to do before going to work. Momentarily, luck was on her side as her roommate, Tracy, decided to get up early.
     "Hello gorgeous," Caroline exclaimed. "Hello," Tracy answered sleepily, with her slight British accent.
     "Did you sleep well?"
     "Not bad. I sacked out early. You weren't even back yet."
     "I was with Judith. We had a lot of things to talk about. When I got back I thought you were with Patrick."
     "No, I didn't feel like it yesterday. In fact, I'm wondering if it's not about time to put an end to that affair."
     "How come?"
     "I don't know. It seems to me that when I think about him now, I don't really care whether I'm with him or not. I'm starting to wonder if I'm staying with him just out of habit. Even though we've been together for three months I still have the impression that we're strangers."
     "I told you all he wanted was to sleep with you."
     "That's not completely true. It sure is a big part of it, but there's more to it than that. And, to be frank, I'm not one to talk. I mean, it was more or less what I wanted in the beginning too. It's rather like we've both told ourselves that, since we were attracted to one another the same way, it would be really easy to fall in love. But it seems like we live on different planets."
     "Oh well. So, he's beefcake and that's it."
     "Yes, more or less. It's gotten to the point that when I'm going to see him I have to prepare things to talk about. Otherwise, we can't think of anything. I don't think that's normal for a couple that might spend the rest of their lives together."
     "No, I don't think so either," Caroline ended up saying, thoughtful. The two friends remained silent for a few moments before Tracy started again:
     "Gawd! What an early morning conversation!"
     "Yeah! You're right. Let's talk about it later. What are you doing up at this hour anyway?"
     "Nothing special. I just wanted to wander about or maybe do some cleaning up. Speaking of time; you'll be late if you don't hurry a bit."
     "Shit! You're right."
     On this, Caroline completed her preparations and bustled out to face the new day.
    

* * *

Franck had been busy for several minutes rummaging in the wooden trunk that contained all the scores he kept as back-ups. He was searching for an old Supertramp song "Lord, is it mine?" that he soon hoped to play on a trip outside of their usual circle.
     He would, of course, have to convince his partner Claude Stone, the pianist and cofounder of the Talent Tour duo, who didn't like this type of song much. Franck was confident he would accept. After all, they had been working together for nearly fourteen years.
     At the beginning, they had assembled a group of four musicians, all about the same age and native to the village. However, the two other members, less gifted, left early on to join the ranks of the "normal workforce." At first a little disappointed, Claude and Franck persevered and the never-ending improvement of synthesizers and electronic drums allowed them to take their fate into their own hands.
     They were working a lot in the region and had slowly become the main attraction in half a dozen clubs within a radius of less than a hundred kilometers. They also occasionally gave shows in Quebec City and in some distant small towns. Those trips were longer but at least then they got to play in the same place several evenings in a row.
     Franck was searching vigorously, pawing through sheets full of little black notes and annotations in his own hand and putting aside magnetic tapes containing samples for the synthesizers. He cursed again over his lack of order and regretted, as usual, not having persisted in his last attempt at cataloguing everything.
     Jennifer, his wife, entered his workshop, which used to be their old double garage. Franck stopped abruptly and watched her advance. He didn't like to be disturbed when he was working and Jennifer, after many arguments, had finally understood this and generally left him alone. It must be something important.
     "Franck. Sorry to bother you, but there's someone for you on the phone."
     "Who is it?"
     "I don't know. She didn't give me her name. She seemed on the verge of crying."
     "Ok, fine. I'm coming," he said, preoccupied. "Jenny, can you do me a favor?"
     "Of course, dear. What do you want me to tell her?"
     "No not that. I'm going. It's just that I've been looking for 'Lord, is it mine?' for half an hour. Could you try to find it? You might have a luckier touch than me."
     "Okay," she accepted, a little surprised. "I did offer to organize your stuff, Franck. It would be so much simpler."
     "Yes, yes, we'll talk about it later."
     Franck did not delay any longer. On his way he crossed paths with Sebastian, his eight-year-old first-born son. He was coming with his baseball glove and Franck remembered that he had promised to spend some time with the boy before leaving. But this was not the time and he sent him to join his mother in the workshop, to his great astonishment, since the place was usually out of bounds to him and his younger brother.
     Arriving in the house almost at a run, he picked up the phone.
     "Yes, hello?"
     "Hello, Franck. It's so good to hear your voice."
     "Veronica!" he exclaimed, trying to whisper, prey to the beginnings of panic. "Are you crazy? I told you never to call me here. The last thing we need right now is an actual crisis."
     "I know, but I miss you. So much that it hurts. I need you. I need to know that we'll be together. Not just for a day or two. For ever. That's all I'm asking. I don't want to provoke things; I just need to have some hope and confidence."
     "Yes, Ronnie dear. I understand perfectly well the situation you're in. How do you think I feel? It's really hard for me too. I have to think about the children."
     "I know. Forgive me. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I'm so unhappy. Franck, if only you knew..." she started, sobbing.
     She was now crying with deep heart-wrenching sobs. It sounded like she had been holding her tears for as long as she could, but now they had to come out.
    Franck was listening, caught between two feelings. His heart was aching for his distressed mistress but he was also desperate to end this conversation.
    What if Jennifer was listening using the bedroom phone? No, he would have seen her enter. Moreover, that wasn't her style at all.
     "Ronnie... Ronnie... Stop crying, please."
     "I love you," she simply said, weeping even more.
     Franck moved the phone away a few moments. He had to find something to say and fast. It was especially important that he find the right words so this scene would never be repeated.
     "Listen to me, Ronnie. I'm playing tonight. I'll call you from there. In the meantime, stop crying. We'll sort it out somehow, maybe quicker than you think. But don't call here again. It's beneath you. You're disappointing me."
     "I'm so sorry," she answered him in a small halting voice, full of tears. "I'll wait for your call. I love you and give you a huge kiss."
     "Me too, bye."
     Once he had hung up, Franck took a few seconds to gather his wits. He had had a narrow escape. Poor Veronica. So nice and so affectionate. What a bummer to be just one man. Still, she had to realize that he wasn't available for the moment. Perhaps one day... Until then, she just had to wait and hope. He had even encouraged her to take on a boyfriend while waiting. Even though he loved her, he would understand. It wasn't his fault that she was clinging to him.
     He moved towards his workshop, astonished not to have seen his wife yet. He found her sitting on the ground, a pile of music sheets on her left, another one on her right, their son climbing on her shoulders.
     "Never mind Jenny, I think it's already in the van."
     "Now you tell me."
     "I'm sorry. I had forgotten."
     "No problem. I have nothing else to do. Just the dinner, the washing, the garbage... Who was that?"
     "Oh! No one important. A girl that Claude met on our last tour in Quebec City. He hadn't left her his number and she was trying to reach him. Since mine is listed, she figured she could get it from me."
     "You gave it to her?"
     "I had to. Otherwise I'd still be on the phone. She sounded hysterical. If I hadn't given in, she'd just have kept calling."
     "Poor girl..."
     "Not really. She's a groupie. They're used to that kind of situation."
     Jennifer slowly moved closer to her husband. He made an effort not to pull away. He knew what was coming.
     "And you, Franck, do you meet a lot of them?"
     [...]

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Catalogue Information

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