No Fury Like That

by Lisa de Nikolits

  But Isabelle is happily back as Ella, and I have Healey’s contact details and that will have to do for now.

  38. VISITING AUNTIE MIRIAM

  THE NEXT DAY, I do something I haven’t done in decades. I get on a bus. I am going to visit Agnes’s Auntie Miriam. I find the old-age home easily enough and I stand outside and light a cigarette, wondering what I should say and I decide to play it by ear. “I’d like to see Auntie Miriam,” I say. “I’m a friend of Agnes’s.”

  The woman at the reception desk is very chatty. “Yeah, Agnes, poor girl, too terrible what happened. And to Josh too. We had no idea they even knew each other. He was such a good kid, a hottie, let me tell you. We all thought he was headed for the big time, what with his guitar and all. He was really good. And then, shot to death in a parking lot. They say it was drugs but I don’t believe it for a moment, he was a good kid. The violence in the city these days, guns everywhere—”

  “Auntie Miriam?” I interrupt her.

  “Just finished her mid-morning snack. She hasn’t eaten in the dining room since Agnes died. She loved that girl more than anything. I liked Agnes but if you ask me, she was a bad influence. I mean look what happened to Josh. I just can’t see him being involved in something like that, but Agnes, well, she had a bad side. Her own mother—”

  “Auntie Miriam’s room number?” I ask.

  “Yeah, right.” She peers at a screen. “Number 65, door at the end of the hallway. Agnes’s mother said she had it coming…”

  I slip away quickly and I hear Miss Chatty yammering on, even though I’ve walked away.

  I stand outside Auntie Miriam’s door and I knock. “They took the tray already,” a quavering voice says.

  “I’m a friend of Agnes’s,” I call out, hoping I won’t give her a heart attack saying that.

  “Agnes! Come in, dear, come in.”

  I open the door and see a tiny birdlike woman sitting in an old-fashioned wing chair with a knee rug tucked around her legs. “I would get up,” she says, “but my old bones are too tired. Forgive me, dear.”

  “I’m Ju—I mean Lula,” I say. “I’m very pleased to meet you. I should have brought you flowers or cupcakes. I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I will, next time.”

  She laughs and waves a hand at me. “Don’t be silly. Flowers! I don’t have the energy to throw them out when they die and the cleaners are useless. And cupcakes…. All they do is feed me here. It’s a wonder I’m not seven hundred pounds!”

  She would hardly weigh seventy pounds soaking wet. She’s bent over at the waist, with sloping shoulders and a perfect, old ladies’ crone face, with creases and wrinkles and folds, and stray hairs sprout from her chin like a cat’s whiskers. Her beaky nose curves down to meet her chin and her mouth is a sunken cave. But when she looks at me, her eyes are bright and sharp.

  “How did you know my Agnes?” she asks. “You’re a bit too old to be one of her friends, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Her brain is clearly bright and sharp too and I decide to tell her the truth. “It’s a strange and unbelievable story,” I warn her.

  “Try me, dear. It’s less easy to shock me than you might think.”

  “A man nearly killed me, and he put me into a coma. While I was in that coma, I went to Purgatory. I met Agnes there.”

  “Go on.”

  I am not sure what to say next so I start at the beginning. “Agnes has a job there, she’s what’s called an Introducer. She helps new arrivals who don’t realize where they are. She was very kind to me and we became friends and we met every day for coffee even after she had done her job. I really enjoyed her company. She’s funny and kind and intelligent and she’s a good person. She was my friend, when I needed one the most.”

  “Why is she in Purgatory, not Heaven?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I think she wants to join Josh, but she can’t move on yet. He wasn’t there, in Purgatory. I’m not sure if it’s a matter of time or how it works. Purgatory is comfortable, so maybe it’s her choice.”

  “Did she seem happy to you?”

  “She’s okay. But she misses you. She worries about you. And she feels bad for what happened to Josh.”

  Auntie Miriam snorts. “That boy.” She speaks slowly, sucking on her teeth for emphasis. “Everybody thought he was such a movie star but I wasn’t a fan. Shortly after he started working here, ladies started missing expensive pieces of jewelry. No coincidence. He thought he was a charmer, Josh did. Ask the nursing staff and they’ll be googly-eyed. The sun shone out of his you-know-what, as far as they were concerned.”

  She pauses and closes her eyes and I’m not sure if she’s going to continue or if she needs to have a nap.

  But her eyes snap open and she carries on; her voice has dropped to nearly a whisper and I have to lean in close to hear her. “I knew he and Agnes were seeing each other although she didn’t know that I knew. I hoped he would move on. I knew it would break her heart if he did, but then she could get on with her life. Maybe she’s in Purgatory because she doesn’t realize yet that he wasn’t the right one for her. He wasn’t in love with her, not like she was in love with him. He was her first love, but he was just using her.”

  Her head droops again. “Too good for him, my Agnes was. She never had enough love in her life. Her mother was mean to her and I never understood why. She picked on Agnes for her weight, how she stood, how she chewed. Agnes couldn’t do anything right, not from the time she was born. If you ask me, it was because her mother hated Agnes’s biological father and she hated being reminded of him. He was a lot like Josh, only he had money and he dumped her when she got pregnant. Cheryl thought he’d marry her, so she got pregnant on purpose, that’s the kind of person she is. But he dumped her.”

  “Did Agnes ever see her real father?”

  “He wasn’t interested in her. She tried to meet him a few times but he never showed up. I hated him for that. Eventually she gave up. Poor Agnes, life never gave her any breaks.”

  “She had you,” I say. “She loved you very much.”

  “She was a good girl,” Auntie Miriam says, and two enormous tears roll down those amazingly wrinkled cheeks. “I loved her too. I miss her every day. She visited me often, and I loved seeing her. We’d sit and watch Shirley Temple movies. Cheryl never even had a name picked out for her and so I named her after a cousin of mine who died young. Agnes Anne. She was my girl.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  We both fall silent and I look around the room. I had witnessed its destruction during the Viewing but it had been put back to together so perfectly that no one would ever have suspected what had happened.

  Auntie Miriam has fallen asleep.

  I am not sure what to do. I see the cushion on the bed and I grab it and go into the tiny washroom, clutching my purse. I close the door, sit on the side of the bathtub, unzip the cushion and dig around inside. It isn’t hard to find the drugs and I stuff them into my purse. The bundles are each bound with a plastic band and they aren’t very heavy. I make sure I get all of them and I zip up the cushion and snap my purse shut and I flush the toilet and wash my hands.

  The washroom is fitted with numerous handles for Auntie Miriam to hold onto when she uses the toilet and I am sure she cannot shower unattended. The soaps are hypoallergenic and antiseptic and the place feels sterile and depressing. I can’t wait to leave and I creep out and put the cushion back on the bed.

  I kneel down close to Auntie Miriam to say goodbye and that’s when I realize that she is dead. She has gone to join Agnes in Purgatory. I know it, as sure as eggs are eggs, as Aunt Gwen used to say when I was a little girl.

  Fuck! Talk about bad timing! I sit down and try think about what to do but my mind is completely scrambled. How will I explain my presence? How will I explain how I had known Agnes? As Auntie Miriam had pointed out, I didn’t exactly look like on
e of Agnes’s pals.

  “You could have waited until I left,” I whisper to Auntie Miriam.

  I think back to the chatty receptionist. She hadn’t so much as asked for my name and I hadn’t signed in. The woman had looked at her screen for most of the time and I don’t think she got a good look at me at all. And fortunately, I am wearing a large hat to protect my scarred skin from the sun, as well as a scarf to hide the scars on my neck and chest. My hair is tucked away and I hope my glasses are distracting as opposed to identifying. Even if the home has cameras, which I doubt, I look fairly anonymous.

  I go to the washroom and grab a tiny hand towel. I rub everything in the washroom that I might have touched, the door handles, the bath where I sat, the taps. Other than that, the only thing I had touched was the front door to Auntie Miriam’s room. I hang the towel neatly back in place.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper to Auntie Miriam on the way out, and I close the door and wipe the handle down with my scarf.

  I am hesitant to walk down the dark, narrow hallway and I don’t want to brave the busy reception area near the dining room. But I can’t just stand there, staring at a closed door.

  I suddenly freeze. An old lady with a walker is shuffling towards me. She is looking down, concentrating hard. I am a deer in the headlights of her geriatric path, and I’m convinced I will be interrogated by the old duck and revealed to be a drug-carrying, Auntie Miriam-killing maniac, but the old lady veers off to the left and I hear a door open and sunshine briefly floods the hallway.

  There is a side door that leads outside! Escape! My armpits are soaking wet and my hands are shaking. I pull my hat down low and fumble around in my purse for my prescription sunglasses, exchanging them for my regulars.

  I slip outside. The old lady is sitting in the sun with her face upturned and her eyes closed. I say a quiet prayer to whichever deity helped me out and I tiptoe past as speedily as I can. I don’t even pause at the bus shelter but walk a long stop further.

  I am not sure what I am afraid of except that one mistake can lead to another. From the old-age home’s perspective, the series of events is this: Mr. Healey trashes Auntie Miriam’s room, shortly thereafter, a conservative, older woman shows up out of the blue, wanting to visit Auntie Miriam and claiming to be one of Agnes’s friends. And then Auntie Miriam dies. Alarm bells will be sounded. I am annoyed at this glitch and I silently apologize to Agnes for calling her great aunt’s death a glitch, but my plans are only beginning to fall into place and I can’t let anything go wrong.

  39. SILLY BUNNY

  I GET HOME AND SURPRISE MYSELF by grabbing my Chanel Coco Mademoiselle Scented Foam Bath that retails for over a hundred dollars a bottle. I had thought I was done with bathing and that I would be taking showers for the rest of my life, but apparently not. I feel oddly guilty at this indulgence but I remind myself of all the things I had missed about Earth when I was in Purgatory, and I tell myself I deserve these small delights.

  I soak for ages in the hot, scented water, trying to remind myself of the other things I had missed and I realize that my wish list is primarily a bunch of things I’ve never done, but still want to do. I’ll make a list and I hope I’ll be able to interest Emma in some of my ideas.

  I get out of the bath and pull on a brand new Samantha Chang chemise that I discovered in the back of my closet. The delicate flower-patterned silk and rose pink lace feels soft on my skin and life, at that moment, makes perfect sense.

  I jump when the phone rings, startled out of my happy reverie. I figure it must be Joe or Isabelle checking up on me, or maybe it’s Emma, phoning to say hello. But it isn’t. It’s Junior.

  I never should have answered. The caller ID said Private Number and maybe, in my haste, I thought that Joe was calling from an unlisted phone, but he had never done that before, and as soon as I accept the call and hear the silence at the end of the line, I know I have made a terrible mistake.

  “Ju-Lula,” Junior finally says mockingly. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? You’re still in the same apartment, you silly bunny.”

  I keep the phone pressed to my ear and I rush over to my purse. I flip it upside down, emptying it of its contents. The heroin spills out onto the floor and with it, my pistol. I flick the safety catch off and crawl with my back against the wall, so I’m facing the door with my gun pointing dead ahead. For all I know, Junior’s standing on the other side, with his muscle man for company, ready to kick the door down. My hand holding the gun is shaking and I pull my legs in close and balance the gun on my knees.

  “What do you want?” I urge my voice to be calm but I sound terrified and I hate myself for that.

  “Nothing. I don’t want anything. I’m just calling an old friend. Saying how do. And how are you, Lula? Your face is all nicely fixed?”

  “What do you want?” I ask again and he laughs.

  “Nothing. For now. Nothing. But hey,” he gives a weird chuckle. “I’ll be sure to keep in touch.”

  He hangs up and I’m left alone with the terrifying silence that fills my apartment, nearly suffocating me.

  How did he get my number? It’s supposedly unlisted. And me, I am unlisted, Lula Jane Harris. How did he know about Lula? Did Richard tell him, as revenge for the rehab email? But Richard couldn’t have known I was behind that, and he didn’t know about Lula and as far as I know, he doesn’t know Junior. The only people who know about Lula are Joe and Isabelle and Emma and Bev. It suddenly feels like too many people know. I don’t know what to do.

  I sit like that all night, with my back against the wall, thinking.

  40. ON THE RUN

  THE NEXT MORNING, in the darkness of predawn, I pack a small suitcase. I pull on a large floppy sunhat and sunglasses. I’d rather look ridiculous than be recognizable. I call a cab and slip out of the apartment. “Westside Mall,” I tell the driver.

  “You’re a bit early,” he says. “The mall doesn’t open for hours.”

  He’s in the mood to chat but I am not interested. I ignore him and silently hand him a couple of twenties when we get to the mall and I watch him drive away.

  I withdraw a thousand dollars from the ATM. It isn’t going to get me very far but it will have to do for now.

  I sit on the sidewalk and wait until Emma will be up and having breakfast. I call her and Bev picks up. “Bev, it’s me, Ju-Lula.” Darn, I had nearly said Julia again. I hate to admit it but Joe was right, I should have picked a name closer to my own. “I have to go to Florida for an operation on my knee. I’m leaving today and I wanted to let Emma know. I’ll be gone for a while.”

  “Yeah, sure, nice of you to call. Hang on. I’ll get her. Em, honey, your aunt’s on the phone.”

  “Coming!” I hear her footsteps getting louder.

  “Hi Auntie Lula! How are you?”

  “I’m fine, sweetie. Well, sort of. You know my sore knee? Well, I’ve got to go to Florida and have another operation.”

  “Why Florida?”

  “There’s a great doctor there, and he says he can fix it. I’m hoping that maybe one day you and me can rollerblade and do things like that together, and I need my knee to be good.”

  “I can already rollerblade,” Emma says confidently. “I can teach you.”

  “That’d be fantastic. I’d love that more than anything in the world. I’ll be gone for a four weeks, it’s a big operation but I’ll be sure to call you as much as I can, okay?”

  “Okay. I better go, Bev’s waving at me, I’m going to miss the school bus.”

  “Sure, off you go, and Emma, I just want to say how happy I am that you’re my niece. I’m very lucky.”

  She giggles. “I’m lucky too. Goodbye, Auntie Lula.”

  She puts the phone down and I’m about to call Joe but I change my mind. It will be easier to text him. I don’t know if I can trust him, even though it breaks my heart to think that.
r />   I tap out a message about Florida and my knee, and send it quickly before I can change my mind. I’m aching to call Joe and tell him I need his help, tell him that Junior’s back and that he had been right, that Junior was the one who had beaten me senseless. But I can’t tell Joe that I want to exact my own revenge and that’s why I lied. For a moment I had mistakenly thought that I was in control, but Junior seems to be holding all the cards and, right now, I can’t be sure whose side Joe is on either. How else would Junior have known about Lula?

  Most of the stores are still closed and I join a few unwashed homeless-looking fellows in the food court while I wait. How my life has changed. I study my cellphone. Is it friend or foe? Is it equipped with a tracking device? How would I know? All I do know is that people’s phones can be used for that very purpose, and I turn mine off. I dig my old phone out of my purse and make sure that it’s also powered off.

  As soon as the store with wigs and hair accessories opens, I buy a black wig, with a bobbed style and bangs. I head for the drugstore, and select a vivid red lipstick, Truckstop Fire Blossom. I pick up pair of sparkly, dangly star-shaped earrings and I can’t help but smile at what my former self would have said about my choice. I keep my head down at the register and try not to worry about my already dwindling funds.

  I can’t stop thinking about the security cameras aiming their beady little eyes at me but there’s nothing I can do except pull my hat down and go about my business. I don’t want either Junior or Joe to find any evidence of my having been at the mall, although hopefully, it wouldn’t be the first place they would look.

  I rent a non-descript white Honda and I study the form but it doesn’t tell me what I need to know.

  “Listen,” I say brightly to the pimply-faced boy, “I’m trying to get away from my boyfriend. He’s this crazy jealous guy who wants to get married but I need time to think.”