The Clay Girl

by Heather Tucker

  Todd pokes his head out the window. “There are two guys downstairs and O’Toole’s in the driveway.”

  “What are they up to?”

  “No clue.”

  “Are they in the kitchen?”

  “No, the front.”

  “Go chat up O’Toole. Keep him away from the backyard.”

  I nab Mikey’s hand and creep across the roof, navigate onto the woodbox, ease Mikey down, lift the door to the cellar, and we sneak in. “Keep low in the fort. I’ll gather whatever I can through the vents.”

  A voice I don’t recognize says, “A kid’s good cover. Nice family holiday. Seeing the Falls and all that.”

  “Well, Mikey will be home soon. Tell Tino his cargo is in good hands.” Feet shuffle. The door closes and the action moves around to the driveway. I tiptoe over, swallowing a squeal when a mouse skitters across the workbench.

  Mikey shiver-whispers. “What?”

  “Shhh, shhh, the window is open. Don’t make a peep and don’t turn on your flashlight.”

  I’m near eye to eye with one of the thugs as he slides under the car on a dolly. He emerges. “Looks good. Let’s take her for a test spin.”

  O’Toole and one thug drive off. I see the Dick’s boots and another set, a pair of polished dress shoes. “Cross the border at meal times, more traffic, fewer guards. Stick to the third lane, the third, you got that?”

  “The third, right.”

  “Don’t flash your badge, just let it casually be seen when you show your license. Make sure the kid and your wife have ID.”

  “Right, sir.”

  The sedan returns and the guy checks underneath again. “All secure.”

  “Tomorrow, Irwin.”

  “You can count on me.” The thugs leave and the Dick grumbles, “Where’s that fucking kid?”

  O’Toole lights his third cigarette. “It’s a shit idea anyway.”

  “Whadaya mean?”

  “You can’t control what a kid’s going to say. ’Specially if he’s pissed about not going on holiday with that little bitch.” He horks on the driveway. “I say we polish up Ronnie and Theresa, make the story that we’re going over so our ladies can do a little shopping. People do it all the time.”

  “You got a point. You stay with the car.”

  Mikey is balled-up like a frightened pill bug when I try to get him out of the fort. “Come out. It’s okay. They have a new master plan.”

  Mikey never cries but his whisper sounds like dust. “Please, I want to go with you. Please, Ari.”

  “I’m taking you to Ellis’ and we’re leaving at sunrise, I promise, but to do that we have to climb the fence in the backyard.”

  I deliver Mikey to Mina and Ellis and head back to the craphouse. The Dick is sitting on the front steps. “Where’s the kid?”

  “At Jennah’s, upchucking. Ate too much at the party, I guess. I just came to get his suitcase.”

  Inside, Mum is up and showered. She licks her finger and tests the heat of the iron. “Oh, Hariet, Richard is taking Ronnie and me on a little holiday. Shopping, Niagara Falls, Madame Tussaud’s. Won’t that be fun?”

  “Sounds like a blast.”

  “Get me my suitcase from the closet.”

  The little Samsonite feels like concrete as I lift it down. It’s full of cop porn, “Detective Cockburner gets his woman, Undercover cop Erec Tion is on her case . . .” I dump it out on the bed and swipe off the dust with a musty towel.

  “So . . . have a great time.” I place it on the kitchen table and back away from the flurry, Mikey’s pillow and yellow suitcase in hand. “Adios, sayonara, au revoir, have a nice life . . .” Mum doesn’t even look at me.

  Let’s split.

  I just wish she would—

  Never mind her, I see you, Ari.

  Thanks, Jasper.

  Nancy Drew would get a picture of the underside of the sedan, but it’s not worth the risk. I’m two houses down when the Dick yells, “Hey, Hariet.”

  Don’t run, Ari. Play it smooth as butter.

  I turn, “Yes, sir.”

  He lumbers toward me. “Can you spare a tenner?”

  “Uh . . . I guess.”

  He nabs a twenty as soon as it comes out of my pocket. “Thanks, I’ll pay you back on Sunday.”

  “Right.”

  Three blocks from Ellis and Mina’s I step into a phone booth and gather my change into a pile. You sure I should do this, Jasper?

  He’d get years for smuggling drugs. Then we could all stay in Pleasant Cove.

  I dial 0.

  “Operator. What number, please?”

  “Could you connect me to the Canadian border crossing station in Niagara Falls, Ontario?”

  “One moment, please.” I wipe my fingerprints off the quarters while I wait. “I have that number on the line. Please deposit fifty cents.”

  I do and someone sounding eerily like the Dick says, “Customs.”

  Jasper adds a French accent to my voice. “Hello, I am sorry to bother you, and this is probably nothing but I was just in a diner and overheard two men talking. It sounded like they were planning on crossing the border tomorrow at Niagara Falls with drugs or something.”

  “Your name, please, ma’am.”

  “Uh, yes, it’s . . . Madeline.”

  “Last name?”

  “Uh . . . Real.”

  “Is that R-E-E-L?”

  “Ah, no, R-I-E-L. Like Louis Riel.”

  “Who?”

  The operator interrupts. “Please deposit another twenty-five cents.”

  It pings in and the man says, “What did they say exactly?”

  “Um, they planned to cross at busy times, guards might check the trunk but they never look under the car, things like that.”

  “What did they look like?”

  My stomach starts to roil. “Um, I only saw them from the back as they left. One was in his fifties, balding, and built like a bear. The other, was in his thirties, thinner, greasy black hair.”

  “Did you see their car?”

  “Just a glimpse. A sedan, dark blue.”

  “License?”

  What is it, Jasper?

  Three. Seven . . . Maybe six at the end.

  “Um . . . Three, seven, something? I’m not sure.”

  “Number where you can be reached, ma’am.”

  “Uh, ah—Oxford eight . . . 1222.”

  “Address?”

  “Please deposit twenty-five cents.”

  “Sorry, I’m out of change.” Like it’s a hot potato, I hurry the handle to the cradle. Oh, Jasper, I don’t know about this.

  What could go wrong?

  Countless times I’ve perched like Mikey, watching my world disappear through the rear window of a car. There is more fear than longing as he watches the miles being swallowed up. He fidgets with a moth hole in the pillow, unaware of the accumulating spill of feathers. I gather a handful, roll down the window, and release them. He follows their flight then looks to me. I nab a fistful of pillow guts and set them free. Mikey almost smiles. The casing is half-empty when Ellis spits out a downy bit. “You guys molting back there?”

  “Ari’s making a feather force field that makes us invisible to bad guys.”

  “Carry on, then.”

  When our mission is complete he settles his head on Bunny and sleeps through to Montreal.

  For the first time in my life I receive the hug I’ve wanted from Jillianne. She holds on and I can’t let go. “Some of my friends are here. I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

  The backyard is crammed with theatre people, aged five to eighty-five. Auntie Dolores leaves her post at the grill, gives me a meaty hug then tosses me into the fun.

  In this time and place my sister is called Anne, Anne Tre
mbley. The swan in her has fully emerged, strong, graceful, and shockingly beautiful, and in this gathering of birds of a different feather she is still a solitary spirit.

  Day’s end, she nests beside me on the bed. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Best day I’ve ever had with you, Anne.”

  “Unloading the ‘Jilli’ was like emptying rocks from my pockets.” She reaches over to the bedside table and gives me an envelope. “There are still a few that weigh me down.” I open the envelope and pull out a cheque for five thousand dollars. “I am so sorry, Ari. Can you forgive me?”

  “Completely and utterly forgiven.” I hand it back to her. “Please keep it. I don’t need it.”

  “No friggin’ way.”

  “Have some fun with it then. Out of all the people here today who would you love to help?”

  “Easy. Marie Claire. She’s on her own with two little kids.”

  “Tell her it’s a gift from Len.”

  Her head rests on my shoulder. “He was something, wasn’t he?”

  “He still is. The only way I can bear his absence is to keep looking for his presence.”

  “He would bring me handwork, three or four times a week. He never hurried away. I never understood why he loved me, but I knew he did. The last time I saw him he said he wished he could have spared me all the pain I’d known, and I started to cry. He gave me his hankie and said, ‘corka, may I hold you?’ In his arms was the safest I’d ever felt.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Everyone at Springwood thought I’d start using when he died, but I just couldn’t disappoint him again.”

  “See, he is still here.”

  “He’s getting more solid as time passes and Daddy is dissolving.” Her sigh is light. “Did you see him blow off his head?”

  “It’s a jumble.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Jennah says he’s not worth a single thought or word.”

  “But I’m worth sorting through it. Some of it I just need to stare down and spit on. What do you remember?”

  “Um, I think we’d just gone grocery shopping. June and Jennah were getting the bags from the trunk when Daddy came rushing out with Jinxie. He told them to get back in the car. Jennah did, but he had to butter-up June with, ‘little June-bug,’ crap before she’d come. All the way to river he sang one of his made-up songs to “Jingle Bells,” ‘Jack-jack-jack, Jack-jack-jack stabbed me in the back. She got my gun and had some fun blowing me away.’” She takes my hand and I squeeze in return. “How could it be all Jacquie’s fault in his head?”

  Jillianne shrugs. “How could he look in the mirror if he didn’t tell himself that? He didn’t blow his brains out because he was sorry. He did it because he wanted to hurt us.”

  “Then, for you, I won’t give him the satisfaction. He didn’t hurt us. He freed us.”

  Jillianne fires off a stream of pretend spits. “What happened when you got to the river?”

  “I only remember playing on the hill. Daddy called me. I thought he was waving. Now, I think he was lifting the gun and wanted me to see him but June was in front. Where were you and Jory?”

  “Jory stole Mum’s cigarettes and was over at the park selling them. I was behind the sofa,” she says, “hiding.”

  “You and I sure spent a lot of hours in sofa-caves, didn’t we.”

  “Yeah. That day it was because Daddy was raging, raging, raging at Jacquie.”

  “What was he saying?”

  “‘A diary? A diary! Where is it, you little cunt?’ His fists were balled in her face. Jacquie screamed back, ‘Aunt Elsie, Dr. Herbert, the police, everyone knows what you did!’ She kept baiting like she wanted him to whale on her. He saw you guys pull up with the groceries and like a light switch he turned it off. He tried to smooth Jacquie’s hair. I thought he’d flipped when he said, ‘A son. My son.’ I thought he thought Jacquie was a boy, but I know now he was talking about the baby. She spat at him. He whistled for Jinx and went out all smiles.” She props herself against the headboard and plays with my hand. “After he left, Auntie Elsie showed up and asked Mum where he was. Elsie said Dr. Herbert had called the police and they were on their way. She had on this creamy dress with pink roses on it. She crouched down to me, touched my cheek, and asked, ‘Jillianne, did your Daddy ever hurt you? You can tell me anything, honey.’ Mummy started hurling things. A bottle of ink hit Elsie in the head, dribbled down her shoulder but she just kept stroking my cheek.”

  “You don’t have to answer,” I fidgit with the tatting on her pillow, “but did he?”

  “I’ve had years of spilling my guts, sis. It dilutes with the telling.” Then she tells me, talking like she’s watching a documentary. “There were all those years of messing with me,” her arms fold to hold herself, “us. Putting our hands on him, making us kiss him nice. ‘There’s my little, sweetheart.’ I turned ten the week before he died. I went to sleep dreaming about cake, my birthday dollar from Grandma, and Jennah’s promise to take me to the movies. I woke up and—I was in his bed. He said, ‘Don’t be scared, Jillybean. This is what big girls do.’ Then he raped me. His hand was over my mouth, keeping my scream inside. He was a ragged knife cutting me open while he cooed, ‘Sh, sh, I know it hurts but Daddy’s just helping you through.’ He tried to cuddle me after but I started retching and ran to the bathroom.”

  “Where was Mummy?”

  “Likely passed out on the couch. When Jacquie found me in the bathroom she knew. She locked the door, ran a bath, and got in with me. The water turned bubblegum pink as she gentled me back together. She said, ‘He will never touch you again. I promise.’”

  “Jacquie knew she was pregnant then, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah. One time when she visited me at Springwood she told me her plan that night was to kill Daddy. While she was holding me she’d planned it out. She would stab him in the heart with his war sabre, then bash his head with the iron frying pan.” She climbs off the bed, nabs a bottle of wine, and returns with two glasses. I’d rather have weed but I receive the glass. “Anyway, when she saw him lying there, so peaceful, she decided death was too easy and she wanted me to see it was his fault, not mine. So, she told Auntie Elsie.”

  “Has Jory ever talked to you?”

  “Not so much. Remember how Daddy and her played ‘horsey’? They ‘rode’ each other, but I don’t think Daddy liked her very much. Dr. Singer said that it’s all about power. Jory was always too eager to please.”

  “Jennah won’t even say his name.”

  “Oh, that’s a whole other mess.” She refills her glass. “For a long time she was Daddy’s one and only. Think of how she mothered us. When he started on Jacquie, Jennah was so hurt, like Daddy had left her for someone else.”

  “How is it we’re not all stark raving Froot Loops?”

  “Maybe, ’cause someone always came along and balanced the shit with sugar.” She clinks my glass. “And we had the sister-house.”

  “We did.”

  “You know what part of the house you were?”

  “I never really coloured that bit in.”

  “You were the electricity. A spark, light, warmth. I could always find hope when I was with you.”

  The centre of me smiles and my head finds her shoulder. “When I landed at Mary’s, I wanted so bad for you to see it was a real place.”

  “I’ll come visit you this summer. Nia and I have become good buds.”

  “You have?”

  “She talked to me at Grandma’s funeral. Like she was reading my mind she said, ‘You don’t have to forgive, you just have to channel the anger into creative energy.’ Every day I was hearing that to move on I had to forgive and I couldn’t and I felt like I’d be stuck forever. Did you know Nia’s uncle raped her?”

  “I think I knew indirectly.”

  “And look at her. She’s fire and water, steel an
d cloud. She sends me wisdom at least once a week.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “I’m peaceful.”

  “Are you lonely?”

  “How could I be? I’ve finally arrived at my true home.”

  Sunday evening Anne (sans Jilli) and Mikey splash in the pool. Auntie Dolores brings a pot of tea to the patio table. “Did you make your call?”

  “Yeah.”

  “To Jake?”

  “Jake and I are letter lovers. We abhor phone blathering. I called Toronto looking for some hopeful news from Todd.”

  “And did you get it?”

  “Mum and the Dick are safely home from their little trip so no, not hopeful.” The whole caper is told. “They decided to cross at Fort Erie instead of Niagara Falls. I swear he farts shamrocks.”

  “Doesn’t sound like luck to me, more likely someone tipped them off.”

  “You mean from customs?”

  “They’re the only ones who heard your story.”

  My head slumps to the redwood table. “I’m so dead.”

  “Never in a million years will he think a young girl had the brains or balls to do that. He’ll think it’s a good cop who’s on to him or bad cop looking to move in.” She pours tea into a pretty cup. “I’m so thankful you’re done with that hellhole.”

  I point to Mikey who just then cannonballs and water droplets land on the table. “But he isn’t.”

  “Everything will come right. I’m sure of it.”

  “It sure has for Ji— um, Anne. I’m glad she has you.”

  “You girls have been through so much.”

  “After talking last night, I feel kinda, I don’t know, guilty that they went through so much. I got off easy.”

  “At least your sisters had a molecule of motherly affection. Theresa went out of her way to be mean to you.”

  “What did I do to make her hate me so much?”

  “Your dad had this twisted belief that his lack of a son was judgment from the Almighty. It’s difficult to describe the hold your father had on your mother. She was just fifteen when they met. Theresa thought he was a god above all others. After she gave birth to you he severed all affection, all courtesy, all humanness. For your mother it was worse than hell.”