“Power, yo. Respect.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Who you callin’ dumb, girl?” Darcy brushes blush onto her cheeks.
“You wouldn’t even know how to fire it.”
“It’s easy.” She points her finger like a gun and presses down on her thumb. “Pow. No more fat girl jokes.” Harriet has witnessed boys oinking at Darcy, calling her porky and grabbing at her breasts. Girls call her a fat slob when she wears tank tops.
“You’d have to kill a lot of people,” Harriet points out.
“Not once I get a rep.”
Harriet doesn’t know Darcy well enough to be certain she’s joking. All kinds of kids shoot people. Two fifteen-year-old boys were shot dead by a fourteen-year-old just last week. The idea of having a friend with a strap appeals to her. “So why don’t you ask Clayton?”
“I need a hundred bucks.”
“Get it from Buck.”
“Oh, right, like I can say, ‘Hey, Pops, I need cash for a gun.’”
“Ask him when he’s stoned. I bet he’s always got cash on him for a few grams. Tell him it’s for some outfit you want to buy.” A heater might solve the Gennedy problem, although she’d have to make it look gang related and lure him into Crip territory. She tries to remember if he has any red clothes other than his Speedo. More pus oozes out of her swelling toe. Where the nail cuts into the skin is turning a blend of Phthalo Blue and Burnt Ochre. She imagines the infection spreading up her leg and the doctor telling Lynne he has to cut it off. “Don’t you touch my baby!” Lynne would scream. “You save my baby’s leg or I’ll sue your ass.”
Darcy prods her. “You got any dough?”
“Five bucks and some quarters.”
“Get some Fuzzy Peaches. I’m starved.” She grabs a packet at the checkout and hands it to Harriet. “I’m with her,” she tells the cashier, sliding past Harriet with the lipstick in her pocket.
They sit on the busted fountain in the park, chewing on Fuzzy Peaches. “That Caitlin whore still hasn’t texted me,” Darcy says. “Her wall is, like, totally fake. She’s smiling in every shot like she’s a nice person. And she’s changed her status again, that fucking slut. Her boyfriend looks like a total derp. He’s wearing dark glasses and holding a guitar. Give me a break, he probably can’t even play.”
“Why do you look at her timeline? Just forget about her.”
“That’s easy for you to say because you don’t have any friends. I used to be popular.”
Harriet suspects this is untrue but doesn’t question Dee because it might make her stop chilling with her. “Would you be mad if I fixed Buck up with my mother? Then we’d be sisters. I mean, I don’t even know if your dad will be into my mom, or vice versa, but I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you?” When Darcy doesn’t respond she adds, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we were sisters?”
Dee pops another Fuzzy Peach into her mouth. “These are the questions that haunt me.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously there’s no way fucky Bucky is going to go for your mother. She’s old.”
A dad on a bike with a toddler in a kiddie seat stops in front of the fountain.
“It’s busted,” Darcy tells him. The toddler chortles in the kiddie seat, waving her chubby arms. The dad reaches back and straightens her helmet then bends down to kiss her hands. The gesture is so natural, so casual, Harriet has no doubt the dad takes the toddler for bike rides every single day, and straightens her helmet and kisses her hands. Trent never put a kiddie seat on his bikes.
“Let’s think about all the people we’d whack if we had a strap,” Harriet says.
“Now you’re talkin’.” Darcy reaches for another Fuzzy Peach. “At least you don’t have to waste your brother since he’s dying in a week.”
The thought of Irwin dying no longer sends charges through Harriet but weighs on her. “Some people we should just maim,” she says. “Like Mr. Shotlander. We’ll shoot him in the foot, make him hop around.”
“Nice.”
It takes most of the afternoon to compile the list and decide which targets should be killed and which maimed. Generally Harriet hesitates to smoke people who pay her for errands, but she makes an exception in the case of Mrs. Butts.
Mr. Fishberg, with his shirt unbuttoned and his hand down his pants, whistles when he sees Harriet and Dee with makeup on. Mr. Shotlander holds the door open for them. “Leave the girls alone, Fishberg.” Harriet knows he is making a show of defending them because he wants her to fix his computer.
“Look at you, Harry,” Mr. Chubak says, scratching his bald spot. “All grown up looking. Buffo buffo. Almost didn’t recognize you.” This is what Harriet wants to hear. She presses the elevator button. Darcy snaps open her stolen lipstick and glides it over her lips then offers it to Harriet, who does the same.
“Now that’s a Kodak moment.” Mr. Hoogstra tips his captain’s hat.
“Where did these beautiful dolls come from?” Mr. Zilberschmuck asks, brushing ashes from the lapel of his three-piece suit.
“Harry,” Mr. Shotlander pleads. “I’ll pay you five bucks if you can fix it.”
“Show me the cash.”
“Since when do you need cash up front?”
“Since now.” She steps into the elevator.
“Okay, okay, okay.” Mr. Shotlander pulls out his wallet. “Dang it, I don’t have a fiver. You got a fiver, Chubak?” Mr. Chubak feels around in his corduroys. The elevator doors start to close. Mr. Shotlander jams his orthotic shoe between them.
“I got a couple of toonies,” Mr. Chubak says.
Taj, the janitor-cum-movie-pirate, suddenly appears. “No feet in the elevator doors. You want the elevator to work, no feet. How many times do I call the elevator company? We have to raise your rent.”
Mr. Shotlander removes his foot and the door closes.
“Alone at last,” Darcy says. “Come over later. Buck’s taking me to the DQ. I’ll see if I can set something up with your mom.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s the buzz, cuz. Text me and we’ll work out the deets.”
Harriet knows better than to remind Dee that she doesn’t have a cell.
The apartment appears to be empty. Harriet rushes from room to room to ascertain that Gennedy is out then checks to see if his computer is password locked. It is, which means they’ve been gone awhile and could return any minute. She scrambles into the kitchen, pulls out the plastic mixing bowl, measures out the milk, pours in the instant chocolate pudding mix and blends it with the electric mixer. “Presto,” she says. Once it’s thickened, she stirs in some miniature marshmallows. She eats several spoonfuls before fitting the lid on the bowl and hiding it under her bed with two spoons. She hurries back to the kitchen to clean up the evidence and phone Darcy. “Have you figured out how to fix up our parents yet?”
“Be at the DQ at eight. Get her to put a face on.”
The minute Gennedy and Lynne walk in the door, Harriet can tell her mother’s been crying again. Red eyes and a puffy face will not turn on Buck. While Gennedy carries the sleeping Irwin to his room, Harriet wraps her arms around her mother and kisses her on the cheek several times to cheer her up.
“What’s got into you?” Lynne asks.
“I love you and I’m so happy you’re home.”
“I love you too, bunny.” Lynne holds her at arm’s length. “You’re wearing makeup.”
“Mindy did a makeover.”
“Who’s Mindy?”
Gennedy returns. “Some white trash in the building.” He pours spaghetti sauce into a saucepan.
“You’re white trash,” Harriet says.
Gennedy looks at Lynne. “You see how she talks to me?”
“Harriet, why were you with Mindy? Aren’t there children your own age to play with?”
&nbs
p; “I went out with Darcy afterwards.”
“Who’s Darcy?” Lynne sits wearily.
“The new girl in the building of questionable character,” Gennedy reminds her. “They went to the Eaton Centre together to purchase the leopard spotted bra with pink lace trim.”
“You’re so obsessed with that bra,” Harriet says, “you should wear it.”
He waves a wooden spoon at Lynne. “I’m supposed to tolerate this disrespect? You think I exaggerate how she treats me, but I can assure you no exaggeration is required.”
Lynne leans her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands. “Bunny, what’s with the bra? You’re way too young for a bra like that. If you want a bra we can get you a sports bra that’s soft. You don’t need a padded underwire bra.”
“She needs it to make her breasts look bigger,” Gennedy says.
“And you need dick enlargement,” Harriet says. Darcy showed her ads for penis enlargement online.
Gennedy waves the wooden spoon again. “See how she talks? Is this acceptable language for an eleven-year-old? She’s rude, potty mouthed, disrespectful . . .”
“Respect has to be earned,” Harriet says. Mr. Chubak says this. “And I’m not ‘she.’ I’m right here, in this room, and what I buy is none of your business. It’s my money. Mum, what’s up with Irwin? Is he getting worse?” Suddenly she’s worried her mother is crying because he’s almost dead already, before Harriet has had a chance to make him happy with pudding. Just as she was too late to make Mrs. Rivera happy by singing “Beat It” and moonwalking.
“He needs rest,” Gennedy says. “Do not disturb him.”
Harriet runs to Irwin’s room and stands over his bed, waiting for him to move. She holds a hand in front of his face to feel if he’s breathing. She has done this many times, always hoping to feel nothing, but now the soft puff of air against her palm causes giddy relief and she whispers in his ear. “Do you want some chocolate fudge pudding with miniature marshmallows?”
“Am I allowed?”
“Just don’t tell. Be right back.”
Lynne and Gennedy resume their bickering in the kitchen. Harriet knows it will escalate until Lynne boohoos on his shoulder and he tells her they’ll get through it, darlin’, they always do. Get through what? Harriet wants to shout. There’s always more to get through for them. She doesn’t want to spend her life getting through stuff. She grabs the bowl of pudding, the spoons and scurries back to Irwin’s room, closing the door. “If we’re quiet, they’ll forget about us.” She helps Irwin to sit up, bolstering him with pillows, and hands him a spoon.
He digs into the pudding. “Wowee, wowee, marshmallows.”
“They’re vitamin enriched. They’ll make you strong.”
“Cool.” He spoons pudding into his mouth. “Yum.”
“Chocolate fudge is my absolute favourite.”
“Mine too.” He spoons more pudding. Knowing this equals hundreds of calories, Harriet feels triumphant.
“They’re fighting again,” Irwin whispers.
“No, they’re just trying to figure out what to make for dinner.”
“I don’t want dinner.”
“Just pretend to be asleep and they’ll leave you alone.”
“See my new spy handbook?” He holds up a small bound notebook with a clasp. “I can lock it shut. It’s got a key.”
“Wicked. What are you writing in it?”
“Spy stuff. Top secret. Will you snuggle with me?”
“When you don’t want any more pudding. We don’t have to finish it. I’ll put it back in my room and we can have more later.”
“Cool.”
He eats eight more spoonfuls. Harriet feels whole, as whole as she felt with Mrs. Rivera.
Thirteen
When Harriet hears Lynne’s flip-flops coming down the hall, she shoves the pudding and spoons under Irwin’s bed. “Let’s see your face,” she whispers, wiping the chocolate off his mouth. “Pretend you’re asleep or she’ll be on your case about eating spaghetti.”
“How long do I have to pretend for?”
“Till she leaves. Shhh. I think she’s checking my room first.”
“She doesn’t know you’re here?”
“No, shhh, we have to pretend to be asleep. We’ll spy on her and you can put it in your spy handbook. Do spoons.” Irwin rolls onto his side and she tucks her knees behind his, wrapping her arm around him.
Lynne stands over them for what feels like an hour. Irwin is ticklish behind the knees and Harriet must hold completely still to prevent a fit of giggles. Finally Lynne sits on the rocking chair she rocks Irwin in after seizures, or when he wakes up scared. He frequently dreams that he has to go back to the hospital. When he was little he didn’t mind the hospital because he didn’t think he would have to return to it again and again. When he was little he thought he would get better because that’s what everybody said would happen, especially Lynne. She’d rock him in the chair and tell him what a big boy he was, how smart and brave, and how he was getting stronger all the time. Irwin would beam in these moments, his smile trusting and hopeful, but after he turned three Harriet figured out it was all lies. She started hating her mother not only because Lynne loved Irwin best, but because she lied to him. Grandpa Archie used to say they should call a spade a spade. “Call a spade a spade,” she says in her head while her mother rocks on the chair, sniffling. Gennedy squishes down the hall in his Crocs. “You okay, darlin’?”
“Look at them,” Lynne whispers. “Aren’t they beautiful? My babies. They’re so sweet together.”
Gennedy grunts.
“He never stopped talking about her at the hospital. He idolizes her.”
Gennedy grunts again and squishes over to the rocker. The rocker stops rocking and Harriet hears kissing noises. She feels Irwin wriggle and grips him more tightly.
“I hate it when we fight,” Lynne says. “You’re so good to us. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“I’ll always be here for you, darlin’.”
“I know it’s hard, but you have to be patient with Harriet. She’s been through a lot.”
“Not as much as Irwin.”
“It’s different.”
“Tell me about it. Can’t believe they’re from the same parents. You sure there wasn’t a mix-up at the hospital?”
“Very funny.” More smooching. Irwin starts to giggle and Harriet knows he’s about to blow their cover. She pretends to be waking up, making a show of rubbing her eyes and yawning.
“Bunny, did we wake you? You guys shouldn’t be sleeping now anyway. It’s time for spaghetti.”
Irwin sits up. “Surprise! I’m awake too.”
“I’ve got to put another hole in Irwin’s belt,” Harriet says. “Come on, Irwin.”
“Mizz Harriet, what happened to your shoe?”
“My toe’s infected. The shoe was hurting it.”
“Let me see it.” Lynne pushes off the rocker and examines Harriet’s toe. “Oh my lord, Harriet, why didn’t you say something?”
“To who?”
Lynne looks at Gennedy, who shrugs. “I was here. She never mentioned it.”
“I’m not she,” Harriet says. “I’m me and I’m in the room now.”
“Yes, and pretending to be asleep so you can listen in on a private conversation.”
“I was asleep.”
“You never sleep in the daytime. You hardly sleep at night with all the creeping around and garbage collecting.”
“Gennedy, she was asleep. I saw her.”
“We were both asleep,” Irwin insists too loudly because he’s a lousy liar.
“Stop copying your sister.” Gennedy turns his back on them to face Lynne. “Don’t you see how she plays you? She didn’t tell you about the toe because she wants to make an issue out of it s
o you’ll feel guilty for not rushing her to emergency.”
“Well, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. She needs antibiotics.”
“She needs to soak it in salt water, is what she needs. She doesn’t need us to do that.”
“Don’t tell me what my daughter needs.”
“There you go, this is exactly what she wants.”
“Who’s she?” Harriet demands. “And who are you?” She jumps off the bed and pokes his shoulder to make him face her. “Are you married to my mother? No. Are you related to my brother? No. Do you try to hit me when my mother is not around? Yes.”
“What?” Lynne covers her mouth with her hand.
“I have never hit her.”
“Only because you can’t catch me,” Harriet says.
“She’s framing me, can’t you see that? She hates me, always has. She’s trying to get rid of me.”
“Did you try to hit her?” Lynne asks.
“She attacked me. Jumped on me like some kind of wild animal.”
“Did you hit her?”
“I did not hit her.”
“You would have if you’d caught me,” Harriet says.
“Oh really? So you can predict the future now.”
“Come on, Irwin,” Harriet says. “Let’s fix your belt.” She grabs his hand and tries to pull him off the bed but he vomits chocolate pudding and miniature marshmallows all over the cratered carpet.
East General is not nearly as nice as SickKids. It doesn’t have a Second Cup, and Emerg is filled with drunks, drug addicts and sick people who occupy the washroom for hours. Harriet needs to pee but keeps missing her chance as one feeble person exits the washroom and another enters. Her mother sits in the corridor on a plastic chair with her eyes closed and her head tipped back against the wall. She isn’t speaking and Harriet’s not sure if this is because she’s still angry with her, or if she’s just been in too many hospitals. A scarlet-haired woman in platform shoes clomps up and down the corridor shouting. Her mouth and one eye are bleeding. When hospital staff pass her, she clutches at them and says, “I hurt soooo bad. I’m dy-ing over here.” Some of the staff ignore her, others say they can’t give her anything until the doctor sees her. An orderly with cornrows tries to make her sit down but she keeps pacing. Harriet hears the orderly say to another man in scrubs that the scarlet-haired woman in platform shoes is “a frequent flyer.”
On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light Page 16
