Henry's Sisters

by Cathy Lamb

  The tough guys turned back to Henry. ‘You fight it, Henry,’ Knife-Fight Face said, swiping a rough hand over the tears in his eyes.

  ‘No, I not fight. I going to heaven! Pretty quick. Jesus tell me. I gotta go do the Bunco. I see you in church. OK? I see you in church?’

  Surprisingly, they nodded.

  ‘OK, Henry. We’ll see you in church,’ Hand Signaller sighed, grabbing Henry’s shoulder.

  ‘OK dokay. Jesus loves you.’

  ‘Yeah, man, he digs you, too.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah!’ Henry laughed. ‘Jesus digs you!’

  In my rear-view mirror, I watched one of the tough guys sling an arm around the other one, patting him on the back.

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Oh, that Father Mike’s cousins. They so nice and friendly.’

  OK dokay.

  ‘You pretty, Is.’

  I reached out to hold my brother’s hand.

  Bob The Man in Charge had seen the article. He called again. Kayla took the call. She told him she’d pray about his reason for wanting to speak to her aunt Janie and blessed him.

  ‘Don’t you want to see him again?’ I asked Janie. ‘His English garden? Read classics together? Scoff down a few scones with your lemon tea?’

  ‘I do. I don’t. I do.’ She checked the stove, the oven, anguished. She took deep breaths. ‘I’ll have to sit in my serenity corner, light candles, commune with my therapist.’

  ‘You’ve already communed with your therapist,’ I drawled. ‘What did she say, for the hundredth time?’

  ‘She told me to call him.’ Janie sighed, hands to her temples. ‘I need my embroidery.’

  ‘Then do it, Aunt Janie,’ Kayla said. ‘Here, wear my sari when you call. It’s good luck.’ She handed Janie the orange sari she’d been wearing.

  Janie put on the sari.

  It didn’t help. She couldn’t pick up the phone and dial. Too scary.

  The next day, Henry and I went to the animal shelter. He wore a blue shirt with a picture of a black, grinning cat on it and his Velcro shoes.

  I noted again that the shelter needed a major face-lift and more room.

  ‘Paula Jay,’ Henry sang. ‘Paula Jay, where are you? Henry here. I here to pet the doggies.’

  No one answered, so we headed towards the back and the kennels.

  In the back, we found Paula Jay and Dawn. They were putting leashes on a few dogs to take them for a walk.

  ‘Hi Paula Jay, hi Dawn,’ Henry said, delighted he’d found them.

  ‘Hello, Henry!’ They smiled.

  My breath caught midway in my throat, stuck there.

  Paula Jay and Dawn were both bald. Not a hair on their heads.

  ‘Hey hey!’ Henry yelled. ‘You bald!’

  The ladies laughed. ‘Yep. No hair. No more shampooing and curling. We’re like you, Henry!’

  He clapped his hands, his smile lopsided, endearing. ‘Now we be bald together. We all be bald!’

  Yeah, we all be bald.

  I hugged those ladies close.

  The dogs barked. The cats meowed.

  I sniffled.

  Henry wanted to go to the bakery later in the afternoon, but I took him home first for a nap. He argued with me and Velvet for a while, but we got him fed and upstairs. Halfway through reading a book to him, he fell asleep.

  I ran into Grandma in the hallway. I saluted. ‘Hello, Mrs Earhart.’

  ‘Greetings,’ she told me. She was wearing her green flight uniform today and had tied a jaunty yellow scarf around her neck.

  ‘How is your day?’

  ‘The weather is fine for takeoff. I will be leaving soon.’ She went into Henry’s room on tiptoe, one toe at a time. ‘Don’t wake the native,’ she whispered, after patting Henry on the shoulder. ‘This native is sick, perhaps malaria or snakebite. He needs his rest.’

  She grabbed two blankets from a closet and a pillow and lay down on the floor next to Henry’s bed. This was not new to me. Since Henry became sick, Grandma often slept on his floor.

  I wondered, feeling this black depression start to steal over me again, how Amelia Earhart would do without her native. Without her co-pilot. Without her friend.

  I closed the door quietly before Grandma’s pain became too much for me to breathe through.

  Bommarito’s Bakery was jammed. It was Mommy Wednesday. We had about sixteen mommies and their kids. The mommies were passing around white wine in Thermoses. I pretended not to see it.

  I went to the back and shook my head at the orders. Birthday cakes, wedding cakes, and the usual cookies, treats, breads, and so on. We had hired two teenagers headed to college in the fall. One studied Microbiology and the other wanted to be a brain surgeon. For now, they iced.

  Bao’s hands were flying. Belinda cut out cookies. Lytle and a brother rolled dough.

  Janie was ringing people up like there was no tomorrow, chatting as if she was a normal person who didn’t usually hide in a houseboat. The girls were making cranberry nut bread and Cecilia was filling orders.

  ‘This is crazy,’ I said aloud.

  Cecilia laughed. It was great to hear that laugh. It had been too long.

  The girls’ bald heads snapped up in surprise at their bald mother’s laughter.

  I saw Kayla smile at Riley. They wriggled in their seats.

  Henry did not want to eat dinner that night or the next. Day to day he continued to waste away. He still had his smile, but the wattage was dimmed, his breathing laboured, his walk slowing, his plane sputtering.

  The decision to not do chemo again had been easy. Dr Remmer had shaken her head after seeing Henry one afternoon. ‘Get the dogs married, Dr Remmer!’ Henry wheezed, leaning heavily on me.

  So that was it, we were done. We moved to what is gently known as ‘palliative care’, which means you make the person comfortable on their way out the door.

  On Wednesday night I asked Henry if he still wanted to go to church. ‘Are you OK, Henry? You tired? We don’t have to go.’

  Henry’s mouth opened. ‘Is! You silly. We have to go. Henry help at church Wednesdays. What Father Mike do without me? He need help. I help him!’

  ‘You’re right, Henry. You have to go. Father Mike needs you. I thought that if you were too tired, we could take one night off.’

  ‘No. Not night off. I help.’

  We got in the car and drove in silence. Henry put a hand out and I drove with one hand, one hand in his.

  ‘Henry,’ I asked. ‘Are you scared?’

  ‘Am I scared?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Am I scared of church?’ He was perplexed.

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘What scared of?’

  ‘Nothing, Henry. I got confused.’

  ‘Ha! Ha! I get confused, too. But you mean am Henry scared to die?’

  Sometimes he has these flashes where he cuts through to the hard truth. Bulls-eye. On target.

  ‘Yes. Are you scared to die?’

  He squeezed my hand. ‘No, you silly, Is, I told you. I not scared to die. Jesus will come and get me. We fly up to the angels on a moonbeam or sun ray and I get some wings on my back and I go live in heaven and I come and visits you.’

  It was dark, so Henry didn’t see my tears tearing straight down my face.

  ‘How will I know when you’re visiting me, Henry?’

  I didn’t think he’d have an answer to that one, but he did.

  ‘Hmm…’ He put a fist under his chin. ‘Hmmm. Lemme see. Let Henry think. Hmmmm. I think, Is, you know I’m visiting you when the wind picks up your hairs and swirls it all around all around all around.’ He mimicked my hair flying even though I had no hair. ‘That from my angel wings.’

  ‘You’re gonna be my favourite angel.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he snickered. ‘I your favourite angel. I fly around. Zoom. I always there with you, Is. I there.’

  ‘I love you, my brother, Henry.’

  ‘I love you, my sister, Is.’


  We held hands the rest of the way to the church.

  My grief was so overwhelming I could feel it crushing me from the inside out.

  We were late to church on Sunday. We all went, the whole gang, including Dad. Henry headed, slowly but smiling, to the front of the church and sat in the front pew so he could help Father Mike. We found a place at the back of the church and knelt down, exhausted.

  We were stressed and rushed and tired. Henry had had a bad night again. He’d felt sick and alternately I, Momma, Velvet, or Janie had been up with him. Dad had come at three in the morning when Momma called him and had stayed the night and helped us get Henry ready for church when he insisted on going.

  So we dropped to our knees and said our prayers in church. Dad bent his head, sombrely, slowly, his jaw locked. Momma held her rosary. I watched her lips moving a mile a minute.

  Grandma prayed out loud, her flight goggles on top of her head. ‘God, this is Amelia. Today I’m praying for you. I pray that you help all the natives out there who need help and my co-pilot who has malaria fever or baboon bite instead of sitting back on your butt and doing nothing. Does the devil got you or something? Amen.’

  She sat back and twirled her thumbs. No one said anything about Grandma praying out loud. She had lived in that town forever and they were used to her. Many had commented that they sure liked this Grandma better than the other one.

  ‘I would like the Bommarito family and Amelia Earhart to come up.’

  Father Mike’s words broke through my raggedy thoughts like an electric bolt, most of my thoughts cantered around my encroaching depression, and how I would live without Henry. I was fighting back, but I was weakening, I could feel it.

  ‘Come on up,’ he boomed, smiling.

  I felt Momma freeze beside me.

  ‘Momma, come on,’ I whispered to her. ‘Get Grandma.’

  No need. Grandma had heard the invitation and she was up and striding down the aisle, saluting people. Cecilia and I pulled Momma to her feet.

  Janie put a hand on my back and I felt it tremble. Janie does not like big crowds, had only agreed to go to church because of Henry, and she sure as heck didn’t like being the centre of attention.

  Cecilia and the girls came up behind me after Cecilia whispered a little too loud, ‘What the hell?’

  It wasn’t until later that I realised Dad hadn’t come with us to the altar.

  But I was distracted by Henry, who was standing next to Father Mike, who was…bald. I felt my mouth drop open.

  We helped Momma up the stairs to the altar. Bald Father Mike smiled at us. When I knew that Momma had her footing, Grandma was not pontificating at the podium, Janie had not fainted, and Cecilia’s girls were standing next to her (Kayla was actually wearing a dress today with only three giant crosses), I turned to the congregation.

  Baldness.

  Not complete baldness, but many, many heads, including a huge group of teenagers, and young children who I learnt later were Cecilia’s students.

  I heard Momma’s intake of breath. ‘Good Glory,’ she whispered. ‘Good glory God. Good glory God.’

  ‘The natives have lost their hair!’ Grandma shouted, arms outspread. ‘The natives have lost their hair!’

  Janie made a squealing sound and fluffed a lace hankie.

  Cecilia put her hands on her face and made these long, sobbing sounds.

  Riley said, ‘Sweet. Now I’m not the only bald dude in school.’

  Kayla nodded. ‘Cool. Way cool.’

  And me.

  Well, I’m a regular mushpot now. All those people. I saw baldness and I saw kindness. I saw a shiny head and I saw caring eyes. I saw the lights shining on those head cones and I saw generosity of spirit. I saw people I’d recently met and people I’d known since high school, all smiling.

  I saw Knife-Fight Face and the Hand Signaller. Bald people from the animal shelter and the senior centre. Our neighbours and Bao and Lytle and his brothers.

  All bald.

  And for a second, I saw a tiny gold light prick the darkness around me.

  ‘Folks, we’re going to pray today for the Bommarito family. Please bow your heads.’

  And bow our bald heads we did.

  After church, Henry served doughnuts and the Bommarito family all trooped downstairs to socialise with other people for the first time ever.

  Soon Momma was chatting, introducing Dad. Momma had never socialised at church, but that wasn’t the strangest thing going on. The strangest thing was how she introduced Dad. ‘This is my husband, Carl.’

  I raised my eyebrows, and let my smile out. Janie sidled up to me. ‘For my entire life I have felt that I didn’t fit in. It was like the whole group was playing in the river and I was the weed on the side of it. Or the dead duck. Or the invasive plant that didn’t belong. I wanted to be normal.’

  I wrapped an arm around her. ‘We’re not normal.’

  ‘But I always wanted to be normal. I’ve made an observation, though.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘No one’s normal. There’s Chin Marko. His wife is the shoplifter. She took the piano out of the Baptist church, remember? She pulled it down Cherry Hill Street with ropes at two in the morning. And the Goyas’ sons. They’re geniuses. But they do odd stuff. Explosions. Dynamite. That sort of thing. People know when they hear a big bang that it’s the Goyas.

  ‘Danika Tobias is wearing a hat with two birds and a nest in between. The nest came from the tree in her backyard.’

  She tapped one hand against the other.

  ‘So I write about gruesome killings and kidnappings and have a few obsessions. It’s the way I am.’

  ‘Odd.’

  ‘Yep. Odd. Who gives a shit?’

  ‘I don’t. I don’t give a shit.’

  ‘Good. Wanna doughnut?’

  So we had a bald town. Many bald people. Henry loved it. We loved it.

  Loved it while our hearts broke into teeny, tiny, miserable pieces.

  ‘Parker came over yesterday afternoon,’ Cecilia told me and Janie a few nights later. We were in our usual position on the grass under the willow tree with our friend the wind whipping about, the moon glowing. ‘Asshole dropped in without telling me.’

  ‘Did you grab your axe and make swishing motions towards his groin?’ Janie asked eagerly.

  ‘No…’

  ‘Did you reach for your nail gun and shoot at him for self-defence purposes?’

  ‘Damn, Janie, no. No, I didn’t do that. Actually’ – Cecilia shifted – ‘when he said he wanted to talk to me, I told him I didn’t want to talk to him.’

  ‘Good. Screw him,’ I said.

  ‘If I were there,’ Janie said, ‘I would have grabbed a wire, you can use one that is right off a stereo, and I would have—’

  ‘Yes, we know, Janie. That one was in your last book,’ Cecilia drawled.

  Janie humphed.

  Cecilia crossed a heel over a knee. She’d dropped weight since Henry’s diagnosis. ‘I said, “What is it, asshole? And remember I’m not required to take any more of your abuse and how’s Bimbo Boobs?”’

  I snorted.

  Cecilia laughed. ‘He said, don’t call her Bimbo Boobs, and he started getting all fired up…and then he sighed. Big sigh. I crossed my arms and waited. It was the funniest thing, too. Because I was able, for the first time, to step back and study him without all the emotions. When I was living with him, I was always upset, always tired, always trying to please him or manage him and his moods. I knew that he had secrets, I knew he was lying to me about one thing after the other. He always denied it. It makes you feel like you’re a paranoid wife. Like you’re losing your mind. Like you’re a nag and seeing things that aren’t there. He always made me feel like I was the one with the problem, not him. And yet, I was right all along. I was right. He was lying, cheating on me, gambling, drinking. Plus he was mean to me.’

  I squeezed her hand. The sky was sure pretty tonight. A frosting of stars. I hoped that on
e would fall out of the sky and conk Parker in the tonsils and he would die a strangulation death. Gee, I sounded like Janie.

  ‘I hated having sex with him. He made me feel so ugly. He’d sigh when he was on top of me, like he was so disappointed. Or he’d groan in a way that I knew he was frustrated. I felt this small.’ She held up her fingers a quarter inch apart. ‘I felt like nothing. And what makes me so mad is how long I took it. I hate him for making me hate myself because I didn’t have the gumption to leave him.’

  I wished Parker’s face would explode.

  ‘Don’t hate yourself, Cecilia,’ Janie pleaded. ‘Don’t. I love you, Isabelle loves you. So many people love you. You’re this strong life force, a ray out of a rainbow.’

  ‘Thank you, Janie.’ She faced Janie. ‘You’re a sweet person, you know that? Gentle and lovely. Except for all the murdering. Anyhow, Asshole said, “Cecilia, you’ve lost weight. Finally, you’re listening to me.” And I said, “What do you want, Parker?” And he told me that we had had a lot of problems in our marriage but we could start to fix things here and now if I got rid of my attitude. I laughed. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, all authoritative-like.’

  ‘I wished I could have been there. You should have invited me!’ I protested.

  ‘I wanted him to hang himself. He said that our marriage didn’t work because I was always nagging at him and starting fights. That I didn’t take care of him. I’m too fat and I would have to change that because my fat was repulsive. He told me that Constance was great but he was willing to get back together for the sake of the family if I would behave better the next time. He actually used that word, “behave”.’

  My, how we laughed.

  ‘And I said, aren’t you still in love with Constance? And he sighed again like he was gravely wounded. It was funny how I could actually predict what he was going to do and say. That’s how far I’ve got away from that sicko. He said that Constance was a beautiful woman, charming and sweet, and it would kill him to give her up, she was wildly in love with him, but he would sacrifice for the family and the girls. “You got that, Cecilia?” He actually said that. “I’ll sacrifice for the family.”’

  ‘Please don’t tell me you agreed to try it again, Cecilia,’ I pleaded. ‘Or I will have to hire a hitman. You know I wouldn’t do well in jail. I can’t bring my Porsche.’