Henry's Sisters

by Cathy Lamb

  ‘I said to him, “Parker, I know what you’re doing. You’re broke. You have a mountain of credit debt. You have to pay me for monthly child support and payments to the kids’ college accounts. You have no home. You have no job. You don’t even have enough money to bet or gamble anymore, do you?” He got all pale when I said that.’

  ‘Pale,’ Janie mused. ‘Perhaps his life force was draining out of him.’

  ‘“You don’t want to get back together with me,” I said. “Constance is cheating on you. The girls told me they overheard you fighting about it. And I hear you have a new boat?” I loved telling him I knew about that boat! Constance and her boats! “No, Parker,” I said, like I was some calm self-help guru. “Never will I get back together with you. And if at any time you stop paying child support for the kids, I will set Cherie on you again like a pit bull with rabies.”’

  ‘Did he leave?’

  ‘Not before I told him that I had hated being married to him and hadn’t realised how much I hated it until he’d left. That once I got over being mad that he had cheated on me, and once I got over that I was furious with myself for staying married to him, I loved my life. If only he would die a painful death with lots of blood spurting from his mouth, then things would be perfect.’

  ‘Ohhh, gory,’ Janie breathed. ‘Nice.’

  ‘So, anyhow, he charged off to get his tools from the garage after swearing at me and using the female dog name in reference to me, and I went and got the hose.’

  ‘Why did you get the hose?’ I asked, anticipating her deviousness with delight.

  ‘Because his car needed watering on the inside.’

  I sputtered. ‘Was he driving the Corvette?

  ‘Yes. And since he had been screaming at me, I feared for my life, so when his car was being watered, I called the police station and got Charlotte and told her to come – you remember Charlotte from high school? She was the prom queen. Now she’s a lieutenant in the department. She refused to wear a dress, only jeans when she got the crown. It took her five minutes to get to the house. Parker came back to the driveway and she was there with Lieutenant Sho Lin, Grandma’s best friend’s nephew.’

  ‘Oh yeah, Sho,’ I said. Nice guy.

  ‘Parker doesn’t care they’re there, he’s still screaming at me and I told Charlotte I was so glad I didn’t have to live with a verbally abusive jerk anymore and she nodded at me and told Parker to “cease his communications immediately” and she stood right in front of me, so did Sho.

  ‘I will never forgive you for not having me over on that day,’ I said. ‘Never.’

  ‘Parker bad-mouthed Charlotte and scowled at her like she’s a parasite and said, “What the fuck are you going to do, anyhow, Charlotte? You’re gonna side with her, aren’t you? All you shitface women side with each other.”’

  I sucked in my breath like a siphon. Even I know better than to get into it with police.

  ‘So the shitface Charlotte grabbed him and shoved him to the ground and handcuffed him. I am not kidding, girls, Charlotte had him down in seconds. Facedown, head in the dirt. I couldn’t believe how fast she moved. She’s not that big, either. Parker tried to get up and she put a couple of holds on him until he sank into the ground like a squished slug.

  ‘Then Sho and Charlotte hauled him up and shoved him against the police car. I decide to show Parker how well I’d watered his car and I opened the door to the Corvette and all this water rushed out. Parker started to scream again and said, “Charlotte! Are you blind? Can’t you see what that bitch did to my car? I’ll get you for this, Cecilia. You hear me? I am going to get you. You will live to regret this for the rest of your very short life. Say goodbye, Cecilia! Goodbye!” Parker always told me I’d have a short life because I’m so fat.

  ‘Anyhow, Charlotte read him his rights and told him he was being arrested for verbally and physically assaulting a police officer, menacing and trespassing, and threatening to kill his wife.

  ‘And Parker’s screaming, “Look at my car! Can’t you see what she did to my car?” And Sho said to him, no smile at all, “I don’t see anything wrong with your car, Parker, do you, Lieutenant?” And Charlotte said, “Nope, all I see is a car a man would buy who’s having a midlife crisis. You should roll up your windows when it’s raining, Parker.”’

  I sighed. ‘This is one of the most rewarding moments of my entire life. I will treasure it always.’

  ‘I laughed until my fat hurt.’ Cecilia said. ‘Too much jiggling.’

  ‘I feel joyous, free, like I’m flying,’ Janie sighed.

  A star shot through the sky.

  Splendid

  So splendid.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Dad was with us each evening. He and Henry bent their bald heads together and made another model aeroplane together and a submarine. They swung on the porch swing together, too. When Henry fell asleep with his head in Dad’s lap, I saw Dad raise a hand to his face. It was the one with only three fingers left.

  Dad had lost so much.

  And he was about to lose more.

  The slide into heaven was quick. Henry, almost overnight, became too tired and nauseated to get out of bed. He refused to drink, or eat, saying he wasn’t hungry or thirsty anymore. He became more jaundiced.

  His bedroom was almost always full of people.

  Friends from his day centre came and patted his head and hugged him. Lytle brought his checkerboard and put it beside Henry on the bed. ‘When you ready, Henry, we play.’ Lytle knew they weren’t going to play again. I knew that because he went and banged his head in the corner of the bedroom so hard he bled and his brother dragged him out.

  Henry, who was fading rapidly, barely able to lift his head, smiled. ‘You my friend, Lytle. I see you.’

  Father Mike gave Henry last rites, the intoned words sinking into my grief, deepening it, making it final. Complete.

  Late one night, Momma bent over Henry. His eyes were halfway open, his smile only halfway there. ‘You are my special boy, Henry,’ Momma rasped. ‘You have been my light.’

  I tried not to feel hurt. These last words were for Henry and about Henry. Not me.

  ‘I love you, Momma,’ Henry whispered. ‘You a good momma.’

  ‘You’re a won…won…wonderful son,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Hey, Momma. Be nice to sisters. OK dokay.’

  Her face registered her shock, but then she leant her cheek against his. ‘I will, Henry. I will. I promise.’

  See? Henry gets it. He always had.

  Dad’s hands shook as he held his son’s hands in his own. ‘Henry, I—’ He stopped. ‘Henry, I—’ Dad couldn’t speak.

  ‘You my dad. You back,’ Henry whispered. ‘I love my dad.’

  ‘I love you, son.’ Dad’s voice cracked in half, as if the pain had split him in two and the two parts couldn’t get close enough together to sound human anymore. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been here with you…all these years…all these years.’

  Henry reached out a hand, slowly, carefully, and patted Dad’s head. ‘It OK, Dad. It OK.’

  ‘Cecilia,’ Henry said. ‘Where the girls? I say goodbye to the girls. Jesus tell me say bye-bye.’

  I wrapped my arms around my stomach and leant my head against the window. How could Henry be so brave, so cheerfully courageous? He had known from the start he was dying, but he had never flipped out, never got hysterical, never grieved. I would never, ever be as brave as Henry.

  And now, tonight, he just wanted to say goodbye. A loving goodbye from Henry with the frog hat and the shirt that said ‘Boo!’ A loving goodbye from the most compassionate, caring person I had ever known. A loving goodbye from a man who believed he would join God and the angels and get his wings.

  ‘OK, Henry, OK. I’ll get the girls,’ Cecilia said, rushing out. Within minutes she was back with Riley and Kayla. Riley and Kayla came in slowly, then burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Henry said, his voice weak. ‘Oh, no! No crying. No crying. I
go to Jesus. I see you again.’

  ‘Uncle Henry,’ Riley said, so sweet, so sad, as she put her bald head on his chest.

  He patted her.

  ‘Uncle Henry, I love you,’ Kayla said. Today she was wearing a crocheted floral kipot on her head, like Jewish women might wear.

  ‘Nice hat, nice hat, I think Jesus like your hat, Kayla.’

  Both girls cried and held him.

  ‘You be good. You be good.’ Henry sighed.

  Momma tried to stifle her sobs, but she couldn’t do it.

  Grandma must have heard the cries of her daughter’s heart, because she marched in, straight to Momma, who was keening by Henry’s bed, and rocked her back and forth.

  Seeing the two of them together like that, bald head next to white hair, after all their decades of fighting, brought steaming hot tears to my eyes.

  After twenty minutes, Grandma stood and ceremoniously bowed at Henry and put her goggles over his head.

  ‘I am honouring you with my goggles, young man,’ she intoned. ‘You have earned them. Wear them wisely.’

  Henry grinned at us through the goggles. ‘Hey, I love you. I love my family. Dad back. See. Dad back.’ His eyes started to close. ‘We a family. Bommarito family.’

  We turned out the lights and sat in the night as the moonbeams shone through the fluttering curtains.

  We got quieter and quieter until all we could hear was Henry’s laboured breathing, the space between each breath longer and longer.

  Momma was about ready to collapse, so Dad and she kissed Henry on the forehead and Dad put Momma to bed. Cecilia settled the girls in the guest room they always stayed in.

  I put Grandma in bed. ‘Leave my goggles with my co-pilot,’ she ordered. ‘He’ll need them to get out of the jungle. There are lions where he’s going and they’ll offer him protection.’

  I assured her I would. I turned off her light but whirled back because of a muffled noise coming from under the covers.

  Grandma was crying, softly, straight into her pillow. I picked her up, she weighed so little, and put her on my lap and rocked her. Somehow, in what edge of sanity she had left, Grandma knew that her co-pilot was dying.

  ‘Remember what I told you,’ she instructed me, as I hugged her close. ‘Leave the goggles with him.’

  ‘I will, Amelia. I will. The goggles stay with Henry.’

  I rubbed her back and covered her up, my heart heavy, then stroked her hair, white and curly and soft.

  ‘Keep the goggles on him,’ she whispered as she fell into a soft sleep. ‘He needs my protection.’

  I went back to Henry’s room and tucked myself in by Janie who was next to Henry, Cecilia on the other side.

  When dawn came, Henry woke up.

  We got him some water, more pain medication, settled him back down.

  ‘I see the angels,’ he told us, his voice wispy.

  I pulled the blankets to his chin, Cecilia stroked his head, Janie rubbed his feet.

  ‘What do they look like?’ I asked.

  His eyes were only half open. ‘They white. Gold. Smiling.’

  ‘They sound beautiful, Henry.’

  ‘Yeah, they beautiful, Is. They right here.’

  ‘What do you mean they’re here?’ Cecilia asked. Her face was tight and drawn.

  ‘They here, Cecilia. Behind you. Behind my sisters.’

  Janie was the only one who snuck a look over her shoulder. She was sickly white, the circles under her eyes like mottled bruises. I felt like I was watching her decay.

  ‘I know why they here.’ Henry sighed. ‘You sisters, I tell you I love you.’

  I dropped my head. One wonders how much grief a body can take before it caves in on itself.

  ‘We love you, too, Henry.’ Janie leant forward, her body jerking. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to live without you, Henry.’

  I shushed her, but Henry wasn’t bothered by her honesty.

  ‘Hey, Janie, I with you all the time. I with you at the bakery making the whale cupcakes. I with you at the shelter when you pet the dogs. Will you pet the mean dog for me? You know, Stevie. He sad that why he mean.’

  ‘I’ll pet him.’

  ‘Yeah. He good dog.’ He tilted his head to see Cecilia. ‘I with you, Cecilia, in your class making play dough. You be extra nice to Phil. He sad boy. Yeah, he sad.’

  ‘I’ll be extra nice to Phil, Henry, I promise,’ Cecilia said, choking back a sob.

  I could feel Cecilia’s barely controlled grief. It was going to suffocate me. It was going to suffocate her.

  ‘I with you, Is.’ He held my hand. ‘I with you all the time. Don’t be sad no more. Angels love you.’

  ‘I’ll try not to be sad anymore, Henry.’ Impossible, I thought. How could I be happy without Henry? ‘You think the angels love me?’

  He sighed. ‘They love you, Is, because you Isabelle. That why they here. They here for my sisters. Not me. For Henry’s sisters. They with you because you sisters sad. Their wings around you now. I see it.’

  This time I peered over my shoulder and so did Cecilia. Just in case. Janie’s head was practically doing 360-degree turns searching for the angels.

  ‘You good sisters.’ He smiled, a weak smile. ‘We laugh. We cry. We play. We work at bakery and have spaghetti with stringy cheese. Happy life. I say this word, Hallelujah.’

  ‘Hallelujah?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Hallelujah. Happy life.’

  We sisters didn’t bother hiding our tears anymore. Our grief took over, demolished us. Henry brought his hands out from under the covers and we held on all together as his eyes started to shut. ‘I loves you, my sisters. Henry’s sisters. I loves you.’

  Two nights later, after hardly sleeping at all, Cecilia and Janie and I lay on the bed next to Henry, who hadn’t spoken in twenty-four hours and hadn’t opened his eyes in the same amount of time.

  We held Henry’s hands and held each other’s, too, through the night, through the moonbeams, through the shiny stars, through the utter bleakness of our lives.

  And when morning came, and the black turned to pink and yellow, and a sun ray dove right into Henry’s bedroom and glided softly to his bed, that’s when Henry sighed one more time and off he went, right on that sun ray, which disappeared a minute after it came and got Henry and pulled him up to heaven.

  Momma’s primal scream came from the soul of her despair. Dad held her, tried to soothe her, but how do you soothe someone who’s lost her son?

  The scream woke Grandma up and she rushed into Henry’s room. When she understood he was dead, she ran out of the house announcing, ‘My co-pilot is dead! SOS! SOS!’ She is speedy, but I am speedier, and I managed to catch her before she darted off the property.

  When I caught her she hollered, tried to hit me, and landed a few stunning blows. I tackled her again, but she belted me, right on the eye. That would be the second shiner this year, I thought.

  She twisted away again, still screaming that her co-pilot was dead, dead, dead, and I rolled her to the ground. She swore and struggled, but then gave up, lying underneath me as she wailed into the grass, ‘My co-pilot is dead, my co-pilot is dead! Oh, SOS! SOS!’

  Our tears mixed together, mine and Mrs Earhart’s.

  Momma’s mouth opened and she began to scream. I could tell, after a while, that she wanted to stop screaming but she couldn’t. When she started knocking her head on the wall, we called an ambulance and a man we’d gone to school with, Avery Jordan, drove up with another man and was so kind and gentle with Momma I wanted to kiss him. Dad, limping, emotionally crushed, went with her to the hospital.

  Velvet stayed with Grandma, who was now in bed. It appeared that Velvet needed to be in bed, too, and I told her to get in bed with Grandma. ‘Lordy, I don’t know if my heart can take all this grief, I don’t know, sugar. I sure loved Henry. I did, he was a gift. A gift from the heavens.’

  It was Janie and Cecilia and Henry and I in Henry’s bed. Again. The four of us.


  But one of us wasn’t breathing and he was the best of the four of us. The most extraordinary, the most beautiful. The best of the Bommaritos.

  Two nights later, after arrangements had been made and tons of people had been in and out of the home, Cecilia, Janie, and I lay on the grass and stared at the moonbeams under the willow tree.

  We held hands.

  And we cried.

  And cried.

  And cried.

  I hated those moonbeams.

  The church was jammed for Henry’s memorial service, with people standing all around the sides.

  Father Mike’s eulogy was beautiful, but he struggled through it. He would barely compose himself, read a few more lines, and have to harden that jaw again before he spoke.

  ‘Henry lived the life Christ wanted us to live. He was good. He was kind. He forgave. He helped others. I do not know a single person who volunteered more than Henry. He helped people every day, with no expectation, ever, of any return. He reached out to others in goodness, in love. We all’ – he paused, composed himself – ‘We all must strive to be more like Henry Bommarito. We must. It is what’s right. It is what’s good. It is what Henry would have wanted. It is our command from Christ.’

  After a couple of songs, and prayers, it was my turn.

  ‘My name is Isabelle Bommarito. I am Henry’s sister.’

  I glanced down at Henry’s other sisters. Cecilia was shaking, but her chin was high. Janie was shattered, and weak, and white as a crayon, which was nothing compared to Momma, who was leaning heavily against Dad, her eyes half shut. She had taken the road straight up to hysteria this morning, her eyes glazed, as she made, alternately, these small animal shrieking sounds and guttural moans.

  She was in a cold, Henry-less hell and had got to the funeral only by sheer will to honour her son.

  ‘Thank you for coming today.’ I stopped as I took in the people in that church, many of them bald, the vast majority familiar to me.

  Keep it together, Isabelle, I told myself. Keep it together. ‘Three nights ago, Cecilia, Janie, and I were lying on the grass, under the willow tree, outside Grandma’s house. We were holding hands below the moonlight and we were crying about Henry.’ I bit my lip. ‘We’re the Bommaritos and we do strange things like that. Our Grandma is Amelia Earhart…’