The Daughters' Story

by Cyr, Murielle;

  Claire only found out about her pregnancy a few weeks after she met John. They were already crazy for each other by then. She was sure, once she told him everything, that his love for her would help him go forward with it all. But the right moment never came. He was forever embroiled in some conflict at work or with his family. Always fighting to get the approval he thought he deserved. She had imagined the remote possibility the child was John’s—weird and wonderful things happened everyday—he had, after all, come to her bed the night they met and returned each night after that.

  His silence continued on the ride home. Mouth pursed and hands clutching the steering wheel. Claire braced herself for a showdown. The air around him smelled sulphuric, like the heavy moments before lightning strikes.

  The full moon, a distant beacon in the early evening sky, shone through Nadine’s bedroom window as Claire closed the door behind her. She prayed for sleep to protect her daughter from the storm brewing in the other room.

  She stepped into the kitchen from the hallway. He was leaning against the counter, an open bottle of whiskey in hand. She headed towards the fridge, her stomach tight. He was nasty when drunk. He had never put a hand on her, but it had come close a few times after an outing at the cinema, a concert, or a walk in the park. He always imagined some guy or other had looked at her the wrong way.

  He’d smash the wall with his fist a hair’s width away from her head. Or pin her throat to the mattress with his open hand, pressing down till she gasped and took a swing at him. The I’m-so-sorry song followed soon after, swearing he’d never hurt her. Claire knew better, having heard the same song each time Pa threw Ma against the wall in their little clapboard house back east. She’d told Ma she’d never stay with a man that shoved her around, and although John hadn’t yet, she knew it was time for her to move on before it happened. She’d wait till he passed out to pack a few things.

  “You haven’t eaten yet. I’ll warm up the beef stew and boil water for tea.” Ma made sure she kept Pa’s meal warm in case he came stumbling in drunk. He’d shovel the food down, distracted from his intent to slap her around. On numerous occasions, Claire had walked into the kitchen to see Pa lying face-first in his plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. Let sleeping dogs lie, Ma would tell her.

  “How long were you going to keep your dirty little secret from me?” He swigged the whiskey straight from the bottle.

  “There’s never been any dirty secret. It was always a matter of you being ready to hear it.” Her hand trembled as she placed the pot of stew on the stovetop and switched the burner on.

  Keep moving. Don’t let on you’re scared.

  He’ll hit harder if he sees you’re weak.

  The sooner he eats, the faster he’ll pass out.

  It was clear to her now. The right moment would never have come. Nobody need ever know—or care, one way or another—but he’d always hold it against her and the child. He wasn’t man enough to accept that Nadine deserved love just like any other child.

  “It had to come from a complete stranger.” He raised the bottle and gulped down more whiskey, gasping and sputtering as he lowered it. “Do you know how stupid I felt when the doctor informed me I wasn’t the kid’s father? I’m sure they had a good laugh when they got the results at the lab.” He banged the bottle on the counter. “Just like you did, stupid slut.” His voice was now louder, angrier. “You must’ve laughed all the way to the altar.” He lifted the bottle again.

  She reached into the cupboard for a plate. He never was good with alcohol. Two shots and he’d have a glow on him. That’s when the poor-me talk started. Nobody showed him any respect. Everybody was out to stab him in the back.

  She’d feed him quick like Ma did Pa. Shovelling food down makes drunks sleepy—either that or they fall flat down on the floor in their vomit. She wasn’t going to wait for morning to see him snoozing in his plate of beef stew and dumplings. As soon as she heard him snoring she’d get Nadine dressed and they’d be out the door. She scooped some stew out of the pan and slapped it on the plate.

  Lukewarm will do. He’s too drunk to tell.

  “Knew it... soon as I—” He downed another shot and the bottle slipped out of his hand, smashing and scattering shards of glass all over the kitchen floor. “Knew that little bitch wasn’t mine from the start.” He stared down at the broken glass. “My life is in pieces because of you—” He kicked the shards in her direction. “Just like this broken glass. Father always said not to marry a French slut. He saw right through you.”

  Her body tensed, her vision clouded. She swerved and heaved the plate of stew at him. Gravy and chunks of meat and potatoes slid down his chest. “The hell with you and your uppity family. Your father didn’t think I was good enough? Well, the hell with you, buddy. Marrying you was the worst mistake of my life. Lots of guys will be more than happy to have me. Nadine might not be your seed, but you haven’t come up with any of yours either. A short guy with empty balls—that about sums you up. Even the army rejected you.”

  There. My words spilled out.

  No turning back now.

  His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. She might’ve gone too far. He’d never pass out now. “As soon as I get Nadine dressed we’ll be out of your hair forever.”

  “Maman!” Nadine wailed from behind her mother.

  Claire’s head shot around. “Go put your coat and shoes on, Nadine.” All that shouting and breaking of glass had woken her. The child stood clinging to her teddy bear at the edge of the hallway. “Go on, sweetie. Get dressed and wait for me at the back door.” The sight of her would only fuel his anger.

  Why had she lashed out at him like that? Ma always shut herself down when Pa got mean drunk. She’d tiptoe around him like he was some bomb ready to go off. Even the sound of her pouring his tea set him off. But being invisible wasn’t her intent when she escaped her clapboard home back east.

  She had just hit John where it mattered most—his height and his failure to produce a son like both his brothers had. And being rejected by the army wasn’t going to sit well with his father. The truth was out, flapping in the breeze like a shredded sail. Little Nadine would be sure to foot the bill. She needed to calm him down enough to make a run for it before anyone got hurt. She looked over her shoulder at him. Her heart skipped a beat.

  He lurched towards her. A long kitchen knife in his fist. “Figure you can find someone better, don’t you? Some tall guy with a big dick that’ll keep you barefoot and pregnant. Is that what you want?” He staggered forward, his eyes cold and hard. “Think again, bitch. If I can’t do it, nobody else will.”

  She had never seen him like this. She stood frozen in front of the stove.

  “Maman! I’m scared.”

  Nadine’s cry shook her out of her stupor. No reasoning with a guy holding a knife. She grabbed the kettle of boiling water, hurled it at him and turned on her heel. He cried out. She snatched up Nadine and tore out the back. Halfway down the second flight of stairs, she heard him kick the door open.

  “I’ll get you, slut.” He pounded down the metal stairs after them.

  Claire held on tight to Nadine, her heart pounding through her chest. She only had to reach the gate to the back alley and run down the half block to the bright lights on Ste-Catherine Street. He wouldn’t try anything with all those people walking around—not with a child in her arms.

  She’d almost reached the gate when she tripped over an old tire and fell face down on wet grass. Nadine screamed. A sharp burning pain exploded in Claire’s lower back.

  Run, Nadine.

  Push up. Run to the lights.

  Get yourself away…run—

  The second searing wave surged from her right shoulder and tore like lightning throughout her body. Nadine’s screams echoed beneath her.

  Chapter 13

  Lisette rooted through the Biographies section in the used books
tore and pulled out a title about Louis Riel. A lot of the pages were dog-eared but the cover was still in good condition. Required readings for her many courses had taught her to look out for such well-used books. The author’s main points were usually found on the bookmarked pages, saving her from having to read the whole volume. She sauntered over to the old sofa facing the front window of the store.

  Louis Riel’s biography wasn’t at the top of her preferred reading list but she’d give it a try. Posters of the Métis leader covered all the available space of Serge’s bedroom walls. Curious how Serge was so devoted to a man who had been hanged for treason close to a hundred years ago. What was it about him that held the power to tug so hard at Serge’s heartstrings? She didn’t expect him to feel the same devotion towards her, but if she understood what attracted him, she might accept coming a close second. She dropped the books she planned to buy on the sofa and looked outside.

  From where she was sitting she could distinguish the front of the café across the street. The call from Social Services yesterday afternoon had made her heart race, but had also left her with the urge to flee and leave the past undisturbed. What was she getting into? She hadn’t expected to hear from them so soon. A disclosure form in her birth mother’s file gave them permission to contact her in the event that the adoptee requested her personal information. Her mother had to go by the office to sign another form allowing them to give Lisette the phone number. The proper paperwork was now in place. Her birth mother hadn’t wasted any time. Nor had Lisette. Serge had urged her to call right away.

  The last visit with Grandma Stella had left Lisette with a sinking feeling in her stomach and she had stopped by the library to verify her story in the archives. It had checked out, and the husband had later hung himself in his prison cell on the day of her funeral. The image of her mother, a young child, being witness to this violence had troubled her sleep two nights straight.

  This wasn’t the family she had wished for. Her mother appeared to belong to a family just as dysfunctional as the foster homes she had known. Was it worth continuing her quest? It felt like another letdown—the same disenchantment she experienced as a child when she realized her new family was just as screwed up as the previous one.

  She had been excited to meet Grandma Stella. At long last, a link confirming she belonged to an actual family. As it turned out, after listening to Grandma Stella’s story, she was only her adoptive great-grandmother. Still, it was better than no grandparent at all. And to make matters worse, the receptionist at the senior’s home had caught up to her as she was leaving to warn her she’d have to be accompanied by Peter Pritchart next time she visited. Just when she had discovered a loving grandmother, she had to let her go.

  Serge had found the addresses of both uncles in the database, but since nobody had heard from Nadine in twenty years, contacting them seemed futile. She was wary of calling her Uncle Peter after he had blocked her from visiting his mother. In any case, she’d have to go through his lawyer if she wanted to speak to him. Uncle Denis was probably just as unapproachable.

  When Social Services had called her, Lisette had hesitated. She had survived well enough so far without knowing her mother; her life could go on without her. But a nagging urge persisted to confront the woman who had caused all the pain she had suffered as a child. When she told Serge about the call, his face lit up.

  He insisted that she go meet her to discuss her family’s medical history and find out more about that unclaimed account he had discovered. “Your mother will be glad to know about this. You never know, she might even feel generous enough to share some of it with you.”

  Now that she had time to think it over, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go ahead with the meeting. The woman had cast her aside at birth and given her away to complete strangers who had abandoned her into foster care. She was responsible for all the pain and humiliation she had endured. The social workers had never had time to listen. As soon as a problem came up, they’d switch her to a new home and another set of problems. Lisette placed a hand on her belly. She’d never do to her child what her own mother had done to her.

  She owed the woman nothing. If it wasn’t for her eye doctor, she would never have started searching for her. Yet the longing to see what her birth mother looked like coaxed her to forge ahead. Grandma Stella had seen a resemblance right away, except for the difference in bone structure. Lisette’s large hands and feet had set her apart from the other schoolgirls her age. ‘Sasquatch’ had been her nickname all through high school. But having a resemblance to someone implied that you belonged to a certain group—a family. Lisette had never felt any sense of belonging. In grade school she had been the tall kid who never fit in, never staying around long enough to form any real friendships. High school had brought out the rebel in her and she learned to use her hands and feet to get her point across.

  “Did you find the books you were looking for?”

  Lisette glanced up to see Nicky, the owner of the bookshop, smiling down at her. Her first job after high school had been shelving tons of used books from the storeroom and helping customers find what they were looking for. Nicky had been more of a friend to her than an employer. They had stayed in touch after Lisette quit to take a job at the local depanneur near Serge’s apartment.

  “Well… I know Serge will like The Diaries of Louis Riel and”— she picked up the dog-eared copy of Dr Spock’s Baby and Child Care— “I hope this one comes in handy.”

  “That was my bible with my first kid.” Nicky sat down on the sofa beside Lisette. “I saved my old copy in case she decides to have her own one day. Though it doesn’t look like she’ll slow down long enough to even consider it.” She cocked her head and studied Lisette. “You must be due soon. How are you coping?”

  “Mid-November.” Lisette sighed. “Can’t wait to get it over with. The only time I get any sleep these days is when I’m sitting on the bus.”

  “The last month is tough. Do you have all the baby things?”

  Lisette removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “We picked up a crib and a stroller at the Salvation Army last week. They’re in pretty good shape for the price.”

  “Are you OK for baby clothes?”

  “Got a bagful at a church bazaar and Sylvie—my roomie, remember?—gave me a few baby pyjamas.”

  “That’ll do for a start. Babies don’t need a big wardrobe. What about Serge?”

  She rolled her shoulders back and put her glasses back on. “Same. Driving cabs—for now. He plans to continue his major in social science one of these days. He took some time off to… take care of things. We’re looking for another place to live, although we can’t really afford it right now. Serge is putting in more hours at work to put money aside for us, but that means I hardly see him.” A movement from across the street caught her eye and her head jerked in the direction of the café. Someone had just walked in. She waited to see if the person chose to sit at one of tables close to the street. Not that she’d be able to tell if the person was male or female, but any new customer going in could be her. A window seat had been mentioned during their telephone conversation.

  “Is something wrong?” Nicky checked to see what she was looking at.

  “I’m supposed to meet someone over there.” Lisette frowned. “I came early to see what she looked like first.”

  “A stranger? What if you don’t like what you see?”

  She grimaced. “It’s more about my gut feeling when I see her.”

  “Now you’ve got me curious.” Nicky cocked her head and stared at her friend. “Out with it. You know you’ll end up telling me sooner or later.”

  Lisette placed her books in a neat pile on top of her bag. Nicky was like an older sister to her. They talked together about everything. But if she told her who she was meeting, she’d get all excited and encourage her to go ahead and do it. She wanted this decision to be hers alone, not influenced by
anybody else.

  Nicky glanced across the street. “Somebody just went in.”

  Lisette straightened in her seat and peered out. “That’s what I figured. Can you see where they sat? Is it a woman?”

  Nicky stared at her. “You can’t see that far?”

  “Well... if they sit close to the front, I can see the general shape of the person.”

  “But you can’t tell if it’s a human or a gorilla, right?”

  “Get off it, Nicky. Did they take a window seat or not?”

  “There’s someone sitting at the far end table, right beside the window.”

  “So? Is it a woman or not? You’re making my blood pressure rise.”

  “Good. I’m not giving any more clues until you tell me what this is all about. Since you only have about ten feet of vision with your glasses on, you’re going to have to come clean. Your only other choice is getting your ass off the sofa and crossing the street.”

  Lisette leaned back against the sofa. “You have a real mean streak.”

  Nicky smiled. “And you have a stubborn one. Now give it up. I’ve got customers filing in.” She waved to a long-haired man heading to the back of the store.

  “For your information, it’s because of my eyesight that I looked her up. I’m not sure it’s even worth the bother.”

  “Your eyesight?” Nicky thought for a moment. “Didn’t your eye doctor suggest you look up your medical history? Are you trying to say that—”

  “You have to promise me you won’t play the big sister act and try to guilt me into going over there. The decision belongs to me—only me. I don’t want to hear any Hallmark card emotion about the healing balm of motherhood. I’ve had a lot of mothers, both birth and adoptive, as well as eight foster ones. Not one of them shone with that famous unconditional love crap. Life doesn’t always fit into those Hallmark sentimental slots. And parents don’t always love their kids, nor the other way round.”

  “Relax, kid. No one’s pushing you against a wall.”