The Daughters' Story

by Cyr, Murielle;

  He stopped in his tracks, his eyes blazing. “Didn’t you mean it? You say you believe in what I’m doing. But you’ve never once encouraged me.”

  “Don’t say that. I don’t always agree with the way you choose to go about things, but still, I’ve never doubted your passion for justice.” She tried to swallow the hard lump in her throat. “It’s just that… this is like a damn breakup.”

  He continued to the entrance of the building and placed the bags down before pulling the door open. He waited for her to catch up, shamefaced. “Sorry for being such a prick. But how many times do I have to repeat it?” He wrapped his arms around her. “I know this is bad timing with you being pregnant, but I’ve got to see this through. Staying with you won’t stop them from following me. I’m relieved your mother is taking you in. It’s only temporary. You can always leave a note at the taxi stand and my boss will make sure I get it. He knows about the baby. So don’t you worry. I promise I’ll be at the hospital as soon as I get the word. You have to trust me on this. Take advantage of the little time you have left to finish up your term papers and put your feet up. Get to know your mother.”

  “Is the room OK, Isa? Sorry, I mean Lisette.” Nadine stood in the kitchen doorway. “There’s plenty of room for the crib against the wall by the closet. If you want a place to work on your term papers, there’s that small storage room I use as an office. I sometimes use it when I bring work home, which doesn’t happen often these days. The receptionist has been taking over a lot of my paperwork. The room has become a dumping ground for bills, old books and magazines.”

  Lisette gazed up from her seat on the sofa, a pained look in her eyes. “Yeah, I guess. The bedroom will do. It sure beats the cramped space I shared with Serge at the other flat. At least there’s a window in this one. He’s assembling the crib right now… before he takes off.” She folded her arms over her belly. “The least he can do before vanishing from my life.”

  “He doesn’t have to rush out.” Nadine detected the shakiness in her daughter’s voice and controlled her urge to take her in her arms. “He’s welcome back anytime.”

  “He’s got things to take care of.” Lisette stared down at her lap. “He won’t be back. If he does, it won’t be for a few months.”

  “A few months. You’re liable to give birth any day now. Is it because of his work?”

  “I suppose so—” Her voice wavered. “Yeah. I guess you can say that.”

  Nadine took a step forward. “Is something wrong? Can I get you something? Water or a coffee? Do you need to rest?”

  Lisette sagged against the back of the sofa and turned to stare out the window.

  Nadine struggled between her urge to comfort her and her intention to let her be. She headed to the kitchen, stopping when Serge stepped into the room.

  “All done. The crib is set up. I’ve got to bring the car back or my boss will have a fit.”

  “I was just about to make coffee. You must have time for that.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got tons of things waiting for me.” He raised his palms up. “And the car’s in a no-parking zone.” He stepped up to the window and looked out. “The cops haven’t left a ticket yet. Better take off before they spot it.”

  Lisette followed him to the door while Nadine walked into the kitchen.

  “Don’t go.” She put her arms around him.

  “Hey, don’t make this harder. We’ll be together… soon as the dust settles. You’ll be safe here.” He leaned down to kiss her.

  Nadine came back with two mugs and placed them on the coffee table just as Serge closed the door behind him. She sat down on the sofa and Lisette did the same, reaching out to wrap both hands around a mug. “Exactly what I needed. Having someone else make my coffee. I’ve been so tired lately.”

  “Looks like a heavy baby to cart around.” Nadine glanced down at Lisette’s belly and pressed her lips together. “What did Serge mean about you being safe here? Are you in some kind of danger?”

  Lisette lifted a shoulder. “He likes to exaggerate at times.”

  “About what?”

  “All the crap going around about the FLQ.” She hesitated a moment. “He’s deep in the politics of it all. He doesn’t want me involved and figures it’d be better if I stay away from him till things settle down.”

  Nadine decided not to probe any further. She had spotted the large, blue fleur-de-lys tattooed on the inside of his right wrist when they shook hands earlier, and had blurted out how difficult it was to get rid of a tattoo once you get tired of looking at it. Etched on for life, he’d replied and winked at her. Yes, she’d answered. Such a beautiful flower.

  “Interested in politics, is he? It’s good to keep up to date with what’s happening.”

  “Well, he sure does. But he doesn’t just sit around thinking about things. He believes thoughts are a call to action. And when he says he’s going to do something, you can be sure it’s going to happen. He’s as solid as they come.”

  “He strikes me as being honest enough.” Nadine noticed the twitch in Lisette’s left eye. Was she that anxious about Serge leaving—or was it an eye problem? “Is he a member of some kind of political group?”

  “Not a card-carrying member—” She paused to stare at Nadine. “What’s with the weird look? He’s part of a group that believes in supporting Quebec’s independence. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “If I get what you mean, then he’s smart to keep you away from all that. Let’s not talk about that right now. The media will let us know what’s happening. We’ll leave the politics to him and we’ll concentrate on you and the baby.” She got up to lock the front door. “Why don’t you have a rest and I’ll call you for supper?”

  Lisette nodded and grabbed on to the arm of the sofa to pull herself up. “Guess what Serge said made sense. I need quiet time to finish off my term papers before the baby comes.” She headed for her new bedroom. “I sure won’t miss pitching Pit’s dirty undies into the wash, or listening to Sylvie complain about the way I fold her towels—though she can be nice at times.” She stopped to place her hands on her belly. “Hey. This baby sure likes to kick. Time for a nap, kiddo.”

  Nadine lay still, disoriented. Had she been dreaming or was her daughter actually sleeping in the spare room? She threw the blanket off, swung her legs off the bed and tiptoed down the hallway to make sure. She always kept the door to the spare bedroom open for Peaches—his favourite lookout being the windowsill with a view of the back alley.

  Closed.

  Nadine let out a soft sigh. She hadn’t dreamt it. Only a plywood door separated her from her daughter. She felt her way in the dark to the front door and groped on the mat for Lisette’s runners.

  Yes, she’s here.

  Thank you God for giving me back my daughter.

  She felt her way back to her bed, hoping to catch another couple hours of sleep, only to spring back up again at the sound of sobbing. She rushed to her daughter’s bedroom door. But the cries had stopped by the time she got there, so she slid down to the floor and waited until her daughter’s soft snores filtered through the door.

  She spent Saturday morning helping Lisette sort out her clothes from the plastic bags and setting up a workspace in the office for her. There hadn’t been time for laundry before the move, so a good part of Lisette’s clothes, as well as a bag full of used baby clothes, went into the washing machine. At times their hands brushed against each other as they worked—Nadine’s heart soared when Lisette didn’t flinch at the touch. They reserved the two top drawers of the dresser for baby items, leaving the bottom two for Lisette’s own use.

  The afternoon shopping outing for baby clothes and toiletry items took longer than planned. The army, checking for bombs, had sealed off several blocks of the downtown area. Nadine and Lisette stood among the small crowd of bystanders outside the cordoned-off area. Stern-faced soldiers with
semi-automatic rifles stood at attention.

  Nadine shuddered. “It’s a creepy sight. I’ve got to walk by this twice a day when I go to work. You’d figure they’d take the weekend off.”

  “It’s just grandstanding.” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure it’s not even necessary. Serge is right when he says Trudeau’s manipulating us.”

  “Well, I don’t want to stick around in case there’s a real bomb.” She took Lisette’s arm and guided her back in the opposite direction. “Lots of shops on Ste-Catherine East have what we’re looking for. Not worth hanging around here.”

  “Serge and I went to the Sally Ann store up ahead. You can pick up a whole garbage bag of baby clothes for next to nothing. I got more baby things from a church bazar.” Lisette paused, pressing her palm on her belly. Her eyes lit up. “This kid is going to be a dancer.”

  Nadine smiled. “You can’t dress a dancer in old clothes. Forget about the Sally Ann for now and let me be a grandmother. Although I was only able to afford to buy at thrift shops before you were born, I used to dream about shopping for lace baby dresses at Eaton’s department store. Sometimes I’d luck out and happen to visit the church basement on days when they gave out free stuff.” She steered her ahead. “Come on. The shops are only a couple of blocks away. It’s OK for grandmothers to spoil their grandchildren and mothers have no say in the matter.”

  “You don’t have to do this. Serge said he’d send me some money.”

  “So use it for something else. This is my treat. You can’t leave this to the last minute. What if the baby comes early?”

  Nadine avoided mentioning Serge’s name and kept her busy shopping around in the various small boutiques. She often caught her staring into space when she spoke to her. Last night’s sobbing most likely had something to do with him. The sight of the soldiers must’ve brought back the reason why they had to live apart.

  As pleasant as Serge had appeared to her, she had a feeling her daughter wasn’t going to see much of him. If he was being followed as Lisette had explained, he had to be doing something illegal. And if he thought it too risky for Lisette to stay with him, it stood to reason that he had to be in danger too. It was best Lisette started getting used to living her life without him. The baby would set her priorities straight.

  They shared a bowl of Hostess potato chips while they watched the Habs take on the Flyers on Hockey Night in Canada. Lisette stayed focused on the game, only getting off the sofa during commercials to use the bathroom. Nadine, not a sports fan, had hoped to use that time to clear up any questions Lisette might have about her birth. Social Services had disclosed only general details to her, while Grandma Stella—the poor woman must still be traumatized—had focused on the death of Nadine’s parents. But Lisette appeared uninterested in it all and hadn’t bothered to ask questions.

  The girl had, nevertheless, initiated the search for her biological parents, so why didn’t she wonder who her father was? The thought of revisiting that part of her past made Nadine’s stomach clench. She had told no one. She was ready, though, to break her long silence for her daughter. She owed her that. But it also involved warning her she might be a carrier of her father’s kidney disorder. Telling her now was only going to cause her stress. Better to wait a few weeks until after the child was born. Nowadays, blood tests detected these problems at birth. Treatment options were possible, though the cure remained a mystery.

  The high-pitched siren signalling the Montreal Canadiens 3-1 win over the Philadelphia Flyers blared from the screen. Lisette bolted up, holding a fist high above her head. “Way to go, guys!” She turned to Nadine with a grin. “Serge must be cracking another beer open as we speak.”

  Nadine smiled back and switched off the TV. “I’ve got a few bottles of Labatt 50 on the bottom shelf of the fridge if you feel like celebrating. It’ll give us a chance to talk about things.” She got up and headed for the kitchen.

  “Only a small glass for me. One bottle and I have to pee three times within a half hour.” She sat back down and leaned over the side of the sofa to root through the wicker magazine rack.

  Nadine came back with two glasses of beer and placed them on the coffee table in front of them. “I see you found my old scrapbook.”

  Lisette looked up, puzzled. “It was at the bottom of the magazine pile. What’s it about? Looks like someone—you, I guess—cut out a bunch of images of kids from magazines and pasted them in here. Was this some kind of high school project of yours? Judging from all the yellowed pages, it’s been around for a while.”

  Nadine took a sip of beer and nodded. “Did you notice the name on the cover and all the different dates written inside?”

  Lisette closed the scrapbook and looked at the big block letters on the cover page. “Isa?” She paused a moment. “That’s what you keep on calling me.”

  “Sorry about that.” Nadine grinned. “I’m trying to get used to calling you Lisette. I had already chosen a name for you before you were born. Isa, if you were a girl, and Paul, for a boy. But none of that mattered after you got adopted.”

  “Paul? Grandma Stella said your father’s name was John?”

  “Paul is Aunt Jan’s father’s name—my adoptive grandfather. He’s driving back from Saint-Roch tomorrow, so you’ll have a chance to meet him.”

  “Can’t. Maybe next time. I’ll be at the library most of the day working on my paper. I have to get it done soon.” Lisette flipped the scrapbook open again. “So what’s this scrapbook all about? Hey! That’s my date of birth!” She pointed to the top of the first page.

  Nadine pressed her lips together. It had been a while since she had leafed through her scrapbook. Each image she had glued on the pages had come with a deep ache in her chest. “Count yourself lucky, Lisette. No one will take your child away from you. When I left the maternity home—apart from knowing you were a girl—I had no idea what you looked like. No smell. No touch. It was like a bad dream. When I got settled I did my best to keep your memory alive—to make you real. I picked up old magazines people left on the bus and some came from garbage cans I passed by on my walks. You were always in my thoughts. When I found an image of what I figured you might look like at a certain age, I’d cut it out. You’ll find lots of pictures of newborns—I was pretty messed up at the time. Each year on your birthday, I’d take out the old scrapbook, write the date, and add new pictures of you a little older, a little taller. That was my only way of keeping track… of keeping you real.”

  “I don’t have any pictures of me as a kid. My adoptive parents might’ve snapped a few. I know for sure my foster ones didn’t.” Lisette studied each page, pausing at times to look up at Nadine. “You even have one of a kid doing her First Communion.”

  “I thought the nuns must’ve placed you with a Catholic family.” Strange to have her own daughter alive in front of her, inspecting images of what her mother had imagined she’d be like. What was she thinking? Was she measuring, comparing the distances between the imagined and the real?

  “I didn’t have one of those.” Lisette turned to the next page.

  “What’s that?”

  “A First Communion.” She scanned the page. “My foster mother said it wasn’t fair to her daughter to celebrate the two of us at the same time.” She browsed through a few more pages. “No Second Communion either”—she lingered a few moments near the end of the scrapbook—“Couldn’t afford a dress for my grad, so I didn’t bother.” She slapped the scrapbook closed. “I packed my bag after the last high school exam, left that sick foster home to go crash with a friend, and never went back.”

  “Sick? What do you mean?” Nadine tightened her grip on her glass, dreading her daughter’s answer. Why hadn’t Social Services contacted her after the adoptive parents placed her into foster care? She had been working five years by then and had been in a better position to take care of her child.

  Lisette remembered he
r beer and reached for it. “Same shit, different foster home. It was my word against theirs. He said I lied—claimed he never touched me. His wife said I wasn’t a good fit. When they mentioned a group home, I made a dash for it before the social worker got there.”

  Nadine bit down hard on her lip and stared at her empty glass. Was she ever going to be able to make amends to her child and ease some of the pain from her past? The only thing to do now was show her unconditional love. “I had this recurrent dream for a long time after your birth where the nurse in the maternity room placed you against my chest. You hadn’t cried out like newborns do. I could see the outline of your face, but not your features. Your skin was still warm and moist from being inside me and I reached out to put my arms around you. But something blocked me—I don’t know what, a strong force, maybe. My arms weren’t able to reach you no matter how hard I strained. I yelled over and over again that I wanted to touch my baby. The nurses went about their business without even looking at me.”

  “Sounds more like a nightmare to me.” Lisette placed her glass down, tilted her head sideways and studied Nadine. “That scrapbook sort of gives me another vision of things. You’ve got to be pretty lonesome and sad to build an album about another person like this—to imagine the life of someone you’ve never even seen. I guess you must’ve wanted me around after all.”

  “You’ll never know how much.” Nadine swallowed the hot lump in her throat. By recognizing her pain of having lost her at birth, Lisette had also accepted the primal bond between mother and child. A tingling warmth radiated in her chest.

  “So what’s the verdict?” Lisette smirked. “The last images in the scrapbook are all beautiful, smiling young women who look pretty successful at something. The real me is rude and antisocial. A plain Jane with thick glasses. Hates dressing up. Refuses to wear makeup. Wears wide, size ten shoes and has large peasant hands. She’s two weeks behind in her term papers and eight months pregnant with no plans of getting married. How’s that for a letdown?”