The woman’s face looked lined in the harsh, angled morning light.
“Sorry for what?” Farrah asked, coming into the room and crinkling her brow with confusion.
“I didn’t mean to,” Kathy said. “I didn’t—”
That made Farrah flash on Mom’s words from the middle of the night. I didn’t mean to hurt your father.
Farrah moved further into the room and realized that Mom wasn’t just holding the blankets to her chin. She was clutching them. Mom looked down at the foot of the bed, as though some deep dark secret lay beneath the blankets. Farrah’s breath hitched. She reached for the slipshod meeting of the blankets and sheets up near Mom’s chin.
She gave Mom a look that said, “I’m going to have a peek now.” She pulled them back and Mom let them go easy enough. The smell was of strong urine. The doc had said that Kathy’s medication sometimes let her do this. He’d also told her to expect restlessness and the odd bout of sleepwalking. In the hospital it wasn’t a problem, as the doors were all locked. “At home, you’re not likely to put locks on all the doors,” he’d told Farrah when Farrah had checked her Mother out yesterday. “And nor should you. Fire hazards would be compounded. But just be aware.”
The bed was wet. Mom lay in a wrinkled and fuming puddle of light yellow. The pills did that, too, apparently. They made it strong-smelling and almost iridescent.
Farrah forced her troubled face into a gentle smile. She reached out and touched Mom’s shoulder. “No problem, Mom. Don’t worry. Not even much to tidy up. We’ll have you right as rain.”
Mom returned the smile. “It’s the pills,” she said, fighting tears in her eyes and clearly not wanting her little girl to see her cry like one.
“I know, Mom, I know,” Farrah said with as much softness she could convey. “Let’s get you up and into the tub!” she said as though this would be the most exciting field trip a class of young students could ever undertake. She pulled the sheets down to the bottom of the bed and that’s when she saw the rest.
Mom’s nightgown was bunched up almost to her waist. Below pink, knobby knees, the older woman’s calves and ankles wore mottled splotches of dark brown and black, getting thicker as Farrah’s eyes traveled down the length of each. Her feet were filthy with caked leavings. Her heels and toes were entirely the shade of pitch. She looked like she’d been out rooting through the rotted veggies in Gramps’ garden.
Farrah flashed on her half-dream from the night: those muddy foot prints leading out to the darkened thicket.
11
Farrah could hardly believe it. By the end of Mom’s bath, both women were laughing to the point of happy tears.
She didn’t want to leave Mom standing nude and wet, nor had she wanted to leave Mom alone in the filled tub with the water running, so she got the woman into the suds, the tap shut off and then cracked the bathroom door to call down to Grandpa Danny.
“Can you—We’ll be down in a few minutes,” she called, wary of the look Mom was giving her. She could tell, in that flash, that Mom was embarrassed. That look said, Don’t tell my dad. And Farrah caught it instantly, where a moment ago she was going to ask Gramps to strip the bed sheets and throw them in the washer. Call it women’s intuition.
Farrah would do the sheets after breakfast. No need to bring Gramps in on this.
“Kay,” Danny called up the stairs. “Bacon’s done. I’ll make the eggs when you come.”
Farrah closed the door and gave her mom a wink. Kath looked relieved. She scooped up some of the bubbles—her daughter had poured nearly half the bottle in—and blew them before giggling.
“I haven’t had bubbles in the bath in years,” Kath said.
“I never have baths,” Farrah said. “The dorms only have showers.”
“How is school, honey?” Kath asked.
“It’s good,” she said. A lie. Changing the subject, Farrah sat down on the toilet seat and leaned on her knees toward the edge of the tub. “Mom,” she said.
“Huh?” Mom said absently, still playing with scoops of suds.
“I wonder if maybe we should edge you back on those pills. I mean, the doc gave us a schedule we can use. He gave me a cutter too. We just start by cutting them in half, then in quarters. After a few weeks—”
“Oh my God, honey,” Mom said.
“What?” Farrah said, instantly worried that she’d been pushing too hard, too fast.
“I’m so glad you said that. I don’t know about you, but I don’t love waking up in a puddle, then spending the day washing linens. Don’t like the sleepwalking either.” She gave her daughter a wide smile. “I need to eat, and I never feel like it on these damn medications. I’m not myself, hon, foggy all the time.”
Farrah sat dumbstruck.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Mom said with a laugh. “I’ve been sick. Not dead. I know I’ve been out of it. I know it! But, yes, please!” She raised her voice like a politician at a podium. “Let’s scale them back!” she said, instead of “Four more years!” She picked up Farrah’s shampoo bottle from the wet corner of the tub and made to toast with it.
Instinctively, Farrah looked around and grabbed her conditioner. They clinked the plastic bottles together as though they were champagne on a wedding night, then burst into shared laughter. It was a plan then. And an exceptionally bright moment for them both.
11
Instead of going down for breakfast right away, Farrah told Mom to go ahead. She said Gramps could make her eggs in a couple minutes. She was going to quickly throw the sheets in and see how much of Mom’s accident had seeped down to the mattress. Not like these ancient beds couldn’t be turfed and replaced. She caught herself though. She wouldn’t want to put pressure on Grandpa Danny. She knew he’d had to sell a chunk of his land to keep the rest and make sure he didn’t have to go back to bomb-making.
She went into Mom’s room and, this time, noticed the muddy (and now dried) foot prints leading from the door way to the bed where they disappeared. The foot of the fitted base sheet showed smears and small dried clumps. Mom must have climbed in, lay on her back and not moved after that.
Sleepwalking was a mystery to Farrah. As far as she knew, she’d never done it, but she remembered that her childhood friend, Jamie, had suffered from it. Or, rather, her parents had. They knew it was unwise to wake a sleepwalker, but they would relate all kinds of tales about where they found their daughter in the morning. And, of course, Jamie would then relay those tales at school the next day. Wow. Jamie. Farrah hadn’t talked to Jamie in two years. She wondered how her best friend in the world was getting on these days.
Jamie’s mom and dad found her in the coat closet, trying to dance with one of her mom’s minks. They found her in the basement, fiddling with the water heater. That could have been bad. Those things have taps that would let out a steady stream of scalding hot water.
And they found her in the yard once, heading up and over and through the kids’ sandpit, towards the back gate.
Farrah looked down at the spot where her Mom’s muddy feet had lain.
Instead of being able to unload her problems to her mom, Farrah was melding into the role of the parent. At least at the moment, she was. She was the one leading her little one back to bed in the night.
She pulled the sheets up in a bundle at the centre of the bed and discovered that Grandpa Danny had put a rubber sheet under everything. It was stinky but dry now. She’d wipe it with Lysol later, long before it was time for Mom to get back into bed.
She bundled up the sheets so the damp stink was as close to the ball’s core as possible and went down to the laundry room without drawing attention from the kitchen. Outside, more snow had begun to fall and the early morning sunshine was gone, swallowed up by a blanket of light grey that brought everything selfishly down to its hue.
12
After getting the sheets in the wash, Farrah dressed, washed her face, brushed her teeth, did everything her Mom taught her to do to get ready for the da
y. Refreshed, despite her interruptions in the middle of the night, Farrah came back downstairs to join Mom and Gramps for breakfast. She saw the clock on the table in the hallway. Quarter past ten already. Nothing like a holiday. She felt okay taking Grandpa Danny up on his offer.
This place is your holiday, Littlest Lady, he’d told her.
Danny gave her a huge smile and waved a lifter in her direction from the stovetop. He hadn’t coughed, not once, since Farrah had brought the man’s daughter to the house. Not even in the night. The first three nights she was here, Grandpa’s coughing had woken her up at least three times each. Now that Kath was here, not a single throat-clearing.
Mom was at the bar, eating. She turned to look at Farrah, bright-eyed and rested too.
“Fry Cook Danny, at your service, Littlest!” Danny said with zest and a clear voice. He’d obviously gotten a good night’s sleep. “What can I whip up? This one over here—” he said, pointing to Kath’s plate, “—is enjoying a ham and cheese omelette and Bacon à la Dad. Special recipe.”
Farrah smiled and plopped on a bar stool beside Mom. “Hmm,” she said in mock consideration. “I’ll have...” She looked around as if she was heavily weighing a feast fit for a queen and her princess. “The exact same,” she blurted. “Totally sold me.” Now she really did eye the spread and peered about to see what was available. “Is there any chewy bacon? I don’t like it burnt.” She wrinkled her nose like a four-year-old. “And toast? I’m starved.”
Danny slid the toaster over her way and there was indeed a loaf of bread and an open jar of red-coloured preserves. Might have been strawberry, probably from the market in town, though it would have been left over from a while back. The market shuttered all winter. And, unknown to Farrah, it had actually shut down completely two years ago. Farrah and her friend Jamie used to sneak off and go look at junk, antiques and art all the time together. Tough times on the island the last few years.
From behind Kath and Farrah came a low rumble. It swelled to a throaty, guttural noise. Farrah turned and was startled to find Barrington a few paces away. Instead of his usual greeting where he looked for a petting before heading to the kitchen door for his morning of private intrigue, he lowered his head at the two women and stood his patch of hardwood before them, half in the kitchen and half in the hallway. He had his tail down between his legs and was growling in the direction of them with his milky eyes alert and his ears flat.
“You stop that!” Danny snapped at the pooch.
Baz did, but only momentarily. The vibrato from deep down in his mature, greying chest came on stronger, louder, deeper. He inched forward. This time it was clear that he wasn’t growling at Farrah. He was staring down Kath. And only Kath.
Danny slapped an oven mitt on the counter. “That’s enough out of you, mutt,” he scolded. He started around the counter, as if he was going to come over there and give his beloved companion a good what-for. In truth, he looked mortified from embarrassment. Or that he’d felt the pooch’s impromptu behaviour was ruining a beautiful moment with his daughter and granddaughter.
It was harmless, had to be.
Still, Farrah couldn’t help but feel the itch of anxiety and, yes, genuine nerves. This was scary.
“Sorry for this. He’s getting up there.” Danny got to the dog and the dog sat obediently, letting his ears relax. Danny said, “He pees on the floor again. Hasn’t done that since he was a pup. I’m sure it’s just age. Our bodies fail us all.”
He made to swat at Baz’s hind end, but it was playful and meant to miss. Baz stood and bowed his head again. He let out a further growl and then turned back at Kathy to let out a series of loud barks, as if she was a predator and Baz was alerting the pack.
That made all of them jump. Farrah hadn’t heard Baz bark in years. She realized she was jittery.
“That’s it,” Danny proclaimed. “We’re done with your nonsense, Mister Man.” He leaned over like he was reprimanding a six-year-old for tracking mud in. “You,” he said thrusting the oven mitt in the direction of Bazzy’s muzzle. “Outside. Now.” He swooshed his hand in the air, like he was an air traffic controller getting the dog to the tarmac. Baz fell silent at that. He gave one look at Kath who had her fingertips to her clavicle as if she was trying to calm her own heart, then the dog trotted off towards the back door. Danny followed and let the animal out.
Farrah and Kath both exhaled a heaving breath. Farrah realized she’d been holding hers since Baz had started his growling. She focused on her breathing for a second and stared at her Mom, waiting to see what kind of reaction she’d have.
“Well,” Kath said, “That got me all a flutter.” She let out a playful laugh. “Back to it. I’m starved too, Farrah. And this is so good.” She retrieved her fork and dug in anew. Wow, Farrah thought. Her appetite is back with a roar. Her mind flashed on the vision of all the pill bottles in Mom’s suitcase.
Farrah exchanged a look with her gramps and Grandpa Danny went back around to the kitchen-side where Farrah’s omelette was burning.
13
Farrah and Kathy went for a walk after breakfast. The cold had begun to loosen its grip on the morning as noon crept up. Though the sky was still overcast, the temperature had risen and icicles dripped from the eaves of the house and Grandpa’s big shed. All around them, the world wore its white like a down blanket. The noise of distant trickling was everywhere, creating a background cacophony of gentle movement.
They went down the road, leaving Baz to snuffle around by himself in the side yard and towards the back. In a while, he galloped towards them, catching up and looking happy—nothing like the irritated and irrational beast he was in the kitchen earlier.
Mom and Farrah walked arm in arm like an old married couple while the dog slowly circled, moved ahead, fell behind and took this as license to be out on the road—a world that was off limits when he explored alone.
“So,” Mom said, as if she was entirely lucid and alert, not like yesterday. Farrah didn’t push it, but she wondered if Kath had already started to cut her morning pill in half. Hell, maybe she had skipped it entirely. “You gonna see Jamie while you’re in town?”
Farrah thought for a moment as they sauntered. “Not sure. I haven’t talked to her in a couple years.” She looked off at the winding lane ahead. Then, with a bit of hesitation, she said, “I heard she got herself in trouble.”
Kath raised her eyebrow and tilted a bit away from her daughter, as if to see her daughter’s entire expression. “Knocked up, you mean?”
Farrah nodded. A vulgar phrase from her mom, but she suspected that Mom knew of all the vulgar parts about humanity the last nine years and change. Yup, that was the word from mutual high school friends who still sent the odd letter to Farrah. Knocked up. Eating for two now. Carrying some stud’s bun in her oven.
Farrah almost immediately regretted sharing this. She knew what was next.
“What about you?” Mom said. “You staying safe with that boy of yours?”
“How’d you know about this ‘boy of mine’,” Farrah asked, not looking her mother in the eyes.
“Your father and I write,” she said with almost no hesitation. “Not a lot, but we keep in touch.”
Farrah walked for a few more steps. Her heart swelled. “That’s good, Mom,” she said. She fought the tears that wanted to come but won the battle. “That’s really, really good.”
She squeezed her Mom tighter and they walked on.
14
She’d sidestepped Mom’s question. For the moment, that seemed to be okay with both of them. She thought back to how it had hurt telling Grandpa Danny and then the mortification of bursting into tears. But then how that had seeped away to leave nothing but his warmth and comfort. And his understanding, like he’d seen a million things across this earth and hearing about what Farrah had experienced, well, that was just one of those million he knew about already. Farrah could never shock Grandpa Danny. And that had made it okay.
But telling Mom wa
s different.
Mom was delicate coloured glass. To tell her—at least right now—it would do nobody any good. She might be able to handle it. And she might be the kind of support that Gramps was. But then, she might also go off the rails. Who knows if something like that might set her off.
Mom had left Dovetail Cove years ago. But Farrah had no idea what kind of progress she’d made in that time. Farrah knew nothing. And that was a hard thing to admit.
“It’s okay,” Mom said as they rounded a curve and went down into the snowy ditch at the shoulder of the lane.
“What?” Farrah asked.
“If you don’t tell me.” She let go of her daughter’s arm and bent down to scoop up a generous handful of slushy, sloppy snow. “It’s fine. There’s time. We’ll get into it when you’re ready,” she said, a knowing look on her face as she stood and packed the snow in her hands until it dripped from her wrists. Farrah smiled at her Mom. This was Mom showing how intact her own women’s intuition was. Alive and well. It made Farrah’s chest swell with hope. Her cheeks rose against the chilly air too.
But then Mom backed up. She rewound her arm like a catapult and said, “You better run, Littlest Lady!” She used her dad’s play name for Farrah. She teased once with a fake throw and Farrah flinched before catching the hint and taking off. She doubled back in the direction of the house and let out a squeal when the first snowball whipped past her.
Kath let out a whoop of laughter. “Almost!” she hollered. “There’s more where that one came from.”
But Farrah leaned down as she dashed and got a handful of fresh white fluff. The crystals were sharp and cold in her palm, but she squeezed them as her run faded to a trot. She whirled to launch one but was astonished to find her Mom had run up and closed much of the distance. Again, Farrah squealed.
She launched hers and saw that Mom already had another nearly made. Mom wore a grin of teeth and genuine happiness. They fired their snowballs at nearly the same time. “Come on!” Farrah shouted. “Give a girl a chance!”
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