“Well with that kind of negativity going on there’s no wonder it couldn’t work. You’re a powerful woman, Mom. Maybe you’re the reason we didn’t make it. Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think that those horrid, nasty, negative vibes might have been too much?”
“You’re clutching at straws, Joanie. You know damn well that’s bullshit.”
Joanie cries hard. Wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her ugly shirt. She knows there’s no truth in what she says. Love would have conquered any negativity from outside. But there was no love on John’s part. There was nothing but John the taker and Joanie the prize. The pretty woman, educated, refined, well-heeled as it were, with old money to take the sting out of John’s nouveau riche plans. Well. If he could see me now. Wiping my nose in the front of my crappy old shirt.
“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go shopping. But it will be on your tab. I’m a little strapped right now.”
Finding poor Frankie may be the answer to at least one of Judy’s problems. She has been hiding out in the strangest places ever since she came back and is tired of the rambling. Calling the cop shop from various phone booths and asking for Patrick. Hanging up when he answers and going to Ginny Mustard’s house for a bite to eat. Taking cover again if he isn’t in. It’s been a long time since Judy has had to run and being somewhat settled for awhile got into her bones. It’s that much harder now to worry about keeping out of sight since she got used to walking free in the world. It’s not easy being broke again either but she lost her bank card and is too afraid of running into a cop to go get a new one. Other than the cash in her pocket she’s pretty much penniless.
If she knew that Patrick isn’t actively looking, that in fact he’s so busy tracking the latest drug ring in town he doesn’t give her much thought, assuming the others are looking out for her, that he has better things to do at the moment, that her probation officer never even noticed she left town in the first place, Judy might relax. But she hasn’t a clue and is feeling somewhat desperate.
So she packs herself a little bag of necessities, jeans, shirts, make-up, jewelry box and borrows a few books - for a friend -from Joe Snake. Nosy old Ruth had to ask who are they for, how can I suggest reading material if I don’t know who wants it, and Joe Snake just said help yourself so she chose No Exit by someone named Sartre because it seems appropriate on so many levels. And East of Eden because she remembers that The Red Pony was the only thing she liked about grade eight and the same fellow wrote this one. Can of the Soul which sounds like a good thing to read to someone half dead. A. Book of Bees because she’s missing Eve.
She comes calling early and tells the nurse at reception that she will stay as long as poor Frankie is in his coma and the nurse, who has heard that one before and knows it’s lies, all lies, is up to her ears in paperwork and says, “Sure. Whatever,” and doesn’t even look up at the girl with the hunted look on her face.
If Nurse Edna had known there is a Frankie way down the other end of the hall you can bet she’d have been there by now. But as it is she is so taken up with the nervous new moms who aren’t quite sure what they’ve gotten themselves into and those others, not as many thanks be to God, out of their minds with grief, whose little ones didn’t make it or who might have been better off if they hadn’t with their bodies all wrong and their small brains not wired properly, that she rarely makes it off her own ward. Edna is nothing, though, if not observant so it’s only a matter of days before she begins to wonder about that tall girl she sees walking by the nursery every few hours, day and night, coming back again with a meal or a can of pop and heading down the long hall. And when she decides to follow her and sees the poor boy and meets the girl come to sit with him until he wakes, she digs out a roll-away cot so Judy doesn’t have to sleep on the floor and they both work their arms off getting the windows unstuck so there’ll be some fresh air to breathe.
There’s no way Judy would be allowed to do what she’s doing if anyone who cared found out. Edna doesn’t mind that. If Judy wants to hang around with a boy no one else seems to give a damn about, fine, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t be comfortable while she’s at it. This room is as close as a nightmare. Nothing wrong with cracking a window and cheering things up a bit. Edna got her daffodils from the Cancer Society fundraiser yesterday and she’ll bring them in as soon as she gets a chance, along with a little table to set them on. She gives Judy a quick hug before she leaves with a promise to be back soon.
“Seems to me,” says Annie Paul, “you’d have a little more of a rush on to see your daughter than this. What is your problem, anyway? I’ve told you she’s in trouble. That she’s pregnant. And here you are friggin’ around in this hole of a place. Believe you me it’ll still be here in a month. No panic to check it out today. I’m starting to think you’re afraid to find her. Either that or you really don’t give a sweet damn. What’s going on?”
Dr. Kamau has taken yet another jaunt off the beaten track. To yet another half dead end fishing village. Bunch of ne’er-do-wells hanging around a dart board sucking back beer. One general store and a chicken take-out. A hundred or so residents of dubious mentality languishing in, as one beloved son of the nation declared, a gene pool the size of a teacup.
“What the hell are we doing here? If you aren’t interested I’ll get going myself. We’re that close to the city I can almost hear the poor thing. Lend me fifty dollars and I’ll find a taxi or a bus or whatever they use around here to get from A to B. Though I’m not sure any of this crowd has ventured that far in a while.”
But the doctor can’t hear her and so she trots back to his car and flinging caution and his wallet to the wind - after helping herself to enough cash to fill up at the next gas station - she’s gone in a spray of dust and crushed stone. One of the locals says,
“Buddy, your missus there just took off with your car. You two have a fight or what?” and Dr. Kamau turns slowly to see the rear end of his black Mercedes for the last time.
The first few days with the fine anthropologist was a good time. After that Annie Paul became dreadfully bogged down in his all-consuming lectures. Because if he isn’t listening he has to teach which would be just fine if she was half interested in what he had to say but when he began repeating himself she drifted. And once Annie Paul drifts there’s no returning. If he didn’t look so good she wouldn’t have lasted this long.
“Oh well. He’ll be fine where he is. I’ll check on the way home and if he’s still there I’ll give him back his car. I must be wanting to get laid awful bad to put up with that foolishness. Onward through the fog.”
Since the journey began Annie Paul has been visited in her head on more than one occasion by an odd old woman in a red sweater who wants- her to get a move on. Something to do with the doctor’s daughter and there’s a hospital involved so that’s where she’s heading as fast as she dares what with no driver’s license and a stolen car.
Nurse Edna is in a bit of a quandary. It has something to do with Virginia Benoit’s baby. Lately she’s taken to dreaming. Mostly when she’s asleep but now and then when she’s on her feet and moving about. Since she has no recollection of ever having dreamed before it is a bother. The dreams are of a baby and sometimes an old woman and sometimes the baby is the old woman and sometimes the old woman is the baby and last night she woke to find the old woman sitting on her side of the bed looking at her. Didn’t say a word. And she nudged her husband and said, “There’s an old woman in the bedroom.” And he, not the most pleasant person on earth when you wake him suddenly, said, “What do you want me to do about it, you’re the one with the working legs?” and went right back to sleep. Edna stared at the woman for a few seconds but she didn’t seem to want anything so she went back to sleep as well. And then there was that baby again for the rest of the night and the baby was shrinking and then the old woman was there again and she shrinking too until there was nothing left of either but a little black space in Edna’s sleep.
This morning s
he is worried. So much so that she doesn’t even ask Dr. Boland how his date went with the new teacher on the sick kids’ ward. Doesn’t speak, in fact, until she goes to Ginny Mustard’s room to see how she’s doing. The mother-to-be is beaming but back of her smile is a small case of nerves. She wants to stay here in this room. Even cuffed to a bed she is happier than she ever could be in prison. Her free hand is resting on her belly and she’s been humming sunny tunes to Sweet Polly for an hour. When she sees Nurse Edna’s face she stops and stares.
“I’m about to do something I have never done in my life that I can recall,” says Edna. “I am going to tell a lie. That sounds like I might be perfect I know, but don’t think for a minute that I am. I just never told an untruth and I was thinking I might stay that way to my grave. I did a lot of things that are bad. Not as bad as you did, killing a man, but who’s to say really. I guess our maker gets to cast the deciding vote on that one. I mind once when I was little how I locked my brother in an old truck and forgot about him until he never showed up for dinner and everybody went looking. By the time I remembered, he was just about dead for want of air and I got in more old trouble. And once me and my friend Jessie were in a mood because I wasn’t allowed to go to the time at the church hall. To this day I can’t think why I had to stay home but me and Jessie went into my mother’s room and cut all the pretty tassels off her curtains and bedspread. They matched you know, and she was so proud to have such nice things for once but we hacked them off anyway because she wouldn’t let me go out.
And now I’ve got to tell a lie for you, Mrs. Virginia Benoit, so that baby can have a fighting chance. I know damn well if I say everything is fine they’ll ship you on over to that place again and I also know if they do, you’ll get so sad your little baby won’t make it. But they are not going to believe that for a minute so I’m going to have to lie and tell them you’re still doing poorly and you have to stay here until your time. If any of the others come to check on you it would be best if you could stop looking so content and well fed. Can you do that? Can you pretend for a while that you’re still feeling bad? There’s always someone screaming for a bed around here. They don’t want to be footing the bill for a healthy person when there’s so many lined up for space. And God knows you’re healthy. You were just having a hard time of it in that jail and who can blame you. I got to tell you, Virginia, I’ve been dreaming about that baby for nights now. Days too, truth be told. At least I think it’s that baby. There’s an old woman too but I don’t have a clue who she might be.”
Nurse Edna needn’t worry further about breaking commandments. Annie Paul has just now pulled into the hospital parking lot - staff only - and is on her way to the rescue. Eve is tired, if the spirit can be tired, of arranging the pieces and should stop fretting as well. Annie Paul checks out every ward in the place without interruption. A year or so ago someone shot a movie about the last of the Beothuks and people became accustomed to seeing extras wandering around town in full dress between takes. Perhaps they are at it again and no one pays her any mind except to comment among themselves that it looks like they’ve finally got the costume design figured out, thank God. When she remembers that the woman she seeks is pregnant she heads for the maternity ward but not before everyone who could see got a good look at her.
At the front desk she asks the whereabouts of a young woman who might be black or brown or at the very least coffee-coloured but probably not as white as themselves. Someone points her in the direction of Ginny Mustard’s room and it’s a good thing the door has a window because now Annie Paul is inclined to rush and if Nurse Edna hadn’t seen her coming she’d have suffered one terrible whack to the head when Annie Paul came barelling through.
“Another visitor,” says Nurse Edna. “I think it best that you not stay too long, dear. The young mother here has had quite a week of callers and needs some rest.” Trying the edges of her lie to see if it will fit. See if she can follow through.
Joanie has seen John. He watched the house until her parents went out, and came knocking. Poor Joanie. She has not had enough time and freedom to strengthen her resolve and it only takes a few words from her husband to convince her that she’s made a dreadful mistake. That no one could ever love her as much as he does. That her children will grow up delinquent without their dad around. That no one else will ever want her the way he wants her. That she cannot possibly make it on her own. No matter that she is feeling rather pretty today in a soft purple blouse and new jeans. That her underpants are silk and risque and her hair shiny clean and she found just the right lipstick. Watch her crumble and join the sisterhood of floppy women with jelly where the backbone was. If her parents were to return from their walk right now they would find her the same Joanie she has been since she said I do.
She never should have opened the door, looked into his face, listened to his smooth talk. But she did. And here she is in her bedroom with her husband and if she’s not careful she’ll be making another baby and whacking more nails in her coffin. Too late. Too late. And now she’s packing her new clothes and her children’s clothes and some toys and going to the school to bring them home early today because she has a surprise for them and now they are heading for the airport in a taxi to go to their new home away from this place and its sad memories.
“Everything will be different, now,” says John. “Yes,” says Joanie and she stares straight ahead through the windshield but she really can’t see anything.
When her parents arrive at Mrs. Miflin’s house they are met by a security guard who tells them they are trespassing and have to get their things and leave because the house has been sold and they are no longer welcome. Clever John had the foresight to take Mrs. Miflin’s offer to buy and gave her back the keys which she can use to her heart’s content as soon as the rest of his belongings have been crated and sent to where he is going. Ask until they’re blue in the face, Joanie’s mom and dad will never get that address from the movers.
Mrs. Miflin is trying to locate her own furniture and round up a few tenants. She has lit all the candles in front of the Holy Blessed Virgin at the church as a thank-you for the miracle though she only put money in the collection box when Father Delaney came out of the confessional and looked at her funny.
Judy was a full six pages into No Exit before she realized the characters were all dead in a really nasty hell and not going to cheer anyone up, least of all a boy in a coma, so she wasn’t long shoving the book into her backpack and starting another. She won’t return it to Joe Snake yet though, because she really does want to find out what happens. How the fools got themselves into such a mess in the first place. Maybe she can figure out what not to do so she won’t end up there herself.
She has pulled her cot close to Frankie’s bed, the better to read to him quietly, and sometimes at night she holds his hand, cold as it is, almost stiff, and the warmth from her strong body lights a small spark in his. Now and then she cries a little for him. Cries for herself. Cries for total strangers who seem to hurt. For the sad old goats in their wheelchairs sitting alone in the hospital cafeteria when she steps out of the room for a sandwich. The girl with no hair, nothing but skin and bones and freckles standing out hard on her thin face walking ever so slowly with her worn out mother. She can’t help it really. Anyone who finds herself in such stillness for any length of time would probably do the same. Once when she was crying the sadness was so unbearable that she crawled into Frankie’s bed and snuggled like a spoon into his back and got tears all over his neck. Warm salty tears all over his neck and she didn’t want to move away so she licked them off and her salt mixed with his tasted odd on her tongue. Not bad. Just odd.
Sometimes she talks to him about things that come to her mind. About Eve and Ruth and the others and what a good time they had because she can’t remember it being any other way now. She talks about her mom and dad as though they were the people she needed them to be. Talks about watching her dad shave before going to work as if he did that every day and
not just now and then when someone was fool enough to hire him for a week. Talks about the times her mom made cookies and how delicious they were and she can almost taste them even though it only happened once and they were store bought and all her mom did was put some ready made icing on them. She’s making up stories but it’s okay. Sometimes you have to do that to get yourself out of bed in the morning. To be able to see the flowers bloom and the leaves fall. Smile. Say hello. And the only one who hears is Frankie if he’s listening so it’s not really telling lies now, is it?
Ruth’s life has taken a turn for the worse since she gave in to Sarah and told one of her secrets. You can be sure that will never happen again. Sarah has been calling and coming by at all hours, even bugging Ruth at work when she’s busy but there’s no way Ruth will speak another word to the woman until she bloody well feels like it and it probably won’t be tomorrow. She can’t remember if she told Sarah Bill’s surname. Is worried she did because it shouldn’t be too difficult for that bloodhound to track him down. There are only so many American soldiers who might have been hanging out in this part of the world back in ‘72 and she can’t remember if she told Sarah where he was from. Did she? Damn it all to hell!
Patrick is as sweet as ever he was with no idea the turmoil consuming Ruth right now. Their sex life is all but non-existent. “It’s menopause,” says Ruth. “I haven’t had a period for two months and my estrogen production is shot so I don’t feel like doing it. I don’t know if I ever will again. Do you still want to marry me?”
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