The Fortunate Brother

by Donna Morrissey

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Yeah. Except I left Verny behind.” She paused. “Vernon. I was fourteen when I had him. His father wasn’t much older than me, and he never knew. I was hidden inside the house for most of it. Hidden beneath heavy coats when I went out. He was born early March; my mother took him for hers. Some of our own knew it, but it was never talked about.” She looked at him with a twisted smile and he made a move to silence her, to ask only after his mother, but she raised a hand, silencing him.

  “Verny was six when I left. He knew me as his sister. And he cried when I was saying goodbye. I always stood between him and my father. I promised I’d come back for him, but I didn’t. I married a nice man, and I stopped wanting to go back home. And that is my cross.”

  “Your husband, where is he now?”

  “He was older, much older. He died.”

  “Sorry, Kate. Guess we all have our cross. Where is he now, your son?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, we’re all sorry. And I expect you want to know why I’m sneaking into your mother’s room at the hospital.” She was still gazing into the river, elbows resting on her knees. She was crying when she looked back at him. She took off her glasses, wiping her eyes, and then stood, relieved by the sound of a car coming down the road. “It’s your father.”

  “Can we keep talking, here? What’s up with you and my mother?”

  “Somebody behind him, they’re stopping.” She said impatiently, “I need to see what’s going on. Who’s that behind him?”

  He twisted sideways, looking towards the road. His father was pulling over, Manny following. “It’s Uncle Manny,” he said. “Driving Aunt Melita’s car.” Manny was getting out of the car and heading towards his truck parked by Kate’s. The truck with his mother’s bloodied scarf tucked beneath the seat. He was on his feet and running. The dog was squatting on his haunches by the truck door when he got there, ears back, tail down, growling at Manny.

  “Watch him. Watch him, Uncle Manny!” Kyle stood breathless beside his uncle. Sylvanus was tooting his horn from across the road, rolling down his window.

  “Whose dog? He your dog?” asked Manny.

  “Naw, Clar’s dog. Get! Get outta here,” he shouted at the dog. “Get! Been hanging around ever since the other night. We all been all feeding him.” The dog lowered its head and tail and then trotted after Kate, who’d come up behind Kyle and was now walking purposefully towards Sylvanus.

  “Who’s that?” asked Manny. “She that strange woman everyone’s talking about?”

  “Suppose, b’y.” Kyle opened the truck door and leaned inside, grabbing the scarf from beneath the seat and shoving it into his coat pocket. “Jaysus, lookie here.” He pulled back with a silly grin at his uncle and held up the keys. “Left them in the ignition. Thought I had them under the seat.”

  “All good, my son. Go on, now. See your mother. She’s in the truck, sharp as a tack. Bonnie Gillard’s in there with her. She got all your mother’s drugs and a nurse trained her about the other stuff. Go on, now, you got nothing to worry about.”

  Kyle clapped his uncle’s shoulder and was broadsided by his Aunt Melita coming towards him and stumbling beneath a bundle of coats and grocery bags in her arms.

  “Swear be Jesus he lives by hisself,” she said, and thumped her bundle against Manny’s chest. “Here, take something, quick, before I drops it.”

  “Look at her, look at her stuff. Five minutes in the store and she empties their shelves. Why don’t you leave it in the car?”

  “Because I’m not going straight home, you are. And half of this goes in the fridge. Take it.” She dumped the load in Manny’s arms, dimpled face ticking with annoyance, and then turned to Kyle. “Come here, my love.” She patted his cheeks with soft hands. “Don’t you worry about your mother now. She’s going to be fine. I knows because I’ve bargained me soul with the devil over this one.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Melita.” He saw Kate talking intently with his father and looking past him towards his mother. “I better get going.”

  “You go on then. And I’ll be back up tomorrow and make a batch of sweet bread. Hold on.” She grasped his coat sleeve. “You make sure she don’t get out of bed. Bonnie got her drugs and other things sorted out and so there’s nothing for you worry about. Except feed her and keep her off her feet. You hear that?”

  “I hears you, Aunt Melita. Thanks.” He pecked her cheek and went over to Kate, who was now backing away from his father’s truck.

  “The police,” she said, seeing him, “the police are coming,” and she brushed past him, her hands to her mouth.

  “What’s with her?” he asked his father. “What’s going on?”

  “Get in the truck. Nothing you can do. Get in the back, we gets your mother home. Hurry up.”

  The police. He rammed his hand into the pocket with the bloodied scarf. He heard his mother’s voice, talking to him from the cab. She sounded faint, weak.

  “You stupid?” yelled his father. “Get in the gawd-damned truck, we gets your mother home.”

  He heard another vehicle coming down Bottom Hill. The police. The police were coming. He tightened his grip on the scarf with fright and leaped into the back of the truck. The dog trotted alongside as they drove, outstripping the truck as they pulled up to the wharf. Kyle jumped out of the back, his foot twisting beneath him. He cursed and limped on towards the shed in pain.

  The truck door opened behind him, his mother’s voice calling for him. He lurched into the dimly lit shed. Firewood stacked two tiers thick lined the walls. A chopping block sat in the centre, the axe resting against it. The car was motoring closer. His father belted out his name and he bent near the low end of a wood tier and crumpled the scarf beneath a junk of wood and went for the door. Then he looped back inside the shed. The police. The fucking police. First place they’d search would be the shed. He grabbed the scarf again, balled it in his hand, and bolted outside to the back of the shed. He looked up the wooded hillside and started towards a grouping of rocks beneath a rotting black spruce. The dog appeared sniffing and whining beside him and he spat in rage. The dog, the gawd-damned dog would dig it out.

  “Kyle!”

  He turned back to the shed, dove inside. The car had driven past and was parking on the other side of his father’s truck. He heard the doors opening and nearly cried with relief upon hearing Sylvie singing out to their mother. And Ben, shouting something about suitcases. Sylvanus shouted back, his voice drawing near the shed. He stood there now, darkening the doorway. Kyle tucked the scarf beneath his coat and backed away.

  “Kyle!” Sylvanus’s face was dark with worry, a strange light in his eyes. “What’re you doing?”

  Kyle backed up against the wall.

  “She didn’t do it, Ky.”

  He nodded.

  “What’s going on? You hearing me? Your mother didn’t do it.”

  He held out the bloodied scarf, unable to speak.

  “What’s that—my scarf? What’re you doing?”

  “She—” He ran a dry tongue over parched lips. “It’s…it’s mine. She was wearing it. It’s got his blood on it. Clar’s blood.” His father snatched the scarf and looked more closely, seeing the blood. He threw it to the floor and landed his hands heavily on Kyle’s shoulders.

  “She didn’t do it. Your mother didn’t do it. It was Trapp.”

  Trapp.

  “You hearing me? Trapp done it. I drove out fast as I could to tell you. Trapp done it.”

  Kyle shook his head. She did it. She did.

  “What’s you gone deaf? She didn’t do it, b’y. Jesus, would I be telling you this if it wasn’t true? She’ll tell you all about it. I don’t know about the scarf, and it don’t matter. You hearing me, now?”

  Kyle’s hands were held out as though they still held the scarf. His father smacked them away.

  “What’s you gone foolish? Ky? Kyle! You hearing me
?”

  He leaned his head onto his father’s shoulders and started to cry. He felt his father’s arms tighten around him, heard his voice hushed like a prayer. “Sin. Sin. I led you to think it—gawd-damn sin.”

  Kyle pulled back, wiping at his face.

  “You fine, now?”

  Kyle kept wiping his face.

  “Clar was after Bonnie. He was going to drown her. He had hold of her—had her bent over the wharf and your mother come out and caught him.”

  Kyle rubbed at his temples, trying to see it. His father hunched down on the chopping block, shaking his head in the way of the old-timers when a thought is too hard.

  “You taking it in, Kylie?”

  “It was my scarf. I gave it to her that morning she left for the hospital. She was cold—”

  “Kylie, Kylie, it don’t matter. He was going for Bonnie, is all. He needed an excuse. He seen the scarf on me—or thought he did, or some gawd-damn thing, and took it from her car. Blamed her for cheating and said he was showing it to your mother.”

  “What the fuck did he do that for?”

  “To get Bonnie here. That’s all he wanted. He knew she’d come to stop him saying things about me and your mother, dirty fucker. When I picked Bonnie up earlier that evening, that’s where she was going, to his place. Stop him from coming here, but he was already gone when she got there.”

  “That’s what she told you?”

  “Just now at the hospital. I done what you was going to do—forced it from her and your mother, both.”

  “How come they kept it secret, then? Jesus Christ.”

  “That’s another story. Your mother can tell you that one.”

  “What happened with Bonnie, then—after you dropped her off?”

  “When she seen Clar was gone, she come here. That’s what he wanted her to do, come here. Get her down by the water. Nobody around. He wanted to drown her.”

  “On our wharf. How’d he know we wouldn’t be here?”

  “I don’t know, b’y. He took a chance. He would’ve liked it, drowning her on our wharf. He was sick like that. That’s what Bonnie said. And she did come. She got here and the lights in the house were out and she was leaving again when she heard him coming along the beach. She hid right here, in the shed, thinking he’d go home if there was no lights on in the house. She stepped on the knife, she said. Figured it was God-given and took it. He sung out to your mother and that was it. Bonnie went after him. With the knife.”

  “She was going to kill him.”

  “I think she would’ve. She had that look when she told me about it. Guess only she knows that. Perhaps she don’t know herself what she would’ve done. Didn’t matter. Clar was too fast for her. He shook the knife from her hand and he dragged her to the lower end of the wharf. He had the scarf around her neck, that’s how he dragged her. Near choked her. She couldn’t sing out, she was clawing at the scarf, and he was dragging her, she couldn’t get on her feet. He had her over the wharf when your mother come out. She heard the dog barking; it woke her up. And that’s when Trapp showed.”

  “Trapp. Where the fuck did he come from?”

  “He was up at the fire. With Kate. He seen Bonnie coming down the road and followed her. Luck. That’s all it was. Perhaps a bit more than luck—he got his stuff going on, too. When your mother turned on the light over the door, first thing Trapp seen was the knife. He seen what Clar was doing and ran for the knife. Clar come after him, then.”

  “Jesus.” Kyle sat down by the wood tier, wrapped his arms around his knees, his legs shaking.

  “Fierce,” said his father. “Something fierce.”

  “Finish it.”

  “No more to it. They fought and—who knows. Trapp says he didn’t mean to—didn’t know he got him till Clar let out that screech. That’s when he fell overboard. That’s when I got there, just as he was falling. I never seen Trapp. Only Clar falling. And Bonnie running. And then your mother.”

  “What about the scarf? How did the blood get on it?”

  “Don’t know. Might be Clar’s. He had it in his hands. Bonnie said he hauled it from around her throat and went for Trapp. Perhaps he was going to choke him.”

  “Jesus, old man.”

  “Might be Trapp’s—he got his own hand cut somehow. Stabbed it himself, he thinks. Wicked stuff. Wicked.” Sylvanus hove out a pent-up breath. He dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck with weariness.

  “Take ’er easy, old man. Good thing you never got there, could’ve been a whole lot worse. No sense in blaming yourself for any of that.”

  Sylvanus gave him a sharp look. “Don’t you worry now, cocky. I’m done with that, too. Taking on stuff. Like your mother says now, we’re foolish mortals thinking we got all the power over everything. That young fellow out there, he got to figure that one out too. That’s what your mother was doing by not telling—giving him time to figure it out. She owed him that, she said. She might be dead herself and Bonnie with her if he hadn’t happened along.”

  “Trapp. He never happened along. He’s been lurking about.”

  “That’s it now, he got his stuff going on, like I said. You go on in the house, let your mother tell you that one.”

  “Where is he right now?”

  “He’s on the run. Go on in, your mother tells you.”

  “Tells me what? Go on and finish it, old man. This has been dragged out enough.”

  “Another minute won’t hurt. Your mother knows the rest of it better than me.” Sylvanus got up and bent by the wood tier, picking up a few sticks of wood. He looked down at Kyle. “You all right, Kylie?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He pulled himself to his feet and walked the length of the shed, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the rafters. “Fucking mess.”

  “Soon be over, now. I called the police before I left Corner Brook. We been through hell with this, but no more.” Sylvanus stood up, clutching his armload of wood. “Go in, talk to your mother.”

  “Wait. He…Trapp was down by the bar a while ago.”

  “I told the police he was in Corner Brook. According to Kate.”

  “Kate? What the fuck do she got to do with this?”

  “Your mother. Go see your mother.”

  Sylvanus vanished out through the door. Kyle bent down, legs still quivering, and picked up a few junks. Outside the shed he watched the darkening clouds descend like a pot cover over the western skyline. A flicker of yellow star lit Kate’s cabin window. He went inside his house. It was lit up like Christmas—hallway lights on, living room lights, kitchen, bedrooms. His mother’s voice was coming from the bedroom, intermingling with Sylvie’s and his father’s. Woodstove cracking like corn popping and sending warmth straight through the rafters. Full. His life felt full again.

  Ben came from Addie’s room, eyes stoked with sadness. He sat at the kitchen table, looking out the window at the darkling sea the way Sylvanus did when he was feeling something too deep to figure. Sylvie came in behind him. She looked from Kyle to Ben, dazed and unsure of which one to go to.

  “My lord, Ky. You kept all this to yourself, then.” She went to him, put her reedy arms around his waist and held on. Too thin, he thought. She’s too thin. She’s been through it. She pulled away and went and stood behind Ben, leaning herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek against the curls of his bent head. “He’s always done the best he could for Trapp,” she said to Kyle. “You know it, don’t you, Ben? You’ve always done the best for him. Despite all what happened.”

  Ben nuzzled his cheek against her hand.

  “What all happened?” asked Kyle.

  Ben wiped at his eyes, shook his head. “All history, now, b’y. For some of us, anyway. Trapp took a rap for me back in Alberta, few years ago. Drug deal went wrong. My drugs, my fault. He took the rap and done hard time. He was always a bit off, but that took a toll.” He looked at Kyle with a sad smile. “Not one for Mother’s ears.”

  “Thought we k
new everything around here.”

  “There’s the joke. He got worse after the accident. Few breakdowns. Sounds like he’s having another one now. Fun stuff, hey? Christ. Calmer on the diamond fields of Sierra Leone.”

  “Trapp always made things harder,” said Sylvie. She looked towards her father who was entering the room. “She all right, Dad?”

  “Cup of tea, dolly. I’ll make a pot.” He looked at Kyle, raising his brows in a surly manner. “What’s you keeping her waiting for? She wants to see you.”

  Kyle hauled off his coat, tossed it over the back of a chair, and went into his mother’s room. She was lying back on a mound of pillows. Her face was peaked, her eyes feverish. More with excitement, thought Kyle, as she reached for him. Bonnie was hunched over the night table on the far side of the bed, a dozen pill bottles stretched in front of her, writing down information from their labels into a notebook.

  He bent, kissed his mother’s cheek.

  “Time you shaved,” she said, patting his stubbled chin, and then whispered, her words tight with remorse, “What I just put ye all through. I should’ve told your father.”

  “Should’ve told somebody. Christ, Mother.” He gave a relieved laugh and sat in the chair pulled up by her bed. “Why didn’t you? What’s with the secrets?”

  He looked at Bonnie accusingly and was instantly apologetic, feeling his past judgment of her.

  But her eyes held no resentment. “Wouldn’t be my doing,” she replied firmly.

  “She went along because I asked her,” said Addie. “She’s put up with something too, everybody thinking she did it. Her family phoning her, the police. I put all of you through it, didn’t I?” Her face twisted with sudden pain.

  “It’s soon time to take your pills,” said Bonnie. “Once the pain starts, it’s no good.” She turned to Kyle. “We have to keep timing her pills so’s to head off the pain, else she’ll be back in the hospital.”

  “She’s being a tough nurse,” said Addie through a weak smile. “You tell him, my dear. I saves my breath.”