Little Boy Blues

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “And don’t encourage her,” I said to Alvin. “We need to be alive to help your family.”

  “Ms. MacPhee, cut the boy some slack.”

  “Slow down, or the only cutting will be with the jaws of life.”

  “Lovely machine, this. Reminds me of the good old days.”

  “Watch the road, Mrs. P.”

  “Personally, I would prefer something with a bit more horsepower.”

  Mrs. Parnell had the cruise control set at one-forty, and I had a hard time keeping my eyes off the speedometer. Alvin was leaning forward, asking excited questions about World War II.

  “Mrs. P., I know we agreed to drive right through, but it’s better if we take shifts.”

  “That’s what we’re doing. You had your shift and now it’s mine.”

  “Yes, well.”

  “Close your eyes, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “Why don’t you pull off at the next rest stop, and I’ll get in the back. You two can enjoy war talk, and I’ll get some sleep, then take over driving again.”

  “Superb idea, Ms. MacPhee. Why wait? I’ll pull off right here.”

  Highway act. Schmighway act. Mrs. Parnell is above all that mundane stuff. I had to admit the Buick had great braking capacity. I settled in the back seat and positioned myself to keep an eye on them.

  “Dear boy,” Mrs. Parnell said, “we can relax now.”

  They could chatter on about Dunkirk and Dieppe. I was in charge of worrying about what we’d find when we got to Sydney. And what the hell we were getting Alvin into.

  • • •

  I opened my eyes to a thunderous roll.

  “Keep your heads covered.” I dived for the floor of the Buick.

  Alvin said, “It’s just music, Camilla. Shostakovich is the dude to set the mood.”

  I stared out the window, stunned by the sight of a Nova Scotia road sign. “What happened to New Brunswick?”

  “You slept through it. And you snored,” Alvin said. “I’d get something done about that if I were you.”

  “I slept through an entire province?”

  “One and a half. New Brunswick and now a chunk of Nova Scotia,” Mrs. Parnell said. “You must have been exhausted.”

  “I wonder why that would be. But I’m awake now. So I guess it’s time to stop and switch drivers.”

  “No point, Ms. MacPhee. We’ve broken the back of the journey. We’re almost to Cape Breton. One final push over the hills.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Did you two put something in my coffee?”

  “You wound me, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “Every minute counts,” Alvin said. “Look Violet, the Canso Causeway.”

  “Be sensible. You shouldn’t drive all those hours straight.”

  “Au contraire, it’s a wonderful idea. Reminds me of the war.” I knew what she meant.

  • • •

  We arrived at the Ferguson home less than five minutes after the Buick shot past the Sydney city limits sign. Mrs. P. and Alvin were elated. I was thirsty after too many bags of pretzels and irritable from seeing my life flash by on the 105 through Cape Breton. The black clouds gathering overhead fit my mood.

  Alvin’s family knew we were coming thanks to the miracle of my cellphone. As we pulled up to the Ferguson home, several people exploded out of the front door. For added drama, the neighbours appeared on their front porches and applauded. I spotted Donald Donnie MacDonald and Loretta waving. I gripped Alvin’s elbow and propelled him forward. I felt him wobbling. “Pull yourself together, Alvin.”

  Alvin kept his mouth shut, which I thought might be a good thing. On the other hand, Alvin’s mouth had been shut for the entire last leg of the trip, and that was anything but normal. I wondered whether he was slipping. I didn’t want to try to explain that to his mother.

  The four people who had stampeded from the house stopped and stood on the lawn, composed like a formal portrait. Every one of them was handsome enough to make you blink. A man and two youngish women, all of them obviously carrying the genes of a tall silver-haired woman. I pegged her on the high side of sixty with the kind of features and carriage that could make Lauren Bacall chew her nails in envy. The younger women flanked her. Their hands hovered at her elbows.

  A least a half-dozen small children darted in and out. There were those genes again. Slightly slanted sooty-blue eyes, dark eyelashes, crisp chins and cheekbones you could cut bread with, plus the unfair advantage of glowing ivory skin against nearly black hair.

  I tried to figure who was who. Tracy was easy. I recognized her voice. The woman closer to my age must have been Frances Ann. Frances Ann had a bunch of kids and was some kind of health administrator.

  The only man in the group stepped forward and spoke. “Do you always have to think of yourself, Allie?”

  Mary Frances said, “Knock it off, Vince.”

  I looked around. No one else seemed to find this in the least bit unusual. Alvin’s earrings jingled. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  Vince said, “We’re all sorry. So don’t start with the bullshit.”

  I stepped forward in case Alvin landed in a heap on the grass, but he braced himself. “Camilla, meet my brother, Vince.”

  The deep blue eyes narrowed.

  Ever since Alvin got pneumonia in my service, my name has been mud with the Ferguson clan. It wasn’t enough they had shot my phone bill into the next galaxy for the last twenty-six months, but they got to pretend I was the bad guy too.

  I gave Vince my best bonecrushing shake before he could whip his hand safely behind his back. “Glad to meet you.”

  Vince kept his mouth shut. “Ma,” Alvin bleated.

  Mrs. Ferguson opened her arms and Alvin fell into them. The rest of the gang surrounded them protectively. Except for Vince.

  Alvin was hugged and kissed and patted. Three beautiful women cried. Alvin blew his nose.

  “You have to meet Violet,” he said.

  I guess everyone had heard good things about Mrs. Parnell. They did everything but bear her on their shoulders into the house. When the front door slammed behind them, I found myself standing alone on the lawn as the clouds burst. Donald Donnie and Loretta lit cigarettes and watched with interest. I nodded grimly when they gave me the thumbs up.

  Tracy must have taken pity on me. She stuck her head out the door and said, “Ms. MacPhee? Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea with us?”

  • • •

  The Ferguson home was large, airy and smelled like fresh bread and cinnamon. The three-story house, probably built before the nineteen twenties, sat on a tree-lined street with a wide sidewalk on one side and a park on the other. It featured a bit of gingerbread trim, a neat lawn, a few dozen Siberian irises, plus a porch swing.

  The entrance way was soothing faded blue, last painted who knew when. A row of hooks held the rain gear neatly in the hallway, and the well-placed water-colours on the wall spoke of organization. On the telephone table sat three Daily Missals in a stack. I saw nothing to indicate that Alvin’s unique temperament had been nurtured within these walls.

  We were herded into the living room, where Alvin remained the centre of attention. “Come on in, Allie.”

  “Sit here, Allie.”

  “You want something to eat, Allie?”

  “Can I try on your earring, Uncle Allie?”

  So much for Mrs. P.’s notion that the family was the source of his problems.

  It took less than a minute for a giant earthenware pot of tea and a plate of shortbread cookies to appear. Alvin got freshly sliced homemade white bread and butter. Of course, the anxiety about Jimmy was reflected in the frenetic movements, the race to grab the telephone at every ring, the outbursts of tears, and the hushed conversations with other Fergusons who were out combing the hills for Jimmy. I couldn’t miss the muted hostility toward me, but I felt this would be a pleasant place, as a rule.

  I guess if you have seven kids and twice as many grandchildren, you’d need two sofas and
four large comfortable arm chairs. Books and magazines occupied most surfaces. I spotted an entire collection of P. G. Wodehouse in tattered orange covers and shelves of green-backed Penguins. Plus hardcover novels by Alistair MacLeod, Linden MacIntyre, Lynn Coady and Ann-Marie MacDonald. Giller stickers glistened on book jackets.

  The graduation pictures took pride of place over the sofa. High school, university, grad school too, judging by the variety of gowns. Vince made it three times, including one that must have been a Ph.D.

  Alvin didn’t eat his fresh bread.

  Small children raced up and down the stairs and past the adults calling “Uncle Allie watch me! No, watch me.”

  They all looked so much alike, I doubted even their parents could tell them apart. The dog, Gussie, chased after them, barking. Every now and then someone shouted at Brianna, Ashley, Dylan, Cayla or Brittany, “Cut that out right now. Yes, you.” I resolved not to remember the children or their names.

  Tracy spoke non-stop to Alvin, her small hands moving in a blur. Like his mother, Alvin stared without speaking out the window at the dark, wet street as if expecting Jimmy to appear from behind a shrub.

  Vince didn’t say a word. No one else made eye contact with me. That was fine.

  Someone pressed a plate of cinnamon buns towards Alvin. He didn’t seem to notice them. I ate a couple to be polite then stepped across the room to check out the cluster of First Communion pictures artfully arranged on the top of the upright piano.

  I spotted Alvin before his ponytail and earring phase, a scrawny child with a face full of apprehension, wearing dress pants that stopped above his ankles. Frances Ann and Tracy looked like miniature versions of themselves in fluffy white veils, gleaming ankle-length dresses and tiny gloves. The others were recognizable too. Vince’s broad grin showed off his missing front teeth.

  Jimmy’s picture sat in front of the others, a palm frond attached to its frame. A smiling priest stood with his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Every few minutes, someone’s eyes would light on that photo, then look away. Jimmy’s absence hung like a fog, draping everything in grey.

  • • •

  All I needed was a hotel with a nice shower and a meal without company. I managed to catch Mrs. Parnell’s eye and hiss in her ear. “Where are we staying? I need to shower and change.”

  “Encountered some obstacles, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A bit of a stumbling block in securing hotel accommodation.”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t want to dwell on it before we left, in case it slowed down our departure.”

  “But you said you would make arrangements. We can’t sleep in the Buick again.”

  “Best of intentions.”

  “How hard can it be?”

  No one paid any attention to me as I stepped into the hall. The Ferguson telephone was kept free for calls about Jimmy, so I used my cellphone and blew an hour working my way through the phone book. To hear the responses, they were stacking the tourists three deep in the hallways of every hotel, tourist home and B & B on the island.

  Sometime during my search, Gussie, a large, shaggy dog of uncertain breed, had discovered me and laid his or her chin on my knee. That would have been heartwarming, except someone must have been feeding him or her beans.

  Mrs. Parnell slipped up behind me. She’s the only person in the world who can be stealthy using two canes.

  “It looks like we’re stuck with the Fergusons for a while,” I whispered.

  “Step outside, Ms. MacPhee.”

  I followed her out to the porch. Mrs. Parnell flashed her lighter and fired up a Benson and Hedges.

  “Non-smoking household,” she said, her tone tinged with disapproval.

  “I can think of worse things. Anyway, I’m glad we got him here.”

  “If you say so.”

  “He’s fine. Not curled in a ball and not hallucinating. Although I noticed a strange undercurrent with the brother.”

  “Most disturbing.”

  “The rest of them are obviously fond of him. They’re going to look after him.”

  “Don’t count on it, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “They seem like an exceptional family, even if they don’t pay for their own phone calls. Pretty cheap, considering they must have at least fourteen university degrees among them.”

  “That’s not the point. Young Ferguson’s family is going through the same trauma he is. They’re not in any position to help him. Do you remember what I said about the source of his trouble?”

  “I can’t believe it’s the family.”

  “Regardless, Ms. MacPhee, we are the only comrades he can count on. United we stand. Divided we fall.”

  I didn’t like the way this was going. My plan was to head back to Ottawa as soon as possible, and Mrs. Parnell was well aware of it.

  I thought about Vince and his reaction to Alvin. Maybe Mrs. Parnell was right. Something was going on that we didn’t know about. I couldn’t abandon him.

  “Okay, fine. Time for a plan.”

  “I already have one,” Mrs. Parnell said.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Mock not, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. I’ll work on Jimmy’s disappearance. And I’ll do my best to figure out how to help Alvin. The family won’t be the ideal place for unbiased information. But I’ll nose around. What’s your plan?”

  “We’re of the same mind, then. I’ll get to know the neighbours,” she said, blowing a few fine smoke rings in their direction. “They look like they’re ready to talk.”

  I glanced next door. “They’re ready to talk all right. That’s Donald Donnie MacDonald and Loretta. I’d better head over and say hello, if I know what’s good for me.”

  • • •

  Tracy picked that moment to beckon me into the kitchen. Mrs. Parnell stayed outside to finish her cigarette.

  “Poor Allie,” Tracy said.

  Vince leaned back against the fifties-style cream-painted kitchen cupboards and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Yes. It’s good that’s he’s back here where you can all support each other,” I said to Vince.

  Vince stared at his feet. Tracy bit her lip.

  “It’s the worst thing that could have happened,” Vince said.

  “I know it’s awful, and Alvin’s in rough shape, but he can help in the search. He’s very talented that way,” I said. “And we can help too.”

  “Having Allie back is a disaster,” Vince said. “The only thing you could do to help is to keep him out of the way so the rest of us can get something done.”

  “What?” I’m lucky I didn’t bruise my jaw when it dropped.

  Vince curled his lip.

  Tracy said, “Well, it wasn’t a good idea to bring Allie home. He’s never been too, what would you say, Vince, sensible?”

  “Stable,” Vince said. “Or intelligent.”

  Tracy’s hands kept moving. From her hair to her T-shirt to the chair and back to her hair. Sometimes they hovered like moths. “He’s especially unstable when it comes to Jimmy. He’ll flip out. He’ll get Ma in a state. Since you insisted on bringing him back without consulting us, now we have to deal with it.”

  When I got my breath back I said, “What do you mean since I insisted on bringing him back?”

  Vince cut me off. “You called from Ottawa to say you were bringing him home, you hung up, you called again from ten miles out of town and then you showed up with him. What do you call that if not bringing him back?”

  “But he wanted to come home. Have you ever tried to stop Alvin from doing something he wanted to do?”

  “Even so,” Tracy said, adjusting her flower earrings. “It’s the worst thing in the world for him.”

  “It’s an unmitigated disaster,” Vince said. “He’ll go right over the edge when we need to keep our minds on Jimmy.”

  “Hang on a minute. Let’s see if I understand. You called me and insis
ted that I find Alvin and tell him what had happened. I did that, and now it’s a disaster,.” I said.

  “Well, we had to let him know. But he always flips out if it’s something with Jimmy, and that’s a problem for everyone,” Tracy said.

  “Alvin has always been level-headed in his own peculiar way, right up until he heard Jimmy was missing. Mrs. Parnell and I think he’s been traumatized in some way. Sorry it’s not convenient for you to hear this. But you have not one but two younger brothers, and since you know Alvin goes over the edge, I have to ask if you ever got psychological help for him.”

  “Bullshit,” Vince said. “He can get his act together like anybody else. We’re run off our feet looking for Jimmy, and we don’t need to be babysitting him.”

  Whatever that turkey did his doctorate in, I figured it wasn’t psychology.

  Mrs. Parnell loomed into the doorway and cleared her throat. She gave me a look that said I told you so. By now, I’d figured she was right on the money. This whacko family had to be the source of Alvin’s problems.

  • • •

  Even though they couldn’t stand me, I could not be allowed to go to a hotel. Or a B & B. Or a guesthouse. Even if space had been available. No sir. You come to Sydney with a Ferguson, no matter how inconsiderate your visit, no matter how inappropriate your behaviour, no matter how unwelcome your presence, you will be staying in the Ferguson home. Black fog of resentment or not. They made that clear.

  I blanched as this sank in. What if I ended up with Frances Ann and all those kids? Or one of the others who kept coming and going but whose names I couldn’t even remember. Tracy had a small apartment somewhere on George Street. But Tracy’s place was already full of volunteer searchers.

  “Of course, you have to stay here with Ma and Alvin.”

  I said, “You have enough on your plate with everything that’s going on.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Frances Ann said. “Ma is glad to have you. Especially with Allie here.”

  Considering the number of times I’d refused collect calls from her in the course of the past two years, I doubted Ma Ferguson was at all glad. But apparently, the entire Ferguson family had the same ability to withstand facts as Alvin did.