No Good Asking

by Fran Kimmel

  “Walter. Walter Nyland,” an old lady said, coming right up to under his grandpa’s chin, squinting her eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “A pleasure for you to meet me,” Walter said.

  The lady laughed and then a few more old ladies squeezed in until his grandpa was engulfed in perfumes and white perms.

  “How have you been, Walter,” one said. “Out there all that way from town.”

  “I’ll live to tomorrow ’less a tree falls on me,” Walter said, looking around. Daniel figured he had his eye out for the ballot box and free coffee.

  Some of the men clapped his dad on the back. A few called him sergeant, respectful-like, as if he were their boss.

  “We’re so glad you chose the Baptist.” A younger lady had come right up and grasped her mom’s hand in both of hers. Daniel recognized her as the desk nurse from the hospital. She kept sneaking glances at Hannah and raising her ostrich neck, trying to get a view of Sammy. Daniel didn’t turn around, but he could feel those little hands flapping behind his back.

  A group of girls filed up the staircase. One, two, three, four, a row of ducklings, quivering and quacking. He recognized their sounds from the lockers outside his language arts class. Daniel had never seen these girls close-up. They were usually bunched on the other side of some partition, in the far corner of the cafeteria or behind the library shelf. They were boisterous and today they wore identical white blouses tucked into black skirts. It was remarkable how their lips kept going, all four pairs at once.

  Melissa would not be caught dead with these girls. She liked whispers and red lips, feather earrings and Du Maurier cigarettes held high. They’d picked the wrong damn church. He should have put up a real fight and stayed in bed like he wanted to.

  But then they were following the crowd, the Nyland family and Hannah, past the bulletin board, past green boughs and red bells piled high on the table, squeezing their coats on the overstuffed rack, doubling up on hangers since there were only a few left. Walter refused to take off his coat. What for? We moving in? Sammy wasn’t sure, but Hannah held out her hanger and whispered, “Your coat will keep mine warm!” and Sammy went along.

  Past the foyer, it looked like the whole town was crammed into the one room. There were rows of wooden pews on each side and an aisle down the middle. They were the last to take their seats. A man in a grey suit, with pants short enough to see his white socks, shoved pamphlets in their hands and led them up the long aisle, painfully slow because of Walter. The man dropped them off at the second row from the front, right side. Daniel kept his eyes on the worn rug that might have once been red. Even if Melissa was out there, he couldn’t face her now. It was all too mortifying.

  Their family took the whole row, first Grandpa—more shuffling—then his parents. There was some confusion about where Sammy would sit. His mom wanted Sammy beside her and had brought a purse full of stuff to keep him quiet, but she couldn’t just grab his hand and pull him toward her, so he ended up between Daniel and Hannah. Hannah got the end seat, closest to the aisle, curls bouncing as she plopped herself down.

  The wooden bench had a red fabric seat cover that slid around as they got settled. Daniel landed beside a suspicious brown stain (maybe that’s why everyone had avoided this row), so he moved left a few inches, as close as he could get to Sammy without touching. There were Bibles and hymn books stuck into slats of the bench in front of him, worse than school, he thought, but he was glad for the help, since he might need to look up stuff.

  The head guy walked to the microphone, swaggering like a rock star. Pastor Mike, with a special welcome to the visitors, which Daniel assumed meant the pew of Nylands. He could hear his grandpa muttering down at the other end, building steam. Then Pastor Mike told everybody to turn to their neighbours and share handshakes and good mornings. The girl in front of them turned and tried to shake Sammy’s hand, but he had his head down, checking out the splats they’d made with their boots while swinging his legs back and forth. She turned her attention to Hannah, staring open-mouthed at her bruises, so Daniel folded his arms and scowled at her, a howdy-do to you too, and she swung back again and shrunk in her seat. His parents were shaking hands with the girl’s parents, too enthusiastically he thought. Welcome, welcome, it’s the vocal group’s program, been practicing for months, in for a treat. Walter said, “It’s hotter than hell’s kitchen in here,” his shaggy long coat buttoned from knees to neck.

  Daniel felt a poke on his shoulder blade from a handshaker behind him. When he flipped his head around, he caught sight of Melissa, a couple of rows back. She was on the other side of the aisle. Bright red lipstick and a red sparkly top he’d never seen before. She had her hair pulled back too, which she never did for school. The lady who had poked him leaned forward, so close he could count her chin-hair sprouts, her breath like burnt toast, asking him his name and if he’d come down from the city. He mumbled a few words but he couldn’t take his eyes off Melissa, who glared at him, like they’d never gone at it in the storage room behind the stage, his tongue in her mouth, his hand up her sweater. He tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. What was her problem?

  Pastor Mike cleared his throat into his microphone and all mouths snapped shut. Daniel was the only one left facing backward, so he turned himself around again. If he’d done something wrong, she could at least tell him what. Friday was the last he’d heard from her. She’d answered his paragraph-long, pour-his-heart out, need-you-beside-me texts with later or haha, but then even that stopped. She’d quit answering his texts, his calls, not another word. What was haha supposed to mean? She could at least give him a reason, even if it was a lie.

  Pastor Mike raised his arms, ready to take the basketball shot, and boomed into the microphone, “Let us pray for one another.” The front row lowered their heads. Surprisingly, so did his mom. Hannah closed her eyes. Sammy rocked back and forth, but no more than any other kid with ants in his pants. Daniel half hoped his grandpa would blurt out a good one—shut your trap already—but he was noiseless in his spot on the far side of their row, probably nodding off already.

  There was a tank at the back of the stage with a wooden cross above it. His friend Ryan told him about this stuff when they lived up in Slave Lake. He said they used to go down to the river, same as Jesus, but it got too sludgy after the chemical spill; you get a white gown and keep your underwear on, and it’s better optics if you don’t plug your nose when you dunk.

  Pastor Mike carried on. Confessing, rejoicing, ceasing, thanking, praising—no end to the -ings. And now the heavens were opening and the spirit descending as a dove and a voice coming down from above.

  Then it was over and Pastor Mike marched across the stage and sat in the only chair, not ten feet away from the Nyland pew, too close for Daniel’s liking, same as getting stuck near the teacher’s desk.

  He could hear his father sigh when Grandpa’s cane clattered to the floor. People filed out of a door on the other side of the church and climbed a few stairs to the stage, an assortment of shapes in white shirts and black bottoms, both frilly and plain, some busting out of buttons, some skinny as wrapped hangers, clutching black binders. There were the gaggle of quackers from his school, all four of them, arranging themselves raucously in the back row in their matching outfits. It took some time to get everybody positioned in two straight lines on either side of the organ. One little old guy shuffled about, lost up there, and a lady stretched out her arm and got him wrangled between two other old guys and behind a pair of springy girls.

  That lady stood in front of the group, her back to the audience, and nodded to the organist, who leaned into the keys dramatically, da da da da. Then the lady raised her chopstick and they all opened their mouths, binders held up in front of them, and started singing.

  He looked sideways at Hannah, who seemed totally enraptured, leaning forward. They’re not that good, he thought, but then he settled back
on the cushioned seat and let the sound wash over him. As soon as church ended, he’d be first down the aisle, grab Melissa’s hand, and lead her into a back room somewhere. He’d give her the blue velvet box and wait for her to say sorry.

  He’d found the locket at Dave’s Pharmacy, in the glass case with the watches. Dr. Dave was helping an old farmer figure out how to ease his arthritis pain without having to pay much, which had given Dan a long time to examine the heart laid open on a piece of red silk bunched at the corners. There was a crowd of people around Dr. Dave, all weighing in on the arthritis issue. The farmer was willing to try anything, like bee-sting therapy—actually sticking his head in a beehive—but Dr. Dave said no, no, no, that’s way too risky. Ya think?

  The locket had a slot inside each half of the heart. He figured he and Melissa could cut out their heads from one of their Facebook photos. He’d let her choose. The pharmacy crowd moved on to diaper rash and stomach bloat. The locket cost thirty bucks, on account of being sterling silver, and came in a blue velvet box that snapped open and shut like a jaw. When the crowd finally scattered and Dr. Dave got around to opening the glass case, Daniel had his wallet out. Dr. Dave threw in a silver see-through pouch with a drawstring ribbon.

  The first song ended. The conductor lady raised her stick, fleshy underarm jangling, and off they went again. Daniel thumbed through the pamphlet the guy had given them in the aisle. One, two, three . . . twelve song selections. You’ve gotta be kidding. Also a Boxing Day Social at 4:00 p.m. with the Auxiliary ladies supposed to come early and the Little Mothers’ Meeting postponed until January 16.

  There was verse after verse, song after song, no clapping between—maybe clapping was a sin for the Baptists—just shuffling of pages and clearing of throats and breathy whispers between the girls in the back row. His mom leaned past him discreetly, to look in on Sammy, but he was preoccupied with copying the shapes Hannah had made with her fingers.

  Daniel hadn’t mentioned Sammy to Melissa. He’d been waiting for the right time, something sticky cautioning him to tread lightly. Melissa could be kind, but that part of her came and went like gusts of wind. One minute she was sweet-talking with the pimply girl in the puffy sweatsuit, the next she was moving to the other side of the hall so she didn’t catch the cooties. He wasn’t ashamed of his brother, but he didn’t want to choose, didn’t know if he could defend Sammy against what might come out of her mouth. A brother is a brother, even a half brother.

  —

  He had been on his way to see her the night of the accident. He’d woken to his phone pinging, a plate of chicken bones beside him, tacky hot sauce on his fingers and cheeks. He counted twenty-three of her texts, all sent since midnight, the last in all-caps. WHERE ARE U? COME NOW BABY. NEED U BABY!!!!

  He piled into his clothes, ran upstairs, threw Thorn some kibble to keep him quiet, and took off in the truck. Snow flew off the hood as he picked up speed on the road into Neesley, wipers cranked, windows fogging as frigid air blasted from the heater. Drifting snow, icy shoulders. He couldn’t see much so he kept leaning over the steering wheel and smearing away glaze with his glove. He knew she was high, wired good on the blue pills she had picked up from her greaser cousin the last time he came in from working up north. She said she’d wait for him behind her garage in the alley. God knows if she remembered her coat. He lowered his boot and pressed harder on the pedal.

  It was the shape of her breasts, full and round and coming to a small point at the nipple. He was thinking about how perfect they were, their exact fit in his palms, when he hit the track of black ice. The truck bowled sideways to where the tree had been planted, stupidly, a hundred years ago, right there at the intersection that signalled the end of the farmers and the start of the town. His boot smashed on the brake—he’d forgotten the rule to do as little as possible—and the truck spun in circles, around and around. Then after a deafening drawn-out crack, the motion stopped, with a final sputtering before everything went dead quiet. He might have closed his eyes tight or kept them wide open. It happened so fast he couldn’t remember. When his vision cleared, he was buried in branches coming right at him through broken glass and felt a rush of cold air. The impact had caved in his door and shattered the rear-view mirror. The truck had turned itself around, facing the way he’d just come, as if it knew all along what a bad idea this was and just wanted to get home.

  He brushed the glass to the cab floor, slithered across the seat, opened the passenger door, fell into the cold, and called Melissa. Nobody drove by. He waited through eight rings before he pressed End. Then he called her again and again until she finally answered, sleepy and far away. Are you inside, Melissa? Are you inside your house? It took the longest time for her to find the slurred words. She was in bed. Where else would she be?

  —

  Pastor Mike marched across the stage, waving at the choir, shouting because he hadn’t yet made it to the microphone. “Let’s have a big round of applause for the vocal group who have worked so hard for this Christmas Sunday program.” Everyone clapped, it was not a sin after all, Hannah slapping her palms more wholeheartedly and for longer than the rest.

  “Let’s bow our heads in prayer.”

  Melissa later denied pleading with him to come over that night. When he told her to check her text messages, she said he’d been stupid to take her seriously. You cracked up the truck? You’re grounded? After that, she stopped taking his calls.

  Amens echoed between the walls. Pastor Mike lifted his arms and they stood, a stampede of feet hitting wood, a groan in the rafters. Daniel shook out the needles in his legs, looked across his parents to his grandpa, who tilted in his seat, mouth open, eyes closed. It was their turn now, all of them, his mom smiling a real smile as she reached into the slot for the green hymn book. Daniel shared a battered book with Sammy; Hannah reached for her own.

  He strained to hear his mom’s voice beside him, tentative and slightly off key, and his dad’s too, as they clasped their book between them. But Hannah overtook their row—I once was lost, but now I’m found—as clean and pure as anything he’d ever heard. Her voice ran like a current from his toes to his ears, everyone else mouthing the words because he could hear only her.

  It hit him then—Hannah was taking the whole church thing seriously, the music and the message. He thought about what she’d been through since her mom died, living with that creep in the house across the road. This wasn’t just a sappy song to her. He held the shiny pages down to Sammy’s height, following the words with his finger to make Sammy feel included. Now it was the chorus again. Amazing grace how sweet the sound.

  Hannah belted out the words, her voice rising above the others, rising above him. Heads turned. Whole rows looked their way. Pastor Mike was trying to catch Hannah’s eye. The girls in the back row strained their necks to find the angel in the crowd. There, she was there, beside a little boy blending into the background.

  Daniel turned his head to get a glimpse of Melissa, to see if she heard what he heard. She did. She was sizing up the girl with the red scarf and big voice, her expression sour and cold, without a trace of pretty. He swung back around and sang as loud as he could. Sammy looked up and giggled. Then Sammy gave it everything he had too, pitch perfect, a couple of beats behind because he couldn’t read the words.

  The song ended too soon. Hymnbooks snapped shut. More sitting. More praying. Then it was over. A rock clanked to the floor from Grandpa’s pocket and skittered under the seat in front of them. While his dad bent down to retrieve it, Grandpa yelled, “What did I miss?” loud enough for half the church to hear.

  His mom paid no attention as she pressed out the wrinkles of her skirt with her palms. She leaned over Daniel, flushed and happy, and whispered to Sammy, “You’ve been such a great boy.” Then she pushed their ragtag group into the aisle.

  They followed the herd single file into the space where they’d left their coats, Sammy in between his pare
nts now, Hannah close to Grandpa as he grumbled about the parade, how it was too disorganized, impossible to see the floats. People milled about, giving praises all round for the choir and their excellent singing.

  Melissa stood over to the side, leaning against the emergency exit door, coat on already, glowering at him. He walked up to her, not ready for this conversation, but not willing to put it off.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “You got a smoke?”

  He shook his head. It hadn’t occurred to him to bring along the pack of Du Mauriers he hid behind the freezer. He couldn’t stomach them himself, but she was always running out.

  “So who’s the gay girl?”

  He wasn’t supposed to talk about Hannah. His father had reminded him again when they were scraping off the van.

  “She’s staying with us for a while.”

  Melissa stared into the crowd, holding up fingers like she already had her smoke. “Like a cousin or something?”

  “Nope.”

  “She from around here?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What happened to her face?”

  Daniel bit his lip.

  She was losing her patience. “She got a name?”

  He kept quiet, wanting to ask the question but afraid of how it might come out.

  “Aren’t you the mystery man? All dressed up in your fancy pants.”

  He’d seen her make fun of others a thousand times. He dug deep into his pocket and wrapped his fist around the velvet pouch.

  “She’s a runaway, okay. It’s an RCMP thing.”

  She stared at Hannah, who was squeezed in against the coats. Her assessment went up a notch, but then her face went blank again. “Shoulda guessed. She doesn’t look like she belongs around here. Probably has STDs.”

  “Really? Really, Melissa?”

  She tossed her head back. “It’s just a joke. Jeez. Lighten up already.”