I had wrote beside Dad’s name, and then tried to rub it out, “It wasn’t his fault.”
Whose fault was it, then? His dad’s? His dad was bad to him. Broke his jaw. Give him that chin that looks like a lump of mashed potatoes. I thought, Grandpa. All the trouble in our family must’ve been his fault. But then I thought Grandpa’s own dad could’ve twisted him, for all I know. So maybe it wasn’t his fault neither. Maybe it was my grandfather’s father’s fault. But maybe his father....
So who was the first sick-in-the-head father? How did it ever get started? That was the first time I got that idea of a rock dropping, smack, on some caveman’s head.
“Rose, do you need help to get started?” I could just hear Meredith asking me. Tried to get back on the track.
Write about anything that you might feel guilty about that wasn’t your fault.
I felt guilty about my mom. But that was my own fault. I screwed with her husband. I quit school and left home at fifteen. Dad told me I broke her heart.
I felt guilty about my sister. That was my own fault too. Should have stopped what Dad done to her. Should’ve took her with me when I got out. Should’ve never left her there.
I felt guilty I dropped out of school. I felt guilty about all the guys I’d been through. I felt guilty Dave was there wasting his time with me, when I was doing Ken. I felt sick guilty that I hadn’t did a thing yet for Jenny. But, the way I seen it at that time, it was all my fault.
I see it different now, thank God. But I remember—at this same table I’m sitting at now—trying so hard. And I could not, for the life of me, think of one thing that didn’t seem to be my own fault.
Few months later, it was simple.
Back at the start, though, I didn’t have a clear picture of how the rockslide goes roaring down through time. Parents to kids. I had her bass ackwards. Blaming myself for my parents’ faults. As if a rockslide could slide up hill.
Think that over, careful. See if yous do that too. Whatever you feel guilty over, are you sure it’s really your fault?
I put the pencil down. Went and called Marg. Told her about Josie.
“Poor Josie just don’t like Christmas,” she says.
I says, “Guess what she’s laying there thinking!”
“Don’t tell me!” I can hear, over the phone, that Marg’s grinning. “Don’t tell me she’s laying in hospital, going on about that hotel!”
Just the thoughts of Josie and her hotel, and you had to smile. Me and Marg got a laugh out of the elks.
7.
TUESDAY WE HAD A SMALL GROUP, what with Josie in the hospital and Darlene stuck at home. Darlene just lives across the park there in one of them apartments by the old dockyard. But she never showed up. So it’s me, Marg, Sally, and Tammy.
Tammy looks bad. Moving stiff. We’re going to hear something. Marg don’t look good neither. She’s nervous over her old man’s trial coming up. When Marg’s nervous, she eats. She’s awful overweight as it is. Puffed up and white. Not getting much sleep, neither, by the looks of her. Sally hadn’t heard about Josie. She took it bad.
I says, “Josie’s going to be all right, Sal.”
“You just keep sewing,” Marg says.
Sally had her bag there, but she never opened it. Said she’d show us the new stuff when Josie got better.
Sally looked so let down that there was no Josie this week to show her work to. Alls I could think to do was I started in about the people coming from all over the place to look at northern lights and wild animals. I didn’t tell it for a laugh though, this time. Told it so Sally could hang on.
Marg said she’d saw the northern lights once, back in Pickerel Lake, and was it a sight to see! Green and deep rose, she said it was, sheets and ribbons, all lit up, slow dancing. She said it’s like the way sheets on a line will flap and blow. “Picture deep rose sheets made of light.”
It was singing to my insides. Sheets of light, flapping on the sky line. Maybe it wasn’t so nuts to think that people would go a long way to see that.
Meredith and the helper come in, and we went around the table.
How was Sally’s week? Sally shocked us. Come right out and said she was sewing tablecloths for a hotel. (Never said nothing about it being an air hotel made out of daydreams, but it wasn’t no lie, so her Christian morals was happy.)
Rest of us are looking at each other, wondering what she’s going to say if Meredith asks any questions. But Meredith just says isn’t that great. Glad Sally’s got work. (Shifty-eyed smiles shoot around the table.)
How was Marg’s week? Marg’s old man keeps phoning to say he’s going to set her building on fire if she don’t call off the court case. (Which ain’t even up to Marg anyways. She’s only one witness.)
How was Rose’s week? I didn’t say nothing about Ken at work.
Meredith can see I’ve got some problem. Thinks it’s Dave.
How was Tammy’s week? Asshole had blew up. Pounded the shit out of Tammy.
At break, we talked about how far north you’ve got to go to get a good look at northern lights.
After break, we got another one of them sheets: Accepting Powerlessness As An Adult.
Today, I’m not responsible for…
Meredith’s looking at me. Can I share with the group something that I’m not responsible for?
“Free range cows?”
“All kidding aside, Rose.” Meredith’s fidgeting her tight shoes and giving me her lip-twist smile imitation.
“Sorry.” I says, “How Dave makes a living?”
“That’s very true. You are not responsible for that man in any way.” I had my doubts on that.
Tammy gets her same old Question to Think About. Who is responsible for her husband’s anger?
Just before we’re to go home, Frances, Meredith’s helper, pipes up. Would we like to try a relaxation exercise?
M-m-m-m! Those are my favourite. Frances gets you to notice if your toes are warm or cool, comfortable or tight, tells you to relax the muscles in your toes and then in your feet. She works her way up. Relax your calf muscles. How are your knees today? Thighs comfy? She gives you time to think of each part of yourself.
If your body’s been hurt, your body’s going to need help to heal. Not just your brains. I recommend yous try that.
By the time we’re feeling our eyes sink back, heavy and letting the tension float up out of our foreheads, I’m just like I’m laying on a pile of feathers.
As I was coasting out, I said thanks to Frances.
Meredith give me one of them sour Meredith glances. Like, what was I thanking her helper for? Why not her? Worse than a five-year-old.
In the hall, they were on Tammy. Had her backed up against the wall, crying. How many times was she going to take this shit? How many times was she going to let them kids see this?
Marg says, “Tammy, I’d like to drive you home right now, get your kids, and drop yous all at the shelter. How would that be? Is your husband out tonight?”
Tammy nods.
I says, “Will I come with you?”
I’m real relaxed, eh. Not thinking too clear about what I’m volunteering for.
Tammy, she nods. Sally is fishing in her purse for tissues. Can’t find none, so she gives Tammy one of her table napkins, a pink one. “Go ahead. We got lots.”
So Tammy’s there blowing her nose and wiping her tears and that’s the first use that got made of Sally’s dining room linen.
We all went. Marg’s got an ’86 Chevy Caprice you could fit the whole town into. We left Tammy’s car where it was and drove out to Tammy’s place.
Tammy, she lives in the country. She’s got the nicest place of any of us. Her husband is some kind of car factory worker, and they own their own house. He must be nervous letting Tammy join this group, for fear she’ll tell on him. But, see, T
ammy tried to commit suicide the year before. Wound up in hospital. And the shrink there said she had to go to a therapy group for her childhood abuse. They followed up on it. Asshole had to let her. Of course, he’s gave her the technicolour picture of what he’ll do to her and the kids if she ever tells about him and his little anger problem there.
Anyways, there we are, heading out to their place, that cold night in December. I’ve forgot there’s such a thing as relaxed.
Tammy lets out a gasp when we turn a curve where you can see the house, because Asshole’s truck is there. She wants Marg to turn around, go get her car, don’t say nothing.
Marg, though, she won’t even slow down. Keeps going steady until we get to a clump of bushes, just by where you turn into Tammy’s long driveway.
Tammy goes nuts. Starts crying and begging Marg, pulling on her arm.“Stop! Marg! Stop! He’s there! He’ll strangle me! He’ll break my arm. He’ll hurt the kids! He’ll hurt Matthew’s ear again. Stop! I don’t want his head hit no more. Meghan’s still sore. It’ll hurt more! Stop!”
Marg finally brakes. Puts it in park. Turns it off. Marg won’t leave a car running. Don’t care if it’s thirty below.
Tammy’s screaming, she’s so scared, tearing at everybody, trying to jump out of the car. Me and Sally are hanging over from the back seat, fighting to keep hold of her. She’d jump out and run into the woods, freeze to death, sooner than face her husband. I got accidentally smacked in the mouth.
“Tammy,” Marg says, like a kind nurse, who’s saying, we’ve got to jab you now. She says, “Tammy. Tammy. Tammy. Listen to me. There’s four of us here. Tammy. He won’t do nothing in front of the rest of us.” Marg keeps talking, and Tammy, she finally stops screaming and flailing. Marg gets her to where she’s just crying.
Marg’s so awful fat it ain’t easy, but she turns herself and takes Tammy in her arms. Tammy bawls her heart out and Marg gives her time, holds her in a nice soft Marg hug.
Me and Sally sit tight.
It’s getting cold in there. The windows are steamed up. Sally gets out another one of her napkins, a blue one. Starts wiping the windows. Marg takes it and does the windshield.
“All right now, Tammy,” Marg says, “This is what we’ll do. I’m going to drive up there. You’re going to go in and get your kids to introduce them to me and Sally and Rose. If he asks, say you’re just bringing them out to say hello. Okay?”
We practised that over a few times. Your car wouldn’t start in this cold. Your friends give you a lift home. Your friends want to meet the kids. Asshole don’t want us asking no questions. He’ll let the kids come out and say hello.
Tammy says, “Three friends of mine from the therapy group want to say hello to the kids. My car broke down. Three friends of mine want to say hello to the kids.”
It seems pretty thin to me. I can see a lot that could go wrong with this plan. But I don’t have a better one, so I don’t say nothing. Me and Sally, we just squeeze each other’s hands. Marg starts the car.
Tammy’s in the front seat, talking to herself: “He don’t want them asking questions.”
We pulled up to the house, didn’t see nobody. Tammy let herself in by the side door. Marg done a three point, turned that boat of hers around. And she left it running.
I never sat through a longer five minutes. Rolled the window down, cold as that night was, so I could hear if there was anything to hear.
Marg says, “If they don’t come, we’ll go call the cops. I’m not sitting still, letting that Asshole beat her no more.”
In them days, nobody had a cell phone.
But Sally says, “The police can’t do nothing unless she’s ready to tell on him.”
We know she won’t tell. Cops could drive up this lane right now and Tammy’d send them away, say nothing was wrong.
We didn’t hear nothing and we didn’t hear nothing. We didn’t see nothing and we didn’t see nothing.
Then the front door opens and there’s two kids walking down the steps. Dark little shapes, there, against the light from the house. Where’s Tammy? Where’s Tammy? Where’s Tammy?
I’m ready to scream. But good old Marg stays calm.
“Open your door there, Rose.” She rolls her window right down.
The little boy comes up to us. Snow crunching under his feet. Big wide eyes. He’s holding something in his coat. He just looks at us. His sister comes up behind. Whispers, “Mom said to say hello.”
“Well, hello!” Marg says. I don’t know how she can keep her voice like that. She’s got one eye on the house, but she says, “This here is Sally and Rose and I’m Marg. We’re friends of your mom’s. Did she tell yous to get in the car with us?”
The kids stand there staring. Their breath coming out of their mouth and going up like smoke.
Marg says, “What have you got there, son?”
The little boy opens his coat. He’s got a margarine tub. Lifts the lid up at one side.
Marg peeks in and says, “Wished I had green toes like that, and could stick to a wall. Somebody give you a hard time, you could walk right up the wall and look down at them from the ceiling.”
The little boy stands there, watching Marg talk to him.
Sally puts in, she said she wasn’t sure if geckos were the ones could do that. “Can Harold there climb up a wall?” she asks the little boy.
I know I’m ready to climb the wall.
Where’s Tammy? Come on Tammy!
Sally says, “Ain’t yous cold? Did yous want to do your coats up?”
Marg whispers to me and Sally, “Grab them if he comes.”
The next thing we seen, dark against the yellow light from the doorway, was Tammy and a man. He makes a grab for her. She dodges him. He’s a fair-sized son of a gun. He grabs again. Gets her by the coat.
Marg says, in this cheerful voice, like we’re going out for candy apples, she says, “Okay, kids, here comes Mom. We’re going for a ride. Hop in!”
Tammy’s struggling to get loose. Asshole hanging on.
I crank up the window. I’m ready to haul the kids into the car. But they scramble in. I smile at them the best I can, trying to copy the way Marg’s acting. I slide over. They’re on the seat between me and Sally. I reach over them. Slam the car door, lock it. Fast as I can. Sally’s standing up, reaching over to open the front door for Tammy.
Tammy sheds her coat. He makes a grab for her. Gets her sweater. I seen something flying catch the light. Button shooting off. She runs right out of that sweater, chest stuck out in front, arms trailing, leaves the sweater in his hands. Makes a run for it. She’s sprinting across the yard. Chest out. Arms working. T-shirt and pants. No shoes. Sock feet in deep snow. Asshole right behind her.
I don’t know how the next things happened. Tammy took a leap and a scramble over a snow pile and made a dive for that open car. Asshole come roaring after her like a snowplow, made a grab for her hair. Door slammed. Hunk of hair in his hand. Marg gunned her. We were screaming out on to County Road 63. Back end sliding wide on the turn. Me and Sally scrambling for to get the kids in the seat belts.
I guess Asshole had to go get his truck keys. That’s likely what give us the head start. We took the long way. He might not think of going that way. Took a side road. It was icy, twisty, hilly. What if we go in the ditch? Marg’s gunning that old V-8.
Then we could hear a car or truck behind us, far off. But we couldn’t see it, the road was so twisty. Marg, she thought she knew another back way into town. She come around a bend. The one behind was getting closer. Marg jerked onto the next side road. Fish-tailing on the turn.
“God, let’s not get lost!”
The guy behind makes the second turn too. Still after us.
I’m saying, “Tammy, watch! See if it’s him!”
Tammy’s froze solid, staring forwards.
Sally’s
praying out loud to Jesus, who said for the little children to come unto Him. She’s got the little girl huddled against her. I’m hugging Matthew. Skinny little fellow. Hid his face against my ski jacket.
We were running up a steep hill. As we come over the top, we could hear the guy behind starting to climb after us. We went flying down the other side. At the foot of the hill, Marg slammed on the brakes. Took a sliding left turn, run right inside a farm shed that was standing open there. Shut the lights off. Truck come sailing down the grade.
We held our breath.
It roared on by.
We breathed out.
I got my hand on Marg’s shoulder, thinking of her weak heart. Marg put her forehead down on the steering wheel.
I can hear us all breathing. Sally squeezing Tammy’s daughter and mumbling her thanks to the Lord.
I’m saying, “Was that your dad, kids? Was that him that went by?”
It’s dark and the two of them is crouched down. Didn’t see nothing. Shrug their shoulders.
We’re trying to think it through. If that was him just went by, we should turn and go back the way we come. If not, that would be no good. We could meet him.
Then Tammy says, “Oh! Melissa!”
“Who?”
“The babysitter!”
Marg looks over her shoulder at me.
Shit. Shit. .
At least that decides us on which way to go.
Marg does more deep breathing. Then we back out of the shed on to the road and head back up the hill towards Tammy’s.
The moon comes up, shining on the white fields, like as if there was peace on earth. What now? What if Asshole’s still there? How are we going to get the babysitter out of the house? Can’t leave her.
We try to think of a plan. If he’s there, Marg says she’s going to honk the horn and keep the doors locked.
“Don’t get out of this car, whatever yous do,” she tells Tammy and the kids.
We turn back onto 63. We’re getting close to Tammy’s. I’m not religious, myself, but I’m praying louder than Sally. “Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ.”
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