Lynne sees the portrait of Gennedy and covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh my lord, what is that?”
“A painting.”
“You really should be seeing somebody. I mean, we can’t afford it but this . . . this is disturbed. I have to talk to your father. These are sick pictures, Harriet. They’re nightmares. Why do you paint nightmares? Is there nothing in your life that makes you happy?”
Harriet starts cleaning the brushes she picked up at the open studio. Rich kids too lazy to clean brushes leave them behind. Once a month Harriet pretends to look for her “big sister” at U of T and sneaks into the studio to collect discarded brushes. Even if they’re dried solid, soaking them overnight in Varsol softens them up.
“Seriously, bunny, answer me, does nothing make you happy? What would make you happy?”
She can’t say a dead brother, or life the way it was before Irwin was born, when she had a father who played Scrabble with her and a mother who was always there, life before Trent discovered farmers’ markets and Uma’s brilliant mind, and before Lynne would settle for a loser because, when he says he won’t leave her, he means it.
Lynne tucks Harriet’s hair behind her ears. “You’ve become so sullen. A dark little cloud. What’s the matter, baby? Where’s my bright little girl? When did you last wash your hair? It’s getting darker, isn’t it? You’ll end up a brunette like me. Do you want me to wash your hair?”
Harriet longs to feel her mother’s fingers massaging shampoo into her scalp, and the caress of warm water as it trickles from her head into the sink.
“Babe?” Gennedy calls.
“What is it?”
“He’s having one.”
“How long?” And she’s gone. The two of them will turn Irwin onto his side to prevent him from inhaling mucous. They’ll pull down his pants and inject Diastat up his rectum, and pad the area around his head with cushions to avoid head banging. They’ll hover anxiously, waiting to see if the drug will work or if he’ll start to turn blue or have difficulty breathing. Lynne will log the exact start time of the seizure in her notebook. If the rigidity, tremors, twitching, nystagmus and repetitive movements don’t begin to abate in five minutes, they will call an ambulance and he will be rushed to the hospital for the loading of medications to stop the seizure. Always there is the fear that this is the Big One, and always Harriet hopes that it is.
Three
The only upside to Irwin’s visits to the emergency ward is Lynne gives Harriet money for a treat at the hospital’s Second Cup. Harriet usually orders a large Italian strawberry soda and a slice of red velvet cake, even though she’s not supposed to eat red dye because it makes her hyper. She prefers having a table to herself but, if it’s crowded, people sit at her table without asking. A woman with a pile of golden hair that looks too young for her face grabs a chair. “Is this in use?”
Harriet shakes her head. The woman smells of cigarettes and talks loudly on her cell about somebody dying. Harriet searches for signs of grieving in the woman because Harriet intends to appear grief-stricken when Lynne rushes through the elevator doors to tell her it was the Big One.
But it is Gennedy who tracks her down. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“They’re trying a new cocktail on him.”
They’re always trying new cocktails on Irwin, and his liver doesn’t like it. Sometimes he pukes his guts out and turns yellow.
Gennedy looks at his watch. “They’re going to keep him here for a while. Your mom’s staying with him in case he comes to and has a meltdown.” Irwin has meltdowns if Lynne isn’t directly in front of him. Gennedy has to distract him when Lynne sneaks out to do bookkeeping for cash. If Irwin sees her leave, he gets hysterical, which can cause a seizure.
Her mother staying at the hospital with Irwin means Harriet will have to return to the apartment with Gennedy.
“I want to stay with my dad,” she says.
“Your mum called him. He and Uma are in the middle of a cycle right now.”
A cycle means that Trent and Uma rush to the infertility clinic every morning where doctors inject Uma with fertility drugs and look up her hoo-ha to see if she’s ovulating. If she’s ovulating, Trent jacks off into a specimen container so they can squirt his sperm up her snatch. Uma explained all of this in too much detail to Harriet when she explained about douchebags.
All Harriet wants is to be with her mother. “Can I go see Irwin?”
“You know how crazy it is in ICU.” Gennedy checks his phone. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”
“I want to stay with Gran.”
“You know your mom doesn’t want you staying with Gran.”
“Let me phone my mom.” Harriet reaches for Gennedy’s cell, knowing he won’t let her have it.
“She’s stressed to the max right now, Harriet. Anyway, her phone’s turned off.”
“No it isn’t. Then you wouldn’t be able to call her.” Harriet darts out of the Second Cup and into the lobby to a pay phone. She takes two quarters from her jeans and dials her mother’s cell. Lynne picks up right away.
“Mummy, please don’t make me go home with Gennedy.”
“Oh for god’s sake, Harriet, do you have to do this now?”
“Please can I go to Gran’s? She hasn’t burned any pans since she figured out how to use the timer. And anyway, I know how to use the fire extinguisher. I read the instructions. I even practised taking it off the wall with Gran.”
When Irwin was three he put plastic dinosaurs in Gran’s microwave. Harriet smelled the smoke and called 911. Gran, who’d lost her sense of smell and wasn’t wearing her hearing aids, didn’t notice anything until the fire trucks showed up. Ever since, Lynne has forbidden overnight stays.
“Please, Mummy, I don’t want to stay with Gennedy. It’s summer. Can’t I have a holiday? Gran and I can make Rice Krispie squares and stuff. I’ll keep an eye on the stove, I promise. And I’ll help her clean.” Lynne despairs over her mother’s grime, filth that Gran can no longer see. When she could see, she wasn’t much of a cleaner anyway, unlike Lynne who wipes all surfaces regularly with bacteria-killing cleansers.
“Bunny, I’m so worn out, I don’t have the energy to fight you on this. I mean, I’m so scared. Irwin’s really sick, and I’m . . . I’m having trouble thinking straight right now.”
“I understand that, and I won’t be any trouble. If I stay at Gran’s, Gennedy can help you think straight at the hospital because he won’t have to look after me.” This is a brilliant ploy, Harriet realizes, because her mother loves boohooing on Gennedy’s shoulder.
“Okay,” Lynne says.
“Really?”
“Don’t let me think about it too long. Where’s Gennedy?”
He’s right behind Harriet, spying as usual. She hands him the phone. He listens and says “okay” several times and “I love you, babe.” The babe word sickens Harriet. Her mother is a grown woman.
He hangs up. “You win. Let’s go.”
They have a key to Gran’s apartment because she can’t hear the buzzer. Dirty plates, cups and Kleenexes litter the place as usual. Coffee stains dot the IKEA sofa. Harriet warned Lynne not to buy light-coloured furniture, but it was the best sofa for the price and only came in parchment white.
“Gran?” Harriet says loudly. Gran not answering the phone didn’t concern her because, if she’s not right beside it, she can’t hear it. But finding the galley kitchen and small living/dining area empty sends jolts of anxiety through Harriet. Mr. Kotaridis in 114 died in his bathroom. “Just up and died taking a shave,” Mr. Shotlander told everyone a thousand times while tugging up his polyester trousers. “At least he wasn’t taking a shit, god rest his soul.”
“Gran?” Harriet picks up Gran’s container of heart pills that always seems to have the same amount of pills in them.
“I’ll check the bedro
om,” Gennedy says.
“Can you check the bathroom first?”
“I’ll check the bedroom and the bathroom. She’s probably gone out.”
Gran rarely stays out past nine because she falls asleep. She has trouble sleeping in her bed but can fall asleep in a restaurant or on the bus. Usually, by ten, she’s on her sofa, falling asleep in front of the television with the volume set so high the neighbours complain.
“Gran!” Harriet shouts.
“Settle down,” Gennedy says, returning from the bedroom. “We’ll wait a bit.”
“I’m not going back with you. I can wait here by myself.”
“Is that so? And what am I supposed to tell your mother?”
“Don’t tell her anything.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Yes you can. She doesn’t care. All she cares about is Irwin.”
“I can’t believe you said that. That is so infantile, Harriet. I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”
“Expect this,” Harriet says, flipping him the finger. Darcy flips everybody the finger, repeating the verb in their last sentence and adding this as in eat this.
“All right, that’s it.” He moves towards her but she scoots around the sofa, forcing him to jog after her, hitching up his track pants. They run in circles, and Gennedy starts shouting at her. “You ungrateful, selfish little bitch, your brother’s fighting for his life and all you can think about is yourself!”
“Go back to the hospital,” Harriet screams. “I don’t need you here! Leave me alone!”
“Hush,” Gran says, stepping in from the balcony, “you’ll scare the parrot.”
Both Gennedy and Harriet stop. “What parrot?” Harriet asks.
“Come see. He likes bananas.”
On the balcony, a large bird perches on the railing. Harriet can’t make out its colours in the dark. “Are you sure it’s a parrot?”
“He sings ‘Tutti Frutti.’” Gran starts to sing, “A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop alop bam boom.”
“Mads,” Gennedy booms. Gran’s name is Madeline but everyone calls her Mads. “Mads, can I speak with you privately for a moment?”
Gran winks at Harriet. “Keep an eye on Polly.”
How wonderful, Harriet thinks, to have a live tropical bird to paint. She can’t wait to see it in daylight. She hears Gennedy using the patronizing tone he saves for the elderly. No doubt he is writing a list for Gran about what’s required re: Harriet—no food products containing red dye, make sure she brushes and flosses, changes her underwear, don’t leave her unsupervised around the stove. Harriet has figured out that Gennedy writes lists to feel empowered. List in hand, he appears to be a man of purpose—and not the only criminal lawyer in history that’s broke.
He pokes his head out the balcony door. “It’s all set. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Don’t bother, Harriet wants to say but instead attempts to appear contrite so he’ll buzz off. After Gran sees Gennedy out, she steps back onto the balcony. “Hokum bokum, that no-goodnik gets his knickers in a knot.”
“How long has the parrot been here?” Harriet asks.
“A couple of hours.” Gran fluffs her white hair. “I kept waiting for him to fly away, but then I thought, maybe he’s hungry. That’s when I thought of bananas, him being a jungle bird.”
“How do you know it’s a he?”
“The girls don’t get to be that colourful.”
“He might be older than you, you know. Parrots can live past a hundred.”
“Is that so? Well, at last my prince has come. He poops on the balcony below. Don’t know how those grumblers feel about it. Smokers anyway, serves them right.” Gran abhors smokers because Grandpa was one and died on her. Not that she liked him much, but her survivor pension is a quarter of what she got when he was alive.
“How’s that high-and-mighty mother of yours?”
“She’s worried this is the Big One.”
“What else is new? Has she started smoking again?”
“Probably. When Gennedy’s there she’ll take smoke breaks. Have you given the parrot any water?”
“What’s that?” Gran cups her hand around her good ear.
“Water,” Harriet says loudly. “We should give the parrot water.” She pours water into a bowl and carefully sets it on the patio table close to the parrot. “I wonder if he’s lost, or if he just ran away.”
“Maybe he got sick of staring at the same old faces and places.” Mads regularly complains about this.
“Maybe he was abused and that’s why he ran away.”
“Doesn’t look abused to me.”
Harriet steps back slowly, not wanting to scare the parrot. “Lots of abused people don’t look abused. Mindy in 408 was beat up by her husband and nobody knew about it until the police came.”
Mads peers at the parrot. “You got bruises under those feathers, mister?”
“They like eye contact.”
“Well, he’s been giving me the eye since he got here. Sing ‘Tutti Frutti’ again,” she tells it then starts singing “Tutti Frutti” and wiggling her hips.
The parrot only stares at her.
“Maybe he’s tired,” Harriet says.
“What about you? You want me to fry us up some hambangers?”
“We ate already.”
“Butterscotch ripple?”
“Yes please.”
Jed, who lives down the hall, drops by to tell them Floyd from the Legion died. “The diabetes got him finally.” Whenever an acquaintance of Jed’s dies, he seems pleased with himself, as though out-living the victim is an accomplishment. Mads puts up with him because she needs a dance partner, but she insists they’re just friends, even though she calls him Jedi. “Old Jedi doesn’t make my heart go pow,” she told Harriet.
“Who makes your heart go pow?”
Gran squinted as though trying to read a menu.
“Did Grandpa make your heart go pow?”
“Uckety puckety, no, no, no.”
“Then why did you marry him?”
“He asked me to. You had to get married in those days.”
“Why?”
“Everybody was doing it.”
None of this made any sense to Harriet. It makes even less sense that Gran puts up with Jed just because she needs a dance partner. Harriet suspects Gran is still waiting for a man to make her heart go pow because, when they go out for doughnuts, Gran wears high heels even though she has to wear a back brace, and chats up the old men sitting at the counter doing crosswords to determine if they are “eligibles.” She says she wants a widower with money in the bank.
Jed taps Harriet’s shoulder. “So what’s the plan, Harry-o?”
“No plan.”
“Oooh la la, you got to have a plan, otherwise things can’t go wrong.”
“I want to paint the parrot, if he’s still here.”
“Why wouldn’t he be here?” Gran asks. “He’s got crackers, water, a banana.”
“He might fly home.”
“Pish tah.”
After Jed leaves, they watch Dancing with the Stars. Mads’ eyelids droop and suddenly Harriet doesn’t want to be alone. She checks the balcony to make sure the parrot’s still there, then plops heavily on the sofa to alert Gran, but the old lady is sinking into sleep.
“Gran?” Harriet says loudly. “Gran?”
“What is it? How’d you get here? Oh for goodness’ sake, of course you’re here. Want me to fry us up some hambangers?”
“No, I just wanted to talk.”
“Fire away.”
Harriet doesn’t know what to talk about. She turns a sofa cushion over in her hands, trying to think of something to say before Gran falls asleep again. “Do you love my mother?”
Gran purses her lips as though
pondering a very difficult question. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m just curious because I’m not sure she loves me.”
“Of course she does.”
“Sometimes it seems like she loves Irwin more.”
Gran kicks off her pumps. “Well, you see, that’s why having two is a gamble because there’s always a chance you might like one better than the other.”
“Is that why you just had Mum?”
“The truth is your grandpa wasn’t one for nookie, and when he did get down to it, he was firing blanks most of the time. I didn’t have your mama till I was forty-four. Not that I minded. I wasn’t much for mothering. Your great-grandma had eight and it killed her.”
“Did your mother like your brothers and sisters better than you?’
“You betcha.” Gran massages her bunions.
“Did she like you at all?”
“Not one bit. And you know what? I’ve out-lived every one of those bloodsuckers.”
“Why didn’t she like you?”
Gran purses her lips again. “Didn’t do what I was told.”
“I do what I’m told, most of the time. And Mum still doesn’t like me. She’s always having rests when I’m around. I tire her out just by existing.”
“Well, mugsy, it’s her loss.”
The most difficult question—the question Harriet most wants to ask—teeters on her tongue. She tugs on the sofa cushion’s buttons. “Do you think she loves Irwin more than me?”
“I think she loves you different. There’s no law saying everybody has to love everybody the same.”
“I think if Irwin dies, she’ll want to die.”
“For a while, mugsy, but then she’ll move on. She’ll have to.”
On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light Page 3