Millie began to chatter nervously, but her father shushed her with a stern look. “I’ll drive,” he said, rising from the table.
It only took seconds for her parents to arrange for Junior to pay the restaurant bill and then to take the kids back to the motel room to watch TV for the evening. In the truck, Brenda wondered if her father had eaten even half of his meal before she had disrupted everyone. He had worked on the Queen all day; she had seen him stop for only a single bun and a few swallows of coffee. She pictured Junior and the kids walking back to the motel. How far was it? Eight, maybe nine blocks. She distracted herself by watching the traffic. Was this really it? There were no alarms or explosions of celebratory light, no moments of sudden awareness or epiphany; there was just another ride in the truck, this time to the hospital.
The hospital check-in was all business. They had her information; they had to find her a room; she had to change into a hospital gown. The nurses checked her blood pressure, her heart rate, her temperature, and asked her questions about her contractions. When had they started? How many minutes between them? One nurse asked her mother if she was going to be staying. Her father appeared ill at ease. He stood a step behind her mother. No one asked him anything.
If Brenda doubted that her cramps — or contractions, as they were being called — were enough to merit a trip to the hospital, her doubts subsided by the time all the hospital processes had been completed and she was finally admitted to her “own” room. The pain that gripped the entire middle section of her body was definitely real, definitely more than the discomfort she had been feeling earlier in the day when standing around by the Queen, or even sitting at the restaurant.
After the nurses had left the room, Ruby hugged her and Martin smiled nervously. “You’re going to have a baby,” her mother whispered over and over again.
Brenda’s memories of that evening were jumbled. A scene here, a scene there, the faces of her mother and father, the words and directions from the nurses, and the footsteps of the doctor when he arrived. Time made no sense. The evening seemed to go on for days, but it was gone in an instant. Her father left the room only once to phone the motel and check in with Junior. Brenda was suddenly afraid that he had abandoned her. She was hugely relieved when he returned. She had never imagined birth to be like this. She had no time to think, no choice but to follow her body.
Brenda’s baby girl was born just before midnight on June 7th. After all the pain, she was utterly amazed by its sudden absence. A profound and immense feeling of relief overcame her at the sight and sound of the tiny infant girl who had come out of her own body. She felt such a rush of love for this child that all of her anxieties went away at once. Here was her baby, her own daughter, healthy and beautiful in her own arms. And above them were her beaming parents. All of them were encircled in an almost tangible aura of love.
That glow remained throughout the morning as her mother and father returned to the hospital room with her brothers and sisters in tow. One by one, they held the baby. Each of her siblings inspected and marvelled at the tiny fingers, the chubby cheeks, the thick dark hair, and the hint of a dimple on her chin.
“I’m naming her Jasmine,” Brenda pronounced when Millie asked for what had to be the hundredth time. “Jasmine Ruby Joe.”
“Well, Jasmine Ruby Joe,” Junior said, looking down at the infant he was holding. “Want to come copper painting with Uncle and Grandpa?”
That got everyone laughing, of course. Junior could be pretty hilarious sometimes. Brenda was relieved. No one would have questioned her choice of name, but they might have fallen silent or shown some sign that they disapproved. Instead, they had all laughed and the moment had passed.
Brenda was still feeling so good that she could not even get upset when the nurse — the one she did not like — came into the room to tell them that they were making too much noise. Furthermore, there were too many people in the room outside of visiting hours.
“Got to get the Queen back in the water,” her father said lightly. “It’s high water at noon.”
The plan for the day had to have been agreed upon or at least understood by everyone earlier. Once the stern nurse had left the room, everyone except for her mother began heading out. “We’ll be back for visiting hours,” Junior announced with a raised eyebrow. Millie and Becky giggled even as they pulled the door shut behind them. Brenda and her mother stifled their laughter. It was impossible to ruin the family’s good mood.
Brenda reclined on the raised bed. Her mother sat in the green armchair beside her. Just in front of her mother was the clear plastic baby bed on which newly named Jasmine slept. For the rest of the morning, neither Brenda nor her mother said much. They merely stared at the sleeping child, transfixed.
Only the nurses disturbed the stillness. Two of them bustled in — a nice older woman and the younger one Brenda thought of as “evil.” They came to check Brenda’s temperature and blood pressure, to change her “pads,” to direct her to take a shower “if she wished,” and to scrutinize Jasmine. Brenda was thankful that, when the time came, it was the kind nurse who took the baby’s blood from her tiny red heel. She passed the screaming infant directly to Brenda and apologized profusely. She really did look sorry to have disturbed them all.
It was the evil nurse who insisted that Brenda breastfeed right in front of her to ensure that she was “doing it properly.” When Jasmine did not immediately latch onto her breast, the nurse leaned over Brenda and began pushing at her breast, trying to force the nipple into the wailing baby’s mouth. Confined by the bed, Brenda could not shrink far enough away from her rough fingers.
“Is that really necessary?”
That earned Ruby an icy glare from the big nurse and a curt comment about needing to teach new mothers so that they got started on the right path. As soon as she took a breath, her mother interrupted.
“I think some privacy would go a long ways,” she countered firmly.
Brenda felt like bursting with pride over Jasmine, her mother, and her whole family. The nurse could not leave them alone quickly enough after that. Mother and daughter smiled at one another like co-conspirators. Jasmine was now breastfeeding as though she had already been doing so for months.
“Your grandparents phoned this morning,” Ruby told her. “They said to say congratulations and they send their love…and I phoned Monica?” Her mother made the statement into a question. Brenda felt the familiar sting of the name, but she was surprised to find that it was lighter by far than even a few weeks before. “Good,” she assented. “Yeah, that’s good. She can tell What’s-his-name.” She meant it as a joke, but neither of them laughed.
TWENTY-ONE
Michael did not mention Brenda or the baby. Ever. In fact, after their conversation in Campbell River, neither he nor Monica brought the subject up again. Monica mostly thought of the baby as being Brenda’s. Then she had to remind herself that it was also Michael’s. She was deliberately ignoring the real situation, having no wish to disturb the warmth of the cocoon she had wrapped around herself.
Then after Ruby and Brenda had gone to Campbell River to await the child’s arrival, Monica began to grow more anxious. At first, she waited for Michael to say something, but he maintained his silence. Then Martin left on the Pacific Queen with her nephews and nieces. Monica felt like she was going out of her mind with worry on one side and excited anticipation on the other. During these spells, she would bombard Michael with questions about Brenda. When would she have her baby? Maybe today? Boy or girl? Michael listened to her monologues. The biggest response she got from him was a rare shrug of the shoulders.
One night, the phone rang. Monica sat up immediately and stumbled through the dark toward the receiver that she had set to ring as loudly as possible. She had felt Michael shift beside her, his body tense, so she knew that he was awake and alert. “She had a girl,” Ruby announced into Monica’s ear. “A beautiful, healthy
, baby girl.”
“Oh my, oh my,” was all Monica could respond. She wanted to jump up and down or dance or shout. She grinned so hard, the corners of her mouth hurt.
“They’re fine, Mon. Just fine.” Ruby knew her so well that she could hear her smiling. “She was born a few minutes before midnight. Eight pounds, four ounces. You should see her head full of hair. And her cry. She’s a loud one, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, Rube! I’m so happy for all of you,” Monica gushed. “Tell everyone congratulations. Brenda especially. And congratulations to you, Ruby. Congratulations to you.”
“A baby girl,” Monica said to Michael.
“Healthy?”
“Yeah, everything sounds great. Ruby sounds so happy.”
“A girl?”
“Yup, a girl.” Monica was still smiling into the darkness. “Congratulations,” she whispered. “You’re a father and I’m what? Grand-aunt or something. Kitsum way is better. That means I’m a grandma.”
There was a split second of silence and then Michael laughed. It started out hoarsely, but the sound rose in his throat to become a full chuckle. Monica could barely see the outline of his face so she could not read anything into his expression. All she could do was listen to his laughter as it echoed off the bedroom walls.
TWENTY-TWO
Brenda enjoyed all the attention in Campbell River. Her father had brought her a vase filled with a dozen pink roses surrounded by wisps of greenery, with a card announcing “It’s a girl.” Her mother and her younger sisters had seemingly bought every baby dress and bonnet in town. Marcie had even come to the hospital to visit. She had not said too much, but she had held Jasmine for at least ten minutes before a nurse Brenda had never seen before peeked into the room to announce that visiting hours were over.
Just as the hospital room quickly became too small and confining for everyone’s excitement, so did the motel room when she and Jasmine were released. The whole city began to make her feel claustrophobic. By the day of Jasmine’s final checkup with Dr. West, Brenda could barely contain her desire to get back to the peace and familiarity of home.
As things turned out, the peaceful part of being back in Kitsum took a little longer to come about than she had expected. They had scarcely returned home when her grandparents and Aunt Kate arrived at the house. Not only were they laden with gifts, but they brought with them an entire “welcome home” dinner consisting of trays wrapped in aluminum foil. They had brought so much, in fact, that they had to make multiple trips between the house and her grandfather’s truck to get it all into Ruby’s kitchen. The phone rang constantly. Though her mother or one of her sisters would answer it, the receiver would invariably be passed to Brenda. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to offer their congratulations, and to ask the same questions. What was the baby’s name? How much did she weigh? How was Brenda?
Her grandmother had knit Jasmine not one but three pink-and-white sweaters, and both a thinner and a thicker blanket. Auntie Kate had an armful of baby clothes. Never one to be impractical, she was the one to give Brenda the much-needed undershirts and bath towels, along with the newest and softest diapers. It was not the gifts alone though; it was the way everyone cooed and marvelled over Jasmine that touched Brenda’s heart. Jasmine seemed to feel the safety and love that the family provided; she slept on as she was passed from one set of arms to another.
While everyone was in a celebratory mood, Brenda found the chance to ask her aunt if there might be a way to help her best friend. Kate was a social worker, after all, and Marcie had not been too far from her thoughts, even during the recent week. Brenda could see the effort on Kate’s face, and the careful way she moved her lips and jaw to answer. “I’ll try,” was the best she could do. The provincial workers, in her opinion, were “kinda hard-ass.” Brenda knew that if her aunt said that she would try, she would do what she could. Maybe, things could still work out.
Once everyone had left, and the phone had stopped ringing, Jasmine began to cry. Not wanting her mother to take the responsibility — she was already drooping with exhaustion — Brenda took Jasmine to her room. Martin and Tom had assembled the new crib beside her bed. Other than that and a small dresser that had belonged to her grandparents, the room looked just as she had left it. Brenda recalled the many long hours that she had been in this room alone over the preceding months. Now she sat on the edge of her bed trying to convince a screaming infant to eat, to please suckle at her breast, and to please, please, stop crying. Even as she hung onto the wonder of Jasmine’s birth and the days that had followed, she could already sense that they were beginning to drift away.
Her father had plenty of work ahead of him to get the Queen ready for fishing. Junior rushed back to school to finish the year and write his exams. Tom, Becky, and Millie were eager to catch up with all the end-of-year activities at Kitsum Elementary. Her mother was again busy with cooking meals, washing, cleaning, and taking care of the kids and her father. No one asked anything of Brenda. Now her full-time occupation would be taking care of Jasmine.
Yes, that was true. Jasmine had Brenda’s full attention. She woke up and went to sleep seeing, thinking, and breathing her new daughter. As Brenda knew that she would, her mother helped. She walked Jasmine when she was fussy; she changed her diapers; she washed her laundry with the special baby soap. Life in the Joe house continued along, seemingly as it always had. Why that should upset Brenda rather than comfort her, remained a mystery. Her whole life had changed. There had been this monumental arrival of an entirely new human being. Nothing looked the same. How could everyone else go on the way they had before? After all her mom and dad had done for her, she knew that this was not something to talk about with either of them. No matter how she broached the subject, she would appear ungrateful. Also, she feared that she actually might be ungrateful. Marcie would have understood. But where was her friend now?
After they had been home for three days, Monica came to the house. A part of Brenda was truly glad to see her aunt again. A part of her desperately wanted their good relationship back. She sat and watched Monica admire Jasmine. Holding the infant, her aunt was easily as amazed as Becky and Millie and Tom and Junior had been, and then some. Perhaps because of her age, Monica seemed so instantly attached to the baby. Brenda watched as her aunt studied every feature of Jasmine’s face: the thick black hair, the long curled eyelashes, the tiny dimple on her chin, the roundness of her short nose.
“Oh Bren,” Monica said. “She’s beautiful. She is as perfect as Ruby said she is.”
Brenda accepted the complimentary words even while a small inner voice told her that precisely what Monica found attractive about Jasmine were the features that made her look so much like Michael. She even expected that Monica would say something about the obvious resemblance. After all, her aunt had always been the blunt one in the family. Even though she was staring at Michael’s dark eyes, Michael’s dimpled chin, and Michael’s broad forehead, her aunt remained silent on the subject.
Instead, Monica motioned to the wrapped gifts she had put down near Brenda’s spot on the new couch. Inside the first package she found more baby clothes and blankets for Jasmine. However, the second package surprised her. A pair of jeans — an expensive brand — and a light blue blouse.
“They won’t fit,” she protested.
“Not today, Bren…but soon.”
Monica had an answer for everything. Even so, Brenda had missed that smile so much over the past months, the smile that made everything all right with the world, the smile that made you believe that you could do anything. Brenda had to force herself to not cry. She rose and hugged her aunt, or hugged her as much as she could manage while Jasmine lay sleeping between them.
No sooner had the renewed warmth between niece and aunt surfaced than it abruptly sank again. Monica uttered the words that Brenda would have done a great deal to avoid hearing, the words that she knew were coming despite all
her inner pleadings. “Her father would like to see her,” Monica said quietly.
Just like that, Monica had suddenly reminded her of the wedge — the canyon — that was between them. Monica was still blunt all right. Blunt and nervy. Even Auntie Kate was not that nervy. From the corner of her eye, Brenda could see Ruby standing still, waiting. She had heard, for sure. If not for her mother as a witness, Brenda might have yelled or sworn or, more likely, given a spiteful answer. She managed to restrain herself. Perhaps she had gained some maturity after all.
“I’m not ready.”
When she saw the disappointment on her aunt’s face, she had the urge to grind it in, to punish her in the biggest way that she could. She suddenly realized that she had the power here. As quickly as that realization came, alongside it came a gentler knowledge that told her cruelty would be good for no one.
“Not right now,” she added, “but sometime…” That was the best she could do.
Her aunt did not stay long after that. They sipped their tea in a silence broken only by her mother’s remarks about Jasmine. Monica listened attentively and nodded. Brenda was not the only one who had missed her.
“What am I supposed to do?” Brenda asked her mother as soon as Monica had left.
“Just give yourself time, Bren. You said it fine. You’re not ready. You’ve got the right. This will work out if we all wait for a better time.”
Brenda knew that her mother meant the words to reassure her. Which they did, but not as much as she would have liked, particularly when her mother added, “She’s got to get to know her father sometime.”
How could that not upset Brenda? At first her mother had sounded supportive, and then she had to go and revert to telling her what to do. To make things worse, Ruby provided no clear or specific direction. If she was going to be giving orders, Brenda thought, why didn’t she just make them plain so that Brenda could merely follow them instead of having to think things all out? She had mostly said the bit about not being ready because she could not think of anything better to say. It was the most polite thing she could think of at that moment. She was trying to be nice, or as nice as she could be under the circumstances. Why should she have even bothered? After what Monica and Michael had done to her, she did not owe them a damned thing.
Through Different Eyes Page 17