“I could use a hand,” he said.
Monica rose quickly and took the Port Hope Market bags. Michael stepped back outside to get more bags from the open trunk.
“You got a lot of stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you have lunch?”
“Yeah. At the hotel.”
She saw that he was not going to return to where they had been before he left. She would not go back there again either. They were wary of one another. Their words were wooden and short. Cautiously, they stood side by side, putting away the groceries. Then Monica noticed that he had bought strawberries. She had to wipe her eyes. Michael did not eat them, but he knew they were her favourites. They must have cost him a small fortune in Port Hope.
On Monday morning, after Michael had gone to work, Monica went to Ruby’s. There was still some tension between her and her sister, but Monica believed that the heaviness between them was lightening. There she sat at the old familiar kitchen table, feeding Jasmine a bottle of formula and gently rocking her back to sleep while Ruby mixed dough for bread. Monica could feel herself nestling back into the comfortable safety of family.
“Can I ask you something, Rube?” She waited for her sister to look at her. “Am I being unreasonable…wanting Jasmine to know her father?”
“Of course not. Jasmine has to know her father. He is her father, and there’s no two ways about it.”
Ruby’s declaration convinced Monica of the sincerity and the importance she attached to what she was saying.
“It just doesn’t seem to be happening.”
“You’ve got to have patience, Mon. Patience. It’s not going to happen overnight. There are lots of hurt feelings here. You need to let them get better first. That takes time.”
“Sometimes I think they’re never going to heal. Period. Just stay the way they are. Forever. That’s what scares me.”
Ruby shook her head slowly. “You always were in a hurry, even when you were a little kid. You can’t rush some things.”
Monica took a deep breath. She supposed that she needed to hear this again, this time from her older sister. Ruby had always had the answers. She always seemed to know the right thing to do. How was Monica ever going to learn how to wait?
That day, instead of leaving when she heard Brenda getting ready to come downstairs, Monica stayed. Her niece appeared surprised at seeing her, but she did not seem hostile. There was no glare or look of outrage. There was only a small smile directed down at Jasmine, sound asleep on her lap.
“I think she’s getting a tooth already,” Brenda said.
Behind her daughter, Monica could see Ruby shaking her head and mouthing a long “no.” She could not keep from laughing. Ruby joined in. Brenda, unsure of exactly what they found funny, laughed nervously too. Monica looked into her niece’s eyes. They were eyes so much like her own, with faint hints of green and gold shining in the brown. Some of the old Brenda was returning; some of that energy and sheer love of life was coming back. Monica felt good when she left the house that morning. She still wished that everything could be “settled,” as she termed it to herself, but she also felt a little more willing to wait.
TWENTY-FOUR
One afternoon, Brenda was out with Jasmine, walking by the school field where Becky and Millie were playing games with about a dozen other kids in the centre grass. Sarah was watching from a short distance away. When introducing her daughter, Brenda realized that it was the first time she had spoken to her old schoolmate since before Christmas.
“Are you going back to school this year?” asked Sarah.
Without really thinking the matter over, Brenda nodded and replied that she hoped so. Until then, she had not — even casually or as a joke — admitted aloud to anyone that she was hoping to go back. Sarah seemed to accept her answer without surprise, and Brenda took that to be a good sign. All the way home she allowed herself to daydream. Her mother would have no problem looking after Jasmine. In fact, she would be glad to spend so much extra time with her only grandchild. Brenda would have to do her Grade 11 again, but that was okay. This time, she would be ignoring all those stupid Port Hope girls anyway. Sarah, and maybe another guy from Kitsum, would be in Grade 12, but that was okay too. She would still ride with them on the bus and spend lunch hours with them. Yes, her mother and father would be proud of her.
Jasmine was still asleep when she quietly re-entered the house. Her mother had gotten Junior and Tom to move the crib downstairs. That way, the baby could sleep and her mother could do all the things she normally did in the kitchen, within easy reach of her granddaughter. “I’m not a spring chicken anymore, Brenda. I can’t keep running up those stairs,” her mother had said to her the day she had asked Junior and Tom.
Ruby was already working on dinner. Her father and brother, she said over her shoulder, were coming in from fishing. There was a big westerly wind offshore. Brenda immediately started peeling potatoes.
“I’ve been thinking, Mom,” she began. Already her plan did not look quite so perfect because Jazz would wake up any minute, and then her father and brother would be home and then there would be no chance for her to talk to her mother alone. If she had to wait until the next day, she would likely lose her gumption altogether. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I could go back to school in September. Do my Grade 11 again?”
Brenda could not quite read the expression on her mother’s face. She was scared to look too closely. “Oh,” her mother managed, and then they both heard Jazz stir. The little girl had not begun to cry yet, or even fuss, but Brenda nearly jumped across the small space between the counter and the crib and picked her up.
That evening, her father said something about Ruby being tired. Could Brenda somehow encourage her to rest a little more? He did not have to say how well that advice would go over. He knew more than anyone how stubborn Ruby could be. At least that was the message Brenda read in his raised eyebrows and slight smile.
“Yeah, I’ll try.”
“She’s going to work herself to death, that woman,” her father added.
Brenda found that intending to do more for her mother and actually doing more were two very different things. With her father and brothers back out fishing — Tom was determined not to miss one of the last chances at a fishing trip before school resumed — life slipped back into its usual routine. Her mother rose early, retrieved Jasmine, fed her, and changed her diapers downstairs. Brenda got up at the same time as Becky and Millie. After she gave Jasmine her second bottle of the morning, her mother served all of them breakfast and made sure the girls were ready for their day. As soon as they left the house, her mother dove into housecleaning and laundry. Some days she punched bread. Other days, fish had to cut up for the canner or the smokehouse. If her father did not want her mother to work so hard, Brenda thought while making faces at Jazz, why did he bring all that fish home for her? Jasmine was staying awake longer in the mornings now, so Brenda walked her around the house, stopping to play with her on the couch, in the kitchen, even on the porch. By the time her mother was taking her mid-morning tea break, Brenda was ready for one as well.
“Bren, Monica was saying — ”
“What does she want now?”
“Nothing much. She was just saying she was coming over this morning sometime. I guess she’ll be over soon.” Her mother looked at her sternly. “You know, she is trying her best to not upset you.”
Brenda could not resist snorting out loud. “Now! Now, she doesn’t want to upset me. She was just here the other day. What is she doing — moving back in?”
Her mother did not answer.
Brenda had sincerely hoped that she was done with this roller coaster of emotions. Things were calming down for her, and getting back on more level ground. Apparently, that was not so, or at least not yet. Brenda almost ran upstairs. The last thing she needed was her mother seeing her in tears at the sli
ghtest mention of Aunt Monica.
Only a few minutes later, Brenda heard muffled voices downstairs. Opening her bedroom door, she clearly heard Monica’s voice. She and her mother were talking and laughing as they had always talked and laughed. Breathing deeply to steady herself, Brenda walked down the stairs. Very deliberately, with her head lifted high and her back straight, she strode into the kitchen. There the sisters were, both of them standing over the crib, both of them cooing over Jasmine.
Ruby and Monica were once again at ease with one another; Brenda had noticed that casual comfort during her aunt’s previous visit. It was the same sense of ease that used to include her. She tried to remind herself that Ruby and Monica were extra close to one another because her mother had basically raised Monica after their parents died. She did not know if that helped or not. The sight of her mother treating Monica so well, as though she had done no wrong, still made her fume. Maybe if her mother had lashed out, called Monica to account for the trouble she had caused and was causing; maybe if her mother had yelled and screamed at her younger sister; maybe if her mother had stood up for her own daughter; maybe then some of Brenda’s anger would have dissipated.
There was nothing to do but sit in silence and watch the two women handle her baby. The questions Monica asked — about feedings and fussiness and sleep — were all answered by her mother. Brenda did not have to say a word. Instead, she watched the second hand on the stovetop clock and waited for her aunt to leave. She found that she was actually able to ignore both of their voices for short periods if she concentrated hard enough on the ticking hands.
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” Brenda heard Monica say. That caught her full attention. She could no longer focus on the clock. Anyone saying that they did not want to cause trouble was surely going to do just that. “Michael really wants to see her,” Monica announced as she stared down at Jasmine, who was drifting off to sleep in her arms. “Can I bring him over tomorrow?”
Her mother looked at Brenda with a hopeful expression. Brenda even saw her open her mouth to speak, but she could not stand to listen to what was coming. “Sure. Go ahead,” Brenda answered. After that, she left the room without another word.
Her father stayed in from fishing. That was momentous in itself. Her dad only took days off when there was something really important happening. Having to see Michael and Monica together was stressful enough, but now she had to cope with whatever her father was going to do or say as well.
It was an excruciatingly long day. Only towards noon did it occur to Brenda that it was a Friday, and Michael was most likely at work. He and Monica would probably not visit until the evening. Brenda had already changed Jasmine’s outfit three times that morning; each time she had made the baby girl fussier and fussier. Annoyed with herself, she left her daughter with her mother after lunch and retreated to her bedroom. She already had regurgitated milk on her shirt. She had worn it because it was one of her favourites and she was proud to fit into it again, but not one member of her family had said a word about it. She tried on the yellow blouse that used to look good on her before recalling that she had worn it to visit Michael. The only thing in her closet that looked okay to her at the moment was the new blouse that Monica had given her. Damned if she was going to wear that. In fact, she felt like a fool for even trying to dress up. In private protest, she put on a faded basketball T-shirt that Junior had worn last year.
Monica and Michael arrived just before seven. They had clearly waited until after supper. The sun was still well above the mountains across the harbour, but Brenda was already counting down the hours until she could go to sleep. Her mother served them tea in the living room. Her father sat in his usual reclining chair. Becky and Millie must have been told to play outside; they were nowhere in sight. Junior and Tom were out visiting their friends. Michael and Monica sat together stiffly on the smaller couch. Brenda sat on the matching larger sofa with Jasmine in her arms. Please, please, please, she whispered silently to her daughter, stay asleep.
Brenda was the first to speak. She just wanted it all over with, and for there to be an end to the painful waiting. “Do you want to hold her?” she asked her aunt.
Monica was up in a split second, carefully lifting Jasmine out of her niece’s arms. Brenda retreated back into the couch corner. Monica returned to her seat and then, with Michael at her side, stared at sleeping Jasmine. Brenda could only glance at her father, and then at her mother. They kept their eyes on Monica and Michael and Jasmine.
Jazz’s cry cut through the stillness. Brenda instinctively began to rise; her mother made the same movement. However, before either of them could stand, Monica was gently rocking Jasmine and whispering to her. To Brenda’s surprise, instead of crying louder as she often did, Jasmine grew quiet. The baby girl looked up at Monica. Ruby brought a bottle from the kitchen. She placed it on the coffee table beside her sister. “She’ll probably want that soon.”
Brenda wished that she could disappear into the couch. If she stayed perfectly still, if she wished as hard as she could, if she barely breathed, maybe she would just disappear.
“How’s fishing?” Michael asked her father. Brenda was looking down at her lap, but she would have recognized that voice anywhere. To her amazement, Martin began telling Michael about the fishing season. He talked at length about the Pacific Queen and the salmon openings, and even the recent sockeye runs. She could not believe it; she would not have believed it had she not been sitting right there listening to it. Here was the man who had totally messed up her life, and here was her father casually talking fishing with him.
From the corner of her eye she saw Michael looking down at Jasmine. Brenda heard Monica ask Michael, “You want to hold her?” Her aunt asked the question quietly enough, but her voice filled the room. Michael reached out and gently accepted the baby from Monica. He held her with the utmost care and attention. He held her, Brenda noted, like she was a precious gift. At his side, Monica’s adoration seemed to flow unbounded. Brenda could actually feel it from the short distance across the room.
“Hello, little girl,” Michael said. Brenda had never heard him speak that softly before. “Hello, Jasmine.”
Jasmine did not make a sound. Of all the times for her to be quiet, Brenda thought. She had wanted her to behave well so that they would all see that she was taking good care of her. But now, she wished Jasmine would scream her head off and fling her clenched little fists so that they could also see what Brenda had to deal with regularly. They would soon see there was more for her than just staring at her beautiful baby all day long. Instead, Jasmine’s arms moved out of her blankets in what looked like happy excitement. Michael was making faces at her, along with soft humming noises.
When he stopped, Michael cleared his throat and looked up at Brenda. “I owe you an apology,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for what happened.”
She could not look fully at his face. She stared at the upper part of his chest and the bottom of his chin instead. She did not dare speak.
“I want to know her,” Michael continued, looking down at Jasmine. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be in her life, and I know it’s completely up to you.” Once again, he stared directly at Brenda. “But I would like to. Know her, that is.”
Brenda’s eyes went to her lap. Maybe some deliverance could be found there. She let herself become hypnotized by her hands grasping and regrasping one another. She knew they were all waiting for her, but she could not answer. If she did open her mouth, she could not rely on what would emerge.
Then Monica broke the silence. “Maybe we could take her for a short visit sometime, Bren. Not for long or anything. Just an hour or two at the most…”
Brenda remained speechless. It was her father who eventually spoke. “Yes, that would be okay.”
Michael looked up quickly. Brenda saw him briefly glance at her father, as though to make sure that he was a witness
before he looked at her again. “Thank you,” he said. “Your kindness means a lot.”
Brenda did not know if she had nodded or not.
“Maybe Sunday?” Monica ventured.
They had all ganged up on her. Everyone — even her father — was suddenly on Michael and Monica’s side. The hell with all of them!
“Sure,” Brenda said. She did not recognize her own voice. “Sunday will be fine.”
“This is not a war, you know,” her mother said after Monica and Michael had left the house and Brenda had re-emerged from the bathroom. “Jasmine has a father. You might not like that very much. You might not think much of him — for good reason — but it’s still not fair to keep her away from him. It’s about her. Jasmine. Not him. She has a father just like she has Grandma Monica. They are her family, too.”
Brenda knew that her mother was right, but that did not make it any easier for her to agree. Rather than allow her mother to see how hurt she still was, she went upstairs again. Alone. She seemed to be forever running away. The evening replayed itself over and over again. She could not stop those repeating scenes. Michael and how he had looked holding Jasmine; Michael as a loving father, a proud father. Yes, she had pictured him that way not so long ago. Except, he was not at her side. He was beside Monica. As if Jasmine belonged to them. Brenda was not even in the picture.
He had thanked her. For her kindness, of all things. Like she was some stranger who had given him a ride into town or a cup of hot tea on a cold day. She had wanted to be loved; she had wanted to be desired. Instead, she had garnered his thanks. Even worse, she suspected that she had earned his pity. Her mother could be as philosophical as she liked. Brenda knew very well that she did not always heed her own advice. For that matter, neither did her irreproachable father. They both made mistakes. Big mistakes.
Through Different Eyes Page 19