You Could Believe in Nothing

by Jamie Fitzpatrick

  Lou was out in the driveway when they pulled into Connor Place. The two men met with a pumping handshake, exchanging private chuckles instead of words.

  “Mmm-huh-huh-hum,” laughed Lou.

  “Eh-heh. Eh-heh-heh,” replied Curtis.

  “Ah-hem. Ah-heh, heh-heh-heh-hem.”

  “Wuh-ho! Hunh-huhn-huhn-ho!”

  Derek humped the duffle bag through the porch and, not knowing which room Curtis had been assigned, dropped it in the hallway. Curtis sat on a kitchen chair, but when no one else sat he stood again, and examined the pictures of Cynthia’s girls on the fridge door. The kitchen was too big for four, and with no one sure of the next move they all moved at once, colliding in the narrow passage between fridge and table.

  “Whoop,” said Curtis, nose to nose with his mother.

  “Hup!” said Lou, backing into Derek. “Wait now…”

  All at once came a flurry of announcements. Derek had a doctor’s appointment. Lou was due at the station. Curtis needed a bite to eat, said his mother, then he could run her to Sobey’s. Cynthia was working until four.

  Derek heard his brother’s footsteps behind him in the hallway, and turned when he reached the doorstep.

  “Let’s grab a beer some time,” said Curtis, still in his white T-shirt in spite of the cool day. He lifted it and reached under to scratch his belly. The sallow skin was not unlike Nicole’s, and the grain of his beard brought to mind her dense weave of pubic hair.

  Derek grimaced, recoiling from the odious comparison. Seeing his expression, Curtis stepped back and lifted his palms in defense.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he said.

  “No,” replied Derek, recovering himself. “No, a beer would be good. Tomorrow or whenever, when you’re settled away.”

  The hand probed his belly like an alien claw, fingers working his flesh left and right, high and low.

  “Here?”

  “No.”

  “How about here?”

  Derek twitched.

  “General soreness?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” said Dr. Mac. That’s how he had introduced himself, though the receptionist dutifully called him Dr. McKendrick. “Can you loosen your jeans and your belt for me, please?”

  The diminutive suggested a sporting fellow. Derek could imagine Dr. Mac at the prow of a boat, white hair gleaming in the sun, a young wife nestled under his arm.

  “Your father still at the radio station?”

  “My father?”

  “Lou. He’s your father, yes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must tell him I said hello. We ran with the same crowd back in the day. Back when I was in the military.”

  “I will.”

  The claw crept lower.

  “Just relax. We had the run of it back then, at the base, and all those nights at the Colony. Big dances at the old Colony. You should ask your dad if he has pictures.”

  Derek sucked his breath.

  “That’s where I met Ellen. She’s gone now of course. Here? Here?”

  “There.” Derek went stiff and the familiar tightness wrapped his abdominal. The testicle announced itself.

  “I hear there’s some trouble over there at the radio station,” said Dr. Mac. “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Your father’s gotten out of tighter jams than that, I guarantee you. Okay, easy now.”

  The tension moved to Derek’s legs, crossing from one to the other like an electric current. He arched his back, and his tingling knees bucked against the hand. There was a wave of nausea.

  “Not very comfortable in that whole area, then.”

  “No,” he whispered, breathless and dizzy.

  The doctor turned and ran water in the sink. “You can do up your jeans there.”

  Derek set his face against the sting of tears. Doctor Mac smiled and pulled a towel through slender fingers.

  “There’s some trauma. We’ll get you anti-inflammatories for that.”

  Derek pressed his cuffs against his eyes. For a moment he thought he was passing out.

  “I’ll refer you to a physio. No sports for now. See how you do with the physio and we’ll get you back for another look in two weeks.”

  “So the bruising is nothing to worry about?”

  “There’s not so much bruising. You want to see a bruise?” The doctor propped his foot on a chair and raised a pant leg. His knee looked like a rotten melon. A golden ring at the top turned yellow, then black at the joint, with blue streaks down the shin.

  “Racquetball,” he said. “Last week.”

  “That’s a bad one.”

  “Nasty, eh? But you know what? It’ll heal. They always do, more or less.”

  “Is it possible that venereal disease might weaken the muscles in that area, or might be related some other way?”

  The doctor dropped the pant leg. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Syphilis?”

  “Gonorrhea.”

  “Have you had it looked after?”

  “Yes. It was last summer. We looked after it then.”

  “No discharge? No pain when you urinate?”

  “No. It’s been months.”

  “Alright then.” Dr. Mac held the referral sheet before him. “I need you to take this seriously. Go see the physio and do what you’re told. Do your stretches, your ice packs, whatever he recommends. Be patient. Don’t rush it. And keep your wits about you. You know what condoms are for.”

  He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

  “You’re a young fellow, Derek. You’re active. Your body will fix itself, if you give it a fighting chance.”

  The doctor left and Derek dressed slowly, careful of every move. He sat on the examining table, holding it with both hands, then stepped outside to see the receptionist.

  “Tuesday the twenty-third,” she said. “Two o’clock. Do you want that on a card?”

  “Please.”

  She leaned through the window, one eye peering up at Derek.

  “Can you wait for a moment? To have a word with Dr. Stanley?”

  The waiting area was empty except for a very pregnant woman straining against a pink T-shirt. She stared at the floor, chewing gum with her mouth open. Derek went to the overhead television and poked the volume button, sat and watched.

  “We’ve failed for so long to see our strength, to believe. Always expecting bad news, as if we deserved it. A childlike mentality. Newfoundland’s next revolution is in our hearts and minds.”

  “The premier speaking today,” said Richard, hunched forward at his anchor desk, stroking his chin. “Pamela and I will have more on that story, and we’ll see if Brianna can offer any hope on the weather front. Join us tonight for Citywide.”

  Watching Richard—how he lifted a single furry eyebrow on the premier—Derek didn’t notice Nicole’s sister, not until he heard the air release from the vinyl cushion beside him.

  “Hello, Derek.”

  She smiled without opening her lips, a generic caregiver’s smile.

  “Hi, Sarah. Dr. Stanley.”

  He had never seen her in anything but black T-shirts. The white lab coat gave her authority and purpose.

  “Sarah’s fine. Sorry to delay you. Do you have a minute to walk outside?”

  The back door of the clinic opened to a patch of grass overrun with cigarette butts, enclosed by a cluster of trees and the strip mall next door. They wet their shoes walking to the picnic table, but the bench was dry. They sat at either end, silent while Sarah placed a cigarette between her lips and brought a match to it. The sun was in and out.

  “How are you?” She waved the match to extinguish it. “Dr. Mac look after you?”

  “Sure. Fine, thanks.”

  She offered the cigarettes to Derek. He shook
his head.

  “You know that Nicole bought a place,” she said.

  “Yeah. The condo.”

  “Dad’s co-signing the mortgage. I must say, we all thought Ottawa was the right move for her. She’ll be a wonderful physio.”

  She hooked a plump leg over her knee. Without her father’s height, she had none of her sister’s angular elegance. But the officious guise of medicine suited her.

  “I was never your biggest fan. You probably figured that out.” She sent a stream of smoke down to her feet. “But the truth is, you guys together, it was good for her. I can see that now.”

  “Thanks,” said Derek. He thought she might meet his eye. But she shielded her face with the cigarette, and stared at the ground.

  “I don’t know if you…” She paused, picked something from the weave of her black hose. “Well, look, she’s seeing someone up there. Nasko, his name is.”

  “Nasko?”

  “He’s Hungarian, or something like that. Drives a cab.”

  Derek pressed his fingers to his nose. Since the fight at the hockey party he suffered brief but vicious headaches. That was two good cracks on the head in the last couple of weeks. He leaned over. The grass was brown, and the dandelion weeds green and plentiful, sprouting fat flowers.

  “He’s making claims to marry her, if you can believe it.”

  “They’re engaged?”

  “No.” Sarah drew on the cigarette, and blew noisy smoke through her nose and mouth. “I mean, who’s to say what engaged is these days? He’s made his intentions clear and she hasn’t sent him packing. That’s all. She’d kill me if she knew I told you. Mom and Dad don’t know. I can’t tell them.”

  Derek pushed his knuckles into his eyes, which seemed to ease the ache. There were little shock waves in his legs, threatening to build into convulsions. He wondered if it was all too much, whether his body might turn on him altogether.

  When he opened his eyes again, Sarah was finally looking at him. She patted the space between them. “Come here.”

  He shifted over. She turned her square shoulders to him. Her gaze, now that she offered it, was unflinching.

  “I’m up there this weekend for a conference. I’ll be seeing her, and it won’t be pretty. What I need to know is, do you want to be a part of the conversation?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “This Nasko thing, it’s bad. I don’t know him, but I know her. I don’t like it. I’ve got to get her clear of it. I figure my best chance is to put you on the table as an option. She didn’t want to leave you here, you know.”

  The cold rain, after hanging in the air all morning, was releasing slow, methodical drops.

  “Gentle Jesus,” said Sarah, turning and pulling her coat tight. “Is it supposed to get any warmer?”

  “Not this week, I don’t believe.”

  She dropped the cigarette, which hissed and darkened in the wet grass.

  “Your sister is hard to keep up with,” said Derek. “I’ve stopped trying.”

  “Nicole’s like a goddamn freight train. Buries her head and ploughs forward. A toucher, that’s what she called herself once. Has to have the touch.” She clenched and released a fist. “I said, ‘That’s dangerous. You’ll make bad decisions like that.’ She said, ‘I know.’ ”

  “I could talk to her,” said Derek. Find out if she’s worth it, he added, but only to himself.

  “No, I need a stronger signal than that. I need you to make a decision before Friday, I’m afraid. That’s what it comes down to.”

  His eyes blurred, a sign that the headache was about to recede.

  “Your doctor friend,” said Derek. “The older guy.”

  “Doctor Mac?”

  “He knows more about my family than I do, the way he goes on about it. The way he goes on about my dad and the good old days.”

  “Doctor Mac’s got no filter.” She waved a hand in front of her mouth. “He’s a walking disaster like that.”

  “So I think I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

  “I understand,” said Sarah. “Most of us don’t imagine our parents before us. Families have a black box. Sometimes things escape.”

  They stood and walked back to the clinic, droplets from the grass clinging to the nylon at her ankles. Under an awning at the door, she stopped to scribble on an appointment card.

  “That’s my cell. Like I said, I think I can get her back. But you have to want her.”

  “I’ll give you a call.”

  “I have a feeling you won’t.”

  “I’m just not sure.”

  “It’s okay. I guess I haven’t made a very good case for her.”

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open and she ran a thumb under each small, bloodshot eye, then reached for his hand and squeezed it.

  “You a regular family doctor?” asked Derek.

  “A GP, yeah. I’m getting into cognitive therapy as well.”

  “Is that where you talk to people about their problems?”

  “Yes. But it’s different when it’s your own.”

  She drew a security card through the slot and opened the door.

  “You can come through the building and leave through the front if you want.”

  “My car’s just around the corner here.”

  “Okay,” said Sarah. She lingered, composing herself, wiping her eyes again. “We got through that conversation okay, don’t you think?”

  Her thin smile was like Nicole’s. Derek had never noticed before. They had the same mouth.

  “I know I can come off as a bit of a savage,” she said. “And usually I don’t give a shit. But don’t let that affect your opinion of Nikki, okay?”

  Derek nodded and returned the smile. He watched Dr. Stanley straighten and turn, her white back and black legs fading into the corridor as the door clicked shut behind her. He rubbed his fingers together, slippery with her tears.

  The sputtering rain continued, but didn’t pick up. An unseen hand opened sunny cracks in the sky as he started the car.

  People in this tiny outport community are in shock, said the radio.

  The girl had been found in the basement, shotgun behind the shed, and boyfriend hanging inside, having fashioned a noose from the lawn mower cord.

  A neighbour says he saw the couple together just a few days ago.

  They looked happy, said the neighbour. She was a sweet girl. You never expect something like that, right here.

  How could you not expect it? Dead girl in the basement? You know it goes back to the boyfriend. House burns down with Mom in it? The oldest son must be off his meds. Woman kills her husband? She’ll kill the baby too, if they don’t catch her quick. Fucked-up Newfoundland turning on its fucked-up self.

  He had his cellphone in hand, and weighed the temptation to lay Sarah’s proposal at Cynthia’s feet. She would read Nicole and Sarah and this Hungarian cunt without mercy or favour, like a gypsy turning tarot cards. “Women. If you only knew the half of it,” she had told him years ago.

  He called Gover instead. A woman answered.

  “Shawn’s working right now. Can I take a message?”

  “I thought I was calling his cell.”

  “This is it. He left it here in the kitchen.”

  Gover had never referred to a woman at home, not in Derek’s presence. Perhaps it was a sister, or his mother.

  “This is Derek? We play hockey together?”

  “Yes?”

  “I was just calling to see if he’s watching the game tonight. Did he mention anything about that?”

  “Is that when you’re all going to be on TV?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He said he wants nothing to do with it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you one of the organizers?” she asked.
r />   “Oh no. I just show up and play, you know.”

  “Well, I think it’s a shame, how it’s tearing everyone apart.”

  Arriving home, Derek found Mrs. Ennis on the sidewalk, examining a lawn mower. He was no mechanic, but the gassy, burning smell of the thing was not encouraging.

  “I’m not sure it’s going to work,” he told her.

  “It damn well ought to work,” she said, her face sunk in the hood of a plaid jacket.

  They stood over the upturned machine.

  “Phillip is gone to New Brunswick,” she said. “Anything to get him out of that basement.”

  Derek’s cellphone rang.

  “I’ve been retired from the university this ten years,” said Mrs. Ennis.

  Derek nodded and answered the phone.

  “Have you ever done yoga?” asked Kelly.

  “No.”

  “I need something like that. Or pilates. One of those things where you move slow and you don’t have to think.”

  They hadn’t spoken since the day they stripped wallpaper.

  “Bill’s on the phone downstairs,” she said. “All up in arms. I’d sooner die than keep listening to him.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Somebody told him there’s an empty bed over at St. Luke’s. Now he’s got some poor shit from the health department on the line. ‘My mother-in-law is on that waiting list…What right do you have...’ Yak yak yak. He still hasn’t processed everything with his dad and he’s strung tight as a drum, honest to Jesus.”

  “Is your mom okay?”

  “Totally bewildered. We’ve been here packing stuff and clearing junk. Billy works like a dog, God love him. But the tension level goes through the roof as soon as he walks into a room.”

  “You just got to get through it, Kel. Once your mom is settled away, it’ll get normal.”

  “I know.”

  “I should have called you. It’s been crazy around here, too.”

  “I wouldn’t call me either, the state I’m in,” she said. “I better go. He’s off the phone, or maybe they put him on hold. I’d really like to talk some more, unless you think I’m totally insane.”