When Josie’s young, beautiful aunt Louisa, her father’s little sister, got sick with cancer and was undergoing treatment, she and Uncle Bill needed someone to help them around the house. It was the summer, and Josie’s father suggested she take the job of being their helper. For some housekeeping and cooking on the weekdays, Aunt Louisa and Uncle Bill gave Josie ten dollars a week. This was easy money as far as Josie was concerned. She adored her aunt and uncle. Josie quit the paper route and devoted herself to her new gig.
Aunt Louisa had a long trail of silken hair that was now falling out by the handful. She was always nice to Josie, offering to teach her how to paint in watercolour and playing her Chinese harp for her. When her aunt performed on her harp, it reminded Josie of falling rain. She was mesmerized by her aunt’s long, elegant fingers feathering over the strings to produce the music that always made her feel somehow more Chinese, like a direct connection to her real self. Aunt Louisa remained cheerful even though she could have as easily been snappish or afraid. But that’s who she was; everything about her was soft. She made the air seem lighter when she walked into a room. Josie didn’t know how she did that, but Aunt Louisa had that effect.
Uncle Bill was a quiet man, but unlike her father, whose quiet was full of weariness. Her uncle’s kind of quiet was calm, like the soft-rock music that played in the grocery store that made you want to buy more food. He had slicked-back hair and was always wearing a tie and dress shirt and aviator sunglasses outside. He was also tall and slender and looked a bit like the movie stars in June’s mother’s Hong Kong gossip magazines. Josie thought Louisa and Bill were the best-looking adult couple she knew.
It was clear how much Uncle Bill adored Louisa by the way he held her hand when they went for walks around the neighbourhood on Louisa’s good days, or by the gentle voice he used when he asked her if she was hungry. Josie had never seen a man take care of a woman before. Although her mother worked the same long hours as her father, it was still up to Josie, her mother and her sister to do all the cooking and cleaning.
Aunt Louisa and Uncle Bill lived a fifteen-minute walk away, outside the enclave of the sister streets. Instead of hanging out with June and the other kids on Winifred after lunch in the August heat, Josie would head over to her aunt and uncle’s house to start dinner. When school began that fall, she didn’t even wait to walk home with June and dashed to their place right after the bell.
Even though her aunt was sick, they had a lot of fun together. Aunt Louisa would keep her company from a chair in the corner of the kitchen while Josie chopped vegetables or swept. Aunt Louisa, already thin, would sit with her feet on another chair, propped up with pillows and wearing a big scarf around her head. She looked to Josie like a fragile egg, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Despite the rapid changes to her appearance, Aunt Louisa still liked to talk and asked her about school and her friends in a way her mother never did.
Around late summer, when June was complaining about whether things were working out with Bruce, and Josie was ready to slap her, her aunt took her to the sofa. “What’s wrong, Josie? You don’t look happy,” she said softly. Josie didn’t want to burden her aunt, but in a second, she started pouring out her frustrations with June. “June bugs me. She’s so whiny. She whines about the stupidest things. Like it rained today, and our hair got wet walking to Mac’s. She whined about the rain, but really, what is that going to do? We can’t make it stop raining. But she’ll go on and on about it, like she’s the only one getting wet. And she’s so conceited. She picked a rainy day of all days to curl her hair with the curling iron so she could feather it, and she went on about how it took her an hour. Like, who spends an hour on hair?” She realized she was filling the air with stupid things, but it felt great to let the words out.
Aunt Louisa laughed. “Whiny people are the worst!” she said. Josie laughed with her, relieved and surprised that Aunt Louisa wasn’t telling her that she was a mean person to be complaining about June, or that she should be a better friend. Josie wondered if this was what it felt like to be an only child.
In the evenings, when Uncle Bill returned home from work, the three of them would have dinner together. Aunt Louisa couldn’t eat much, but she and Uncle Bill both always made a fuss about how good the food was that Josie had prepared. It became a ritual that Uncle Bill would take the first bite and chew the food slowly before offering a big thumbs-up. It made Josie want to work even harder for them.
Sometimes when Aunt Louisa was not in the room, Uncle Bill would take Josie’s hand in one of his and caress her cheek with the other. The first time he did it was in late September. They were finishing dinner, and Aunt Louisa said she was tired and went upstairs to lie down. He reached over the table and held Josie’s hand. At first, she was surprised, taken aback, but then she melted into the warmth of his hand. No one ever touched her this way. Not her mother, not her father. She wondered if this was what other families did, people who loved each other. She looked at Uncle Bill’s face and was startled to see the look in his eyes. They seemed glassy, far away. She wondered if it was sadness. He gripped her hand and murmured, “You are so pretty, Josie.” Then, as if he was reminded of something, he let go and told her she should go.
That night, as she walked along Samuel Street, the full moon bathed every shadow in white light. It was windy, and the autumn leaves were swirling around on the street. She had a strange stirring in her stomach that matched the churn of leaves. Uncle Bill was from a big family; maybe this was how they expressed themselves when he was growing up. She tried to shrug off the strange feelings. One thing she was sure about was that she was precious to her aunt and uncle, something she had never felt she’d been to anyone. She held on to this and hummed “Weekend in New England” to herself as she went.
Josie started spending more time at their house and hardly saw June. On the Saturday after the hand-holding incident, June cornered her as she was on her way to make their dinner. “Are you going over there again? I thought it was only on school nights, but now weekends too?”
“They need my help. You wouldn’t understand these things.” Josie meant to hurt June. She knew June would come with her if she invited her, but the last thing she wanted was for her aunt and uncle to meet June and realize that maybe Josie wasn’t so pretty or smart or anything after all.
Aunt Louisa did not get better with the treatments. By October, she was mostly too weak to get out of bed and couldn’t keep Josie company anymore while she did the cleaning and cooking. At dinner, it was only Uncle Bill and Josie at the kitchen table. Uncle Bill still did the thumbs-up, which was sweet, but it felt different without Aunt Louisa’s laughter.
Then Aunt Louisa went to hospital and stayed for two weeks. Josie still went over and did the chores, except there was hardly anything to clean because now the house seemed like no one lived there. Uncle Bill was mostly going to the hospital after work, but Josie still cooked dinner and left it on the stove for him. She spent the days feeling like the ground could open up at any time, bracing herself for the worst thing ever to happen.
One night, while she was making congee, Uncle Bill threw open the door, beaming. “She’s coming home!” he called out. He paused in the doorway and then strode into the kitchen. Josie turned from her stirring to celebrate with him. He dropped his briefcase and grabbed her up in a bear hug, then kissed her on the lips. Instinctively, she closed her eyes for a second, then opened them wide. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. He was kissing her. His tongue peeped out through his lips and she felt him lick her mouth. His wool coat scratched against her arms and he had stale coffee on his breath. She was staring into his face, an inch from hers, unable to move. He broke the kiss but kept holding her. He pressed her face to his itchy shoulder. “I love you a lot, Josie. You know how much I love you, right?”
Josie nodded against him, bewildered. She loved him too, she thought. He was probably just so excited that Auntie Louisa would be coming home. Maybe he forgot who he was kis
sing because he was thinking about her aunt. She did something like that once; she’d been talking to her aunt on the phone and then right away had a call with June. When they went to say goodbye, without thinking she said, “I love you.” She was mortified, but June didn’t even notice, so she let it go. Her aunt had that effect on people.
He kissed her again on her forehead and let her go. “Get home, Josie. I’ll take care of the rest of this dinner.”
She went to the hallway and quickly pulled on her boots. She grabbed her coat out of the hall closet and shouted, “Okay, bye!” leaving before she’d put it on.
Josie ran all the way home, her coat fluttering behind her in her fist. She dashed into her room and closed her door as quietly as she could. Shaking, she put on her pyjamas and got under the covers. She touched her fingers to her lips. The kiss didn’t count. It didn’t count. Her thoughts ran in circles. Was it a real kiss? He was her uncle. He wasn’t supposed to use his tongue. She felt sick, not in a way she had ever felt sick before. It creeped in from outside of her, seeping in like a cold fog. She felt something bad trying to swallow her. Was Uncle Bill in love with her? Did she do something to make this happen? Was she betraying Aunt Louisa? She curled into a ball and waited for the feeling to pass. Suddenly, she needed June more than she ever had, but she knew she couldn’t tell her. June might think it was her fault, something Josie wondered too. She felt very alone.
For the next two days, Josie pretended to have a fever and did such a good job, she got to stay home from school. The first afternoon, June came to visit and sat on the edge of her bed. “What’s wrong with you?”
Josie shook her head.
“Is it c-a-n-c-e-r?” It was supposed to be a joke, but Josie started to cry. She rolled over onto her stomach and sobbed into her pillow.
“I’m sorry, Josie. That was such a bad joke. I didn’t mean it. You’re worried about your aunt. That’s why you’re sick, and here I am making jokes. I am so sorry.”
Josie could feel June’s hand rubbing her on the back as if she were a baby. June sounded like she was close to tears too.
Josie sat up and pulled June close to her, and they both cried. It wasn’t a baby cry like they did when they got in a fight over nothing. Josie felt it was the kind of cry that came out of a mountain of other held-in cries. There was no relief in her tears or in being in June’s arms. She wondered if June could feel the uselessness in it too.
On the third day, Josie’s father said Louisa had come home and all of them were going over for dinner that night, so she should cook enough for everyone. She dreaded going, but she was so happy to know her aunt was coming home.
When she arrived, Uncle Bill was in the kitchen, making tea. “Hello, Miss Josie. Go on up and see your aunt Louisa!” He seemed so normal, as if nothing had happened. Josie was relieved and rushed upstairs to see her aunt, taking the stairs two at a time. Maybe nothing had happened, and it was in her imagination. When she opened the door to the bedroom, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. Aunt Louisa was even thinner than she’d remembered. Her face, once so full, like a ripe peach, as her father used to say, had become sunken, as if the peach had been plucked and only the memory of it remained. She didn’t have one of her beautiful floral scarves on, and her head was now completely free of hair. Deep purple smudged her eyes, as if she had been beaten up. When Josie found the courage to enter, Aunt Louisa couldn’t even speak. She only lifted her left hand slightly to greet her.
Her parents came later, and they visited with Aunt Louisa for only five minutes before leaving her to rest. Josie had cooked lasagna like her mother had taught her. Uncle Bill didn’t give her the thumbs-up and her mother complained the noodles were overcooked. Josie couldn’t even taste it. There was very little conversation and some mention about “keeping her comfortable.” Then her parents got up to leave and told Josie to please stay back and help clean up before heading home. Uncle Bill needed the help.
Josie started to feel dread like rocks gathering in her stomach and filling up to her chest. From the other room, she heard the door close after her parents and uncle said their goodbyes. She busily gathered the dishes and filled the sink with warm water and soap. She didn’t hear him coming because the water was on full blast, she didn’t want to hear him coming, but she was surprised when she felt his embrace from behind. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body into her back. She felt very small. She didn’t know what to do; she was frozen inside but her limbs still moved, so she turned off the faucet and started to wash the dishes. She felt his mouth on her neck, his tongue leaving a trail of wet saliva. Josie was in shock, her body a lit ember.
Josie scrubbed a spot on a bowl while he pressed himself harder into her back. She felt Uncle Bill’s penis, hard and fat, rubbing on her bum while he buried his face in her hair. Did she wash her hair that day? She couldn’t remember. Her mother often asked to sniff her head to determine if she had bathed. “You stink like cat piss. What kind of girl are you? No one will want to marry a girl with a head that smells like cat piss.”
She finished that bowl and another and started on the lasagna pan, scrubbing for her life. He let her go, and she paused in the aftermath, the sudden cold air against her back. She picked up the scouring pad.
“Lock up on your way out, Josie.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re such a special girl.” His steps faded as he walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and up the stairs.
On the walk to school the next day, June was whining about Bruce not coming around anymore. “I guess he’s done with me. Do you think that’s it? Did he say anything to you? Or to your brother?”
“My aunt Louisa is dying.” No one had said it yet, but Josie knew.
“Oh my God, Josie.” That was all June said. Then she took Josie’s hand, and they walked to school holding hands like they used to. Josie was grateful that June always knew what to do in moments like these. Her hand in June’s warm one made her believe that things could still turn around.
Josie wanted to tell June about Uncle Bill, but she didn’t know what to tell. That her uncle loved her too much? She wasn’t even sure how to describe what had happened. She had felt special to her aunt and uncle. She knew she was special to them. Maybe that specialness was something indescribable, and her uncle was acting a bit crazy because his wife was dying. Josie turned it over in her head many times, searching for answers. Maybe it wasn’t even wrong what happened. There was no harm done, right? There were no bruises or scars like what happened to Mrs. Papadakis. But still, these were the kinds of questions she wanted to ask June, but that she knew June wouldn’t know how to answer.
Eight days later, Aunt Louisa died. During those days, there wasn’t even the chance to talk or say goodbye because a nurse started coming around twice daily to inject her with morphine. This sent her aunt to another place, and even when she appeared awake, she wasn’t. Nothing further happened with Uncle Bill in those eight days when Josie continued to go and make him dinner. He still paid her on the Friday, as he always did. He didn’t go to work all that week and made a point of thanking her for every meal, even though it didn’t seem like he ate anything the whole time. Each day, Josie found the food still on the stove from the night before.
When Aunt Louisa did die, in the middle of the night, Uncle Bill told everybody that it was peaceful. Josie didn’t know what that meant or looked like, but she guessed her aunt was blissed out on morphine and slipped away. The funeral followed shortly after, and Josie was upset it was an open casket. Her aunt did not look anything like she did in real life, before the c-a-n-c-e-r took away her beauty. The makeup artist put a lot of foundation on her, and she looked like she had an orange tan. Her aunt’s lips were painted a dark cranberry. This made Josie angry. Aunt Louisa never wore makeup because she never had to. Her lips were naturally a shade of pink that had always reminded Josie of the crabapple blossoms in spring. They had tied one of her scarves around her head the way she did after
losing her hair. It was the scarf with butterflies and daisies. At least they had chosen well for that.
Josie did not cry at the funeral. Her father bawled like a baby, something she had never seen before. Her mom had to put her arms around his waist to steady him as he walked down the chapel aisle to leave. This was something else she didn’t think she had ever seen before—her mother touching her father. June had wanted to come, but she called that morning to say her parents wouldn’t let her. June had never been to a funeral before. Josie wondered what they were worried about.
After Aunt Louisa died, Josie’s parents nudged her to keep going to help out Uncle Bill. He wouldn’t eat unless she made him dinner, they said. Josie tried to explain that her schoolwork had gotten especially heavy and she needed to study more. Her mom called her a brat for being so selfish at a time like this, when Aunt Louisa and Uncle Bill had treated her so well and needed her more than ever.
Josie was a worker. She was not a brat. She went back to the cooking and cleaning for Uncle Bill. She had the key and would race there the minute school was out so she could make the food, tidy and leave before Uncle Bill got home from work, but he started coming home earlier than he ever had. Uncle Bill was not himself; he was not who he had always been. He would come to her swiftly while she was doing whatever she was doing, grab her and hold her to him, sometimes kissing her on the mouth and pushing his tongue in, and once, he started making little panting noises and wrestled up her T-shirt to feel her mosquito-bite-sized breasts. Each time, he was becoming wilder. He ground his torso against her back and breathed heavily into her hair. And then he would stop, not because she wrenched away but because he wrenched himself away. Every time, he would turn around and jam his hand into the air in front of him like he was stopping a runaway subway train. “I love you so much, Josie. You are very special to me, to us.” He started doubling her pay, giving her twenty bucks each week.
That Time I Loved You Page 9