Mercy of St Jude

by Wilhelmina Fitzpatrick

  “Frig!” he muttered, trying to balance the cup.

  A splash of hot coffee hit Annie’s arm. She jumped up, knocking her chair over and into Gerry’s shin. The rest of the coffee, cup and all, flew from his hand. “Watch out!” he warned too late as it splattered across her desk.

  “My geology notes! Shit! I just spent two hours rewriting them.”

  He gave her an odd look. “What did you say?”

  “I said I just finished rewriting my notes and now they’re a frigging mess.”

  He pressed the bottom of his T-shirt onto her papers. “What do you do that for?”

  “It’s a good way to study. I don’t want to get behind.”

  “Not much chance of that.” His eyes creased with the cutest smile.

  Feeling her face start to burn, Annie went to find paper towels. When she came back, Gerry was wringing out his coffee-soaked T-shirt into his cup, leaving the lower part of his stomach exposed. It had the kind of toned look she’d imagined on the book cover moments earlier. She immediately looked away.

  “Sorry about your notes,” he said, taking the towels from her.

  “Oh, they’re not in too bad a shape really, considering.”

  He started to clean up the mess. “Going out home tomorrow?”

  “No, I’m on residence duty this weekend.”

  “Oh yeah? Me too, on duty I mean.”

  “You’re an RA too?”

  “Yeah, just started. Good excuse not to go home.”

  “You don’t miss St. Jude?”

  “God, no.” He gathered up the towels, studying the stains like he was reading tea leaves. “You hear about the bash over at Dewey’s tonight?”

  Dewey’s was a popular bar near campus. It was a dive but the beer was cheap.

  “Yeah. Me and Cathy were going to go,” she answered nonchalantly, “but then Cyril talked her into skipping class tomorrow and heading out home for the weekend.”

  “That’s too bad, should be a great night.” He hesitated. “I could ... I mean, if you’d like, we could go together, you know, if you don’t have anyone to go with, we could go, the two of us...?” His cheeks had turned a deep pink.

  Was this his clumsy way of asking her out, she wondered, or was he just being friendly? Blunt by nature, Annie had never been one to flirt or play mind games, which may have explained why she didn’t date very much. Not that she cared.

  “Not like a date,” he blurted. “Nothing like that. There’s a whole pile of us meeting up there later. I just thought you wouldn’t want to go over alone.”

  She felt her face redden, and was about to tell him to take his pity invitation and shove it when he added, “But I hope you come. It’d be nice to catch up.”

  Since when did she and Gerry Griffin need to catch up, wondered Annie, rearranging her stained notes. Then again, she did want to go to Dewey’s and she knew she’d never walk in alone. She shrugged. “Nothing better to do.”

  “Great,” he said eagerly. “I’ll be over at nine o’clock.”

  “Sure, nine o’clock,” she repeated. “I’m in 212 at—”

  “I know. You’re right next door to me,” he said, then went red to his roots.

  Between the two of them, there was an inordinate amount of heat racing around. If they didn’t end this soon, Annie feared one of them would self-combust.

  “I’ve seen you go in and out,” he added.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Well, see you in a few hours?”

  “Yeah,” Annie answered, then was annoyed at the quickness of her response.

  As he walked away, he glanced back and waved. Embarrassed to be caught still looking, Annie tried to appear busy. Gerry turned back around and bumped into a library cart. She stuck her head down as if she hadn’t seen a thing.

  For two hours she pretended to study. Was she really going to the bar with Gerry Griffin? What if someone from home saw them? It’d be all over St. Jude in no time.

  Finally, she gave up and went back to her room, whether to change her mind or her clothes she didn’t know.

  She did neither. At nine sharp he was at the door, and in a fresh set of clothes, she noticed. Then again, he’d hardly have shown up in his coffee-stained T-shirt.

  Too late now, she decided. She was off to Dewey’s on a Friday night with Gerry Griffin. And so what? She was only having a beer with him, for heaven’s sake.

  The clear night was deceptively cold. Within minutes of leaving residence, her nose and ears were stinging. Gerry made several attempts at small talk, but Annie, head buried in the neck of her coat, was preoccupied with trying to prevent frostbite.

  Spotting Dewey’s just ahead, Gerry grabbed her mittened hand and started a mad dash down the road. “Come on, it’s freezing,” he yelled.

  Annie had little choice but to hold on tight and try to keep up. Unsure whether the ache in her chest was from running or the feel of her hand clutched in his, she was grateful for the breathless sprint down the hard-packed street. As soon as they reached Dewey’s, he let go of her hand to open the door. Inside, the hot smoky air swirled around them. Someone yelled to Gerry from across the room and he and Annie shuffled through the crowd to join a large table filled with Gerry’s friends. Annie was glad to see several familiar faces in a nearby booth in case she needed a change of company.

  She never gave them a second thought. She had a great night, the most unexpected part of which turned out to be Gerry Griffin himself. There he was with a diverse group of interesting people, confident, self-assured, attractive in a familiar sort of way. Annie found herself studying him at odd moments, his face and his manner. Once, he caught her eye and smiled. This time she smiled back.

  The evening was a new experience for Annie. She’d grown through her teens as a medium-sized fish in a very small pond. But that night she sat with an even smaller fish from the same pond, a capelin to her cod, and he was taking the lead. She realized that life’s playing field had levelled off, that each person at the table had the chance to become whoever or whatever they wanted. She felt an incredible freedom, a euphoric sensation of liberty and emancipation. Had she only had two beers?

  Yes, only two, and Gerry had paid for both. She’d resisted at first, but then she found herself letting him, on some level vaguely aware that by doing so she was allowing the evening to become something more closely resembling a date. A small voice inside her had piped up, “a date with a cousin.” She’d shoved it back down.

  During a break in the music the others went out for a toke or to visit at other tables. She and Gerry found themselves sitting virtually alone talking about high school.

  “Do you think you’ll ever move back to St. Jude?” he asked.

  “Never really thought much about it. You?”

  “Never.” He took a sip of beer. “The bigger the city the better.” “I don’t mind St. Jude but I know what you mean. Everyone knows everyone.”

  “Exactly. Here, I’m invisible. No one cares where I came from.”

  Annie nodded, surprised that he was so open. Maybe that’s what happened when you left the small town behind - you left your inhibitions there too. She liked that idea. In fact, she liked it so much that she found herself telling him the whole story of asking Mercedes for a loan, something she’d been too humiliated to tell anyone except Cathy.

  “She wouldn’t give you anything?” He was suddenly very serious.

  “Nothing but a lecture. I wish I’d never asked the old witch in the first place. Thank God I got the RA job. I don’t know how I’d do it otherwise.”

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

  Annie frowned. “Like I said, nothing. Why?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “It’s just… it doesn’t sound like her.”

  “I know you think she’s this lovely old lady. Well, let me tell you—”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “What then?”

  He started to say something, then stopped abruptly and looked away.
<
br />   Annie could feel the fun draining from the evening. “You know, we were having a fine time till we started talking about her. Can we just drop the subject?”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. “You’re right. Another beer?”

  “Sure, but it’s my turn to buy.”

  “No, no, it’s on me.”

  Just like that they were back on track. They laughed and talked and drank more beer, enjoying the music and the people and especially each other. And at the end of the night, Gerry walked her home.

  “So. Here we are,” he said as they stood outside her residence.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  The night was still and silent. He moved closer. “That was fun tonight.”

  “Yeah, I had fun too.”

  More silence. She knew she should say good night and go inside, but she didn’t.

  “Me too,” he said, taking the tips of her fingers in his. Then he bent down and gave her the sweetest little kiss, not quite on her lips or cheek, somewhere in between. In a husky voice he whispered, “Good night, my Annie Byrne.”

  “Good night,” she mumbled, barely recognizing the gravelly voice as her own.

  Once inside, she stood unmoving, wondering at her own intense disappointment. Her body had this raw ache, and her heart felt full and empty at the same time. As she leaned against the door, it hit her that more than anything in the world she had wanted Gerry Griffin to kiss her, to hold her tight in his arms and really truly kiss her for a good long time. What the hell was happening to her?

  She went to bed, her head and heart lightly buzzing, and not entirely from the alcohol. By morning her outlook hadn’t changed, except by then it was tinged with a nuance of sweet surprise, as if she had discovered a tiny treasure, one that had been hiding right in front of her. She wanted to hug herself all day.

  When Cathy got back on the Sunday, Annie casually let slip what she’d done on the Thursday night. Cathy was full of questions - about what they ate and drank, what she wore, who was there, and in particular, what they talked about. As Cathy was leaving, she hesitated. “Did you and Gerry talk about your aunt at all?”

  “Yeah, but it kind of put a damper on things so we changed the subject.” Annie eyed her friend. “Something on your mind?”

  “Well, it’s about Gerry and your aunt.”

  “Look, I know it used to bug me but that’s ages ago. Who cares about that now?”

  Cathy shrugged. “Maybe you should.”

  An uneasy knot tugged at Annie’s navel. “What are you going on about, Cath?”

  “Look, I’m not meant to be telling you this, but I think I better before you and him get too chummy. Did you know that Mercedes is responsible for him being here?”

  “That’s baloney. He came in third and earned his place just like the rest of us.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Did you know she’s paying his way through?”

  Annie paused, hurt that Mercedes would lend Gerry money when she’d gotten nothing but grief. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Was he embarrassed? Whatever the reason, she could hardly blame him for Mercedes’ actions. “Look, that’s their business if she lent him money. I wish I’d known, but it’s not the end of the world.”

  “It’s not a loan, Annie. Mercedes is paying for the whole thing - books, tuition, residence - and he doesn’t have to pay back one cent. His very own guardian angel.”

  Annie felt like she’d been punched. Was her own flesh and blood paying for him but not for her? How miserable could the woman get? And Gerry! To think Annie had confided in him and all the while his pockets were filled with money that should have been hers. From the sounds of it, he only took the RA position to avoid going home, while Annie barely survived on two jobs. Everything but her underwear was a hand-me-down. She even got her sister to cut her hair. And Gerry had insisted on paying for the beer! How generous!

  “Who told you this?” she asked, praying it was just an idle rumour.

  “Mom, and she heard it from Sadie herself. I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

  “The fucking gall of them.”

  Annie could hardly believe her stupidity.

  1993

  Violet Green’s plush forest-green carpet was lined with the ridges of a fresh vacuuming. Her glass coffee table sparkled with a perfect see-through shine, and, in the kitchen, the upgraded appliances looked as clean and new as the day they were installed. All thanks to Sadie Griffin, who had the art of cleaning down to a science. No one knew dirt better than Sadie.

  Jesus have mercy, will she ever shut up.

  Sadie blasted the sink with Lysol, then put her head down and scrubbed.

  “And like I said to Cathy,” Violet was saying as she set her tea cup back in its saucer, “it doesn’t matter if Gerry never did well in the earlier grades.”

  How much frigging longer am I going to hear about that goddamn scholarship? Two years on and she’s still bringing it up every chance she gets.

  “The last year is what matters most,” Violet went on. “And Gerry did just fine.”

  “That he did.” Sadie leaned harder on the scrub brush.

  “I suppose you’d call him a late bloomer. Ha-ha.”

  Sadie turned the water to full blast. Steam filled the air between where she stood and Violet sat drinking tea and eating Jam Jams. Sadie scrubbed harder.

  “Not like my Cathy.”

  Miserable bitch! I been here four hours now, cleaning shitty toilets, changing sweaty sheets, shining fancy silver, and that one gets herself tea and cookies and planks her arse at the table and eats them right in front of me. Boils me.

  “And dear Mercedes, what a saint. Imagine paying for Gerry like that, such a good-hearted woman. And no, I never told anyone. I can keep a secret, believe me.”

  “Thank you, Violet.”

  Wish I never went and told her about that frigging money.

  Violet looked displeased, just as she always did when Sadie used her first name. “Yes. Well…it’s too bad, though. Mercedes deserves some credit.”

  “Indeed she does, Violet.”

  Damned if I’ll be calling her Mrs. Green.

  “And like I said to my Cathy, I was so proud of her for winning, but really, there’s others not as…well, as well-off, to put it bluntly, but what can you do? Cathy won fair and square, no matter what poor Annie felt about it.” Violet took a sip of tea.

  Sadie folded the towel and laid it on the counter.

  “And poor Francis, getting beat out by Gerry. Must have been a shock.”

  The nerve of the woman, some days it was too much.

  Violet looked up and caught Sadie’s eye. “Oh, but like I said, Gerry earned it, yes indeed he did. And don’t you let anyone tell you different now, Sadie.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Violet.” Sadie picked up her coat and stood waiting, just as she did every week, for her thirty-seven dollars.

  Violet took another sip of tea and popped the last piece of cookie into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and wiped her mouth with her napkin. Finally, she stood up.

  Take your frigging time, why don’t you? Not like I got nothing else to do.

  Violet took down her purse from the kitchen shelf and, reaching inside, brought out her wallet. She pulled out a twenty, a ten and two fives. Pursing her lips, she put back one of the fives. She opened her coin purse and counted out four dollars in change.

  “There you go, Sadie. Plus a little something extra for you.”

  Sadie shoved the money into her coat pocket. “I’ll see you next week, Violet.”

  Damned if I’ll thank the woman, either.

  1999

  Gerry spots a six-pack at the back of the fridge. As he is opening one up, his mother returns from the bathroom again. This time he can smell the liquor on her. The more she drinks, the more careless she gets about hiding the evidence.

  Sadie tutts. “That Kevin, always bringing in darn beer.”

  “Glad he did. That ham was good and sal
ty.” He takes a long swig. As always, the malty aroma of beer reminds him. He sees her, over the rim of his glass, that first night at Dewey’s. When she’d smiled at him, her eyes had registered a sense of surprise. In that moment he’d felt they shared a secret, a feeling that had lasted throughout the night, and, in the end, far longer.

  “Gerard?” His mother is eyeing him strangely.

  “Yeah, Ma?”

  “A million miles away again, you were. Anyway, I said Father got his first funeral Mass tomorrow.”

  “Father?”

  “You know, our new young Father James. Who else would I be talking about? I think he’s right nervous. He didn’t have much chance to get to know her so what’s he supposed to say? But I knows he’ll do grand. Fine man, smart and educated, not like the bunch around here. Big books all over the house - religion, psychology, all kinds of stuff. Pities him sometimes I do, wasting away in St. Jude...”

  If there’s one thing his mother likes to talk about more than the neighbours, it’s the resident clergy. The difference is that she speaks of the priests with more affection and admiration than she speaks of her children, except for him. This no longer embarrasses Gerry. He cannot control his mother, what she says or does, what she thinks, why she thinks it. Sadie is a force unto herself. He’s known that since he knew anything.

  “…what can he be saying about Mercedes?” Sadie is still talking. “I’m sure they met, though I don’t think she was going to Mass at the end, never saw her there for ages. Not like some, always there, all pious and righteous, likes of that Violet and Dwight Green. The way them two prances around town, Mr. and Mrs. St. Jude they acts like. Too uppity to clean their own dirt. Hires me to scrape the muck off the floor and the shit out of their toilets. Nerve, ordering me around for a few measly bucks. Frigid old bat she is. And him, acting so upstanding. Hah, I knows about him I do. Puny little bugger. Good match, you ask me.”

  “I imagine he knows enough about her. She had a good reputation.”

  “Who? Oh, Mercedes. Yeah, sure. Want cake? I done your favourite.”

  He rubs his stomach. “Sorry, but I’m stuffed. I can’t eat another bite.”

  “And to think I wouldn’t let the boys touch it all day. And Mark too, caught him with a finger in the icing, stuck it right in his mouth before I had the chance to stop him. Saucy as a crackie he’s getting to be. Debra should take a hand to that boy.”