by Nick Craine
And why had he been digging through her dark-wear like this? Because, unlikely as it might seem, he’d been looking for himself, and as unlikely as it might also seem, he found what he was looking for.
An envelope, square, probably left over from a birthday card long since tossed. The envelope’s paper had aged to a faint yellow and it bore a human-seeming blemish, a splotch of brown in its upper right corner where a stamp would normally go, although its craggy profile was more hag than queen. Time had also given the hardened glue on the flap a lick, partially sealing the envelope, and Chellis had to tug gently to open it. Inside he found a small clipping from the personals section of an unidentified newspaper. The relevant bit appeared below an ad for a lost poodle named Gandalf and above one offering a free pair of nearly new Earth Shoes, size 13 – a worldly size. The ad sandwiched between these two, the one that still had riveting currency, read: BIRTH MOTHER SEEKING SON. His birth date, place of birth, and last name were cited, along with a request for any information concerning his whereabouts. A phone number and the contact, Fiona Gordon, rounded it off. It was brief, but in the way a knife slipped under the ribs is brief. He read it sixteen times, which should have killed him. He sank down onto the end of Rennie’s bed holding the clipping on his palm like a sear leaf, one that had dropped from his ailing family tree years ago. He stared at it until he began to cry (no one was looking), but he was out of practise and this release didn’t last long. He supposed he should thank Rennie for never giving him enough cause to get much teary exercise, but now she had.
Staring at this scant document, at once both mundane and devastating, Chellis had felt a torch flare up in his gut. Suddenly he was furious with her, angrier than he’d been when she’d left him without a word that sunny morning and rode merrily into her personal eclipse. It should have been his choice whether or not to respond to this ad. Right? If he’d made contact with his birth mother, it didn’t follow that he would have abandoned Rennie. She should have known that. Presumably her motive for hiding the clipping had been selfprotection. Sheer selfishness in other words. She sure hadn’t been thinking about what might have been best for him. All those years! If nothing else, it would have been helpful to know where he came from, a relief, a defence against that sucking void at his back, that cold, untenanted black space. Son of nothing. People who had real families didn’t understand this.
To be fair, Rennie had kept the clipping when she might have destroyed it. Could be that she had agonized over what to do. She may have even meant to tell him about it and then kept putting off the evil day, until she met the evil day herself head on.
And yet, she who had denied him so little had actually denied him this most essential revelation. She had stolen something vital from him and hadn’t even bothered to hide it with any care.
Pissed off, he’d surveyed her room with eyes no longer softened with sentimentality. Time for a change, he had thought. Forget closure (odious term), he was instantly and ruthlessly ready to open things up and move things out. He was more than ready to make a leap of faith over the physically fragile fact of the clipping and into the arms of his sister.
So it had been an incredibly busy week in some respects, the ones that involved Bethany. The new family unit was small and tight, rather like her sartorial choices. They had to get to know one another, after all, and there had been scads to talk about, two whole lifetimes to merge. They were becoming bosom buddies, which was an extremely pleasant and cushiony experience for Chellis, as she liked to give him hugs (this is my sister, he kept reminding himself). Sibling rivalry never once reared its ugly head. What would they fight over anyway, a few maternal bones laid to rest? Besides, they’d been too busy shopping, cleaning, decorating, smoking up (the Caledonia had been useful after all), and bowling. She won every game and, unlike Elaine, hadn’t gloated. Elaine?
“Call for you, sweetie.” Bethany had shouted from the living room where she’d been packing up some of his boring old CD’s for resale. Chellis had been in the kitchen whipping up a chicken curry. “Someone named Elaine.”
“Tell her I’ll call back,” he’d shouted over the noise of the new Cuisinart pulverizing spices.
“Will do.”
He didn’t.
A day later there came a smart rapping on his front door, like machine-gun fire. Bethany was on her way out so she was the one who had answered the summons.
Elaine stood on the step, glowering. “Who are you?” she snapped.
“Who are you?” Bethany fired back.
“Elaine.” She proceeded to give Bethany a CAT scan: the tousled hair, the skimpy tank top, the tart-tight jeans.
“The one who called?”
“The same.”
“Friend of Chellis’s then?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, I’m afraid he hasn’t mentioned you. But go on in, I think he’s up. I have to run, I’ll catch you later. My name’s Bethany by the way.”
Elaine had watched her skitter down the walk, heels clacking, tail wagging. Watched her hop into Chellis’s car and start it up (no problem, thanks to Elaine), and watched her pull out of the driveway and take off. She had even watched the non-Bethany space created by her departure for a few ponderous moments, then had stalked into the house and found her negligent friend in the kitchen grinding coffee beans, an article he would have normally been grinding with his teeth.
“Well if it isn’t sweetie himself.”
“Elaine!”
“You didn’t return my call.”
“Gosh, no. Forgot. Want a coffee?”
“Why? What’s wrong with beer?”
“Um, nothing, but it is only – ”
“My God, what’s happened to your kitchen? It looks like an operating room. Don’t tell me that’s a cappuccino machine?”
“It’s – ”
“Who is that slut I met at the door?”
“Hey, c’mon, that’s my – ”
“I have to hand it to you, Chel. I thought you were a slow mover. Glacial, in my experience. But a mere five days ago, five,” she held up her fingers like a spray of firecrackers, “you were sans girlfriend, and now it would seem that you’re shacked up with this babe. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No I’m not!”
My, how interesting, Chellis had thought, gazing with curiosity at his old flame, who indeed was crackling like one.
“Elaine, chill,” he’d said. “I’ll put the coffee on and let’s go grab a chair in the living room. I have some fantastic news. I should have told you sooner, but it’s, I don’t know, somehow the days have just whizzed by.”
Twenty minutes later, Elaine had been holding the newspaper clipping in her palm like a square of soiled toilet paper and staring at it with an expression that Chellis could only describe as very sour.
“I wonder where she got it.”
“The Star?” he shrugged. “The Mop N’ Pail? More likely the local rag. Rennie was never one for keeping up with the news. A friend might have seen it and given it to her.”
“I don’t mean Rennie.”
“Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Think about it, Chel. You’re an intelligent person.”
“Why, thank you. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me since we were kids and you begged me to lend you my new chemistry set. Which, it occurs to me, you never returned.”
“It blew up.” She tapped the clipping. “I don’t mean Rennie. I mean Circe, your enchantress.”
“Now you’re calling me a pig?”
“I’m saying you’ve swallowed her story hook, line, and sinker.”
“Now you’re calling me a fish?”
“A sucker, more specifically.”
“Laney, I’m happy. It’s nice to have a sister, she’s nice, give her a chance, will you?”
“And what about your employer?”
“What about her?”
“Has she turned up yet? I thought you were concerned.
”
“I am. What am I supposed to do, I’m not a detective. You were the one who told me not to get involved.”
“You don’t even look like her.”
“Mrs. Havlock?”
“No, your pseudo-sibling.”
“Do you look like Dwayne, your maximum-security bro?”
“God, no.”
“See. Besides, she’s my half-sister.
“And you’re half in love. Or are you already head over heels?”
“My sister, Laney. I’m adhering to the well-established rules on that one. We’re chums, that’s all. What’s it to you anyway, Mrs. Champion, if I may ask?”
“Chel, I’m your chum. I care about you.”
“News to me.”
“I don’t want to see you getting hurt. Whoever she is, she’s taking you for a ride. I hate this new couch by the way.” She’d set the clipping on the sparkling glass-topped coffee table, and had begun to run her hand over the couch’s nubby cotton seat cushion. “It’s cheap.”
“No it isn’t, and wasn’t.”
“So you’re paying for all this?” She’d swept her hand around the revamped room.
“I have savings.”
“Not for long.”
“Get off it, Laney. You’re saying an adventuress waltzed in here out of the blue and is taking advantage of me by helping me buy some furniture I desperately needed?”
“Furniture isn’t all, I bet.”
“And tofu.”
“You’re eating tofu? Christ, you’ve really lost it. What else, ’fess up?”
“I’m helping her out a bit. She’s out of work at the moment.”
“Gee, I would have thought there’d be plenty of work for lap dancers.”
A fraught pause.
“Elaine, do me a favour. Go away.”
“I will. Gladly. But, Chel, take my advice and get some DNA testing done.”
Two days later and Chellis was still smouldering, seeing as Elaine had set him on a slow burn. DNA testing! Did she expect him to run off to a lab with Bethany’s toothbrush? Cheek swabs were tough to get on the sly. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be jerk enough to suggest to her that they get it done. What would she think? It wouldn’t be an honourable proposition. Wasn’t trust something that families generated, families in good working order? Family members took you at your word, you didn’t have to render proof. He was getting some unconditional love here and he didn’t want to wreck it by making it conditional upon scientific verification. Verification of something that had already been established as fact. A fact. And not a factoid, which, as he knew (unlike most journalists), rested on a shaky speculative base.
Once Bethany cleaned out her digs in TO, there would be even more evidence of their bond: photos, papers, her birth certificate. She’d admitted to feeling foolish for not bringing any of that stuff with her.
“It’s wonderful,” Bethany had also said to him when she’d first stepped timorously over the threshold, suitcase in hand, “you’ve pretty much accepted me on faith, Chellis. That means a lot to me, a lot, I’m not kidding.”
All he’d said to her in response was, “Welcome to Toad Hall!” And he hadn’t been kidding about that, either.
Clearly, Elaine had been too jealous to accept it. Imagine that, her, jealous. The newspaper clipping (that sacred document), he’d discovered before Bethany had moved in, but Laney hadn’t been thinking straight, an unprecedented occurrence. In her annoyance, she’d spliced together the timeline of the two events. But she had no right to be steamed even if Bethany wasn’t his sister. It all boiled down to the fact that she didn’t want anyone trespassing in her control zone, where she regulated the activities of her perfect husband, her perfect life, and her imperfect, factotum friend. The harpy!
The phone rang. So yes, he stood up. Stood up, marched over to it, and whipped it out of its cradle. He’d tell her a thing or two, tell her what’s what, tell her to take a long walk off a short –
“Chellis?”
“Huh? Who’s this?”
“It’s Moe. Are you all right?”
“Moe? Moe! Yeah, yeah – I’m fine.”
“Golly, that’s a relief. We were getting really worried, Chel. Like, seriously. I told Hunt that you’d been in to visit with him for hours and hours before he regained consciousness.”
“He has? That’s fantastic, Moe. When? When did it happen?”
“Six days ago.”
“Six days?”
“That’s right, he’s out of intensive care and everything and he keeps asking about you. I think he’s getting kind of frantic, which really isn’t good for him. He says this is so not like you that something has to be wrong, that you’d at least call.”
“Moe, I’m so sorry. It’s not that something’s wrong, but mindblowingly right. I’ve been, cripes, I’ll explain when I get there. I’ll leave for the hospital in five, no, give me ten. And Moe, tell Hunt I can’t wait to see him. I’m going to bring someone with me, too, someone I want you both to meet. Someone very special.”
18
Smoke Point
“SO WHERE’S THE NEW GAL?” Hunt wanted to know.
“Yeah, Chelly,”said Moe. “I’m so excited for you. It’s about time, too. You’ve been on your own for so long.”
“Hold on, you two.” Chellis raised his hands to block the mistake, nevertheless amused by the matchmakers’ supposition. Couples!
“It’s even better than that,” he said, proceeding to explain about Bethany, his sudden sister. Unable to conceal his excitement, he began waving his arms around like the conductor of a bone-rattling, blood-pumping symphony, as he told them about her arrival, her taking up residence with him, her help in fixing up his place, her bowling score, her whole delightful self.
“Far out,” said Moe, giving him an energetic, congratulatory hug (he loved all these hugs he was getting lately – more, more). “That is so amazing.”
Hunt was an iota or ten less amazed. Which Chellis noted, but put it down to the dampening effect of the meds he was taking, or the resultant trauma of his illness. Amazement might not dawn on him for some time, very likely when Moe announced her maternity scheme. Hunt repeated, “So where is she?”
“It’s the hospital, she had to beg off.” Chellis shrugged. “She can’t face it. Had a rough time when her mother, our mother that is, was passing. I’m supposed to tell you, though, how much she’s looking forward to meeting you both.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.” Moe was beaming. “Does she look like you? Do you have a photo, Chel?”
“As a matter of fact I do. Not a great one, she’s kind of shy, hates to get her picture taken, well who doesn’t? But I picked up one of those disposable cameras at the drugstore and snuck a quickie.” He withdrew a snap from his shirt pocket and handed it to Moe. His friends would assume that he brought it along on purpose to show them, but the truth was that he carried it everywhere with him. When he wasn’t with her anyway, because he wanted her always to be so. Otherwise he had to hide it, since the other ones he’d taken of her had disappeared. He couldn’t understand it, they weren’t that bad; it was impossible for her to take a lousy picture. In this one he’d caught her in the kitchen. Bethany had been in the process of decapitating a trout, and she’d turned to face the flash with a prettily annoyed look of surprise.
“She’s gorgeous,” enthused Moe. “And I do think you are a teeny bit alike.”
“Nah, she got all the looks.”
“Let me see,” said Hunt.
Moe gave him the photo, after which she trailed her fingers lightly over his forehead, his emergent dome her fond talisman. Either that or she was attempting to smooth out the frown that appeared as soon as he saw the image. Frown notwithstanding, Hunt stared at it for several beats of Chellis’s heart with a completely neutral expression. Chellis was disappointed, but understood his pal’s lack of enthusiasm. It wouldn’t do for Hunt to start salivating in front of his partner.
Hunt
grunted and handed it back to him.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t know,” said Hunt.
“Honey, you’re tired,” said Moe.
“Yeah, you must be wiped,” agreed Chellis. Which shouldn’t have stopped Hunt from faking some happiness for him, for expressing some wonder at this totally unexpected family reunion. Or was he jealous, too? What was it with his friends? “Hunt old buddy, I’m going to let you get some rest. You’ve been to hell and back, long trip. Sure am glad you didn’t buy any real estate down there.”
Hunt smiled and they clasped hands.
“When are they letting you out of here?”
“Couple days, I think.”
“The sooner the better,” said Moe.
Chellis checked to see if there was a lascivious gleam in her eye, but she appeared to be unambiguously expectant.
“Great, that’s really great. He’s our miracle baby, eh Moe? I’ll be back tomorrow, so let me know if there’s anything you want. See you guys mañana then, and in the meantime, uh, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That gives me lots of wiggle room,” Moe grinned.
Wiggle room, he thought on his way out, yikes.
As soon as he was gone, Hunt shot Moe a troubled look, and said, “Bebe.”
“What’s that, sweetheart? Did you say . . . ? Gosh, how did you guess?”
When Chellis arrived home, Bethany greeted him at the door with a grin and a frosty pitcher of martinis, much as suburban wives in the fifties were instructed to do. Regrettably she’d skipped the Saran Wrap. “Arsenic hour!” she announced.