by Lori Weber
“Yes, he did. He was the only one who even thought of it. If it weren’t for Jim—”
“It was Jim for sure, my son,” Jim’s mom cuts in, setting down a large tray that carries tea cups, milk, and sugar. “We saw the bruise, and he has the sore ribs to prove it. You’ll see. Don’t you go up there teasing your little brother, like you used to back home. Show him some respect now when you sees him. He’s been through it, Davy. He has, for sure.”
Candy comes in carrying a large teapot and sets it down on the tray. From a bag under her sofa chair, Jim’s mother pulls out a half-knit sweater hanging on huge needles, and starts to knit. She’s doing waves, in three different shades of blue, so that the water looks choppy. Her fingers move fast, click-clacking the needles like a machine.
“How’s your brother?” Jim’s mom asks, her eyes steady on the stitches. “He couldn’t come?”
“No, Ma, we couldn’t both come. They owed me some time, but he sends his love. Says he’ll come home when he can, maybe in September.”
“I guess in Alberta they don’t think half-drowned brothers are as important as oil,” Jim’s mother says, still not looking up. She now has grey wool attached and is knitting a shape in the water.
“Ma, I know where you’re headed. Let’s not do it, okay, at least not yet. I just got through the door, right?”
Everyone stops talking, creating an uncomfortable silence in the air. The only sound is the clicking of knitting needles, like they are beating out time. Again, I wonder if Jim’s mom might not want me here, listening to her family’s private conversation. It would be like a stranger sitting in when my family is talking about moving again, and I’m all angry and my parents are all defensive. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Joannie talk me inside.
“Tea’s ready,” Candy announces a few minutes later, without making a move to pour it. Nanny can’t do it and Jim’s mother is busy, so Davy gets up.
“So, tell me more about Jim,” Davy says, pouring. “I know what you told me on the phone, about the concussion and ribs. Is there anything else?”
“That’s enough, don’t you think?” says his mom.
“Those are big rocks out at Cape Spear. We used to climb on them ourselves, remember, Ma, when we came here when we were kids? It’s a nasty spot. What the hell was a little girl doing out there?”
“People don’t think, you knows that, Davy. It was a sunny day, the sea was calm, I suppose. Am I right, Cheryl?” I nod, glad that she’s actually including me. “Lots of people from the mainland think it’s all so charming, they just don’t know the dangers, like we do.”
Everyone’s head turns slightly toward Nanny, whose tea cup is rattling. Considering I’m one of those ignorant mainlanders, I’m glad they aren’t staring at me.
“And Jim just went right to it, to save that girl?” Davy asks again, shaking his head. It bugs me that he’s having such a hard time fathoming how Jim could be so brave.
“Not only that,” I say, “he got everyone organized, even the girl’s father. He got a line of men to hold the rope that he went down on. Of course, Boss helped, too.” At her name, Boss perks up from her spot in the corner.
“I’m dead impressed. Didn’t think that kid knew anything but those stones he collects. Have you seen his room, Ma? I’m gonna feel like I’m sleeping in a cave or something tonight.”
“He’s got an idea of being a geologist, you knows that, Davy. He’s wanted that since he was a boy. And I know he’s got his heart set on getting out to Nova Scotia this summer, to look for fossils. I tell you, I’m all for it. If there’s one thing we’ve got here, it’s rocks. At least then he can stay home, not like the rest of youse.”
“Ma, not again, please. You know why we all left. If we hadn’t gone, you think you’d have had the money for three plane tickets to get here, especially last-minute like?”
Jim’s mother looks uncomfortable when Davy mentions money, her mouth going hard, like she’s trying not to let some harsh words fly. Maybe I should make an excuse to go. But I’m drawn to the grey spot on the sweater that she’s knitting. It’s fascinating to watch it take shape, Right now it’s an oval, rising up over the waves that have ended and changed into a lighter blue sky.
“If Jim would come out, too, he wouldn’t have to be a geologist anyway,” Davy continues. “He could make more money in a summer in Alberta than ten years’ rock collecting here, I bet.”
“Maybe it isn’t all about the money, Davy,” replies his mom quickly. We all go quiet again, listening to the clicking of the needles and the rattling of Nanny’s cup. Every now and then, Candy sighs into the mix. I hold my breath, not wanting to remind anyone that I’m here.
“These girls haven’t had their whole family around them since they were four and eleven. How’s that supposed to be good for them?” Jim’s mom finally asks in a much softer voice. If she actually starts to cry, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Davy doesn’t answer her question. His sisters are oddly quiet, even Joannie has stopped bubbling beside him. It occurs to me that, if she hasn’t seen her father since she was four, she probably has no real memory of him. She’d just know him from pictures, almost like a stranger. No one has mentioned Jim’s father directly, but this whole conversation seems to be about him. Jim said he’s up in the oil sands, in northern Alberta. It can’t be impossible to get home from there. There must be more to the story, probably things that can’t be said aloud, especially in front of me.
I wonder how I’d feel about my dad if he had just gone off to do his research on his own, without bringing me and my mom along. If we only got the occasional phone call or postcard from new places. I don’t suppose that would’ve been any better.
“Some nice partridge berry cake in the fridge, Candy, my love. Go on and cut some up for us. I thinks we all need something sweet right now.”
“Okay, Nanny,” Candy replies, her voice almost civilized, which surprises me.
The knitted grey shape is now splitting in two. Jim’s mother focuses on her knitting intently, as if it’s the one thing keeping her steady right now. Then suddenly, she throws it down, jumps up and rushes over to Davy, throwing her arms around him, like she’s just noticed he’s here all over again. She rests her chin on his head and strokes his short hair, her eyes shut tight. A small tear, thin as a hair, escapes the corner of her eyes.
“Davy, Davy,” she says. “It’s so good to see you. I just wishes you was all here. All of you.”
“I know, Ma, I know,” says Davy, patting his mom’s back.
I don’t know where to look while all this is happening. Nanny and Joannie are staring at their laps, as if they want to give Davy and his mom some privacy. I’ve never seen a mother hug her grown son so forcefully. And the odd thing is that Davy, when I peek at him, doesn’t seem to be minding it. He looks relieved, and is squeezing his mother back softly. It makes me feel kind of sad and happy all at once.
Candy returns with the cake, all cut up on a plate. I expect her to roll her eyes at the scene, but she doesn’t. She’s squeezing her eyes tightly, as though she’s holding something in.
Jim’s mom sits back down and resumes knitting, even faster now, row after row, giving shape to a picture that must be so imprinted on her mind, she doesn’t even have to look to see if she’s got it right.
“Can I go up now, do you think?” Davy asks. “To see Jimmy.”
“No, son. It’s too late. We’ll all go in the morning, right, Nanny?” Nanny nods. I wonder if the “we” includes me. Jim’s mother seems to desperately want her family around her, and I’m not family, even though she swept me right inside tonight, with no hesitation. Maybe witnessing all these sentimental moments has made me more likely to be included.
“Hey, I’m not tired at all. It’s only six o’clock for me. Who’s up to walking down to George with me? You, Candy?”
Candy’s whole face brightens.
“Can I, Ma?”
“Oh, all right, but you keep an eye on
her, Davy. She’s underage, remember that.”
“What about you, Cheryl?” Davy looks over, startling me. I thought he had forgotten I was here. “Game?”
Candy and Joannie both glare at me. Neither of them wants me to go along, I can tell, but for different reasons.
“No, it’s okay, thanks. I think I better go home now anyway. It was nice to meet you all. Thanks for the tea, Nanny. And the cake.”
“Never you mind, Cheryl. You come over any time you likes, you knows that,” Nanny says. “Jim’s that fond of that girl,” Nanny says to Davy beside her. I blush again.
“Will you come back tomorrow? She can, can’t she, Mom?” Joannie says, jumping up.
“Of course, honey. See you soon then, Cheryl,” says Jim’s mom. I can’t tell by her voice if she regrets that I was here tonight or not. She stops knitting for just a second, pulling her work straight under her, to reveal that what she’s knit are two whale fins, sticking out, upside down, in the water.
It figures that a mainlander would take forever to recognize them.
•
MY PARENTS ARE huddled around the laptop. My dad will do a lot of his research online, scouting out places to “visit” and researching what resources are available to all the poor people who are losing their way of life. He told me that, in his book, he’s going to argue that technology has helped people cope with change by making them feel less isolated. He said there’s a chat room for everything today. Miners losing their jobs in the Gaspé can contact miners as far away as Siberia and find they have lots in common. Farmers on the prairies facing drought or insects can connect with farmers in Africa experiencing the same challenges.
You’d almost think those continental plates had shifted together again.
When I peek over their shoulders, I see travel information: flights to Montreal in August.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just checking out flights home,” my mom says.
“Does that mean you’ve decided to leave for sure?”
“No, but it’s still a possibility. I want to see what’s available, just in case, honey.”
Part of me is surprised. I thought that the excitement of today, with all that magenta and burnt orange, might have changed her mind. But her hands are as swollen as ever, maybe more from all those hours in the spray.
My parents just assume that I’ll go, too. That’s the usual pattern. But who could blame them this time?
•
MARILYN MANSON IS singing about wanting to be outside of society. In Saskatchewan, this song was my mantra. I sang it all the time. I especially loved the part about wanting to be outside of absolutely everything. That was me, feeling like my life was just waiting for me somewhere else. It suited my dark clothes and scary persona, designed to keep everyone away. I told myself that was how it was going to be anyway. If there’s no way inside, you might as well put yourself on the outside—on purpose. And pretend that’s where you wanted to be in the first place.
But everything is different here. Now, the lyrics are just confusing.
Chapter Nine
Bird Rock
THE HOUSE IS DEAD quiet when I wake up, and it takes me a minute to remember that my parents are off to the bird sanctuary at Cape St. Mary’s. They had to leave really early because it’s quite far, on the other side of the Avalon. I’ve seen pictures of the giant bird rock. It does look incredible, rising straight up out of the sea like a tower, every square inch given over to seabirds.
They didn’t try to talk me into coming today. I suppose they’ve given up on trying to convert me, now that my mom and I might be leaving. Maybe we’ll be birds soon ourselves, taking off from this giant rock, flying over the tumbling water.
Jim’s family piles into the car at about ten. I’m pretty sure they’re going to get Jim. I wish I could go with them, but there wouldn’t be room for me. Even Joannie and Nanny are hanging back. Joannie is standing with her arms folded across her chest on the sidewalk, staring angrily at the tail lights. She stays out there long after Nanny has gone back inside. I decide to step outside and join her.
“What’s up, Joannie?” I ask.
“They couldn’t take me,’cause they need to leave space for Jim, in case he comes home. It’s always me who gets left behind,’cause I’m the youngest. It’s not fair. They don’t even ask me, they just tell me.”
“Yeah, I know how that feels. I can hang out with you, if you want.” Joannie’s face lights up.
“Can we put up some welcome home decorations for Jim? My friend Shannon did that when her brother came back from the army. He was away in another country, where there’s a war going on. We made a banner that he really liked. It almost made him cry.”
“A banner, eh? I guess we could do that. Let’s see what we can find at my place.”
Joannie and I rummage through the drawers in the cabinet under the stairs and find a box of crayons, so old they’re all stubs. Robbie’s probably had these since he was a baby. We also find a package of “Happy Birthday” balloons, not exactly appropriate for the occasion, but they’ll have to do.
“Do you know if Nanny has any paper next door?” I ask. Joannie shrugs, so I grab a stack of my dad’s computer paper. He has a whole box of the old kind, all stuck together with holes in the side, perfect for a banner.
“Can we do it over at Nanny’s?” Joannie asks. “That way, we’ll be around if Jim comes home today.”
“Great idea.” I say, trying to sound excited for Joannie’s sake. It’s not that I’m not excited about seeing Jim, it’s just that I’m kind of worried about it, too. I know he must be wondering why I didn’t go visit him in the hospital. I just hope I get the chance to explain it properly, to make sure he understands how I felt like I couldn’t cut in on his family. I’d at least like him to know I tried.
We pop next door and set up all our stuff on the living room floor. We work while Nanny watches her talk shows—making a colourful banner that reads, “Welcome Home, Jim—Our Hero.” Joannie has the idea to decorate it with things from the ocean, like rocks, shells, seaweed, fish, octopi, anchors, coral, and other treasures from the deep.
“This way he won’t just think of the bad parts when he thinks about the ocean,” Joannie says.
As we work, Joannie chats about her family, sharing details as they come to her. “Davy sneaked Candy into some of the bars on George Street last night. My mom’s mad and now Candy’s snobbier than ever. She has lots of boyfriends at home. My mom’s always mad about that, too. They’re all really ugly, but Candy thinks they’re cute. I’ve seen them do stuff I’m not supposed to see,” Joannie giggles. I don’t ask her to explain, but it’s not like I can’t guess. It’s probably stuff Jim and I would be doing if we had the chance.
At one point she says, “My mom cries a lot, at home. If she’s knitting, the needles squeak when they get wet.”
“Wow, Joannie. That’s really sad. What’s she crying about?”
“Her boys,” Joannie replies, short and simple. I wonder if the boys include her husband. Joannie never talks about her dad.
“Jim said he’ll come home when he’s better, maybe for the rest of the summer. My mom made him promise yesterday.”
I don’t respond. All I can think about is how much I don’t want that to happen.
“Candy’s mean to me,” Joannie says suddenly, a few minutes later. “She treats me like her slave.”
“I saw that with the grocery bags yesterday. What was that about?”
“She said I could have the window seat if I’d let her boss me around for two whole days when we got here. I really wanted to see the clouds and she bosses me around all the time anyway, so I didn’t see the difference.”
Nanny tells us where to find some tape, and we hang up the banner across the archway in the hall. It’ll be right in Jim’s face when he comes in. I wonder how he’ll feel about being called a hero. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to boast, not even about something as
big as this.
“Jim was my best friend at home,” Joannie says as we work. “Always teaching me things and taking me places.”
Joannie is quiet for a few minutes, a lonely look on her face. Then we start blowing up the balloons.
“Hey, why don’t you come home with Jim? I could show you around. You’d love it. There’s a swimming hole in a river. We have a rope that you swing out on to jump into the water. And maybe you’ll see some moose, there’s lots of those around.”
“Sounds good, Joannie. Maybe. You never know.” There’s no way I’m going to tell her we might be going back to Montreal. I can’t believe it myself. I’m trying not to think about it.
We rub the balloons on our hair, then stick them to the walls in the living room, the “Happy Birthday” side facing inward. Boss barks up at the balloons, like they’re alien creatures invading her space.
Every time she does it, Joannie cracks up. It’s nice to see her laughing. She looks just like Jim when she does, her mouth wide and mischievous.
•
JIM STEPS OUT of the car slowly, leaning on Davy. Joannie takes off, running into the circle of her family. When she hugs Jim, she does so lightly, not pressing too close to his chest, as if she’s been given careful instructions.
“Cheryl’s here!” Joannie declares, coming back to the door to grab my hand.
I can feel Jim’s eyes on me instantly, locking with my own. The entire street is silent, except for the sound of my thumping heart.
“Told you she’d be here, Jimmy-boy,” Davy says, play-punching his brother lightly on the arm.
“Shut up, Davy,” Jim says. He takes a few steps in my direction, and I move toward him, dropping Joannie’s hand and meeting him halfway.
“Hey, Cheryl,” he says. The bruise on his face is still dark, covering his entire right cheek and eye with a patch of navy. It makes him look tough, like he’s been in a brawl.
Standing this close to him, the day at Cape Spear comes rushing back, like a wave. I see Jim clinging to the rope down on the rocks, the wave rolling in. Then, in the ambulance, wrapped up like a sausage in those blankets. I remember bending close to hear his raspy breath and smelling the seaweedy salt water on his skin.