by Lori Weber
My parents don’t do any sightseeing either, because my mom’s hands are too sore. She can’t get another cortisone shot so soon, so she just takes a lot of painkillers and spends most of the day in bed.
Heavy rain beats down all morning on Thursday, a week to the day that Jim jumped into the ocean. It is constant and steady, barely altering its rhythm. The dark wood stain on my bedroom floor grows blacker from the continual drip trickling down from the window ledge. We keep every light in the house shining, even though my mom says that’s an environmental faux pas, just to remind ourselves that it is actually daytime.
My dad has gone up to his new office again. He didn’t dare ask me to come, but he also doesn’t want my mom home alone, in case she needs something she can’t get herself.
I bring her several cups of tea. Each time I approach her, I expect her to tell me that we’re definitely leaving, but I guess she’s still not decided, in spite of everything. I know my mom. She won’t speak until she’s sure. She never waffles, and she’s always steadfast.
Through all our moves, she’s never complained once, except to occasionally point out that she missed having a garden of her own. There wasn’t much point in planting bulbs in the fall, if you were going to be leaving pretty soon after spring. In Osoyoos, where spring comes early, she planted large pots of tulips on our apartment balcony. But even those she had to leave behind when we headed for Saskatchewan. She wasn’t upset, though. She said the flowers would be her legacy to the new people. Who could object to having that great splash of red and yellow to look at?
At lunch, when I bring my mom a bowl of hot soup, I find her rifling through a box of her quilting supplies. Or trying to. I can tell the movement is hurting her hands. I’m thinking of asking if she wants some help, when she shuts the box and gets back into bed, thanking me for the soup.
•
DAVY LEAVES LATE that afternoon. I watch him from my bedroom window, swinging his bulging duffle bag onto the sidewalk. Joannie tries to lift it, then gives up and drags it towards Nanny’s car. Davy says goodbye to Candy, play-punching her on the cheek, the same as when he said hello. She looks like she wants to follow him and fly away to a new life, if only her mother weren’t holding her back.
Then Davy picks up Nanny, squeezing her tightly.
Jim is nowhere in sight. He must still be holed up in his room, like some kind of burrowing animal. If he were there, I might go down and test the waters, but there’s not much point if he isn’t. It’s not like Davy and I ever bonded. And he seemed as thrilled about my father’s book as Jim did. I’m better off up here.
“You’ll miss your flight, son,” his mom calls from the car. I guess she’s saving her goodbyes for the airport, when she can have Davy to herself.
Davy turns and gives everyone a final wave with his big hand, sweeping it through the air like the windshield wiper of an eighteen-wheeler.
Nanny stands on the sidewalk, waving as the car pulls away. She stays like that long after the car has vanished, until Candy comes outside. “For God’s sake, Nanny, you’re waving at nothing. They turned the corner an hour ago.” That seems to bring Nanny back to life, because she turns and goes in.
I lie on my bed and look around at my room. My eyes fix on my Japanese fans, at the silent painted women. My mom once told me they are geishas, whose role is to make men happy, however they can. All their lives they train to learn how to please men, to make them feel like the centre of the universe. That’s really pathetic. I can’t see myself ever wanting to be that way, all silent and submissive, swallowing my opinions. My mom’s not that way, but she does know how to support my father and make him feel important. I could’ve done a better job of that with Jim. I guess I didn’t realize just how much going to Horton meant to him. I thought it was just a little rock-hunting trip, but it’s way more than that. I just ended up making him feel like his rocks weren’t important. I guess it was sort of like saying his life wasn’t that important.
After supper, when the rain has finally stopped, Joannie comes over with Boss and asks me to walk with them. We’ve done it a couple of times since the day I went over to Jim’s, the day I screwed everything up. Each time, she fills me in on Jim. Then she tries to talk me into coming over the next day.
“I kept figuring you were gonna show up today, Cheryl,” Joannie says, as we head down Nunnery Hill.
“Yeah, well, I had to look after my mom again, so I couldn’t,” I respond, glad for the excuse. If Jim is encouraging his little sister to invite me, she doesn’t let on.
Boss keeps tugging and pulling, leading us down to the bottom of the hill. It’s like the ocean is drawing her in, until we are smack up against the wooden posts of the pier along the harbour. The water is pitch-black, rolling in against the boats, making them rock. The smell of fish wafts around us on a pretty strong breeze. We tie Boss up to one of the posts and sit on a block of wet wood between two fishing vessels, our feet dangling over the edge.
I take a quick look around the pier, like I do every time, to see if the goon squad is in sight. Luckily, it’s all clear.
“So, how was Jim today?” I ask finally. “Did he come out of his room?”
“Nope. Davy had to go up to his room to say goodbye to him. Nobody knows what they talked about, but Davy was up there for almost an hour. Davy said the reason Jim is sulking has something to do with rocks, because he can’t go fossil hunting this summer. Davy said he blasts through rock all the time. If Jim wants, he can send him home a whole trunk-full.”
“Did Jim laugh?”
Joannie shrugs. She is kicking her feet high above the water, making her whole body swing.
“Careful, Joannie. You don’t want to end up in the water.”
“If Jim were here, he could save me.”
“Yeah, but he’s not here. I am. And I couldn’t pull you out, so calm down.”
Joannie moves closer and leans her head against me. Out in the water, something splashes, too dark for us to see.
“Might be a whale,” says Joannie after the sound has died.
“How can you tell?”
“By the sound. Same sound they make out at Mary’s Hill.”
“But a whale wouldn’t be in the harbour, would it?”
“It might be trapped,” says Joannie.
We listen for a while, waiting for another big splash, but nothing happens.
“Maybe it found its way out again,” says Joannie. “They use sound, to find their way. Their noise bounces off the edges and tells them where they are. Jim told me that.”
“Cool. I’ll have to try that sometime, if I’m ever lost.”
Joannie laughs. The water splashes again, further out toward the Narrows.
“It’s probably right about there by now,” she says, pointing out toward the open water. The dark water and dusky sky blend together so perfectly it’s like the world has turned upside down. Only the occasional star that manages to glitter through the clouds tells us where up is.
“You mean near the Narrows?” I ask.
“The what?”
“Narrows. Didn’t you know that’s what the opening to the harbour is called?”
Joannie shakes her head, her legs still swinging, hitting the wooden boards so hard I imagine her foot bones cracking. Then, suddenly, she turns completely still and sighs heavily, taking in a deep breath.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she blurts out. “My mom just told us. Candy’s throwing a fit, and I don’t wanna go either, but Mom says we’ve been here a week and we can’t overstay our welcome.”
“Oh, wow. That’s a surprise.” Somehow, I hadn’t even thought about Joannie leaving. It seems like she’s always been here, she’s so much a part of things. I remember how connected I felt at Nanny’s when we had Jim’s homecoming meal, eating the seal sausage. It made me feel part of something bigger than myself. Now, it’s like everything is coming apart.
“What about Jim? Is he going too?”
“He promised he
would, but now he says he can’t. It’s too close to school starting and everything.”
I’m surprised by how relieved that makes me feel.
“Has he shown you his rocks yet?”
At that question, Joannie hangs her head.
Clearly, he hasn’t. Next thing I know, Joannie is crying.
“What’s wrong, Joannie? Is it because you’re leaving?” She shakes her head fiercely.
“He said his rocks were stupid, but I don’t think they are.”
“Neither does he, Joannie.”
“Why would he say that then?”
“It was a phone call that upset him, not you.”
“Mom was so mad after Dad called once, she ripped up one of her sweaters.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. And she couldn’t put it back together. Mom says if just one stitch is broken or dropped, the whole sweater is ruined.”
I think of those mice again, the ones I unearthed back in Murdochville. I ran to my mother right away, without any hesitation. I wanted her to help me figure out what to do with them. They were like eight little wiggling pink balls, with slits for eyes.
If my mother were here now, I might turn to her the same way and ask her what I should do for Joannie.
“Come on, we better get back,” I say. “Your mom will be worried.”
We’re walking toward the far end of the pier when I see one of the girls from the goon squad, the look-alike one. I brace myself. The last thing Joannie needs to hear right now is someone making fun of Jim, her all-time hero. Only he hasn’t been too heroic with her lately. Otherwise, he’d have shown her his rocks, in spite of Horton.
I automatically look around for the rest of her gang, my arms tightening around Joannie, but the girl seems to be alone.
“Hey, you’re Jim’s friend,” she says, coming over. I wait for her to say something nasty or tough, but she doesn’t. For once, that sneering look is gone from her face.
“You know Jim?” Joannie says. I hold my breath.
“It’s okay, Joannie. Never mind,” I say, steering her away.
“He’s my brother,” Joannie blurts out.
“Hey, it was pretty cool—what he did. I mean, the rescue and all that.”
I don’t know why she’s saying all this. I’m afraid she’s just setting up for some vicious punchline, like the one I got the other day. But when I look back at her, she’s smiling, like she’s going out of her way to be nice to Joannie.
“Yeah, well, I better get her back,” I say. “See ya.”
She nods and heads off, probably to meet her clan. Which is too bad. It’s like she was a completely different person alone, away from them. She kind of seemed like someone I might get along with, if I had the chance.
•
MY PARENTS JOIN me outside the next day to say goodbye to Joannie and her family.
It’s a warm, bright summer’s day, one of the nicest since we got here, which doesn’t seem fair since everyone looks so miserable. My dad helps carry bags to the taxi and lift them into the trunk. He keeps saying how bad he feels that they called a cab. If he’d known, he would have driven them. I watch to see how Jim’s mom will react. If she’s sore at him, she doesn’t let on. Maybe, in the end, she’d be the last person to argue that something in her life hasn’t died, or at least changed. She never did get to see all her kids together before going home.
My mom and Jim’s mom hug each other tightly. When they pull apart, they look deeply into each other’s eyes and nod, as if they are sharing a secret. I don’t really get it, but I think it must have something to do with the fact that they’re both mothers. It’s like my mother can understand all the worrying Jim’s mother has done lately, even though she’s never almost lost a kid to the ocean.
Jim’s mom gives me a warm goodbye, too, drawing me close and tapping my back. “Just a little something,” she says, pulling a plastic bag out of her bag and handing it to me. “For being a good friend to Jim.”
Inside, I find the whale sweater. I don’t know what to say. It’s the first gift I’ve gotten from anyone outside my family in years. I thank her, and she surprises me by hugging me again. “Whales are beautiful things,” she whispers in my ear.
I turn to Jim. He’s here, too, standing up pretty straight, leaning against the side of the house. He watches me put the sweater on, and I look for some kind of reaction on his face, some sign that he’s feeling better. But there’s nothing—his face is pretty blank, as blank as it was when I last saw him. I’m thinking of going over to him when he vanishes inside his mother’s arms. She holds on to him for a long time, long after Candy is already sitting in the cab, the headphones to her MP3 player plugged into her ears. She probably can’t hear Jim say “Don’t worry” over and over again.
His mom’s eyes are red when she pulls away, and Jim barely looks up. Joannie, who has been surprisingly quiet so far, runs up to me and wraps her arms around my waist. She buries her head against my belly so hard I think she’ll leave an imprint in my skin, even through the thick wool sweater.
“Promise you’ll come visit me sometime, Cheryl,” she says.
I’ve never promised anyone such a thing before. I’ve never had a mushy goodbye. What if I can’t keep the promise, on account of us leaving, or of Jim never speaking to me again? But when I look down at Joannie and see how eagerly she is waiting for the words, I know I can’t let her down.
“I promise, Joannie, but I don’t know when, okay?” Joannie squeezes my hand, sending a warm feeling through me. I wonder if the past few years would have been easier if I’d had a younger sister to look out for.
I know my mom wanted to have more kids. Instead, she ended up with just me, and I’m probably not the daughter she was hoping for. I feel a little stab, thinking that her rheumatism might have something to do with me, and the way I am. As if all the affection she hasn’t been able to share for the last couple of years has filled her up from the inside, swelling her joints.
Then Joannie lets go and runs over to throw her arms around Jim. I watch carefully to see if his face registers pain when she squeezes his ribs. It doesn’t, but when she pulls away and heads for the taxi, Jim’s unshaven face falls again, like his chin is being pulled to the ground.
Without looking up, he turns and walks into the house. Everyone except for Nanny is now in the taxi. My parents have gone inside. I feel like a total idiot all of a sudden, standing out there in the summer heat with a whale sweater on.
I thought Jim would speak to me at least.
Before I know it, I’m following him inside. He’s at the bottom of the stairs, starting to climb, when I catch up to him.
“Jim?” He turns slowly.
“Yeah?”
“Why are you ignoring me?”
“I’m not.”
“Well, what do you call it?”
“Look, I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Like your trip Horton and stuff. I know, you told me, remember?”
“Yeah, and I remember that you didn’t seem to care that much.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Look, I know how it is. You may think you care, but you’ll never really be able to understand,’cause of how you live and everything.”
“How I live?”
“Yeah, you know. Travelling around the whole country, moving from place to place so easily, and it’s all like nothing for you. It probably seems dumb to you, that someone could be bummed out about missing a trip to a place called Horton. You know, like you said, ‘That rock place.’”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You didn’t mean it, but it comes out to the same thing,” Jim says. “I’m just a stupid rock geek, sulking over missing out on a little trip to Nova Scotia. What’s the big deal, right? You just can’t understand someone who lives like me, kind of scared that I might not be able to get where I want to go, to become what I want to become. And anyways, it just a
ll fits in so perfectly with your dad’s research, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“The way I can’t even manage a trip to find rocks. Like, what else can happen to hold me back? Your dad couldn’t have picked a more perfect person to live beside.”
“Yeah, and neither could you. I’m not exactly little Miss Sunshine, or haven’t you noticed?”
“It doesn’t matter, Cheryl. You’re just mad’cause you’re missing an underground shopping mall. I’m missing way more than that.”
That blow whacks me in the chest. It’s way more than that that I’m missing. I thought Jim understood. I thought we understood each other. We just stand there, his right foot frozen on the bottom step, his back half-turned away from me. The only thing that shatters the silence is the sound of Nanny shuffling down the hall. I turn and sweep past her, but she doesn’t even see me. She is looking down at her feet, concentrating on the sound they’re making, as if to distract herself from the fact that everyone is now gone.
•
NONE OF US GOES anywhere for the rest of the day. My dad spends hours on the computer, researching fishing villages affected by the cod moratorium. The list is pretty long, so he’s figuring out which towns he can visit and which ones he’ll have to access in other ways, like over the Internet. My mom’s wrapped in a blanket on the sofa behind him, calling out her opinions. I’ve just come down to get some more food to take upstairs, but I can hear them loud and clear.
“The government has given the university some grant money to boost access to computers in some of the outports,” I hear my dad say. “Anthropology wasn’t supposed to be that involved in the project, but my research might be changing that.”
“That’s terrific, honey,” my mom says.
“Yeah, it is. It’ll mean more people in remote areas will be online. That’ll really benefit those communities.”
This conversation feels staged to me, as though they rehearsed it and are now delivering some Academy Award-winning performance, carefully calculated to make my father’s research look wonderful. Like he’s doing it for Newfoundland and not for himself. I should tell him that Jim’s family is already online, so they don’t need his help. But then he might want to target them again, in case he hasn’t gotten enough out of them.