Cracked Pots

by Heather Tucker

  “Well, I knew I’d find you dressed in a dog’s breakfast. Besides, you’ll be away over the holidays.”

  I hug the bag on my lap, knowing Jennah has chosen something spectacular for me. “You have your Christmas shopping all done, don’t you?”

  “Half at most. Picked that up on the club’s annual shopping spree in New York. You can give yourself a splash and a swipe at the diner and try it on.”

  “I can’t go to school in Fifth Avenue shit.”

  “You’ll feel like a hip co-ed. Trust me.”

  My new underpants and bra are navy with tiny white stars. The jeans are black and tight. A steel-gray, buttery leather jacket tops a T-shirt printed with Georgia O’Keeffe’s Red Canna. I don’t need a mirror to see Ari Joy Zajac walking across campus. I tug on my red boots, braid my hair over my shoulder, and exit the ladies’ room. I didn’t cry at Mum curled on a stretcher but my lip trembles now. “Thank you, Jen. I love every last thread.”

  I cling to her until she says, “Tea’s getting cold.”

  “I have some stuff to tell you.” Food arrives and Jennah’s choices suit me like these clothes. I tell her about Dalhousie. I tell her I want to head east and I tell her the hardest thing of all. “When I moved to crapdom, the Dick said he’d kill the J’s, one by one, if I crossed him. His plan for you is to beat you to death. Set Wilf up to take the fall. Then he’ll move into your house and wreck all your kids.”

  “As if that pig could pull anything over on this fox.” She tops up our tea from a little stainless pot. “This tidbit is going straight to Wilf. My man may be a big gorilla but he’s brilliant at business.”

  “This is brawn not business. What could Wilf do?”

  She pushes cantaloupe in my direction. “Well, for starters, he’ll take this threat to one of his judge friends, have it recorded and notarized, and let Irwin know it. What’d be the point of offing me if all pointed back to him? And I’ll say that I don’t feel safe and insist Wilf hide us for a time in one of those oceanfront places on Long Island. I’d move there in half a heartbeat.”

  “That takes care of you. What about Jory?”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “She’s gone and moved herself to a commune. Hooked up with some back-to-nature preacher.”

  “Where? When?”

  “August. Um, Killalee? Killaloe? It’s completely off the grid. Jillianne is living incognito as Anne Trembley. June’s MIA. Jacquie’s in Poland, so go, go, go, sis.” She jams toast, cuts it, handing me the big half. “Does this deal come with residence?”

  “Yes, but Jake—”

  “Don’t you ‘but Jake’ me. He can be your boyfriend but sneak him into your dorm and hang a sock on your door like regular kids do. Don’t set up house yet. Please, Ari. You’ve had enough of it. I was eighteen when I married that jerk Roland. Wish I’d gone to school. I was smart.”

  “What would you’ve studied?”

  “I’d have made a damn good lawyer.”

  “Then do it. You’re only thirty. You’d be ahead of every woman in the class because you’ve already got the messy baby stuff done.” I finish off the fruit, then the cheese, realizing I could eat more. “And by the time your delightful D’s start messing up, you’ll be in a position to get them off.”

  “Not going to happen.” She punctuates with her fork. “Ever.”

  When you’re charting your own course, taking steps feels different. I sign in at school, forgoing the overused sick mum excuse to cite cramps as the reason for my half-day absence. I schedule a makeup test in math and beg for an extension in biology. I map out each subject’s assignments and tests. I want a transcript where people that matter won’t think I’m dirt stupid.

  You’re clay, not dirt.

  Not according to my report cards.

  In grade eight, I was top mark at Oakridge. Since moving to crapdom, my grades have roller-coastered from nineties to thirties, up and down, down and up.

  In English, Ellis returns my haiku. I shake my head. “Never would’ve thought you one to give a mercy A.”

  “You had me at ‘Melon collie girl.’”

  “You, sir, are testing my faith in the honesty of painted turtles. But I’ll take it. I really want to get my marks up.”

  “And yet, Mina said you were absent from art this morning.”

  “Had to take Mum to hospital. The doctor said her kidneys are shutting down.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “She’s such a disgrace. I feel like pond scum hauling her into emerg.”

  “It’s her shame, not yours.”

  “Come on, sir. When a bird shits on your head, it flies off without a thought and you’re left with a hot pile sliding down your hair.”

  “One bonus mark for that analogy.”

  “Appreciated.”

  “Anything we can do to help?”

  “Are you free to meet me at Sabina’s tomorrow night?”

  “Could be. What’s up?”

  I check that no listeners are near. “I’ve a solid way to get Mikey and me out of crapdom.”

  “When?”

  “Saturday. Execution and aftermath needs fine-tuning.”

  “Are you safe going home today?”

  “We’re fine.” I stand tall in my new clothes, over-ready to go confidently in the direction of my dreams. “Um, will you tell Dr. Ventner that my mum really is sick and I do care about her class?”

  “Trouble getting an extension?”

  “She gave one but it had a squandering-my-potential smack to it. Biology is the only science class where I haven’t felt out of my element.”

  * * *

  At the library, Mikey does his homework at a cubby while Ralph, Jarvis’s math genius, gets me caught up on worksheets. He gives me a fresh stack. “Now, do the same ones again. It’ll consolidate the theory.”

  I give him five bucks for the two hours. “You free tomorrow?”

  “Not free. Same time, same price?”

  “Deal.”

  I pass the table where Nat and I did projects. I’m ready for a new library, Jasper.

  Mikey packs up and zips his sweater. “Is Todd home yet?”

  “He’s working until seven.”

  “Can I take you for grilled cheese at Woolworths?”

  “You’ve got yourself a date.”

  We sit at the counter, swivelling on chrome stools. Mikey chitters, telling me that seahorses suck in food like a vacuum and dragonflies snatch their dinner and eat on the fly. “Erika’s dad saw a dragonfly fossil with a two-foot wingspan. It lived millions of years ago. Do you think there were giant mosquitos, too?”

  I nod while sucking up the dregs of my chocolate milk, sweetly imagining Mikey’s evolution when the Dick becomes extinct. “Let’s go, bro.”

  Snake steps out the same minute we arrive at crapdom. He’s dressed in a sharp black suit, black shirt, and a pin-striped tie. He takes in my new gear. “Hey, cupcake. Don’t we make a pair? How’s your mother?” “Mother” comes out as “mudder” and it suits her.

  “They’re running tests.”

  “Good. Good. I’m around if you need anything.” He leans into my ear. “And O’Toole’s workin’ another case.”

  “Pardon?”

  He tips his fedora and winks.

  No. No. No. I need him here for the bust.

  The smell of Lysol hits like a slap. As I turn, it soaks in that there are zero boxes in the hall. The stack between the dining room and living room are gone. The pile beside the TV, gone; where the laundry is usually mounded is a floral slipcover. Oh, no, no, no.

  A woman shaped like an egg walks down the hall on the shortest legs and tiniest feet I’ve ever seen. “Come on, Shirley. That’s it for today.”

  Another woman desc
ends the stairs, slightly younger and taller but without question related. Behind her, the Dick is carrying two hefty bags. “Oh, Hariet, meet Gladys and Shirley. They was just making things nice for when your mum gets home. Come on, ladies. I’ll give ya a lift.”

  They giggle, all the three of them giggle, as they leave. I hurry to the kitchen. As much as shit can sparkle, it does. The porch is empty, except for one of the patio sets from the backyard, arranged like regular humans live here. Mikey sneaks up behind, whispering, “Ari, what’s happening?”

  I nip to the garage and peek through the window. The goods are gone. In the basement, Mikey’s fort is empty. Emerging from the cellar, I see Cunt’s cage draped with a sheer piece of aqua cloth; it’s the skirt of a party dress Len bought for Mum. What do we do now, Jasper?

  Traffic noise from the street pours in with the opening of the door. Todd says, “Holy Hannibal. We’ve got a couch?”

  Mikey says, “We’ve been cleaned out, Todd.” His scared hand tugs at me. “It’s good they’re gone, right?”

  I pull away. Kick the chair across the linoleum, roar as I knock a vase of plastic tulips off the hall table, stomp up the stairs, and brood in my corner.

  Todd comes up. “Ari? What’s wrong?”

  “All that shit was going to trap the Dick. Why’d they take everything?”

  “Must’ve thought their cover was blown. Before I went to work, Snake was all in Ronnie’s face. He’d seen her talking to some cop. Next thing I know, Snake’s on the phone. Broads in aprons show up and start cleaning while stuff goes out the back.” Todd checks the hall. “Under all the sardines and Barbie Dolls was some serious shit.”

  “Where’d they take everything?”

  “Cross border I’d guess.”

  Mikey quiet-steps in, puff-eyed and red-nosed, with a mug for me.

  “I don’t want any fucking tea!”

  He whispers, “I’ll make him cyanide coffee for you. I could. I really would—”

  “Cheer up. They’re gone and they ain’t coming back.” Todd crouches, something that’s not easy for him to do. “Listen, stay outta Pop’s reach. Seems housing them goods was part of a payback on what he owes. And that’s gone.”

  “What was with the cleaning fairies?”

  “Wiping out fingerprints, my guess.”

  “How’d you know all this?”

  “Perry Mason, but not so much the show. I watch TV while they’re playing poker. The more they knock back the booze, the more they see an empty chair.”

  “Fingerprints I get, but slipcovers?”

  “Must’ve found it in the closet. My mom used to love that thing.”

  “That man goes through a lot of mothers, doesn’t he?”

  Todd says, “Motherfucker, numero uno.”

  “If Snake’s gone, does that mean this guy Tino is, too?”

  “Near as I can tell they’re two different operations. Snake is in ‘merchandising’ and Tino’s a money man.”

  “Like a loan shark?”

  “Big fish.”

  “Oh.”

  Ten p.m., Mikey is deep asleep, having unwound into the emptied house. Downstairs, Todd is watching It Takes a Thief. I sling my pack over a shoulder. “I’m going to the hospital to see Mum. I’ll be back in time to take Mikey to school.”

  “Right.”

  A black sedan is parked five doors down. I resist kicking the tires and telling the guys inside that they’re too slow, too late, and are bloody pathetic detectives. My walk turns to a jog, to a run, ending with a sprint through the Riverboat to the nest. I triple-lock the door. I can’t take any more, Jasper. Tell me I can get on the train and go. Please.

  Put the kettle on and let’s just try to get caught up.

  I hang up my new coat, the scent of it reminding me of Aaron’s leather jacket. I put on Len’s PJ bottoms and flannel shirt. Cohen’s Songs from a Room spins while I organize work into piles. Jacquie, the smartest Appleton, left a box for me, an academic survival kit. I dig through it for an essay. A note on the outline reads: “Remember different dates, same shit: revenge, power, money, love, greed, honour, valour, betrayal.” Pretty much sums up my life. I follow her precisely ordered template and my essay outline on the Tudors is completed before midnight.

  I lift the needle on the record player, setting it down again on “Bird on a Wire.” “She tried every friggin’ way to be free” is going to be written on our tombstone.

  No tombstone for us. We want to be thrown back into the ocean in eighty-three years.

  Keep me alive ’til I’m one hundred, Jasper, and I promise I’ll do that for you.

  I put extra care into my biology write-up, drawing the frog’s anatomy with the precision of an Audubon print. I’d take this at university if I could be assured of never having to pith another frog.

  My kin, pinned right between the eyes.

  It’s two a.m. and I survey the remaining piles. I pick up my math text, move to my comfy chair, opening it to this gem on the first page: “Algebra, from Arabic ‘al-jabr’ meaning ‘reunion of broken parts.’” I hear Uncle Iggy say, “Sleep, corka.” His strong hand reaches beyond absence, encouraging my head to his shoulder. “’Tis okay. All will be okay.”

  I descend to somewhere without dreams and surface to sky a shade lighter than black. It’s five a.m. I shower; detangle my hair into spirals; pick ladybug underwear, black T-shirt, my new jeans; and gather my completed assignments. My new jacket squeaks as I tug it on, the lock clicks, and a V of travelling geese honk in a silver sky.

  The Italian bakery is open and I nip in. Dom smiles like a gap-toothed marmot. “Bella, where have you been?”

  “You know, busy. I’d like six sausage rolls; um, make that eight. Can you wrap them by twos in four bags?”

  “Some pagnottini, no? It is”—he kisses his fingers—“magnifico.”

  “Sure, one in each bag.”

  In one bag he drops two. “You need two, bella.”

  “And two coffees. To go.”

  I juggle my load, while Jasper lists: Math work sheets, then study for test on Tuesday. Hamlet essay on revenge and justice. Lab write-up on water drop analysis. Book report on Le Petit Prince. Then, yippee, our art assignment. For art I have to draw ten distinct eyes on postcard-sized rectangles. They’ll be installed side by side in the hallway with my classmates’.

  Can you imagine what it’ll be like to study art at university?

  You’re asking me if I can imagine something?

  Well, then, imagine up another way out.

  The blue sedan is alone in the driveway and the house feels like an eviscerated animal. The Dick’s butt can be seen sticking out of the fridge door. He stands, scowling at me coming in at seven twenty a.m. “Where the fuck you been?”

  “Hospital.”

  He humphs and snatches the coffee from my hand like it was meant for him. “Pea-brained Newfie, ya forgot sugar.”

  “Mikey has extra practice. I’m taking him right from school.”

  “More practice the better. Am I right?”

  “You’re right.” I head upstairs thinking about how easy it would be to poison him.

  I set the other coffee on Todd’s nightstand and wiggle Mikey’s foot. “Go have a quick bath while the tub’s clean.”

  Mikey looks like he has parents who give a shit, with clean nails, groomed hair, milk in his thermos, and hand-me-downs from Jennah. On the walk to school he asks, “Is your mum gonna come out of hospital?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Will you live at the nest if she doesn’t?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can I live there with you? I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “When needed, I’ll stash you there, but we need a legit solution.”

  “Just sneak me to Huey and the Missus.”

 
“They’re government-approved fosterers. We can’t risk messing things up for them.”

  “Aunties M&N?”

  “They’re not allowed to have kids.”

  “Why?”

  “Law says they’re not suitable.”

  “And my mom and pop are?”

  “Yeah, go figure.” I pat down his cowlick. “Go have a worryless day.”

  I hand in assignments, ace a French quiz, and inform Mina that my window of opportunity for escape has been thwarted and she doesn’t need to come tonight.

  “Just because you don’t need help doesn’t mean I don’t need a dose of Sabina’s cooking. See you at six thirty.”

  I change for phys. ed., lockering up all my new clothes. Coach Palmer drags in a bag of volleyballs. You’d think I’d be piss happy, but ninety percent of this class remains cemented in their Ari-hate. Coach says, “Cassie, Kendra, on the court. Heads or tails.” Kendra calls tails and loses first pick.

  Cassie says, “Nora.” Kendra picks me. Cassie choses Barb. Kendra picks Wendy. Cassie says, “Tanya.”

  Kendra calls, “Stephanie.”

  Stephanie says, “Coach Palmer, I hurt my knee.” Gerry and Debbie have similar excuses as to why they don’t want to be on my side.

  Coach Palmer is about to blow her red-headed stack when Kendra says, “Cassie, you can have everyone else and we’ll still wipe the floor with you.”

  Palmer smiles and blows her whistle. Wendy is the kind of player who shares and is more than happy to set. Kendra is a rocket. I am pissed. And it turns out, eleven people on the other court is not very efficient. They’re left wondering what hit them. After class, Coach enters the change room, stands like Wonder Woman, words spitting like bullets: “Do not ever bring your petty grievances into my gym again. If you can’t conduct yourselves in a manner befitting the sports program at Jarvis, then do not set foot in my gym.” She snaps around. “Appleton. In my office. Now.”

  I follow her across the gym and into her miniscule office knowing I’m a two-thousand-word paper on the Mechanics of Movement in arrears. “I’ll have my essay on your desk Monday morning, I swear.”

  “Close the door.” I do and she dances like footballers do when they score a touchdown. “What in holy hell have you been doing?”