Cracked Pots

by Heather Tucker

  One of the cleaning fairies, Shirley, continues to come one, two, sometimes three times a week. I don’t care that she and the Dick are adulterating right under Mum’s nose because Shirley leaves the sink and toilet sparkling. O’Toole is nicely constricted by Snake and back with his wife, now pregnant with another hapless child.

  Every morning the nurse comes to clean up Mum, and wonder of wonders, Devil Girl is a Florence Frightengale. For two bucks a day, Ronnie insists Mum onto the toilet until she pees, doles out her two o’clock pills, and snaps open a vanilla shake for her. It’s the only constructive thing I’ve ever seen Ronnie do and it makes her kind of smiley.

  I’m caught up at school and actually getting that P = Q. In fact, Ari Joy Zajac is on the honour roll.

  I tuck in my nook with letters and books while Mikey places his pillow outside his tent. “Will I ever be able to come stay with you and Jake in Halifax?”

  “Lots. Jake says there’s a Murphy bed.”

  “The kind that folds into the wall?”

  “Yep.”

  “Could it ever snap me inside?”

  “No.”

  “I wouldn’t be scared to be trapped with you guys.” He mashes the pillow under his sunshine head. “Do I have to go to my mom’s for Christmas?”

  “You know that under all your mom’s messed-up shit, she really does think you’re special.”

  “I guess. But what if I get locked out and it’s snowing? Could I go to the nest?”

  “Bet if I asked, your mom would be happy for you to have a holiday with me.”

  “For real? Would you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can I bring her my present before we go?”

  “After school, Friday. We’ll catch the Saturday train.”

  He sighs deep. “We’re the luckiest in the world, aren’t we?”

  * * *

  I ace a pop quiz in math. Collect poetry threads in biology: light, energy, transformation, fuel . . . Dr. Ventner winks a smile returning my lab, one hundred percent, and my test, ninety-three percent. Definitely taking biology at Dalhousie.

  During my spare and lunch, I head out like Jennah with a list: pick up Ice Capades tickets for the Zajac clan; a brass compass at Taylor’s Antiques for Aaron; paintings from the framers—for Ellis and Mina, a Dali-esque turtle stack holding a wonky wonder-full world on their backs, and for Jake, a seahorse pair in a tangle of seagrass titled U of Us. I pick up my mail and rush to Checkers for the lunch special.

  I settle into a booth, opening letters while waiting. I read Jacquie’s first.

  Hey Sis: Miss you. Oh, this baby can’t come soon enough. I pee every two minutes. It’s another girl. I’m certain. What do you think of Leona for her name?

  I haven’t written much about the unrest here, but the turmoil and disquiet has rattled me down to the marrow; Franc, too. I asked Babcia if there was peace anywhere on this planet and she tapped her heart. That’s something, eh. The horror that she’s lived and her heart is a peaceful place. At Babcia’s request, I’ve rummaged through boxes, gathered pictures, and filled a steno with notes. She says they’re for you. A story ready for writing. I’ll bring them in the spring . . .

  My letter from Jake is plump.

  Ari: I open my eyes these mornings and as sleep dissolves, I see I’m waking to dreams. I hardly dare to believe this is happening. Just school, without the worry of kids. Don’t get me wrong, I love the nippers, but imagining time to discover how things work feels like new music. There are tons of gigs to be had in Halifax. I’ll make more than enough weekends to see us through. And no fishing for a spell. I really hate it. I know you know that but it’s something for me to say.

  To think that you’ll be coming in the fall. The place is small, but close to campus and not far from the shore. Duncan’s parents have bikes that are ours for the loan. If we give the flat a lick of paint, they won’t charge rent for the summer months. The kitchen needs a couple of shelves. Maybe over Christmas we could steal away for a day and you can tell me where you’d like them. The Missus and Mary have packed up boxes of wares . . .

  He’s as excited as a new bride.

  The universe is in a perfect spin.

  I finish my pie. I’d lick the plate if Riley Hollingsworth wasn’t at the lunch bar swivelling to catch a look every five seconds. I leave a two-dollar holiday tip.

  Riley spins on his counter stool as I pass. “Hey, Ari. You heading back?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I catch a ride?”

  “You promise it won’t land me with glue in my hair?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Is there a plot to torture me?”

  “I just dig your wheels and it’s snowing.”

  “Okay. But no laughing if I stall on a hill.”

  “I’ll show you a way back that avoids all hills.”

  “There’s no such route, Riley.”

  Mina, the principal, and the secretary are huddled like the Bermuda triangle when we pull into the parking lot. Mina’s colourlessness when she looks at me makes my pink cheeks blanch. “Ari, lock up. You need to come with me.”

  “Is my mum dead?”

  She encourages me toward her car. “No.”

  “Auntie Mary? Not Nia? Zodiac? Jacquie? Not Arielle?”

  She sits me in the front seat. It’s warm from the waiting.

  “Did something happen to Mikey?”

  “Mikey’s fine. Aaron’ll pick him up and take him to Sabina’s. Jake’s had an accident.”

  “What?”

  “He’s in hospital in Halifax.”

  “Oh . . . no—no, no. Take me to the train.”

  “Ellis is going to drive you.”

  “How?”

  “School’s out tomorrow. Classes can take care of themselves.”

  My shivering won’t stop. “Is he going to die?”

  “It’s not life-threatening, but it is serious. A cable snapped, injuring his hand and eye.”

  * * *

  Ellis pulls into a stop for coffee, returning with tea for me.

  “He’s hurt bad, isn’t he?”

  “Mary wanted to tell you, but I think the miles to process this is needed. He’ll likely lose vision in his left eye and . . . his right hand was severed.”

  “Severed? Can they sew it back on?”

  “It was lost, in the ocean.”

  “But we have a little apartment and bicycles and . . .” I pull my knees to my head. “I give up.”

  “Didn’t you tell me your Uncle Iggy lost both his legs and still danced his whole life?” My shivering starts again and Ellis unearths his sweater. “Tell me more about your uncle.”

  “He was a hero of three wars . . .”

  “Three? Korea?”

  “World War One, Two, and Applegeddon.”

  * * *

  Jake’s bandaged arm looks like a giant Q-tip across the hospital gown. Gauze half swallows his face; blue leaks out. I look to Huey. “Can I touch him?”

  “Come over to here and hold his hand.”

  I take it, careful not to mess up his IV. He says my name, muttering he’s sorry. I whisper in his ear, “I’m sorry you’re hurt but I’m not sorry I love you.”

  * * *

  Jake moans and I scurry off the middle-of-the-night chair-bed. “Jake? It’s Ari.”

  “Hand’s killing me.” He searches my face with underwater eyes. “Is it okay?”

  With the bandage so big, any doped-up person could believe his right hand hadn’t left. “You’re here. I’m here. So, everything’s okay.” I push the nurse-button and tell her Jake has a lot of pain.

  * * *

  Maybe because doctors have big brains, their hearts get short-ended in blood supply. Dr. MacAfee stands at the end of the bed delivering Jake’s odds of left-eye blindness like it’s a
small pepperoni pizza, then proceeds to slice Jake with the sharp truth. “And with rehab and prosthetics, you should have no difficulty carrying out activities of daily living.” He has no clue this news snip, snip, snips away more than a flesh and bone hand. Jake holds with that hand, builds, provides, makes music . . .

  Jake glares at me, then at Dr. MacAfee. “A what? With what?”

  “It’s remarkable what’s being done with biomechanics and artificial limbs.”

  Jake curls into a heavy ball, muscles pulling away as I stroke his back. His first words in two hours are “Leave me alone.” I stay because I know he doesn’t mean it, sitting quiet with him through the closing of the year.

  * * *

  I’ve never known Jake to be a speck impatient or a mote unkind. When he says, “Leave me the fuck alone,” I don’t. When I tell him I’m never leaving, he leaves me, into silence, long silences.

  I cry myself to sleep in the room Mary rented near the hospital, then go back for more.

  He says, “Go. Just go.”

  “You don’t really want me to.”

  He clears the side table with a sweep of his arm and descends into his pillow.

  Auntie Mary says I need to go back to school. Auntie Nia says I should give him some space. Huey pleads, “Give him some time, but please, Ari, don’t give up on him.”

  “I never could, Huey.”

  Second week of January, they send him to rehab. Sabina calls and I know I have to go back.

  Jake stares out a big window at naked branches and frost-killed gardens. A red poker chip flips along his left fingers and I wonder if they’re remembering the music.

  “Jake, the Dick broke Mikey’s arm and—”

  “What?” He folds the chip into his palm.

  “He’s losing it again. I’ll come back soon as I can.” I take a kiss from his cheek and settle on his ear. “You lost pieces of yourself that we can find a way to live without. If you shut me out, how will I survive without my heart?”

  * * *

  Aaron meets me at the train. “Geezus, Ari. I’m so sorry. How’s Jake?”

  “Sad. Mad more than anything. What the heck happened to Mikey? Thought he was at Sabina’s.”

  “Todd said the Dick dragged him out of school. Figures he did it to make sure you came back. Arm’s broken above the elbow. Mikey says he fell tobogganing but the hospital sent a social worker in, so I don’t think they believe his story.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “He hasn’t been at school. Todd says the Dick’s unravelling.”

  Like a seagull’s scream, “Fucking, fucking hell!” rises from my gut.

  Forty-Two

  When I first landed in crapdom, Mikey didn’t talk, not a peep. He’s back to his silence, clinging to me like a bloody traumatized squid. He goes to school, does his work, and waits for me inside the front doors, heading straight up to his tent when we walk through the door.

  Mum wheezes from her chair, “Nice cream.”

  “Get it your bloody self.” I straighten my shoulders, stretch to my full height, striding to where the Dick skulks in the kitchen. “Just letting you know, I’m done here.”

  His head, heavy as rock, turns on his neck. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  “My friend’s sick. I’m going home.”

  “You’re not leaving me with a sick wife and kid.”

  “Jennah’s arranging a home for Mum. Mikey can come with me.”

  “Not happening.”

  “You have no say over what I do.” He takes a step toward me, fists tensing. I stop him with one finger. “And if I die, every penny of Len’s money goes to Arielle.”

  “I’ll kill every last one of your fucking sisters.”

  “You know how many judges Wilf plays golf with? He has a lock on you if anything happens to anyone I care about.”

  “Fuck you. Mikey ain’t going nowhere.”

  “Your call. Good luck.” I turn slowly, knowing a “wait” is coming.

  “Hang on. He can’t even zip his fly with that contraption on his arm.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “He’s clumsy.”

  “Bull-fucking-shit.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “You watch your step. One mark on me and I’m going straight to Halpern with detailed evidence I’ve gathered since you forced me to live in this hell.”

  “No way. I’ve been over every inch of this house. Shirley’s very thorough.”

  “You think I’m stupid enough to keep it here? You may’ve gotten rid of the goods, but not before I took pictures of every box in this house, garage, cellar . . . Got a dozen of you with Snake and Pinto hauling smokes through the back gate. And think about all those whispered meets in the cellar. Astonishing what my recorder picked up through the vent in Todd’s room. All in triplicate, to be sent on my say so, or my demise.”

  Why didn’t we think to really do that?

  I know, right?

  “You think for a minute that you could get anything past my guys at the station?”

  “Good point. Thanks. I’ll turn it over to Snake, say I found you keeping the goods on him.”

  “Okay, fuck it.” He plays his only card left. “Stay ’til school’s out and I’ll sign any custody deal you want.”

  I know full well in May, on my eighteenth birthday, his gift to me is a committal to Queen Street, but for now I’ll take this until I can figure it all out. “When you’re on nights, I’ll sleep here until Mum’s placed. But if O’Toole shows, I’m gone and you can change her bloody diaper.”

  “No funny business or I swear I’ll kill you.”

  “At this point I really don’t care.” My leg lifts, foot connecting with the table rim. It rockets across the floor, toppling Cunt’s cage, launching shit in all directions. “I am so done with this fucking house and everything in it!”

  The one time Mikey decides to come out of his room lands him in the hall. I know by his face that he’s heard the whole exchange.

  “Get your boots.”

  He stands like a scarecrow stuck on a cross.

  “Move it, Mikey. Coat on.” I push him out the door, coat half on, tears freezing on his cheeks, a whimper catching in his throat. “Get in the car. Now.” Gears grind as we make for the nest. Once inside, I force Mikey’s head up to look at me. “I’m on my last nerve so just give me a friggin’ break.” His shoulder-to-wrist cast guts me as he flings one scrawny arm around my waist. “Christ, you stink.”

  I hefty-bag his cast and insist him into the shower. In a box from Jennah are thoughtful clothes: track pants without zippers, T-shirts and sweatshirts with domes along the arm and side. In silence we eat toast with Sabina’s soup. Mikey curls on the bed, his cast propped on pillows. I turn out the light, letting a joint take me from smouldering to mellow.

  With a solid sleep, breakfast, and a peaceful weekend ahead, I say, “Tell me what happened.”

  He shakes no.

  “Talk. Now. I’m barely hanging on here.”

  His voice is small and shaky. “Can I stay here?”

  “Until I get things sorted, yes. Now tell me.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t.”

  “What set him off?”

  “He was on the phone, yelling. Then he smashed the receiver, yanked me off the sofa, and said, ‘Get that little b-b—’”

  “Bitch?”

  He nods. “Said if you didn’t come back, I was dead.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the social worker?”

  “He was right there when the lady came, and he said he had Jake hurt and he’d do the same to you if I told.”

  “He had nothing to do with Jake’s accident. A worn cable snapped. It was just terrible timing, that’s all.”

  “Is Jake going to be okay?”

>   “Don’t know. He’s wrecked inside and out.”

  Forty-Three

  Jake doesn’t answer my letters or take my calls.

  Mum’s liver, kidneys, and heart are failing. My grades are close behind.

  The Dick is drowning in a mafia mess and I have the sinking feeling that Mr. Constantine would take servicing in lieu of cash.

  I wonder what an ulcer feels like.

  Mum decomposes on the couch while we eat. The Dick moves noodles around his plate. “Ronnie, listen, I need that ring Theresa gave you. Just for a time. I’ll give it back.”

  “Hariet stole it, Daddy.”

  The Dick fists up my hair and I fist my fork. “You really think I have the balls to mess with Ronnie?”

  He smashes his plate against the wall as the phone starts ringing. “Answer the fucking phone.”

  In the absurdity I’ve come to expect, it’s Mr. Constantine asking me if I’d accompany him to a Tom Jones concert.

  “Sorry, sir, I’m not allowed out on school nights and I work weekend nights.”

  “If you asked your father, I think he might lighten up on the rules.”

  For once in her pathetic life, Mum helps me. “Go pee pee.”

  “Excuse me, sir. Have to go help my mum.”

  I hand the receiver to the Dick and push Mum upstairs, land her on the toilet, then dump her in bed. The Dick is lurking in the doorway when I turn around. “Ari, it would mean a lot to me if you went out with Tino. Just once.” As soon as “Ari” came out of his mouth, I knew I’d been offered as payment.

  * * *