Cracked Pots

by Heather Tucker

Huey says, “Did what?”

  Jake doesn’t pull away from my hold on his arm. I whisper, “Jake, this is your right arm, feel it unknot all the way down to the tips of your fingers, stretched out whole and free, flowing like water.” I feather his arm in a light scratch. “Lay back and we’ll swim long lovely strokes with two whole hands.” Through a quiet hour, I talk him back to sleep.

  In the morning Huey and I reanimate over coffee. “What you did really seemed to help, dolly.”

  “Want to know what worked best? If Len sat on the end of the bed with Iggy on his lap.” I pause. “Sounds squirrelly, I know, but it worked like magic. Iggy would look in the mirror and see Len’s legs as his own and all the terrible cramps would ease. Len said the brain couldn’t miss something it saw right in front of it.”

  Huey’s big hand covers mine. “And how’s the dolly right in front of old Huey?”

  “Joy less and full.”

  “Well, ain’t those just the very things to keep a boat from tipping.” He kisses my forehead. “We’ll keep things afloat ’til the storm calms.”

  Jake stirs. I take his left hand, willing hope into his right. “Jake, I’m taking the car back to Montreal. I’ll come back by train tomorrow.”

  His head shakes for a time before he forces out, “No.”

  “I’m coming.”

  Tears won’t stay down when he spits words heavy as stones. “For Christ’s sake, I don’t want you here.”

  “Be as big a mule-headed jerk as you want. Soon as I get things sorted, I’m coming back.”

  Two seconds into Skyfish and I blow like a beluga. Nia hushes my stress of hair. “We’re going to take good care of him. This is his dark place, his treasure hunt.” She puts me in the passenger seat and Mary slides in behind the wheel.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I need to see my sister.”

  I’m more bone-weary than I’ve ever felt in my seventeen-and-three-quarters years on this earth, driving from a heartbreak mess to a pathetic mess to a mortal-threat mess. Pictures from the March highway blur grime to gray. I cocoon into a knitted shawl and hear Uncle Iggy in his marbly voice say clear as spring, “What is behind and what is ahead is small compared to the Jewel within . . .” Sleep hits like a blind fall over the edge. I wake outside a coffee shop in Truro. Mary asks, “How’re you doing?”

  “Good, I’m good. I’ll drive for a while.”

  “You want music?”

  I don’t know what I want or how to start unraveling all the wool in my stomach. “I want Jake. This isn’t him at all.”

  “No, it’s not him, but these roots have been growing his whole life. Now, the rock’s broke. There’s a lot of chipping away that needs doing.” Mary plunks her foot on the dash like she’s twenty. “I remember him, maybe six, on the dock lifting this heavy crate. He got halfway before spilling its load. His father yanked him up by his ear, calling him a useless good-for-nothing shite pile. That was his constant before he went to live with the Butters. The minute he got into that house, he searched for ways to please. He’s been a godsend to Nia and me over the years, but I’m seeing we fed into his belief that he needed to do something to be loved. He’s never felt loved just for being.”

  “He has. Of course he has. He remembers you coming every day after his mum left.”

  “I’ve never once seen him cry. Can’t remember hearing him laugh out loud either. You, on the other hand, opened like a book inviting us inside.”

  “I don’t know where I’d be if not for all the caring you heaped on me.”

  “Ari, there’s so much on your plate right now.”

  “It’s always overfull. Ellis says it’s a writer’s dream.”

  “Is a writer what you are? Or a potter?”

  “Honestly Auntie, I don’t know what I am. Lately, writing has been nothing but coercing words out.”

  “I’m certain at this time in your journey, you’re a potter. And you know the clay has to be right before you can turn it. Open your hands and let go of Jake for a time. He has some work to do on his own.”

  I look as far ahead on the road as I can. “He needs me.”

  “What he needs is to shatter and let light into that wounded place. He just can’t bear to have his father’s ugly hatred of him out in the open, but he’s feeling it every minute. Thinks he’s rotten at his core and believes it’s a mercy making you go.”

  “I can’t let him go. He’s my last dance.”

  “I believe he is, but let him sit out the middle ones ’til he finds new legs.”

  “What about school?”

  “Maybe he’ll be ready. It’s six months off. Figure out what you want for you. The only life you can be responsible for is your own.”

  “That’s not true. Mum’s only lived for herself and that’s made for a pretty shitty life.”

  “You’re mixing up selfishness with responsibility.” Auntie Mary opens a bag of Fritos. “Though your mum is both selfish and irresponsible.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “When she ran off with your dad, we all said that was it, no more catering to her, she needed to grow up. That lasted until we heard she was pregnant. Grandma took her groceries. Cooked meals. Grandpa fixed up their apartment. Elsie and Dolores were over there every day cleaning up her mess, and there was Elsie pregnant herself, and Dolores wanting a baby so bad. I got off easy because she wouldn’t let me in.”

  “She hated you back then?”

  “Can’t remember when she didn’t. But your dad coming into the picture took it to a whole new level.”

  “Is it true that Daddy loved you?”

  “Love? No, no, no. He’d just never come across a female who didn’t melt in his presence.” She offers the corn chips, holding the bag at the steering wheel until I take one. “I despise your dad for what he did to you girls. Would’ve killed him if I’d known, but strangely we got along really well.”

  “How so?”

  “He was so smart. Brilliant, really. No matter the topic, I could have an intelligent conversation with him. I loved that. And musical. Never heard anything so infectious as him singing and playing the piano. He’d tell you girls stories, bundle you up, and take you to the park.”

  “I remember his niceness, too. It makes it harder to sort out other things.”

  “What things?”

  “Raping my sisters.”

  “I’ve never pushed you to talk about what he did to you, but you can tell me anything.”

  “I’ve told you he just always wanted to be touched.”

  “I’ve worried after all that fuss getting you to the dentist when you were small that he pushed you further than you ever said.”

  “I know you figured out he stuck his dick in my mouth. Really, Auntie, what’s the good in giving voice to that shit?” I wash the sawdusty chips down with tea. “Please, can we talk about something else? Tell me about Grandpa Trembley.”

  “He was a master mason.”

  “How’d he land in Toronto?”

  “He got offered a good job and he grabbed it. War fractured him; laying bricks, row after level row, calmed him.”

  “I get that. Dolores says I’m like him.”

  “You are. So am I.”

  “Is it awful for you that the youngest Trembley sister is going to die first?”

  “I’m just sad that I’ve never had anything with her like you have with the J’s.”

  * * *

  In a pretty blue room, with clean sheets, Mum’s three sisters surround her. She’s dressed in a white nightie with little pink rosebuds. Mary sits on the bed, reminiscing. “Remember that time Mummy was planting rhododendrons and Daddy said, ‘Just put Theresa out there, she puts all the flowers to shame.’” Mary’s hand gentles Mum’s bruised arm. “Theresa, please, can you forgive me for everything
I’ve done to hurt you? I’m so very sorry.”

  Mum pulls away, turns her face to the wall.

  Jennah wants to slap her, I can see it; instead she kisses her cheek. “Okay, Mum. We’ll come back middle of next month.”

  I sit on the bed. “Bye. I’ll take care of things while you’re away.”

  She pulls me close with a grip on my sweater, a closeness I’ve longed for since my evolution began. I lean in for something sweet. “Promise me you’ll not go to Mary Catherine’s when I’m gone. Promise me.”

  “No, I’ll never promise that.” She coils into terminal disappointment and I let go.

  Forty-Six

  When I imagine the last chapter in the craphouse, it involves a messy trial where the Dick’s dicking makes front-page news. I go to Mr. Lukeman with my file of documented shit. “Ari? Thought you were going away.”

  “Went last week instead.”

  “How’re things?”

  “Titanic. Wilf’s car is gone.”

  “I heard.”

  “I never should’ve left it out front of crapdom.”

  “You had a lot on your mind. Was it insured?”

  “Yeah. Wilf’s good that way. I just loved the thing.” I hand over the folder. “Can you look at this and see if there’s anything here that could help me get a custody deal for Mikey?”

  He shuffles through my Nancy Drew sleuthing. “No question he’s a bad cop, but there’s nothing concrete. It’s all circumstantial. I’ve discovered he’s deep, deep in the hole. He’s going to lose the house. Is Mikey at Sabina’s?”

  “The Dick’s nabbed him back to keep me close. What if he told the truth about the busted arm?”

  “The report’s in. That social worker would have to say she missed it and that wouldn’t look good on her, so I doubt she’d go to bat for a kid who changes his story.”

  “Have you discovered anything that could get O’Toole out of our hair?”

  “My connections say his name is all over several investigations into missing drugs but I’m not privy to what’s been uncovered.”

  “Um, have you ever heard of a Tino Constantine?”

  “He’s in the business of, let’s say, high-interest loans. Irwin owes him big. Why?”

  “Seems he has a crush on me.”

  “He has children your age.”

  “It’s just in us Appletons to attract worms. Listen, can you advance the Dick my next expense cheque so he can throw some money at this thug until I can get us out?”

  “Let me look into it. Where can I reach you?”

  “I’m giving Bernie some extra shifts over the break.”

  * * *

  Before the Riverboat opens, Bernie calls me into his office. “Sit down, Ari.”

  Mr. Constantine stands, hat in hand, by the bookcase.

  “Why?” I back toward the door.

  “Relax, Tino and I go way back. Sam Lukeman called, filled me in a little. Tino wanted to set things straight.” Bernie looks at the fine-tailored thug. “Ain’t that right, Tino.”

  “It was never my intention to frighten you, Ari. Irwin can’t pay his debt with something that doesn’t belong to him. You’ve got nothing to fear from me.” Mr. Constantine shrugs under his cashmere coat. “Though, I would enjoy just a conversation over dinner.”

  “You old goat. Stop torturing my employees.” Bernie arms him to the door. “Get yourself home and give my regards to Gloria and the kids.”

  I watch him out the door. “What just happened? Why’re you talking to my lawyer?”

  “I’ve known Sammy Lukeman since he was knee-high to a cricket. He knew I had Constantine’s ear and thought maybe I could smooth things out. Tino’s a filthy bastard, but he’s got principles. Family’s sacred. The fact that you stayed on to take care of Mikey scored big. Not to mention your sacred papa dead and your sainted mother dying. He’s a sucker for a hard-luck bootstrap story.”

  “You think I could get him to murder the Dick?”

  “How’d he get his money if he did that?” Bernie brushes my nose. “Just about broke his heart when it sunk in he wasn’t adding you to his string of working girls.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Oh, nursery school teachers, librarians, things like that.”

  “Thanks, Bernie.”

  “We got your back.”

  The Riverboat is changing. The hippie spirit pretty much disappeared with the sixties. It’s still a full house for a Tuesday and I could dance. Relief does that to a body. Instead, in between dropping off orders, I have my nose in study cards for a chemistry test.

  * * *

  A thin pink light wakes me just hours after I crash-land in the nest; it’s the colour hope might refract. I seize the hope of getting caught up at school.

  Three thirty, I jump to a knock on my door. Through the batik covering the window, I see Mina on the stoop. I hug her in. “Why aren’t you skiing?”

  “Came back early.”

  “Oh.” My prickly neck hairs tell me that I don’t want to know why. I pour her tea in my favourite mug and put Sabina’s chruscikis on a plate.

  She studies the assignment on my easel: an ancient tree, its naked branches bent to the lake, flourishing under the water with leaf-faerie life. “Ari, this is magical.” She stops at Len’s pot and fingers it. “Mary asked me to come. Maybe you should sit.”

  I wipe the counter. Line up papers. Shine the faucet.

  “Your mother’s gone.”

  Gone doesn’t mean much when a person has always been absent. Gone means too much when all you’ve ever hoped for was a moment of her presence.

  Mina opens her arms. I step back into the coat rack holding Len’s fedora, a little feather we picked up on one of our walks still tucked under the band. Her hand is ice through my sweater. A little pull moves me. A slight push folds my knees and my chair catches me. She gathers things into a bag. “You’re coming to stay with us until Mary gets here.”

  “I have to type my essay and study for chem before work.”

  “Here, put on your coat; there’s a chill in the air, but I did see a robin this morning.”

  * * *

  Arrangements are made and mourners arrive. Really, there isn’t a person in Sabina’s apartment who doesn’t feel the relief of this passing. Rambunctious kids are not hushed. Sisters and aunties eat and laugh. I’m stuck in the injustice: Uncle Iggy dying from a bashed-in head; Len, an exploding heart; Natasha, a crushed neck; and Mum quietly slipping away while watching Jacques Cousteau.

  Ellis calls me, “Ari. Ari, there’s a call for you. Quick.” He hands me the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Ari, it’s—”

  “Jake? Oh, Jake.”

  “I’m so sorry. I never want you to hurt.”

  “You’ll never know what this call means to me.”

  “I . . . I’m—maybe—I—”

  “Just tell me there’s a hope for September. Please, Jake.”

  “I’m trying. I’ll try. Just take care, okay.”

  Mary pries the humming phone from my hand. “Time to go.”

  * * *

  For the final farewell, Mum is in a black urn shaped like a pickle jar and I’m surprised there was enough of her to fill it even half up.

  Cops are a brotherhood, showing in full force, all spit and polished. Halpern bolsters my arm with a kind hand. “Tough break, kid. I’m really sorry.”

  I feel a great deal for the Dick: contempt, hatred, repulsion . . . maybe a grain of pity when he gets pummelled. First jab, Halpern bypasses him without uttering a single word. Second, Tino strides in, a goon on each side. And knockout, Ricky, the soldier boy, ribboned and in full dress makes his entrance.

  The chapel fills, a gathering more to support the living than to honour the dead. How awful, how bloody mortifying to fill h
alf a jar at the end of your days and have blaring silence when the hired officiate asks, “Does anyone have anything they’d like to say in remembrance of Theresa—wife, mother, sister, friend?”

  There must be a witty story from Dolores. A touching anecdote from Elsie. A memorable roll in the hay from one of the Dick’s buddies. The silence threatens to rupture my ear drums. Frig, frig, frig. I stand, telling my feet to bloody well move.

  Mum was a pathetic bitch is all I’ve got.

  Whiny’s not a good colour on you.

  From the podium, I survey the empathetic faces, startled to see the Jarvis volleyball team stretched along a row and warmed by my community league behind them.

  “Um, Mum . . . my mum was colourful, no one can argue that. She could be Grace Kelly in the morning and Cher by nightfall. Maybe that’s where my love for colour began.

  “Often, I’ve felt her length was all she gave me, but on the drive to Montreal, she gave me a treasure, one for all of us, a caution really, to live the life you’ve imagined, so that ‘I meant to be something else’ aren’t the words spoken on your final journey.” I scan faces, some blank, others confused or thinking about refreshments, but most are open and exquisitely present. “This week, there have been rescuers at my side and I have to say I’m truly thankful for the treasures Mum brought into my life: five sisters, rare jewels whose courage and tenacity fill me with hope. My aunties, Mary, Nia, Dolores, and Elsie, my spirit mothers. I simply wouldn’t have survived without your care.

  “Mum sent me many places, one of which was the east. No one can understand the gift that is until it has seeped in through your toes. She brought Len Zajac into my life, my spirit father who redefined me as beloved daughter and with Len came an extended family that makes me believe the world would be a better place if everyone were Polish. At least there’d be no hunger if Aunt Sabina were in charge.

  “With five sisters, I sometimes thought brothers would be easier. Because of Mum, I have Ricky, Todd, and Mikey, three soldiers who have protected and enriched my life. She gave me more schools than would appear good for any kid. But at them I received lifelines: Belle, Aaron, Mina, Ellis.