“Life with Theresa Appleton wasn’t easy but to borrow on words given to me, Mum, you were clay, not dirt.” I smile at my tribe of supporters. “You are her spectacular creation and I’m blessed by all of you.”
At the cemetery, Mary has my back. The sun warms mercifully. The breeze carries away the freesia stench. Aaron stands on the other side, but his eyes stay with me and I’m missing Jake so much if I don’t get to him to fill up the holes, I will die.
Now, too many comforters comfort and I can’t breathe. Human kindness sucks the oxygen out of every corner. I open the door to the little room that once slept me, folding into the corner where the walls meet, absorbing the dark for a peaceful long while. Mary opens the door, speaking across the dim light. “Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah, get me out of here without huggy goodbyes.”
“Just lay down here. No one will disturb you.”
“What I need is a lay beside Jake.” The wanting-out tears swell in my chest, displacing oxygen.
“He’s not the one to help you through this.”
“He called me.”
“He did and I’m proud of him for doing that, but he’s too embroiled in his own war to help you through this. I’ll get Mina to take you to her place.”
“I need my paints and memory clutter.”
“Right, I’ll get your coat.”
Aaron returns with it. “Your aunt wants me to drop you somewhere.” I climb off the bed and we slip out the back door and into his jeep. “Where to?”
“The Village.” My calloused hand reaches for his. “You’re the constant in my life.”
“You’re the colour in mine.” He keeps hold of my hand as he shifts gears. Outside the window, dropped-out humanity congeals in alcoves. He says, “I envy these kids, living wild with no boundaries.”
“Most of them are fried from all the shit they’ve taken and don’t have anywhere else to go. Anyways, you’re the wildest guy I know. Dropping out is easy, nothing so hard as climbing a mountain. Turn down here.”
We crawl along the alley. “Where am I taking you?”
“A friend’s place. Let me out here. It’s just up top this flight.”
He’s around to help me out before I manage it on my own. Me, standing on the bottom step puts us at exact height. The angle of his face makes me want my pastels. “Did you have a horse back home?”
“Not my own, but I rode.”
“I can imagine you on one. Like a cowboy in the movies.” He looks lost on the vast prairie as he studies my eyes. I shrug. “Don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now.”
“Understandable. It’d be terrible to lose my mom, but it would be a grief with something real to get hold of. You have an absence in an absence. What is that?”
“Disorienting. Exhausting.”
“Is your friend expecting you?”
“I’ve a key.” I touch the light shining from a window onto his cheek. He leans into my hand. “Do you ever wish there could be more between us?”
He searches my face and exhales.
“Wait, don’t answer. Don’t want to hear no—or yes on a funeral day.” I back up the steps.
“Um . . . I-I . . . wait, Sabina sent leftovers.” I descend, meet him halfway, knowing if he reached the top, today I wouldn’t let him go.
* * *
The aroma of coffee arrives ahead of the knock. Nia says, “Ari, we’ve come for breakfast. Sabina sent all the good food with you.” I open the door. “Gracious, girl, were you still in bed?”
I straighten the quilt and throw cushions on the bed. “Stayed up late painting.”
Auntie Mary spreads food like a picnic. I have a comfy reading chair and two mismatched wooden chairs, one robin’s egg blue, the other chili pepper red, but we all sit on my bed talking, laughing, crying, joking . . . opening, opening, opening. My head lands on Nia’s lap. “Does death scare you?”
“When death comes, I’ll meet it with the same awe and gratefulness with which I hold this moment.”
“Honestly?”
“Fearing what’s to come costs me the joy I feel in this present with you and that’s too much to pay.”
“I’ve eight cents of fear for things to come.”
Jasper flicks my forehead. Huh, didn’t know Hariet was on this bed.
Give me a break.
Okay. Jasper sings in my ear: niaminamaryari, niaminamaryari. Your names make music.
I pick at a puff pastry. “Auntie, how come you shipped me off with Aaron last night?”
“I didn’t want you to be so lonely.”
“He was my teacher. Anything more than what we have would wreck his life, wouldn’t it?”
“The two of you are nothing of teacher and student anymore. You’re friends. There’s nothing improper about what the two of you share.”
“He’s so much older than me.”
“With the life you’ve lived, you’re by far the older one.”
Nia says, “People don’t grow so well in constant light. Why’d you think he creates his own darkness? Think about the places he travels.”
“But Jake—”
Mary asks, “Why’d you want to come here last night when there were so many around to comfort?”
“Just needed to ponder perplexities on my own.”
She touches my nose.
“But I still knew you were there. Jake needs to know I’ll never leave him, no matter what. I could get through anything because I knew you’d never let me go.”
Nia’s head wobbles. “What the blazes are you on about? We released you time and time again. With every toss over the precipice, you opened your wings and soared.”
“What if he crashes because he feels he’s lost everything?”
“That’s exactly what the boy needs. Aaron’s overdue for a sound cracking, too.”
“Aaron’s perfectly assembled.”
“Maybe so, but”—Nia braids my hair—“this nor’easter has him so stirred, that that westwind will drift forever, never able to settle, always wondering what if.” I shake no. Nia bobs yes. “This old bear thinks right now the two of you would do each other a universe of good.”
“No way could I bear the weight of shattering his moral rightness. Besides, I’ve decided to offer the Dick ten thousand for Mikey and just get the hell out of here. Forget waiting ’til June.”
Nia says, “Let Sam work out a legal arrangement. Stay out of it and away from that house.”
“The Dick’s way too jittery. Until I’ve got a signed deal, he has to believe I’m within his grasp. Mikey’s his insurance.”
Mary snorts. “What a waste of flesh he is. Who was that with him at the funeral?”
“Shirley, the new duchess of crapdom.”
Forty-Seven
At school on Monday everyone is full of condolences. Throughout the day, teachers are generous with compassion marks. I do my utmost to channel an Anne of Green Gables tragical-face, but all the sympathy pushes me precariously close to smashing my fist into the brick.
The soldier boy is waiting by the front door of my school. He’s still James Dean cute, a go-getter, too, racking up certifications at rocket speed.
“Come to say goodbye?” I ask.
“No, Todd’s in hospital, hurt, bad.”
“Our Todd?”
“Yeah.”
“No. What happened?” I follow him out to the blue sedan.
“He’s got a busted leg. Shoulder’s ripped out of its hinge.”
“How?”
“Two thugs on his way to work.”
Todd is a pulpy mess when we arrive at the hospital. “Oh, geezus, Todd. What the hell?”
He blubbers. “If I say anything, they’ll kill me. If Pops doesn’t pay up, they’ll kill me.”
“Who?”
/> “The guys he owes. I’m gonna lose my job. Talk to Dr. McKay. Tell him it’s not my fault.” Todd winces as he tries to sit. “I got eight hundred bucks stashed in the lockbox at the clinic. Get it. Tell ’em not to murder me. You gotta tell ’em, please.”
“Um, okay?”
“We’ll sort it, man. You rest.” Ricky walks soldierly beside me. “Did you see them burns up his arm? Fucking bastards. Any idea who did it?”
“Yeah.” I stop at a phone in the lobby and dial the Riverboat. “Bernie? It’s Ari. Where can I find Constantine?”
“He has a construction company on Main near Danforth.”
“Construction? Oh, for god sake, do thugs have no friggin’ imagination?”
“What’s up?”
“I’m going to go murder him.” I hang up and scan the yellow pages for the address, then snag Ricky’s arm. “Come on. Look muscled up.”
As I storm into Constantine Construction, the back of the door hits the wall. “Where’s Tino?”
A Lucille Ball double looks over her magazine. “In a meeting.” I fling doors. “Stop. You can’t go barging in.” I open a storeroom, moving on to the next as Lucy sizes up Ricky. “You a cop?”
Jasper sniggers. Lucy and Ricky, pretty funny eh, Ari?
Shut up.
The next door bounces. I smack its rebound, marching in with hellfire. “You—you goon! You enormous horse’s fart.” Lurch and the Hulk step forward, stopping with a hand signal from Tino. “You lying bastard. You gave your word you wouldn’t touch me.”
A twitch, trying not to be a smile, holds the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t—”
“Any man of honour, any monkey with half a brain would know if you touch my brothers, you touch me. And if you had a molecule of insight, you’d know the Dick doesn’t give a flying fuck about his kids and you just did him a favour by cutting down on groceries. Shit, you really want to make his day? Murder this one here.” Ricky follows my yank on his arm. “He double hates Ricky for being better than him.”
“He owes—”
“Would you expect your kids to pay for your mistakes or would you man up and take care of the mess yourself? I swear, you touch my family again, I’ll send you on a date with my mother.”
“I’m a businessman and—”
“Are you starving? Out on the street? You going to die if you don’t get your money today? Listen here, mister, you’re not getting it from me and you sure as hell aren’t going to hurt the people I care about for something that useless Dick did. What kind of a monster are you? Todd takes care of puppies, for god’s sake. How could you hurt someone like that?”
“If you’d let me finish a sentence, I’d tell you that Dick Irwin owes a lot of people and I’d never hurt a kid.” He moves a gold toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “And I was going to say I’m a businessman prepared to buy up Irwin’s markers so all his business would be with me.”
“Why?”
“For the pleasure of owning a cop, and so you’ll have dinner with me.”
“What the hell is with you?”
He half shrugs. “I like what I like.”
“More, you want what you can’t have. Friggin’ toddler. Define dinner.”
“Good food. A little wine. Nice conversation.”
“Why?”
“Can’t say why I’m stuck on this deal, just am.”
“I’m never sleeping with you.”
“Just dinner.”
“You swear you didn’t hurt Todd?”
“Swear on my mother.”
“You’ll call off all the goons?”
“Done.”
“No one touches his kids or my relatives, which, by the way, includes every Polish person in the country. Hands off everyone on the East Coast, my teachers, my aunts, and they better not even look at my sisters . . . Oh, and my dog.”
“Anything else?”
“Make it somewhere nice and if you touch a single cell on me, you’ll be eating your balls for dessert.” Lurch folds his arms as I stretch my full length. “And don’t you be messing with me, you stupid friggin’ ape. I’ve murdered before and I’ll do it again.” I look back to Tino. “I have your word?”
“My word. Thursday?”
“Moronic testosterone-loaded boys. Nia and Mary are the only ones with any sense.” I pull Ricky by his epaulets. “Come on, we’ll take Todd a milkshake.”
“Army sure could use a girl like you.”
* * *
Morning after Todd’s pummelling, I take a beating of my own. Shirley, six inches shorter and forty pounds heavier than Mum, dressed in Mum’s leopard capris, hands me a red beaded pouch containing Theresa Appleton’s treasures, unearthed from an underwear drawer.
From her forty-seven years on this Earth she held on to a clipping from a 1940 Telegram, her in a slinky gown draping the hood of a sleek car. A page from an Eaton’s catalogue, Mum modeling a polka-dot dress. Three satin ribbons holding fake gold medals, “Ontario Musical Association, First—Girl’s Duet.” Four letters from my dad sent during the war. An adult tooth and some photos: one of Vincent Appleton, movie handsome in his uniform. I think the second is Jennah until I check the back: “Theresa, 1939.” I calculate her age in my head, fifteen. On a satiny bed she reclines, naked, head propped on one hand, top leg draped over the bottom. The last picture is Mum, Dad, and my sisters on Aunt Elsie’s sofa. The J’s have colourful silk scarves. Jory and Jillianne wave theirs like pennants. June’s is balled around her fist. Jennah’s and Jacquie’s hang limp. Where were you?
I estimate ages, figuring I would’ve been six or seven. No idea, Jasper.
I swallow acid rising from my gut and unfold the letters. The first from Sherbrooke, November 1941, starts poetic—My dearest T: How I long for just one taste from your sweet neck—quickly turning into a long complaint about army food and the injustice of basic training. From England to Italy then France, I search for the poignant, the profound, the deep pool of wisdom that comes from war, finding less than a mud puddle. The last letter closes: I keep thinking about that night in Detroit. It gets me through the cold nights. Hearts to love, V.
I tuck it all back inside. Detroit, Jasper? A night in Detroit gets him through? What is all this stupid shit?
I catapult up the stairs to ransack every corner and crevice looking for what she really held onto, the cards and letters from us, a repentant suicide note from my father, the macaroni necklace I made her for Mother’s Day, the journals where she really lived. The Dick fills the doorway. “She was a good woman, kid. Best I ever knew.”
* * *
I walk Mikey to school, surfacing when he hands me a lunch. He says, “At least eat your apple.” From his porcupine hair to mismatched socks, he looks as unmothered as I feel.
“You bet, cadet.”
I ditch school and go to Jennah’s. She peruses the contents of the pouch. “It’s all a lifetime ago, dead, dead, dead and gone. Stop dwelling. Just enjoy the present.”
“Do you enjoy your present?”
“Yeah, sis. For the most part I do.” She struggles with the lid on a jar of pickles. “Except for this damned arthritis.” I pop the lid, wondering what she did to set Wilf into doling out a dose of “arthritis.” “We bought a camper. We’re all going to the Carolinas. You should come with.”
“You really think Wilf would survive travel with a nor’easter?”
“Not well, but the kids would love it.”
“Would Wilf let them come to Skyfish for a visit this summer?”
“Not likely.”
“You could tell him you’re sending them to a camp that teaches discipline and refinement.”
“They’re all lit up and chattery after being with you. Wilf would know.” She checks the time on her jewelled watch and I take the hint.
“You named your girls Darcy a
nd Diamond. They should be lit up.” I twist up my confusion of hair. “Could you fix me up for a fancy dinner on Thursday?”
“Now you’re asking for something I know.”
I go to the boutique to catch Jory before she heads back to nature. The Garden of Eden tattoo on her right arm and the dove on her left looks like she’s wearing an ink sweater. I ask for insight. “Don’t you hate Daddy for messing with you and Mummy for not doing a bloody thing to stop it?”
She outsights, “Jesus has washed everything away, turned all the black to snow. Come stay at Morning Glory with me and be washed in the blood.”
“No. I prefer baths in mud.”
Jacquie pokes through the jetsam. I ask, “Do you know where I was when this picture was taken?”
Jory scans the family portrait, minus one Apple. “Daddy brought us those scarves from New Orleans. He was working there for like six months.”
“Did he bring me one?”
The way Jacquie says “Oh, I’m sure he did” tells me he didn’t, and my absence from the photo suggests they hadn’t gotten around to picking me up from whatever foster farm they’d dumped me at. “I can’t be bothered with this crap. I’m long done with the both of them. You gotta do that, too, sis. Just grab hold of life and love wherever you find it.” Her words I can’t discount because Jacquie has done exactly that. “Now, shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I try. I do, but the shit just keeps coming.”
I head toward school but get off the streetcar at the bookstore and buy Jillianne a book of Charles Worth designs. Anne, you are a creation more beautiful than all the dresses in these pages. In the same package I wrap the beaded pouch for Auntie Dolores. Auntie D: I haven’t cried for Mum. Maybe because I don’t know who I’m crying for. These are the treasures she kept. Of all Mum’s sisters I think you’re the one who will tell me some truth, any truth as she sees it.
I send June another postcard, a toothy beaver on the front. You are the bravest Appleton of all to have bitten the snake that fed you. With love and missing, Ari.
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