Amazing Grace (25 page)

She's looking at the photo, which is great. It almost feels like she's with me. Please let her stay like this for a few more minutes.

“And this is my son, Jonathan. Isn't he handsome? He lives in New York with his daughter, Melissa. Do you see her blonde hair? That's what your hair looked like when you were a little girl. That was the last time you saw me and I saw you. You were twelve and I was nine. I missed you very much when you left. I missed Mama, too.”

She starts to fidget so I go through the photos like a deck of cards to find one she might like. That's when I come upon the pictures of the woods at the camp and the bog. I didn't know they were in this pile, but this is perfect.

“Look, Maria. Do you remember the woods where you and me and Mama used to walk? And here's the rock we would sit on. And here's the bog. Look. Do you remember the bog?”

She grabs my hand and squeezes it with a strength that's surprising. She shakes my hand to and fro.

“Yes, Mama! That's right! I don't know where she is. Did she ever find you? Were you together at all? Did you miss me, even a little?”

A tear runs down her cheek, but she laughs. A guttural laugh.

When the nurse comes over, I ask her about it. “With Alzheimer's patients, their reactions are not always the correct one. If she shed a tear, she might be happy, or if she laughs, she might want to cry. It's an emotion and a release. It can bubble up any time. You can never really know what it means.”

That's enough for today. Gathering my belongings, I take one more moment to stroke her brow. She stares at me. I kiss her forehead and tuck the blanket around her before I leave.

I have a quick fast food meal on the way back to the hotel. I take a bath and watch television for an hour. Then it's lights out. I'll try a few more pictures with her tomorrow.

The hotel phone rings at five in the morning. Maria died sometime in the night. Why didn't I stay with her? She was alone in the end.

There is so much to do and yet a weariness takes hold and shakes me to my core. Even holding the cellphone up to my ear seems too much, so I lie on my side and let the phone just rest against my cheek. Fletcher picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, Gracie, I had a weird dream about you last night. You were trying to make me eat coconut balls.”

“That's nice.”

“Not really.”

“Maria died.”

“Oh no. I'm very sorry, Grace.”

“It's a good thing. She's found peace at last. Call Jonathan and tell him. The hospital knows I'm coming in later to deal with the formalities, and then I'll contact the funeral home. After that I'm going to get the landlord of her apartment building to let me in so I can gather her belongings, such as they are. I'd like something to remember her by. Look, I have to go. I know I just woke up, but I'm tired.”

“You've been looking for her your whole life. You're allowed to be tired.”

“Talk later.”

I hang up the phone and weep into the pillow. My only contact is gone, and she was unable to tell me anything. The disappointment is vast.

Much to my surprise, Jon and Fletch fly in to be with me that night. They didn't have to do it, but it's such a relief to see them at the door.

Fletch opens his arms and I jump right into them, while trying to kiss Jonathan at the same time.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you!”

“We could hardly let you deal with all this by yourself.”

I fill them in on the past month, and how difficult it was to not be able to communicate with her.

“I'm sure you did, Mom. Maybe not with words, but you were there to hold her hand. She felt you with her.”

“You're right. At least that's something.”

The dismantling of someone's life is a bureaucratic ordeal. Papers to fill out and agencies to inform, each province with its own way of dealing with the matter. We spend a good deal of time on the phone and at the hospital. Then we go to the funeral home to discuss our options.

We decide on cremation; it will be easier to bring her home this way. The funeral director asks us if we want to see the remains.

“It's up to you if you want to go in,” I tell them.

They both say they will. I'm glad to be able to share this with someone. I want Maria to count.

Her casket is top of the line. When I depart this earth, I want a pine box, or even a cloth shroud. Just plant me and go your merry way. But since Maria went without her whole life, we want her to feel special. It sounds silly, but it makes sense to us.

She looks better in death than she did in life, her face calm and serene.

“She does look like Aunt Mae,” Fletcher says. “It's uncanny.”

“For some reason that makes me happy,” I confess.

“She looks like you, too,” Jonathan says. “She must have been pretty.”

“She was pretty. That's how I want to remember her.”

It's time to leave. I kiss her one final time and whisper in her ear, “I'm bringing you home with me. You'll be safe now.”

We get in touch with the landlord and make an appointment to see Maria's apartment in the morning.

It's been a very long day, but we take the time to eat dinner at a nice restaurant, to lift our sagging spirits. Fletcher orders grilled haddock, God love him. He hasn't put any of his weight back and clearly all the exercise does allow him to indulge a little, which is why he orders a piece of cheesecake.

“You better order two pieces,” he tells me. “You've lost weight since you've been here, and you look a little peaky.”

“Then I'll have the deep fried cheesecake.”

“Deep fried! Lord have mercy.”

I'm desperate for normal conversation. “How's Melissa?”

“You mean, how are the girls. Juni lives with us now.”

“You're kidding?”

“Her parents are insane and actually like the idea, which shows you what kind of nutjobs they are. The girls are into theatre and fencing, of all things. Half the time we never see them.”

“And Whitney? Things are still good with you two?”

Just the way he lowers his head and smiles tells me the answer.

“You love her, don't you?”

“She's a pretty wonderful gal.”

I reach over and pat his hand. “That makes me happy.”

“On a different note, Grandfather has prostate cancer.”

“Well, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. He keeps in touch, then?”

“Surprisingly, yes. At first I thought it was an anomaly, but he often calls me. I've gone with him a few times for his chemo. Melissa and Juni went with him, too. I think he gets a kick out of Juni.

“Who doesn't?” Fletcher laughs.

Our desserts come and they are out of this world. Strange how something sweet in your mouth can take the pain away, if only for that moment.

“How's Nan?” I say with my mouth full.

“She needs a knee replacement.”

“Poor dear. Maybe it will give her a better quality of life. She shouldn't be in pain.”

Then it's up to our rooms, where tonight Fletch and I crawl into the same bed together. He takes me in his arms and I'm safe.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn't be anywhere else.”

“Who's looking after the critters?”

“Beulah is at Nan's and Harvey and Dora will take the dogs out and feed the cats.”

“I dream of home. Just a little bit longer.” I fall into a deep sleep.

The super for Maria's apartment looks like he just got out of bed. He passes us the keys.

“You're responsible for any damages,” he warns us.

“How would you be able to tell? This whole place is a disaster.”

“Ain't mine, lady. Talk to the owner, if you can find him.”

“We'll bring the key back when we're finished.”

“You better have that stuff shifted by tomorrow at the latest.” He shuts the door in our faces.

“Charming.”

I'm afraid to open this door. We are invading Maria's personal space, leaving her open to scrutiny and judgement. No one would want people rooting around their cupboards or bathroom cabinets. She can't defend herself from our prying eyes.

“Maybe we should just leave it alone.”

“Mom, do you really want strangers to do it?”

Jon gives me the push I need, but when I open the door, I gasp before I'm even over the threshold. There are so few things in here, absolutely the bare minimum. Her bed is a mattress on the floor and she has only one broken sofa, with not even a television to keep her company. There's an overpowering smell of nicotine and beer, with piles of empty cans in the corner. The kitchen counter is full of empty chip bags and fast food wrappers.

“Oh my god, I can't bear it.”

Fletcher brought a few cardboard boxes for us to put her treasures in, only there aren't any.

“Why didn't I call her? Why? How could she live like this? How did she let this happen?”

“Mom—”

“That doesn't require an answer! I'm just pissed off, dammit! Even her sheets are filthy. She had enough money for beer! Why couldn't she wash her sheets?”

I'm aware I'm rambling, but it's like my feelings are throwing up all over me. If she was here right now I'd shake her. Why didn't she get help?

The smell of this apartment is closing in on me. “I have to get out of here.” I throw open the door and run down the hall and the stairs to stagger outside. Let them deal with it. I can't cope with anything else. Since Jonathan has the car keys, I slide down the passenger door and sit on the driveway with my back against the car, keeping my eyes shut to try and block out the look of that apartment. I truly wish I'd left it alone; I don't think I can stand much more of this.

Eventually Fletcher and Jonathan come outside and walk over to me. Fletcher has a small box with him.

“What could possibly be in that?” I shout, like it's all his fault.

“The only things we could find were a couple of books and a few trinkets. I threw in her sweater and there's a small bottle of cheap perfume. Also a hand mirror.”

“We told the super that a removal company will be here in the morning to take away what little remains,” Jonathan says. “After that I've made arrangements for a cleaning company to come in and deal with the mess.”

“Thank you both. I'm sorry I shouted.”

“Mom, I can't even imagine what you're going through. Here, take my hands.”

He pulls me up and the three of us set off, leaving the sad space behind.

At the Toronto airport we say goodbye to Jon. He's flying to New
York and we're on a plane to Halifax and then Sydney. I'm carrying my sister's ashes in my tote bag. There's a sense of satisfaction that I'm able to bring her home, but a lingering melancholy that Maria's life was so terrible. I keep thinking that if I'd only found her even a few years ago, she might have been able to tell me something of her life, and whether she knew whatever happened to our mom.

Still, I am grateful for small mercies, and the idea that I can bring Maria back to Cape Breton to lie with our family members in the graveyard in Baddeck instead of some anonymous grave brings me great relief.

But in the end I don't put her in the graveyard. I keep her with me. Her urn is on my windowsill. I can't bear to part with her just yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In the morning, I leave to get some groceries and pick up Beulah, but first I drive into Harvey and Dora's yard. We bought a few carton of beers for Harvey and bottles of wine for Dora to thank them for looking after things while we were away. Nothing's changed in this household.

“Why, thank you.” Harvey seems mighty pleased. “I'll crack open a few the next time I go fishing.”

Dora gives me a pained look. “How's Fletcher?”

“Fletcher is great. Although I think he was missing your low-fat offerings. Better rustle something up and get over there quick.”

She beams at me. “Perfect! I have a cauliflower-cheese recipe just begging to be made.”

It doesn't take much to make some people happy.

When I walk in Nan's door on my way home from the grocery store, Beulah is on her lap. Poor Nan has her upper dentures in a glass on the side table and she's snoring to beat the band. The house looks pretty messy.

“Nan…it's only me.”

Beulah raises the alarm when she charges over to try and climb my legs, so I pick her up and give her several kisses, while her little tongue goes a mile a minute.

“Who's there? Oh, it's you.” She reaches over and puts her teeth back in her head. “Good to see you. You've been away a long time.”

Before I sit on the rocking chair I bend down and kiss her cheek. “I missed you, Nan. And this little critter.” Beulah is still jumping in my lap.

“You're not taking her home, are you? It's lonely here without her.”

Nan does seem rather down.

“How did you make out while I was gone?”

“Not good. Not good at all. My knee is acting up. Can barely move some mornings. But don't worry about me. I don't want to be anyone's burden.”

I fix up some macaroni and cheese for her supper and deliver it on a tray with a cup of tea and a scone so she can watch television. Naturally, I leave Beulah with Nan; they both seem content with the arrangement. During supper I tell Fletch about our conversation.

“Hopefully things will be better once she gets her knee fixed,” Fletch says, “or do you think it's more than that? She's never minded being alone before. Do you think we should explore a senior's home?”

“Who said anything about that? She'll come here and be with us.”

He smiles. “Are you sure? I know it's asking a lot. I work all day and you'll be stuck with her. You know how she can get.”

“One temperamental old broad won't break me. Not after what I've been through.”

Fletcher leans over and kisses my cheek. “I love you, Mrs. Parsons.”

Nan's temperamental, all right. She refuses to leave her trailer. “I don't want to live with anyone else, including you.”

Fletcher sighs. “You have difficulty even cooking. You can't stay here alone. Your knee—”

“To hell with my knee. I'll crawl if I have to. You're not going to shove me in your back room so I can rot away doing nothing all day.”

“Be reasonable…”

“Why don't we move her trailer onto our property? That's what trailers are for.”

Both Nan and Fletcher seem dazed by the suggestion.

“That's a great idea,” Fletch says. “How about it?”

“Just as long as you don't come barging in on me. You have to knock first—you have no idea what I might be doing.”

We don't want to think about what that means.

It takes a good part of the summer to get our property organized and ready for the new trailer. Fletcher kitty-corners it to ours, and builds a large deck that joins the two. We set up a nice outdoor seating area, with a table and umbrella, lots of chairs, and even a rocking chair so Nan can knit in the shade but still warm her bones. The animals are already thrilled with it.

We spend days packing Nan's fragile things into boxes for the trip over. I discover that Nan is a real packrat, which is kind of great—I find a few pictures of her and Aunt Pearl when they were young girls, sitting around a campfire with other friends. They look happy and carefree. It's nice to see Aunt Pearl like this. You forget that elderly people are just young people who've been hanging around for a while. Nothing changes inside. Perhaps that's why our childhoods still have such sway over us.

The arrangement works beautifully. Nan is already spending more time outdoors than she has in years, and no matter who comes calling, they have to stay and chat with our resident busybody. Dora comes almost every day with some treat or other for her and the two of them talk themselves blue in the face most afternoons.

Beulah provides the comic relief. She runs around in circles in the yard, and Daffy and Donald chase her until they're worn out. They are fast friends now, and most of the time they sleep together in a furry pile. Sometimes you can't even see Beulah until she opens her eyes and yips.

It's while we drink sweet lemonade out on our deck that I end up telling Dora and Nan the story of my childhood, and the search for my kin. Dora bawls her eyes out. She really is a lovely, generous woman and is quickly becoming a good pal. It's freeing to be able to tell people the story of my life. I'm not ashamed or guilt-ridden or broken down by it anymore. It happened. It's over. Life goes on.

The phone rings one morning, and it's Melissa to tell us she has a new baby brother.

“You should see him, Gee! He's perfect. I didn't know babies were so little.”

“That's wonderful news! Send pictures.”

“Just go on Facebook. Mom's put up about a hundred already.”

“That's a good idea. So what's the baby's name?”

“Ryder.”

“What?”

“Ryder…like a horseback rider, only with a y.”

“Oh dear.”

“Stop going all Aunt Pearl on me,” she laughs.

“Fine! So what are your plans for fall?”

“Juni and I were both accepted at Barnard College. Isn't that fantastic? I want to go into women's studies or comparative literature and Juni is in dance! Dad says we have to live at home for the first year, but second year we can get an apartment together.”

“Wow. I can't tell you how proud I am. You've got the world by the tail, honey. Enjoy every moment.”

When I hang up, I sit for a while in utter contentment. My granddaughter will be a Barnard College graduate. Wouldn't Aunt Pearl be thrilled? The relief that Melissa has found her feet again is powerful. So often there are crossroads in your life, when things can go right or horribly wrong. We never know when something we say or do will turn a person's life around. I think the night of Jonathan's phone call helped Melissa more than he could have anticipated—not that I take all the credit. We've all grown a lot since the day I landed in New York.

Nan insists on knitting a sweater, hat, and booties for the baby. I'm pretty certain this child will be dressed to the nines, with Deanne as his mother, but an old-fashioned gift is always appropriate. A baby quilt seems a lot easier to me, and I'm halfway done when I read a magazine article that says modern mothers don't put anything over their children in the crib, for fear of suffocation or SIDS. Well, maybe she can put it on the floor for the baby to lie on. It's hard to keep up with the times.

I spend my mornings on the computer looking at Ryder's pictures and selfies of Melissa and Juni. Now that I'm not looking up missing persons sites, I like to go through my Pinterest boards while I drink tea. Naturally they are full of pictures of animals, but it's the art that captivates me. It's like being back in New York at a museum.

Dora's grandson Felix sets Skype up for me. It's ridiculously easy and I don't know why I thought I couldn't do it myself. Now I can have a real live chat with Melissa, holding baby Ryder in her arms.

“This is beyond amazing,” I tell Fletcher. “It's like they're in the room with you.”

There's less socializing on the new deck now that summer's over, but there's still plenty of it at Nan's. She, Dora, Gladys Nicolson, and I play tarbish or crib a couple of times a week. It keeps us entertained and I can see a real difference in Nan's mood. She's cheerful and chatty and ready for anything. Why didn't we think of this years ago?

In September, Nan goes in for her knee replacement. She says it was a piece of cake. Hard to believe she's in her eighties. I hope I'm that spry at her age.

Since I'm on call with Nan while she recovers, I spend a lot of time at her place, but when she naps I tend to my own chores, thanks to the new baby monitor that Fletch bought me. We put one speaker in Nan's room and one in our kitchen. Nan knows to holler into it if she needs me.

Today it's time to muck out this bedroom, but the first thing I see is the urn with my sister's ashes on the windowsill. At first it was a comfort, but now I'm starting to feel a little selfish. Would I want to linger in someone's bedroom, gathering dust, after I'm gone? I'm going to have to stop waffling soon.

The urn reminds me of the small box that Fletcher gathered from Maria's apartment. It's been in the top of the closet since we got home, and I've had no desire to see the contents. Fletch told me what was in there and it's not much, so why am I staring at it now? Just open it and have it done with. Perhaps I can bury her things with her. Reaching my arms over my head, I take down the box and sit on the bed with it. It's so sad. This is all there is to say she lived. Her sweater is dirty and pilled, with food stains and a cigarette hole in the cuff. I'll wash it and fix the hole. There's a small thistle pin, the kind you wear on a coat. The back pin is broken and it's quite tarnished, but I can have it repaired. The hand mirror is cracked. I'll fix that too.

There are two books at the bottom. One is a paperback, some romance thing with a chesty woman and a swashbuckler on the cover. That I'll donate to the book mobile. The other is a small and worn, hardcover book. When I turn it over I discover it's a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

I'm back at the camp. Maria decided to put on a play. Helen and I both wanted to be Alice, but Maria said that was her role. She made me the Queen of Hearts and Helen the White Rabbit. The other parts were chosen by Maria too, with all the kids clamouring to be part of it. We worked on it for a couple of weeks and the younger kids loved it. They made us do it over and over again. Even some of the mothers were in the audience. I'd forgotten all about it; the bad memories wiped out the good ones. Working on that play with my sister is definitely a great memory.

It must have been for Maria as well.

My sister never forgot me. Some part of her wanted me with her. When she had nothing to her name, she kept that book. Oh, how I wish we could have shared our stories with one another. I hold the book to my heart, a gift I will cherish forever.

As I put it down I notice a bookmark of some kind, so I open the pages and retrieve it. It's a small document that has been folded up for a long time. It's probably nothing, but I unfold it anyway.

It's a birth certificate. Maria had a child with her husband, Terry Evans. A little girl named Trixie Grace Evans, born in Toronto on June 13, 1970.

I stare at the paper, afraid to believe it. If this is true, I have a niece. A niece named after our mother and me. Further proof that my sister loved me. That she loved our mom. We are a family, despite having been torn apart by horrific circumstances. This connection is real and can't be taken away.

Fletcher finds me sitting on the bed with the birth certificate still in my hand. “Why is it so gloomy in here?” He turns on the light which makes me squint. “Any supper going? If not, there's a vegetarian pizza in the freezer.”

I hold the paper out to him. “I have a niece named Trixie Grace. Do you know what this means?”

He smiles at me. “Everything.”