Blasted (42 page)

CHAPTER 30

The wedding approached. Tad started visiting the apartment more often, looking haggard, drinking too much. I restrained myself and didn't ask why he and Judith were going through with it. “Uncle Brendan” practically disappeared under the weight of his many duties as best (or as he preferred to call himself, worst) man. Blue and Gil went shopping for gifts.

These days I could barely walk the streets of the city: every store window I passed sprouted plastic fungus, black and bright orange; every home haunted itself with cheerful, substantial ghosts. Parents and children jammed the stores, yammering, choosing costumes and masks and props. I stayed in bed. People had told me that anniversaries are always
hard
; that I, perhaps for the rest of my life, would sink at this time of year as my body relived the deaths, the
accident
. Hard. It didn't feel hard; it felt soft, dangerous as drowning.

My room had long since stopped feeling like a refuge; the walls, the ceiling, the bed, all too small. I began to wish I could fly, fly away, go east, home to the sea where things would be better. “Well,” I told myself the day before Hallowe'en, “I can't fly, but I can ride.” And I went to Blue's friend's garage near the Danforth and got my motorcycle out of storage.

The friend was away. I left a case of beer for him inside the porch door, and let myself into the garage. She was dusty, poor lonely thing, and refused to start at first. I was clumsy with the choke, and had to contend with a steep hill as soon as I wobbled off the gravel driveway – the bike shuddered and jumped as my hand jerked the accelerator. I swore at myself, sweating; you'd think I'd never driven a bike before. Holy Mary Mother of God, this hill is steep! Ruby, you're from St. John's, this is nothing,
drive.

And then we crested the hill, I turned on the indicator to go right, and it all clicked in again. I headed the few blocks toward Blue's. Traffic crept beneath the afternoon sun shining into my eyes. I remembered to check the gas gauge – half full, thank God. I coasted along, remembering my ride to Clyde's in the market. It seemed so long ago. Stuck at a red light I suddenly turned the bike around. I'd go east, east to the Beaches, seeking water.

Traffic that way was no better; it took ages to get there, to the open stretch of the lake, the sandy beach. I parked and sat on the garbage-strewn sand, staring out at the expanse of grey and blue-green. Joggers pounded behind me on the boardwalk; a couple strolled hand in hand, the woman with a baby strapped to her front. The man made funny faces at it, and all three of them laughed, the baby waving its tiny arms in the air. It was all bundled up in a hat and purple mittens, impossibly small.

Something moved inside my chest. I almost felt what it would be like to hold a small baby in my arms, as if I
had
before and it had been taken away from me. The family moved on, not seeing the woman staring on the beach; a long time went by and still I sat there, the flat grey water lapping at the sand. The light leeched from the sky – the boardwalk empty now – I was alone. It was almost dark. Between the earth and the sky I heard it, a thin and threading sound. I got to my feet. In the twilight unseen wings snapped over my head, so close I felt the air fanning my face; I
had
had a baby and they'd taken it away from me, in the glass jar, my little girl. The wings whispered and hushed overhead, so close:
you left her with us, we're raising her up. Soon...
Circling about my head, and then gone.

I rode my bike until my body ached and my eyes were bleary with sleep, but it was no use. The night was cool and rich, a sharpness to the air full of the scent of leaves, burning with colour, spending themselves recklessly before the final hard frosts came to freeze their sap to crystal and send them down. Hallowe'en day dawned cold and clear. I watched the sun come up, thin and gold from the cold green bowl of Bellwood Park.

The ringing phone woke me around noon. Blue and Gil were out; I'd heard them leave. It rang four times, five, Blue's message would kick in soon, and then some instinct made me leap out of bed, run to the living room and grab the receiver.

“Hello?” – no one spoke. Recently Blue had broken down and gotten call-display for his land line. I squinted at the little screen: my grandfather's number. “Grandpa?” Faint breathing. “Hello – Grandpa?” Fear squeezed my heart – he'd had a stroke and couldn't speak, I'd have to call… did I have Aunt Queenie's number? I'd phone information, get it, and… “Who are you?” The voice was high pitched and young.

“Who are
you
?”

“Mom?”

A little baby with purple mittens, the snap of wings in the sky. “Who is this?” I whispered.

“Where is my mother?” The little voice rose.

“What is your name?”

“WHO ARE YOU?”

“Ruby.” This was no phantom child; my ear was ringing. A pause, in which no one said anything. “Why did you call this number, sweetie?” My voice was wheedling and about two octaves higher than normal.

“Why is your voice all stupid all of a sudden?”

I conceived a violent hatred for the creature, whoever she was. “Just get my grandfather, you…” I controlled myself. “Is he there, is he okay?” Nothing. “Hello? Hello?” Had she hung up on me? Then I heard voices in the background and heavy footsteps; the child had merely obeyed my instructions and gotten Grandpa, leaving the receiver hanging.

“Ruby.” His voice, terse as ever. Relief coursed through me.

“Hi, it's me.”

He paused. “Oh,
you
.”

“Yes,
me
.” Relief now twinned with dull anger.

“Well, it's grand to know I have a granddaughter, still. I was beginning to wonder.”

“Ever occur to you to pick up the phone yourself? You haven't lost the use of your hands, have you?”

“Don't be saucy.”

“How's the damn dog?”

“
Lily
is fine, just fine. Aren't you, girl? I'm talking to your sister Ruby!”

“Don't call that damn dog my sister!”

Lily began to growl and bark. “You've upset her,” said Grandpa.

“And who was that girl?”

“Tina.”

I waited for him to elaborate. The silence stretched. “Good Lord above, witness my restraint,” I said at last. “Who is Tina, and why is she phoning Blue's apartment?”

He grunted. “She phoned you?”

“Yeah, any idea why?”

“Well…” he paused, thinking. “Well, I've got a list of phone numbers on the wall over the telephone. Maybe she read your
friend's
number there and dialed it.”

“His name is Blue.”

“Maybe she was looking for her mother.”

“What's she doing at your house?”

“She's living here.”

“What do you mean,
here
?”

“What do you think I mean? Here. Here.
Here
!”

“
There?
With
you?
” My voice rose. Lily started barking again.

“Yes, girl. One of Queenie's cheer-up-John schemes.”

“The kid's staying there with
you
?”

“Have you gone deaf? Queenie's Doreen's getting divorced.”

“Doreen?”

“Your
cousin
. Queenie's
daughter
. My Lord, girl –”

“Oh, Doreen.”

“Yes, Doreen, who did you think –”

“Okay, okay. Divorced?”

“Getting there.”

“I forgot she had a kid.” I'd never really known Doreen, almost ten years older than I, a real girl. I'd gotten fabulously drunk at her wedding; now, I remembered a small, fair, scowling child in a white lacy dress, bearing a little pillow with the ring on it. The happy couple had given birth to her five years previously, and I remembered wondering why they were bothering to tie the knot now. “She's what – how old?”

“Seven.”

“Well, I never liked that guy anyway, what's his name?” Grandpa grunted. “Don't they live somewhere around here?”

“Hamilton.”

“He's from there, isn't he?”

“And that's where he's staying.” Grandpa's voice was as flat and disapproving as Lake Ontario.

“Why the hell is the kid living with you?” I couldn't help asking.

“Language. Doreen's in Ontario settling things. And Queenie thinks having her here will cheer me up.”

Sadness and anger rose like bile in my throat. “And does she?”

“Well, I suppose she does. Yes, she does.”

“Well, that's nice.” Another pause, then I heard myself asking, “Is she going out tonight?” A freezing silence. “For Hallowe'en?”

“
Our
family...”

“Doesn't do Hallowe'en, oh, I know. It's a dangerous night.”

“That's right.” Cold, grey voice.

“Didn't you always say that? A dangerous night?” We never talked of this, never.

“What's gotten into you?”

My throat stuck. I licked dry lips. “Did he change? On this night?” Grandpa said nothing; Ruby, why did you say that, why did you say that? “Was he born strange? Or something happened, did he…”

“Shut it.” The rage in his voice terrified me, the coldness.

“He's my
father
, can't you…” My body felt very far away, the sound of my own speech came to me through a long tunnel; I kept talking. “You always let me go out any time at all, you let me do
anything
, you didn't care; but that one night…” Silence, but I could hear his breathing, fast. “Was it because of him? If this is such a goddamn special night for
Them
that you won't give out a
stick
of candy, you stay inside with the curtains drawn, like you're in mourning for someone that
died
…”

“Shut it!”

“It's the night the dead walk. Is that it?”

“Ruby!” he roared into the phone.

“Or is it our
bad blood?
Like your mother? The one who looks so goddamn much like me that you can hardly stand to have me in the house?” Once I got going with the accusations it was easier to keep them coming than to put on the brakes. “Was she nuts too? And Dad? Like me?”

“What do
you
know about my mother?”

“That she was half crazy… I don't know! You tell me.”

“She changed.” His voice cracked.

“And what about my father?” I was relentless now.

“Him too. They both went away. Away. On this night!” His breath caught in his throat and at the very moment that I felt wetness streaming down my own cheeks, I realized that he was in tears.

“Our bad blood,” I whispered.

“Over and over again. Neil… and Maddie would never see it.”

“Queenie told me there was an accident, when he was younger, the one that made him lame…”

Grandpa hung up the phone.

My heart fluttered and moaned, and I could see him in that dim, narrow hallway, leaning against the old patterned wallpaper, passing his hand over his eyes. But now I was months before the accident, something I hadn't remembered in so long. Springtime, and we were digging in the garden together, my father and I, he'd emerged from his bed at last. “Well,” he'd said to me, “it's a wonder you didn't keep him all summer long too.”

“Who?”

“That fellow in the bed. I'm out here all winter, surrounded, ten thousand of them.”

I'd kept digging. We were getting dandelions out from between the rough slabs of slate he'd put down as flagstones. Dad stopped, looked up into the high blue sky, his eyes clear. “No,” he murmured, “I couldn't get away from them. Until that fellow came back.”

“Who?”

“When winter ended, when he came back,” he'd said, “I got clear. I came home.”

CHAPTER 31

The six-pack in the fridge was back-lit like a stained glass window on a sunny day. Gorgeous amber in clear glass bottles. My head ached. I took one out, put it to my forehead; the coldness soothed me. I rolled the bottle over my temples, my cheeks, my neck. Then I opened it. I drank half the beer in one gulp. I sat down, and I finished it.