Cherry Bites (13 page)

Henry stayed the night but left first thing in the morning without even a cup of coffee. He trusted his kids but as he said, you never know.

I sat at the dining room table with my coffee and the Friday
Free Press
. But I didn’t get much reading done.

There were three main things I wondered about, now that I knew Pete was alive. First, what had really happened with his hanging? Did he try to hang himself and fail? Or did he fake it, like that other time, in Whitall’s yard? Or was it an accident that Nora found in time? Or was the whole damn episode invented?

It seemed important for me to know if he had wanted to die, however briefly. And I still didn’t know how far the scam went. Was it just me and Dougwell and Winnipeg that were lied to, or were Pete’s friends and acquaintances in Vancouver led to believe he was dead as well?

And what about Dougwell? That was the second thing I wondered. I couldn’t bear to think he had been in on it, but how could I not consider it?

The third main thing I wondered was why Nora told me that Pete hadn’t been quite dead when she found him, how she had watched him die. But how could I ever get an answer to that? It had to have been just for her own entertainment.

Then there were the secondary things I wondered: Where had Pete been all these years? How had he been living? Did he know that Nora was dead? Was she dead?

There was a knock on the front door. I looked out the window and saw a
Green Guys’
truck. That’s the company I had hired earlier in the summer to try and do something about the state of my grass. They hadn’t been very successful so I didn’t hire them for a second treatment.

“Yes?” I said to the unsmiling young man at the door.

“I’m here to do the aeration portion of your lawn package,” he said, and showed me the order form with my name and address typed neatly in the appropriate places.

“That’s odd,” I said. “I didn’t order this work.”

“Well, would you like it done, now I’m here?” he asked, and I realized that this was an underhanded sales pitch.

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. And I’m also disgusted that you would try to trick me into having my lawn aerated. Did someone put you up to this? Your boss maybe?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

He’d gone red in the face and started backing away.

“So it was your bright idea?”

My voice was loud now and I could see Mr. Widener staring from two doors down. Mitzi started to bark; Spike was leaning hard against my legs and he began a low growl deep in his throat.

“Prick!” I said quietly.

“What?” said the Green Guy.

“Nothing.”

“What did you call me?”

“Nothing,” I said and was already regretting the whole unfortunate incident. Why couldn’t I have handled it like a Zen master? If he’d gone to Joanne’s house she would have smiled at him and given him a glass of water.

“You’ll live to regret this,” he said and marched toward his truck.

“Great,” I said.

He turned around. “What?”

“Nothing.”

This encounter upset me terribly. I went back inside the house and locked the door behind me. Spike brought two clean rags up from the basement and left them by my chair in the living room. He looked at me expectantly. I am never quite sure why he brings me bits of cloth, but I think of it as a gift; it always feels like one.

“Thank you, Spike,” I said, and lifted him up so I could kiss his soft forehead.

He joined me in my chair where I tried to do the type of breathing we would be learning at my yoga class; I’d been to the orientation meeting. I breathed through alternate nostrils but I got mixed up. So I just breathed deeply but normally for a few minutes till my heart slowed down. Then I warmed up my coffee, found the phone and my little phone book and sat back down.

I called Dougwell at his sister’s house in Penticton and told him about the events of the previous night. I wanted to talk to him about all the things that were nagging at me, but it wasn’t the right time for those kinds of questions. His shock at Pete’s being alive was so great that I worried I might have damaged his heart with the news.

“Would you like me to come, Cherry?” he asked after a moment.

“No, Dougwell. Henry’s here to help me. And I think we’re even going to call the police. I’m a bit scared, but there’s no reason for you to be here.”

“Henry. That’s good. Are you sure about me not coming?”

“Yes. I’d love to see you, but not now. Maybe I’ll come and visit later in the fall?” This seemed a little far-fetched but not impossible.

I could hear what must have been Dougwell’s sister in the background.

“Sit down, Dougie,” she said. “Take a sip of water.”

We decided to talk again later in the day. I had so many questions.

But he called me right back. He must have sensed my need to know certain things.

Dougwell stressed that he hadn’t been home at the time of Pete’s non-death. The ambulance had been and gone according to Nora, the basement had been cleaned up and all that was left was my mother in a heap of tears. He was worried that I would think he was in on it.

My suspicions about him didn’t stay with me for long.

Nora had taken care of the arrangements. The non-arrangements. For all either of us knew there hadn’t been an attempted suicide, an accident, or a faked hanging. There was just a mother and son chat. It was most probable that Pete had never planned to die. This both comforted me and scared me to death. Why had they done it?

As far as Nora’s embellishing the death scene went, Dougwell couldn’t answer my questions about that. I shouldn’t have even asked.

If I had been there and the charade had played itself out, I would have gotten to the bottom of it. I would have demanded to see my brother’s body. Or something. Nora’s word would never have been enough. How could it have been enough for Dougwell? He’d been under her spell, I guess. And not connected to Pete like I was. By the time Nora told me about Pete’s death he had supposedly been cremated already. I should have asked for proof: a certificate of death. Why hadn’t I? Dougwell hadn’t been the only one under her spell.

I didn’t want to say what came out next but I couldn’t stop myself.

“You were with Nora when she died, weren’t you, Dougwell?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “I was. And I don’t blame you for asking.”

We said our goodbyes again and promised to talk soon.

Nora’s journal sat where I had left it on the dining room table. I hadn’t looked at it since I read the part about her biting my instep.

I flipped to the Vancouver years.

When I turned to the back page I realized that I had looked at it before, but had taken it for gibberish. I looked more closely now and suddenly realized what I was looking at.

1973

Pegetege egis egin jegaegil. Hege wegas bregoegught egup egon chegargeges egof segelleging dregugs tego meginegors. Hegeregoegin. Egit wegas thege egotheger wegay egaregoegund, begut nego egonege begelegiegeveges hegim begut mege. Thege regottegen kegids wegerege segelleging egit tego Pegetege. Hege megight bege egawegegy fegor ega vegeregy legong tegimege.

Hegow wegoeguld egi egexplegaegin hegis egabsegencege fregom megy legifege tego thege wegomegen whego cegomege fegor bregidgege egand begoegok clegub? Whegat wegoeguld egi tegell thege negeegighbegoegurs whegen thegeegy nego legongeger segeege hegim egaregoegund? Egand hegis egold fregiegends fregom hegomege, whego tegurn egup egon egoegur degoegorstegep. Hegow cegoeguld egi egexplegaegin tego thegem hegis whegeregeegabegoeguts egand wegatch thegem regtegurn egeegast wegith tegaleges egof egoegur fegamegilegy’s shegamege?

Wege hegavege cegomege egup wegith egan egidegeega begetwegeegen thege twego egof egus. Degeegath! Negobegodegy wegill egeveger knegow

Megatsqeguegi.

The reason I hadn’t gotten it at first was that when my friends and I had used this code in the sixties we had never written it down. It was a verbal communication. We added the two letters
eg
in front of every vowel, including y’s, and made sure none of the vowels were silent. We found it a fairly easy way to talk in secret around adults or other people who we didn’t want to include in our conversations, like little brothers or sisters, people like that. It was rude and mean, I guess. I don’t remember if we made it up or stole it.

Imagine Nora having figured it out! Or maybe it was something she already knew about, like pig Latin. Maybe it wasn’t as ingenious as we thought. I couldn’t tell, looking at it now.

Translation:

Pete is in jail. He was brought up on charges of selling drugs to minors. Heroin. It was the other way around but no one believes him but me. The rotten kids were selling it to Pete. He might be away for a very long time.

How would I explain his absence from my life to the women who come for bridge and book club? What would I tell the neighbours when they no longer see him around? And his old friends from home, who turn up on our doorstep. How could I explain to them his whereabouts, and watch them return east with tales of our family’s shame?

We have come up with an idea between the two of us. Death! No one will ever know.

Matsqui.

The Matsqui Institution in Abbotsford. I’d heard of it. So Nora had helped Pete lie because he went to jail—because of the shame involved in that. She’d had no fear of tempting the gods with her only son—no fear of dangling him before them in that way. His death sat better with her than a stint in jail. It was kinder to her image. And Pete—he went along for the ride; he just didn’t care.

I turned to the monster page and reached for a white pen. Underneath Nora’s alien I wrote:

Gregeegat-Egaeguntegiege Legucege

Translation:

Great Aunt Luce

Then I phoned Dougwell back and told him about this latest revelation.

It was noon when Frank Foote knocked on my door. I was sitting at the dining room table staring at a piece of toast. I shuffled into the kitchen and we looked at each other through the screen.

“May I come in, Cherry?” Frank asked.

“Sure. Sorry, Frank. Come on in.”

“I apologize for not making it sooner,” he said. “Sadie dislocated her elbow and I had to run her over to the hospital to get it popped back in place.”

“Oooh. That sounds painful,” I said. “Is she okay?”

“Yup. She’s fine. It’s happened before so she knows it’s not the end of the world, even though it hurts a lot.”

“Poor little kid,” I said.

“Yeah. The doctor complimented her on her toenail polish though, so she’s feeling pretty good about things now.”

I laughed. “Would you like some coffee, Frank? It’s already made.”

“No thanks,” he said. “I’m all coffeed up.”

He held one of his big hands out in front of him, horizontally, so we could both watch it vibrate.

I led him into the dining room where we sat down at my big oak table.

“Toast, then?” I said. “I’m not going to eat this.”

I pushed it towards him along with the Malkin’s cherry jam. He spread a little jam on the cool toast and took a bite.

“Mmm,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “It’s from the Tall Grass Bakery.”

I watched Frank chew. He looked so innocent, and so comfortable in a nervous kind of way. Probably I made him nervous. I wished that I were June Cleaver. Frank could be Ward. Wally and Beaver could be grown up and successful in their chosen fields.

“So Pete came back from the dead to pay me a visit,” I said.

Frank swallowed his first bite. “It must have been a shock for you to see him again.”

“To say the least.”

“So you thought he was dead.” Frank took another bite and chewed slowly.

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

I thought everybody knew. It was the type of thing that people love to know.

He nodded. Frank wouldn’t speak with his mouth full.

“I had heard,” he said, wiping the edge of his lips with a napkin that he took from a little pile on the table. “It was a long time ago now, wasn’t it?”

“1973,” I said.

The phone rang and I went out into the hall to answer it. It was Myrna, according to the call display, but she hung up after two rings. She must have had a change of heart or a stiff at the door.

“Remember that time Pete pretended to hang himself in Mr. Whitall’s front yard?” I sat down again across from Frank.

“Yes, I do remember that,” Frank said. “It’s as though he doesn’t get how serious death is for most people; he plays with it like it’s a game.”

“I think it’s more aggressive than that.” I sighed.

“You and he had a fairly tumultuous relationship as I recall,” Frank said.

“More of a non-relationship, really. He pretty much pretended that I didn’t exist.”

“Christ, that’s not how I remember it,” Frank said. “He used to talk about you all the time, at least when we were very young. By the time we got to high school he and I didn’t really hang around together much anymore.”

“Pardon?”

Frank looked at me. “The whole thing?”

“No. The part about how he talked about me.”

“He did talk about you a lot. He was always planning some sort of trick to play on you.”

“Well, fuck.”

Frank took another bite, so I gave him a few minutes while I processed this new information about my brother. It had never occurred to me that he would have talked about me to anyone else, if he hadn’t talked to me.

But then I remembered seeing Pete and Duane playing ball together the day after I lost my virginity. And Pete’s presence at the party the night before.

“He loathed me,” I said.

“That’s pretty strong,” said Frank. “But he did have a bone to pick with you, that’s for sure.”

He didn’t look at me when he said that and I had the wild idea that he knew about my biting Pete. Could he know about that? How could he know about that?”

“I think it had to do with you calling him Assface,” Frank said. “He must have really hated that. I know I would have.”

“Do you know why I called him that?” I couldn’t say the name out loud. My face felt hot.

“It had something to do with a scar on his cheek, didn’t it? Skin was grafted from his butt onto his face after he took a bad fall. Something like that?”

“Something like that, yeah. It was mean of me to give him that name, wasn’t it? It really caught on.”

“Yes. I guess it was mean, but you were just a kid. Kids seem to have to be taught not to be mean.”

“You have three kids, right, Frank?” I needed to change the subject.

“Yup, three.” He whipped out his wallet and laid it on the table. Three faces smiled up at me through cloudy plastic.

“This is Emma; she’s fourteen. Garth, our boy. And Sadie, the youngest.” Frank smiled. “She’s the boss.”

“They’re a fine-looking bunch of kids.”

I got up and moved to the window seat where I could concentrate on the chickadees in the apple tree. I could hear Frank folding his pictures back into his wallet.

“Do you want to make an official report about Pete?” he asked.

“No. I’m sorry, Frank. Henry shouldn’t have phoned you. There’s nothing to be done.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Frank said. “And I don’t really know what to suggest. Why don’t you let me know if he turns up again?”

He wrote all his phone numbers on a serviette and anchored it with the cherry jam. He kept a pen in his shirt pocket.

“Your mother passed away, right?” Frank stood up to go. “She’s no longer around?”

“Yeah, a long time ago.”

“So, it’s just you and Pete.”

“Yeah, a real well-rounded family.”

“Well, families come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they?”

“We have a stepfather,” I said. “Dougwell Jones.”

“I remember him,” said Frank. “He was a really nice guy.”

“He still is,” I said. “I never see him though. He lives in Penticton.”

“You should make the effort,” Frank said. “He might be of some comfort to you when things get tough.”

“Thanks for coming, Frank.”

It was time for him to go. I didn’t want his advice. I didn’t even want to be June Cleaver anymore. A moment ago I wanted to tell Frank that Henry had named one of his kids Dougwell, but now I felt too low to speak.

Later on in the afternoon I took Spike for a walk. He cheered me up with his gently flapping ears and his love of sticks. It’s easy for me to imagine how good that rough stick must feel against his teeth and gums.

The Green Guy was spraying a yard on Birchdale Avenue. I stopped and watched from a short distance away. I figured when he saw me I’d give him a friendly wave to try to make up for the hard feelings from earlier in the day. I explained what we were doing to Spike, who remained very still. He thought we were trying not to be seen.

The Green Guy finally looked in our direction and I waved and smiled. Spike remained motionless but his eyes took in my movements. The guy didn’t wave back.

Fuck him! I turned on my heel. Spike reared up and turned, too, and we walked smartly away.