Henry's Sisters (26 page)

I felt sheer pain radiating through my body. Pain for us all. Pain for Henry and what was in store for him. Pain for Dad, who would soon lose the son he had only come to know recently. Pain for Cecilia, who needed Henry so she could live, and for Janie, who loved Henry to distraction.

Pain for me. Pain for Momma. This news would break her in half.

She laughed at something one of the ladies said, and it startled me. Momma had so seldom laughed after Dad left, our struggles overwhelming any hint of amusement.

She laughed again, her face relaxed, carefree.

I was about to take all of this away from her because her son, her beloved son, who she was always faithful to, and had always fought for, was dying.

Momma chatted with the lady next to her but, like a magnet, her gaze skimming right off Dad, our eyes locked.

I watched as a myriad of emotions galloped across those fine, classic features: surprise (Isabelle isn’t supposed to be here! She didn’t make an appointment), joy (I was glad to see that), guilt (because she’d been pretending to be such a sick,
sick
Momma), and annoyance (Yikes! The game was up!).

She excused herself from the game over the other ladies’ protests and walked stiffly out of the room, right past Dad. I followed her.

‘I don’t want you to think, Isabelle, that because I took a little break away from my pain, my exhaustion, that I’m better. I struggled out of bed this morning, I could hardly get up. Swanson had to come and help me—’ Her eyes finally flittered to Dad.

I don’t think Momma could have been more shocked if I’d brought in three ostriches by leash.

All the blood drained out of her face.

‘Momma…’ I put a hand out to steady her.

I expected Momma to recover quickly from this shock and show so much condescension, anger, and coldness to Dad it would freeze the entire room into a giant icicle.

I expected this because I thought I knew Momma.

‘Hello, River,’ Dad said, his voice gentle, soothing. ‘You, as always, you are still…’ He paused, gathered himself together as he choked on his words. ‘Still so beautiful.’

I waited for the icicles to drop from her mouth. I waited for her to decimate him, listing the litany of abuses he had inflicted on her by leaving us.

After years alone and struggling she would have words for him, her famous temper breaking free and mean. I would not have been surprised had she hit him. I knew this because I knew my momma.

Her face softened into lines of love, and she put out her arms and stepped right into his warm embrace.

‘River Bommarito,’ Dad croaked out, his voice breaking as he cuddled her close. ‘I have missed you every day. Every single day, sweetheart. Like I told you I would.’

‘You’re staying then, Carl?’ Momma asked, her voice filled with hope, blossoming, cheery, flowery hope.

‘Forever,’ Dad said, rumbly and deep. He kissed her forehead. ‘Forever, honey.’

I dropped into a chair as Momma kissed Dad’s cheeks. He tenderly wiped away her tears, then his own.

I clearly didn’t know Momma at all.

I hardly knew what to do.

My dad had abandoned us.

He went to jail for murder.

My childhood was filled with chaos and poverty and disruption and humiliation.

And Momma, one of the most vindictive, critical people I have ever met, was hugging Dad, her smile wide and pure and sweet.

It was heartbreaking that the smile did not last.

‘River,’ Dad said, voice gruff and rough. ‘Perhaps we could have a few minutes of privacy.’

Momma’s friends grinned at her, waving their cards. One older lady declared, ‘He’s hot! How is he in bed, River?’ Another one cracked, ‘Bring him to the beach with us tomorrow! I’d like to see him in his bathing suit!’ She thumped her walker.

Momma escorted us to her room, her head up. I think she was proud of my dad.

She insisted on going into her room by herself. I could hear her moving around in there and I pictured her picking things up, opening the blinds, a window, straightening the bedcovers.

When she opened the door, I could tell that she had added a little lipstick.

‘I’ll speak to your mother alone for a few minutes, honey,’ Dad had told me. ‘We’ll tell her about Henry together, but I think she might need a little time to get used to my being here.’

I made noises indicating I agreed, and waited outside Momma’s door. I heard her laughter; and her voice, which had always been so strident and demanding, was gentle, even soothing, funny, lovely.

I leant against the wall and wrapped my arms around my body. Momma loved Henry to the Big Dipper and back. She would never be the same. I wasn’t sure she’d live through this.

I held myself tighter as the tears tracked down my cheeks.

I wasn’t sure I’d live through this, either.

‘Momma,’ I said, as gentle as I could about thirty minutes later. I put my hand around hers across a table and Dad did the same. ‘Momma, Henry had a stomach ache the other day.’

Momma smiled, gazed at Dad. ‘Henry always gets stomach aches. You remember that, Carl? Poor boy.’

I cleared my throat. ‘Momma, it’s more than a stomach ache this time.’ My eyes filled up with tears. ‘It’s more than that.’

‘River, honey,’ Dad said, clearing his throat. ‘Henry is at the hospital. Janie and Cecilia are with him.’

He declined to mention that Cecilia was lying prostrate in a bed and Janie could barely breathe, but Momma did not need all the gory details at once.

‘What?’ she squeaked. I could feel her fear poking through. ‘What do you mean? What’s wrong?’

Dad steadied her with his voice. ‘Henry is not well, River. He’s ill and he’s under a doctor’s care. I’m sorry, honey, there is no easy way to say this.’ He paused, held her gaze. ‘Henry has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.’ He waited for his words to sink into her denial. ‘I am so sorry, River.’

She slumped back in her chair. ‘Pancreatic cancer?
What?
What do you mean? I don’t even know exactly what that is!’

Dad explained it to her, explained what a pancreas does and where it is in the body.

‘But how did he get that? Henry is a young man, he shouldn’t have cancer.’

‘They don’t know,’ Dad said. ‘The point is that he has it.’

‘But he’ll be OK? They’ll treat it. The doctors will treat it, right?’ I saw the bleak panic growing in her eyes by gargantuan leaps and bounds.

‘We’re consulting with the doctors about that, River, and we’re going to bring you back to the hospital now so you can discuss this with the doctors yourself.’

‘You can bet I’m going back right now!’ A fight was coming, I knew it. ‘You can bet I’m going! We’re going to treat this and Henry is going to be fine! He is going to be fine!’ She stood up, her body quaking, and slammed both hands on the table. ‘Do you hear me, Carl Bommarito?
Henry is going to be fine!
’

Cecilia had checked herself out of her room and was dressed and standing near Henry when we arrived. Standing as if on guard, shoulders back, blonde hair bound in a ponytail.

Janie was playing checkers with Henry. She had found a CD player and classical music wafted through. Henry was propped up against the pillows, his slanted eyes tired but happy.

Janie and Cecilia moved out of the way for Momma, who came flying in.

‘Momma!’ Henry whooped, his arms out, checkers flying.

‘Henry,’ Momma said, hugging him close as the checkerboard fell to the floor. ‘My boy. My big boy. I love you, baby, and you’re going to get better soon.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Henry said, giving her a kiss. ‘The doctor say I sick. It a lady doctor. She has a dog. A dog named Snickers. Snickers!’ He laughed. ‘Like the candy bar, get it! And she has another dog, Rex. Rex and Snickers…’ He dissolved into laughter. ‘It silly! Rex and Snickers are in love, that what the doctor said. She have two doggies in love!’

He thought this was hilarious. We all tried to laugh. It’s hard to laugh when you’re staring down death in the face. Not impossible. But hard.

Momma always knew how to relate to Henry. ‘Are they married?’ She smiled, but I could see the tears in those bright emerald eyes.

‘Married!’ Henry cackled. ‘Are the doggies married! I ask the doctor! They should get married if they in loooovvee! Hey! Maybe Jesus can marry them!’

He was pale, sort of yellowish, but that smile beamed. ‘The doctors and nurses say, “How you are, Henry?” I tell them, “I fine. Jesus loves you.” Hi, Dad! Dad back, Momma. Dad back.’

‘He sure is, sugar,’ Momma told him, brushing his curls back with such tenderness it almost brought me to my knees. ‘He sure is.’

‘Yeah, Dad back. There the doctor!’ Henry smiled, his mouth open wide as Dr Remmer came in. ‘Hey, doctor, are Snickers and Rex married? Are they married?’

We finally persuaded Henry to take a nap. It hadn’t taken much; his eyelids were closing, and when he was asleep we all trooped out to the conference room across the hall to speak again with Dr Remmer and about three other doctors and nurses whose names I did not bother to learn.

‘Tell me about my son,’ Momma said, her hands laced tight together as the tear dam finally broke. Dad kept his hand on her back.

‘Mrs Bommarito,’ Dr Remmer started. ‘As you know, Henry was recently admitted and diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I understand that Henry has lost some weight
lately—’

‘I knew it,’ Momma said, glaring at the three of us sisters. ‘You weren’t feeding him enough, were you?’

‘Yes, we did feed him enough, Momma,’ I said. ‘He had lost his appetite.’

‘You should have made him his favourite meals, then,’ Momma snapped.

‘All we cook are Henry’s favourite meals, Momma—’ Cecilia protested.

‘They’ve taken wonderful care of Henry, River,’ Dad interjected. ‘Wonderful. You’ve raised beautiful, caring daughters.’

‘If I had been home—’ Momma said, angry.

‘If you had been home, Mrs Bommarito,’ the doctor interrupted, ‘the result would have been the same.’

Momma wriggled in her chair. Janie put her hand on Momma’s shoulder. I stood behind Janie to catch her.

‘So you’re going to treat it and we’ll get rid of it,’ Momma told the doctor, her tone hard. ‘You’re going to get rid of it.’

The doctor glanced down at her papers. I knew she was gathering her thoughts. The doctors around her suddenly found a need to shuffle their papers.

‘We need to discuss that,’ the doctor said.

‘What?’ Momma spat out. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. Treat the cancer. Get rid of it. People live through cancer all the time. I know two women in Trillium River who had cancer more than twenty years ago and they’re still alive. Put him on chemo. We’ll bring him in. You can do that radiation thing, too. Or operate. Can’t you cut the cancer out?’ She arched an eyebrow at the doctor. ‘Surely you can do that?’ I knew Momma and I knew what she was trying to do. Intimidation by condescension.

This doctor was not intimidated, though, as she was used to working with people who were half out of their minds. Momma did not ruffle her at all.

‘Unfortunately, of all the cancers one does not want to have, this is it.’ The doctor paused. ‘Pancreatic cancer is seldom caught in time to do anything about it. There aren’t symptoms until it’s too late.’

‘It’s not too late to treat it,’ Momma insisted, her voice broken, leaning forward. ‘People have always wanted to give up on Henry. Always. His teachers. His schools. The doctors. Don’t give up on my boy.
Don’t give up on my boy
.’

‘Mrs Bommarito,’ the doctor said, ‘I would never ever give up on any patient, especially not Henry.’

‘You’re going to now,’ Momma accused, tears dripping onto the table. ‘You’re going to now. I can tell.’

The doctor reached a hand across to Momma.

Now I thought Momma might hit that hand, but she didn’t. She grabbed the doctor’s hand like a lifeline.

‘You can save my boy for me, doctor. I know you can.’

‘Mrs Bommarito,’ the doctor said, clasping both her hands on Momma’s, woman to woman. She took a deep breath. ‘We’ve done a number of scans and tests. Henry’s cancer is too far metastasized. We can’t operate. There’s no point. It’s…the cancer is all over… I am terribly, terribly sorry. I have no miracle cure for this.’

‘A miracle? A miracle?’ Momma’s voice pitched. ‘I don’t need a miracle. I need you to do your job and fix my son!’

The doctor did not take offence.

Who could? A mother was sitting across from her, holding her hand tight, tears dripping off her chin and forming a puddle on the table in front of her.

‘What are you telling me? There’s no cure, there’s nothing you can do?’

Cecilia slapped her hands over her mouth.

Janie moaned and swayed, and I linked an arm around her skinny waist.

Dad put both hands around Momma’s shoulders.

‘Mrs Bommarito, because of the advanced stage of Henry’s cancer, I am giving him, at most, even if we do try chemotherapy, a few months.’

I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move, this cold despair shooting through my body, cutting off my air, cutting off my blood flow, killing me.

‘A few months?
A few months?
What do you mean? What. Do. You. Mean?’ Each word was higher pitched until she lost it. Momma was done. She had controlled herself as long as she could.

‘I mean…’ The doctor braced herself. ‘I mean that I believe Henry has only a few months to live.’

There was a charged, trembling interval when no one breathed, the hideous sentence hanging over our heads like an eight-foot axe. That was it. Momma was gone.

Gone.
Gone
.

She stood up and screamed, ‘No! Noooo! God, no!
Oh
,
God
,
no!
’ That scream echoed through the halls and corners of that hospital, primal, raw, hideous. ‘Oh, God, no!’

She screamed.

Janie and I stayed all night with Henry. We didn’t sleep. The sun went down, the bright colours spread across the sky, the light disappeared, the moon rose, the moon disappeared, the sun came back, the bright colours spread across the sky, and we felt like crap.

Cecilia had gone home to be with the girls. Dad had taken Momma home. She was about a half inch from collapse.

We all gathered together in Henry’s room the next morning, the shock wearing off, our new reality crystal clear and mind-boggling.

‘I go home today,’ Henry told us as he ate his applesauce. He had had five applesauce containers.

‘Henry,’ I said. ‘Not today.’

‘Yes, today!’ he said, he karate-chopped the little table in front of him.

I could tell he was going to get belligerent. He was a Bommarito, after all. ‘I think if you went home in a few days it would be better. The doctor wants you to stay and rest and watch cartoons.’

‘I no watch cartoons.’ He frowned. ‘I go home. I no like hospital anymore. I bored. I see Grandma and we go on a flight. I have job at bakery. I give samples out and say, “Jesus loves you.” I go home today. Right now I go home.’

‘In a few days, Henry,’ I told him, firmly.

But he was not to be coddled. ‘No. Isabelle, you drive me home on the motorcycle like on Tuesday. I love that motorcycle.’

I slid a glance over to Momma. She put a shaky hand on her hip and glowered at me. She did not want Henry on my motorcycle ever.

‘If you stay here, they’ll bring you more applesauce and you can eat in bed and Cecilia or Momma or Janie or Dad or I will be with you the whole time.’

Cecilia brushed his curls back with wobbly fingers.

‘No, no. I go home and pet the dogs and I help Father Mike.’ He pushed back the covers. ‘I help with the doughnuts. He don’t know how to do that. Father Mike don’t know how to do doughnuts. At the church. Jesus loves you. He need me.’

I snuck a glance at Momma. She’d aged overnight. She was wearing the same outfit. I knew she hadn’t slept. Dad stood with his arm around her waist. I knew he was propping her up.

‘How about if I bring Father Mike to you here?’ I said. ‘I’ll bring him here and you can tell him exactly what you do.’

Henry considered that. ‘I dunno. I pet the dogs. The dogs miss me. Bark, bark. Lacie a new, nice dog. So will Paula Jay. I go see her so she won’t miss me.’ He swung his feet over the bed.

‘Henry, I will go and bring Paula Jay to you so she won’t miss you so much.’ I put a hand on his shoulder.

Henry’s face lit up. ‘On the motorcycle? You’ll bring her on the motorcycle?’

I snapped my fingers. ‘That’s a good idea. I’ll bring Paula Jay on the motorcycle!’ She’d do it. That daredevil.

‘Hmm.’ He put a fist under his chin. ‘No, not work. I help with Bunco.’ His feet hit the floor. ‘They need me at senior centre. They need Henry. I serve lunch and clean up and put forks in the box and bring Bommarito Cupcakes. Yummy.’

‘Now, Henry, how about if I bring Mr Howard to you and you can tell him how to run things when you’re not there? That would help.’

He thought about that.

‘No. You need my help at the bakery.’ He stood up. He didn’t notice that he needed my help for balance.

I put on my most serious expression. ‘You’re right, Henry. We need your help. But I’ll hire someone until you get back to help us. How about that? I’ll hire someone.’

‘Hmm.’ He cupped his chin, then tapped my nose. ‘You hire my friend, Lytle?’

‘Lytle?’ I knew Lytle. He was Henry’s checker-playing friend. He was in a wheelchair and had trouble moving his hands in the right directions. His parents and four brothers adored him.

‘Good idea!’ I smiled. ‘I’ll hire Lytle.’

‘Good. And you bring Lytle here play checkers?’

‘Yes, I’ll bring him here.’

‘Hmmmmm…’ he said.

We all waited. No one wanted to wrestle Henry into bed. ‘OK dokay. Henry stay here for few days. But you bring Henry’s friends to Henry!’

He smiled.

I promised.

‘I love you, my sister, Is.’

‘I love you, my brother, Henry.’

I had no idea how many friends of Henry’s would come and visit Henry.

None.

None of us did.

We should have got him a larger room.

Two larger rooms.

That night I again stayed and slept by Henry’s bed. Momma and Dad stayed until eleven when Dad insisted Momma leave. She was a greyish-white, her eyes were swollen, and her face was lined with grief, as if the tear tracks had dug tunnels into her skin.

‘I’m staying with my son,’ she protested for the third time, but her protest was weaker.

‘River,’ Dad spoke, his voice brooking no argument. ‘You are coming with me. We are leaving now.’ He dropped her sweater over her shoulders and pulled her up. She bent to kiss Henry, who was sleeping.

She turned to me and gave me a hug. ‘Stay with your brother, Isabelle.’

I was surprised at the hug, but I held on tight. Hugs were few and far between from Momma, and though I had schooled myself not to want them, I was brought to tears by this one.

She hugged Janie, kissed Henry on the lips again, and left, her walk unbalanced.

Cecilia had left earlier to be with the girls and Janie and I settled down. The nurses had brought in two lounge chairs. Janie and I held hands between the chairs. Within a few minutes we were both asleep.

It was the sleep of grief.

I woke up around three in the morning to Henry singing the ‘Jesus Loves Me’ song.

For a while I listened, the room illuminated only by the tiny lights on a couple of machines, his IV line eerie in the blackness. The song was almost haunting, each word lonely, coming from far away, the notes pitch perfect.

‘You have a good voice, Henry,’ I told him when he finished the third round.
I’m going to miss your voice
.

‘Isabelle?’

‘Yep. It’s me.’
It’s me
,
Henry
.
I’m here for you
.

‘You and Janie still here?’

‘We sure are, Henry. We’re not leaving.’
I would never leave you
.

‘I was in my dreams and I woke up because Jesus told me to sing the song. So I did. I sung the song.’

I sat on the side of his bed. He reached his arms up for a hug and I hugged him, laying down with him on the bed. We held hands.
I would miss holding hands with Henry
.

‘Go back to sleep, Henry, it’s late.’ I kissed his cheek.

‘I know. I see the star shine. I see the moonbeams. You know how to go to heaven, Is? You gotta get on a sun ray or a moonbeam. That the way up.’

‘I’ll remember that, Henry, I will.’
And I’ll remember you
,
Henry
.

His face grew serious. He whispered, ‘I gotta tell you something, Isabelle.’

‘OK, Henry. Tell me anything.’

He whispered, ‘I sick. The doctor told me. I bad sick.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re sick.’ A sob stuck in my throat
. I wish it were me
.

‘I know that, silly Isabelle. I know you sorry. No one want Henry sick.’

I patted his hand. I thought the pain in my chest was gonna kill me.