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  Emma looked at Big Jim, and was about to say thanks, when he said, “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

  After that, Johnny left Emma alone. She was still nervous though, and waited for something else bad to happen. Mamma Shirley always said that bad things came in threes. Most of the time Emma wouldn’t pay attention to the things Mamma Shirley said, cause Mamma Shirley was too busy with her job and Avon at night to know what was really going on. Like how Just Jack and Nina were still being sneaky when Mamma Shirley was at work, and how Nina hardly ever went to school at all anymore.

  “I’m gonna blow this pop stand soon anyway,” Nina told Emma one night while she was putting on her raccoon eyes to go out. “Just Jack’s gonna give me his car, and I’m gonna drive to California and start a rock band. But you keep your mouth shut about it, you hear? Cause I’ll beat you black and blue and send you to Woodlands myself if you mention a word of it to anyone.”

  Emma nodded. There were no words in her brain, no words in her mouth. She crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head until she heard Nina leave the room, closing the door with a slam. That night Emma dreamt that a snake was caught under the tire of Just Jack’s car. The snake winked at Emma, then slithered out of its skin, leaving the old skin under the car as it glided through the grass toward where Emma was standing. Emma wanted to pet the snake, but before it reached her, her teeth started to come loose, and suddenly all of them fell out of her mouth. She was on her knees in the grass looking for them, when she woke up in her bed.

  17.

  BY THE TIME RACHEL WAS BACK at school, after the summer after her dad died, the sweet peas really were in full bloom, sending wafts of Grandma all around the neighbourhood. Everything seemed to be back to normal. Not normal like when Rachel’s dad was alive, but a new kind of normal, where Grandma took the place where Dad used to be. Grandma would sit in his chair, and Sam would sit opposite her. Mom sat at the side of table like a kid, waiting for Grandma to serve her. Rachel didn’t trust this new mom. She wanted to tell her to snap out of it. It wasn’t that Rachel didn’t like having Grandma in charge, because she did. Grandma in charge meant that things got done. Little things, like vacuuming and feeding Diana Prince, the cat, at the same time every day, but also big things too, like having a garage sale.

  “Nobody ever wants to deal with the belongings of the dead,” Grandma told Rachel as she went around the house putting price-tags on all of Dad’s things. “But it has to be done, or else you end up living in a house full of ghosts.”

  Rachel and Grandma were in Mom and Dad’s room, going through Dad’s clothes. “Some of these suits are worth putting out on a rack, don’t you think?” Grandma asked.

  Rachel said, “Yes,” but wasn’t really thinking about whether they’d make any money from the suits. She was trying to connect them with the man who used to wear them. Rachel’s dad used to call them “monkey suits,” would only wear them when he had to, and would take them off as soon as he got home. He wouldn’t wear jeans and sweat shirts like other dads, though. He said jeans were for bikers and hippies, and always wore slacks and shirts instead. When it was cold he would wear one of his sweaters with the leather patches on the elbows. Mom would always laugh when he wasn’t around and say they were his pretend professor sweaters, and that he should go back to Gilligan’s Island. Mom said that Dad tried to be a square so he could act like he was smart. She called him a throwback to the fifties, and would call him “Mr. Cleaver” sometimes. She’d say there was no way in hell she was going to be his June, so he could just forget it. She said it would be a cold day in hell when she’d go fetching his slippers and getting him a drink when he came home from the road. She had said these things out loud to Rachel and Sam, but would only roll her eyes to the sky when Dad was around.

  Looking at the row of black and grey suits hanging in the closet, Rachel realized that her dad hadn’t only been a parent to her and Sam, but that he had been like a father to Mom too. Now that Grandma was here, it was as if she was the only grown up in the house.

  Grandma took Rachel’s father’s suits off the rack and laid them one on top of the other on the bed. The rest of his clothes she began to put into black garbage bags.

  “We’ll just donate these. Suits are one thing, but shirts are too close to the skin to pass on,” Grandma said.

  Rachel reached up, delicately removed a white cotton shirt from the rack, crouched down and stuffed it into the bag. She stayed crouching, her eyes avoiding her grandmother. She thought about trucks with cats hidden underneath them, smashing into bridges. She thought about bullet holes in wood, and how far away the shooter would have to be to make them clean – and from what distance splintered.

  “How about I take them from the rack and you put them into the bag then?” Grandma said. Rachel nodded, but didn’t look up. Her grandmother took a handful of shirts off at once, and dropped them on the floor.

  “I’m going to get a job.” Mom’s voice was suddenly behind them. She had come in while they were facing the closet, her footsteps silent on the deep shag rug. She sat on the bed stroking one of Dad’s suits like it was a cat.

  Rachel’s grandmother turned around and stood with her hands on her hips facing her daughter. “Well, that’s good news. I was just thinking that it would be good for you to get into some sort of routine. You can still type, right? Rachel and I can look for an old Underwood for you to practice on –”

  “No, I mean I got a job already. It’s not secretarial work, though, Mom, it’s cooking, in a shelter for homeless people off Yonge Street,” Rachel’s mom said, then took a breath, readying herself for Grandma’s reaction. For some reason hearing her mother use the word “Mom” made Rachel clench her fists.

  “What? You got a job cooking for a bunch of derelicts? You can’t cook. And where off Yonge Street? It’s the longest street in the world.” Grandma’s voice spilled out her annoyance.

  “It’s downtown,” Rachel’s mother said.

  “Downtown! Why do you want to go down there? It’s seedy now. What are you thinking, Wanda? Are you looking for trouble again?” Rachel’s grandmother was shouting. Her mother stood up from the bed and strode toward her own mother defiantly.

  “Look, there’s nothing wrong with the place, okay? They serve food to people who need it. It’s not like I don’t have a plan. I’ve been thinking of going back to school eventually. And anyways, I already went down and they hired me so that’s that.” Rachel’s mom stood like a mirror to her own now, with her hands also on her hips. Neither of them spoke. They looked at each other as if the other were about to do something terrible. Rachel still sat on the floor by the closet, surrounded by her father’s shirts. She prayed her mother and grandmother would forget she was there, that they would get past their bickering, and get down to whatever the real truth was, and finally allow it to come bursting out from behind their crossed arms. A woodpecker began hammering away on a tree outside the bedroom window, breaking the trance the three seemed to be held in. Rachel cursed it under her breath.

  “You go to your job downtown then. What the hell. Do what you want. You always have.” Grandma walked past Mom, and dropped the shirts she still held onto the bed. Mom’s arms dropped to their side.

  “You know what, Mom?” Rachel’s mom said, picking up one of the shirts. She folded it quickly, and put it back down. “I’m done. No more pretending. No more covering everything up. I’m not like you. I’m willing to make sacrifices for my children. I understand what it takes to be a mother. You’ll see that one day.”

  “I don’t expect you to be me, Wanda,” Grandma said, picking up the shirt Mom had just finished with, and folding it again. “I just expect you to take responsibility for the choices you make in life.” She placed the neatly folded shirt down on the bed.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do here. I’m getting a job so I can feed my family and start saving money for school,” Wanda replied, pic
king the same shirt up again, wadding it up into a ball, and lobbing it into the corner of the room.

  “Don’t be dramatic, dear. You know you’ll never lack anything as long as I have any say in it,” Grandma said, suddenly looking toward Rachel where she sat on the floor.

  “That’s it exactly.”

  “What? What’s it exactly?” Grandma’s voice grew louder and frail, as if her vocal cords were being stretched along with her patience.

  “Whether or not you should have any say in it. In anything. This may be your house, but it’s my family, not yours. You had your chance.” Rachel’s mom was tearing up now.

  “Please, Wanda, get a grip.” Grandma sighed.

  “You!” Wanda wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and then pointed at Grandma. “You have neither kindness, nor faith, nor charity beyond what serves to increase the pleasure of the moment. You desert the fallen.”

  “Jesus, have you been drinking again?” Grandma asked. It was the final spark that ignited Mom’s anger into a crackling fire.

  “No mother, I haven’t been drinking. Not that it would be any of your business if I had. I’m an adult you know. You should treat me like one.” Mom was full out crying now, her body shaking and her eyes red and swollen.

  “An adult doesn’t make the choices you’ve made, Wanda.”

  “Huh,” Mom said. “You’re one to talk.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “It always comes down to this, doesn’t it? You’re the good mother and I’m the bad one. Your whole life is just this tissue of vanity and deceit!” Wanda’s voice was gravel. She was a wounded animal, cornered.

  “Fine,” Grandma said. “Suit yourself. It’s your mess, so I’ll just leave you to it.” Grandma picked up the suits and walked out of the bedroom.

  Rachel and her mom looked at each other as if neither was sure who the other was anymore.

  The next morning was the garage sale, so Rachel and Grandma hauled the price-stickered suits, golf clubs, power tools, and other unused stuff out to the front of the house. Grandma sat in a lawn chair at a card table with a metal box on it, wearing a visor with a green see-through brim. She looked like she was getting ready to play poker with the mailman.

  “Don’t let them give you less than we’re asking for Rachel,” she coached. “You gotta stand firm. If they see you’re willing to haggle, you’re done for.”

  Rachel nodded solemnly.

  Throughout the day, neighbours came by to check the wares. Every once in a while, Rachel’s Grandma would announce, “This is a haggle-free zone, folks! All prices are fixed as marked. What you see is what we get!” Then she would laugh her head off.

  Around noon, Grandma told Rachel to go wake her brother up. “It’s a beautiful day, and that boy needs to lend a hand. We need all hands on deck here, girl!” All hands apparently did not include Rachel’s mom who was nowhere to be found all morning. When Rachel asked where she was, Grandma’s lips made a hard flat line as she said, “Your mother’s still annoyed with me about our conversation yesterday. She thinks she’s punishing us, but she’s really punishing herself.” Grandma’s mouth softened. “Never mind that girl. She’ll be back. She always comes back eventually. Just go wake your brother up all right?”

  Rachel went up to Sam’s bedroom, and yelled his name outside the door.

  “What?” Sam’s voice was still groggy with sleep.

  “It’s garage sale day, and Grandma says you have to come help,” Rachel told him, then returned to join her grandmother. Shortly after, Sam appeared in his track pants and the Rolling Stones T-shirt with the big red tongue and lips on it. His hair was sticking up, and he blinked in the sunshine.

  “The prince has arisen!” Grandma said, getting up out of her seat, and ushering Sam into her place. “I’m going to make us some sandwiches for lunch. Tuna? You want tuna?” she asked, without waiting for an answer. “Okay then, tuna it is! Rachel, you tell Sam the drill. No haggling,” she said, then turned to the rest of the yard where strangers fondled their belongings. “You hear that shoppers? Don’t even think about it. Ha, ha!” With that she disappeared into the house.

  “Argh,” Sam said when she was out of earshot. “Tuna. I hate tuna. Where’s Mom?”

  Rachel repeated what Grandma had told her earlier, word for word.

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asked. “She’s not taking off again, is she?”

  “What do you mean again?” Rachel asked, surprised that Sam seemed to be able to make sense of their grandmother’s cryptic comments.

  “Like she did the last time,” Sam said, using his finger to crush an ant that had made the unfortunate decision to crawl across his foot. Rachel waited. “You don’t remember? You know, that time when Mom took off for a while. She was gone for a long time, months I think. You remember that first time Grandma came to stay with us?” he said, unaware of the effect his words were having.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Mom took off? Took off where? Where was I? Are you bullshitting me?” Rachel found it hard to breathe.

  “You don’t remember? That’s weird. Well I guess you wouldn’t have been very old,” he said, looking up into the air above his head and nodding to count the years. “Oh yeah, you would have just been a baby then.” Sam raised his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. “Geez, it’s hot out. You think she’ll bring out some lemonade with those sandwiches? God. I hate tuna fish.”

  Sam rambled off a commentary on the neighbours, how Julie Martin looked like she was getting fatter by the hour, and Mrs. Lewis’ pants were so tight she had a camel toe. Rachel sat very still, digesting the words that had spilled out of Sam’s mouth, and matching them up with those exchanged between her grandmother and her mother the day before.

  The only surprise was how she missed it, how she could see everything around it like a halo, but not the event itself. Not that she would have remembered.

  She asked Sam how old she would have been, and he said, “You hadn’t been around that long. You were a baby. Come to think of it, I remember at the time wondering why Mom would leave when she had a brand new kid.” Sam looked at Rachel then. He was finally awake, his voice softening on his last word. Rachel asked him what else he knew.

  “That’s it. All I remember was she split and then came back. I don’t know where, why, nothing. You know what it was like when Dad was around. Nobody talked about shit. I don’t even remember Grandma saying anything. Fuck, I don’t know, Rachel, I was just a kid myself.”

  Grandma came out with lunch. Rachel took a sandwich and did inventory, moving the items scattered across the driveway and lawn closer together.

  Her mom was going to leave again. Rachel knew it in her bones. Suddenly, she realized she had always known. The awareness of her mother’s looming departure had been buzzing inside her for years, filling her up without her realizing. It was like when someone leaves a television set on somewhere, and that high-pitched monotone burrows into your brain without you noticing until someone turns it off.

  Rachel’s mom didn’t leave all at once. At first it was just nights at the homeless shelter, coming home late, and sleeping in all day. When Rachel would see her mom in the afternoon, she would look at her and think: on the outside she is Mom, but on the inside she is Wanda. Wanda equals question mark.

  Then came the nights when her mom wouldn’t come home at all. First, one night, then two, then a whole week away someplace else. Question mark gone AWOL. Grandma stopped asking Wanda where she had gone, and instead became resigned, folded in on herself. Even the air, once occupied by the sheer power of Grandma’s will, grew thin and tired. The hi-fi in the living room became eerily silent.

  It took a while for them to realize that Wanda was gone for sure, but after a month without her returning, the finality settled around them all. A relief, an exhale followed by a breath into the space le
ft behind. Small blessings, as Grandma would say, that Wanda’s slow departure made adjustment not such a difficult task. Rachel’s mom had long ago left the rhythm of the household. She had slipped through a crack in the wall like the wind.

  18.

  EXHAUSTED, EMMA HEADED DOWN her grandmother’s rickety basement stairs. She was worried her knees might buckle again, so she gripped the banister. She was tired deep down in her bones. It had been a day of sorting and organizing, and checking things off Rachel’s to-do list. Her goal was to just get through the night.

  “This weekend? You still want to do the garage sale this weekend? I mean, isn’t that a bit soon? Especially since we have to find Wanda now,” Emma said over her shoulder as she reached the basement’s cement floor.

  Rachel was right behind her. “Don’t worry about Wanda. I told you. I’ll sort it out. I’ll call Robertson in the morning. It’s just an administrative error. Besides, Sam will be here tomorrow night, and will be meeting with the real estate agent Wednesday. Yes, Emma, we’ve got to get the house cleared out if we’re going to be able to show it next week.”

  So Wanda had a week. How would they find her? Rachel said she didn’t care, but how could she not? Wanda was her mother, too, and she’d been her mother longer than Emma’s. Should they hire private detectives, or was that only done in the movies? If Wanda wanted to keep the house, Rachel would have a fit. Get rid of it pronto, that’s all Rachel cared about. Bury the past and make a profit in the process. Why not keep it? Emma could move in, and pay rent toward the upkeep and taxes. Not that she was in a hurry to leave Vancouver. There were no eagles in Toronto, no ocean, and the vegetarian restaurant selection was pitiful compared to out west. She’d made a name for herself there with her band, Koko and the Talking Apes, even if the members had changed over the years. Maybe Lester could leave his place in Kensington and move in with her – at first on a trial basis to see how it went. As long as Rachel was cool with it. They could turn it into a duplex, and rent out the extra apartment to some quiet, non-smoking vegetarian.