Bishop's Road (38 page)

Nurse Edna is in a bit of a quandary. It has something to do with Virginia Benoit's baby. Lately she's taken to dreaming.
Mostly when she's asleep but now and then when she's on her feet and moving about. Since she has no recollection of ever having dreamed before it is a bother. The dreams are of a baby and sometimes an old woman and sometimes the baby is the old woman and sometimes the old woman is the baby and last night she woke to find the old woman sitting on her side of the bed looking at her. Didn't say a word. And she nudged her husband and said, “There's an old woman in the bedroom.” And he, not the most pleasant person on earth when you wake him suddenly, said, “What do you want me to do about it, you're the one with the working legs?” and went right back to sleep. Edna stared at the woman for a few seconds but she didn't seem to want anything so she went back to sleep as well. And then there was that baby again for the rest of the night and the baby was shrinking and then the old woman was there again and she shrinking too until there was nothing left of either but a little black space in Edna's sleep.

This morning she is worried. So much so that she doesn't even ask Dr. Boland how his date went with the new teacher on the sick kids' ward. Doesn't speak, in fact, until she goes to Ginny Mustard's room to see how she's doing. The mother-to-be is beaming but back of her smile is a small case of nerves. She wants to stay here in this room. Even cuffed to a bed she is happier than she ever could be in prison. Her free hand is resting on her belly and she's been humming sunny tunes to Sweet Polly for an hour. When she sees Nurse Edna's face she stops and stares.

“I'm about to do something I have never done in my life that I can recall,” says Edna. “I am going to tell a lie. That sounds like I might be perfect I know, but don't think for a minute that I am. I just never told an untruth and I was thinking I might stay that way to my grave. I did a lot of things that are bad. Not as bad as you did, killing a man, but who's to say really. I guess our maker gets to cast the deciding vote on that one. I mind once when I was little how I locked my brother in an old truck and forgot about
him until he never showed up for dinner and everybody went looking. By the time I remembered, he was just about dead for want of air and I got in more old trouble. And once me and my friend Jessie were in a mood because I wasn't allowed to go to the time at the church hall. To this day I can't think why I had to stay home but me and Jessie went into my mother's room and cut all the pretty tassels off her curtains and bedspread. They matched you know, and she was so proud to have such nice things for once but we hacked them off anyway because she wouldn't let me go out.

And now I've got to tell a lie for you, Mrs. Virginia Benoit, so that baby can have a fighting chance. I know damn well if I say everything is fine they'll ship you on over to that place again and I also know if they do, you'll get so sad your little baby won't make it. But they are not going to believe that for a minute so I'm going to have to lie and tell them you're still doing poorly and you have to stay here until your time. If any of the others come to check on you it would be best if you could stop looking so content and well fed. Can you do that? Can you pretend for a while that you're still feeling bad? There's always someone screaming for a bed around here. They don't want to be footing the bill for a healthy person when there's so many lined up for space. And God knows you're healthy. You were just having a hard time of it in that jail and who can blame you. I got to tell you, Virginia, I've been dreaming about that baby for nights now. Days too, truth be told. At least I think it's that baby. There's an old woman too but I don't have a clue who she might be.”

Nurse Edna needn't worry further about breaking commandments. Annie Paul has just now pulled into the hospital parking lot - staff only - and is on her way to the rescue. Eve is tired, if the spirit can be tired, of arranging the pieces and should stop fretting as well. Annie Paul checks out every ward in the place without interruption. A year or so ago someone shot a
movie about the last of the Beothuks and people became accustomed to seeing extras wandering around town in full dress between takes. Perhaps they are at it again and no one pays her any mind except to comment among themselves that it looks like they've finally got the costume design figured out, thank God. When she remembers that the woman she seeks is pregnant she heads for the maternity ward but not before everyone who could see got a good look at her.

At the front desk she asks the whereabouts of a young woman who might be black or brown or at the very least coffee-coloured but probably not as white as themselves. Someone points her in the direction of Ginny Mustard's room and it's a good thing the door has a window because now Annie Paul is inclined to rush and if Nurse Edna hadn't seen her coming she'd have suffered one terrible whack to the head when Annie Paul came barelling through.

“Another visitor,” says Nurse Edna. “I think it best that you not stay too long, dear. The young mother here has had quite a week of callers and needs some rest.” Trying the edges of her lie to see if it will fit. See if she can follow through.

Joanie has seen John. He watched the house until her parents went out, and came knocking. Poor Joanie. She has not had enough time and freedom to strengthen her resolve and it only takes a few words from her husband to convince her that she's made a dreadful mistake. That no one could ever love her as much as he does. That her children will grow up delinquent without their dad around. That no one else will ever want her the way he wants her. That she cannot possibly make it on her own. No matter that she is feeling rather pretty today in a soft purple blouse
and new jeans. That her underpants are silk and risque and her hair shiny clean and she found just the right lipstick. Watch her crumble and join the sisterhood of floppy women with jelly where the backbone was. If her parents were to return from their walk right now they would find her the same Joanie she has been since she said I do.

She never should have opened the door, looked into his face, listened to his smooth talk. But she did. And here she is in her bedroom with her husband and if she's not careful she'll be making another baby and whacking more nails in her coffin. Too late. Too late. And now she's packing her new clothes and her children's clothes and some toys and going to the school to bring them home early today because she has a surprise for them and now they are heading for the airport in a taxi to go to their new home away from this place and its sad memories.

“Everything will be different, now,” says John. “Yes,” says Joanie and she stares straight ahead through the windshield but she really can't see anything.

When her parents arrive at Mrs. Miflin's house they are met by a security guard who tells them they are trespassing and have to get their things and leave because the house has been sold and they are no longer welcome. Clever John had the foresight to take Mrs. Miflin's offer to buy and gave her back the keys which she can use to her heart's content as soon as the rest of his belongings have been crated and sent to where he is going. Ask until they're blue in the face, Joanie's mom and dad will never get that address from the movers.

Mrs. Miflin is trying to locate her own furniture and round up a few tenants. She has lit all the candles in front of the Holy Blessed Virgin at the church as a thank-you for the miracle though she only put money in the collection box when Father Delaney came out of the confessional and looked at her funny.

Judy was a full six pages into
No Exit
before she realized the characters were all dead in a really nasty hell and not going to cheer anyone up, least of all a boy in a coma, so she wasn't long shoving the book into her backpack and starting another. She won't return it to Joe Snake yet though, because she really does want to find out what happens. How the fools got themselves into such a mess in the first place. Maybe she can figure out what not to do so she won't end up there herself.

She has pulled her cot close to Frankie's bed, the better to read to him quietly, and sometimes at night she holds his hand, cold as it is, almost stiff, and the warmth from her strong body lights a small spark in his. Now and then she cries a little for him. Cries for herself. Cries for total strangers who seem to hurt. For the sad old goats in their wheelchairs sitting alone in the hospital cafeteria when she steps out of the room for a sandwich. The girl with no hair, nothing but skin and bones and freckles standing out hard on her thin face walking ever so slowly with her worn out mother. She can't help it really. Anyone who finds herself in such stillness for any length of time would probably do the same. Once when she was crying the sadness was so unbearable that she crawled into Frankie's bed and snuggled like a spoon into his back and got tears all over his neck. Warm salty tears all over his neck and she didn't want to move away so she licked them off and her salt mixed with his tasted odd on her tongue. Not bad. Just odd.

Sometimes she talks to him about things that come to her mind. About Eve and Ruth and the others and what a good time they had because she can't remember it being any other way now. She talks about her mom and dad as though they were the people she needed them to be. Talks about watching her dad shave before going to work as if he did that every day and not just now and
then when someone was fool enough to hire him for a week. Talks about the times her mom made cookies and how delicious they were and she can almost taste them even though it only happened once and they were store bought and all her mom did was put some ready made icing on them. She's making up stories but it's okay. Sometimes you have to do that to get yourself out of bed in the morning. To be able to see the flowers bloom and the leaves fall. Smile. Say hello. And the only one who hears is Frankie if he's listening so it's not really telling lies now, is it?

Ruth's life has taken a turn for the worse since she gave in to Sarah and told one of her secrets. You can be sure that will never happen again. Sarah has been calling and coming by at all hours, even bugging Ruth at work when she's busy but there's no way Ruth will speak another word to the woman until she bloody well feels like it and it probably won't be tomorrow. She can't remember if she told Sarah Bill's surname. Is worried she did because it shouldn't be too difficult for that bloodhound to track him down. There are only so many American soldiers who might have been hanging out in this part of the world back in ‘72 and she can't remember if she told Sarah where he was from. Did she? Damn it all to hell!

Patrick is as sweet as ever he was with no idea the turmoil consuming Ruth right now. Their sex life is all but non-existent. “It's menopause,” says Ruth. “I haven't had a period for two months and my estrogen production is shot so I don't feel like doing it. I don't know if I ever will again. Do you still want to marry me?”

Of course he does. There's more to life than sex but he buys a couple of books on the subject of the change. Talks to his
sisters to see if their fun days are indeed over. Most likely they aren't but it would help if he could get her to eat a little tofu now and then so he takes her to Chinese restaurants often in hope that she will but she says it tastes like shit and forget it. When he suggests progesterone cream or at least evening primrose oil, she suggests he take a flying leap.