Darren Effect (20 page)

“I knew I was sick then,” he said, looking sideways at the toothbrush in his hand as though endeavoring to identify its use. “But I didn't really believe it.” He stopped. “What?”

“Brush your teeth. You'll feel better.”

He obediently bowed his head, popped the toothbrush into his mouth and began vigorously to brush his teeth. His method of rinsing, which dated long before his illness and which Isabella found slightly revolting, involved dunking the brush into the cup of water over and over while brushing. She slid a small basin below the cup to catch the spill. When he was finished the basin was full of bloody, pasty water. His gums were suffering badly under the assault of medications. The doctor had told her there wasn't much that could be done about it.

“Don't lie back down yet, Benny. We need to change your pajamas.”

“I went back that night. After I dropped you off and had my supper with Isabella and Cooper. You didn't know that, did you?”

“Shhh, let's get this off you.”

“I went back.”

She had purchased him new cotton pajamas because he'd lost so much weight, but they'd become snug after the first wash. As she buttoned them up, she said, “You're busting right out of these, John Wayne.”

He looked at her and grinned, distracted from his story. He lay back down, keeping his eyes on her, and said, “What's a man gotta do around here to get a woman?” She laughed. The accent was not bad, given everything.

Then he closed his eyes, tired again. She went out to empty the basin and bring back clean water for his face. As soon as she
returned and sat down beside him, he opened his eyes and said, “I know it's you, Isabella. For a minute I was confused, but I know it's you. I know I'm in my house. In my bed. I know.”

“That's okay.” She had to whisper. If she spoke any louder her voice would crack. She stared at a teddy bear sticking out from under the bed.

“I want to tell you about it.”

“All right.”

“The place was mobbed,” he said, then stopped and didn't speak for several minutes. She wondered if he had forgotten where he was again. Then he raised a hand and studied it as he spoke. It was a new habit of his, as though keeping an eye on his own flesh helped him think.

“People were everywhere, crying, hanging onto each other. The wind had turned around and the ice was moving off. People had flashlights, shining them on the water. He had the rope in his hand. Then a wave came and I never saw him again. A person doesn't last long in that water.”

Recently he'd become more and more talkative, any time of day or night. She found it made her restless.

“They shot up flares and people saw something at the surface. But it wasn't a body. I never heard what it was. The next day they found both boys, close by. Caught up in seaweed.”

Isabella stroked his arm over the pajama sleeve. “I'm going to give your face a nice wash now.”

“We waited for him to come out from under. We waited. When I first got there I could only see his coat floating above him — a blue ski jacket. It was all so ordinary.”

“While the water is still warm.”

“Are you listening to me? I couldn't tell you, Isabella. The boy's eyes were brown, he looked right at me. He looked so cold, but there was that moment, before he was pulled under, when we both thought I'd rescue him.”

She remembered. Just last spring. It was on the news for a while. Two boys on the ice. They should have known better. There had been a number of witnesses.

“You want to forget something like that, but it only goes away for a short time, then circles back to you. He reminded me of a friend of Cooper's. I think they moved away. A pleasantlooking kid. Peter something.”

“Peter Hoddinott,” Isabella whispered, imagining Benny and those boys. She dunked the washcloth into the water, then wrung it out.

“As long as Cooper doesn't do anything stupid,” Benny said, “he'll be all set.”

When Isabella was thirteen, she was asked to babysit for two children she didn't know. They were friends of friends who were in a bind. Although Isabella had already done a fair amount of babysitting, it was usually in her own neighbourhood and for families she knew.

The younger was still a baby. The mother said over the phone she would be asleep when Isabella arrived. She was an easy baby and never woke in the night. They also had an eight-year-old son, Benjamin. He was not allowed to eat anything sweet. He's sort of allergic to sugar, the mother explained. He'll get really excited if he has sweets. After the parents left, Isabella had a look through their kitchen cupboards and refrigerator. She saw it would be an easy rule to enforce since there weren't any cookies or cakes or ice cream. Nothing that would be considered sweet anywhere in the house.

It was summer and Benjamin was permitted to play outside until eight, when Isabella had been told he should be called in. Bedtime was at nine. Every once in a while, Isabella went to a window or stepped out on the back deck to search for him in his blue-and-white striped shirt, just making sure he was there. She didn't want to leave the house because it would be irresponsible to leave an infant, even one that was sleeping.

At ten to eight she called over to him. He ignored her shouts at first. She heard the other children stop and tell him he was being called in, and eventually he strolled over. She had liked
him when she'd been introduced to him by his father. He was small but sturdy and had pretty eyes and a cute way of grinning at her. But she had called for him about ten times and was beginning to distrust him.

She told him it was time to get washed up for bed.

“What's your name again?” he asked, not budging.

“Izzie.”

“That's so funny.”

“It's a nickname. My full name is Isabella. I'm named after my aunt who was killed.”

“You sound like my teacher from last year.”

Isabella frowned. Her mother was after saying a million times she'd make a terrific teacher.

“Can I have a snack?”

“You can have fruit. Apple or banana. Or toast.”

“Toast and a cup of tea. Please.”

“Are you allowed tea?”

“Sure.” They studied each other. His little grin was charming.

He showed her where everything was kept, though she already knew. She dunked a tea bag in his hot water for barely a second, just colouring it, then poured in an equal portion of milk. She began to enjoy his company and decided to have tea and toast as well. She brought the plates and cups to the table and he set them out. He buttered all the toast and while they ate, he told her about school, his baby sister, his friends, the game he had been playing. He grew more and more animated. It seemed he couldn't get the words out fast enough and a few times she wasn't sure what he'd said, he was speaking that fast. Bits of toast sprayed from his mouth. When he got on to ballroom dancing lessons and how silly they were, even his dad said he shouldn't have to go, he jumped up onto his chair and started dancing wildly. “Let's dance,” he shouted. “Let's have a fine time!” He kicked his legs out to the side and hit the table. The dishes rattled and Isabella's tea nearly capsized. She felt her face grow hot.

“Hey. Sit down. Sit down right now, Benjamin!”

It was like when she tried to call him in from playing. If he heard her he wasn't showing it. She got up and went over and grabbed him, pulling him down, and then the two of them toppled onto the floor. She scratched her arm on something and released him. They stood up, staring at each other, both shocked. She was usually a calm babysitter.

“I just wanted to show you how we dance,” he said.

“I think you better go get washed up. I'll do these dishes. Okay?”

“Sure!”

She watched him race out of the room, nearly hitting a number of things as he went. She'd never sat for a kid with so much energy. He was weird. She was bringing the plates and cups to the sink when she changed her mind and hurried upstairs after him.

But she couldn't find him. For nearly an hour she searched. She figured he was hiding from her, so at first she was annoyed, but not worried. She checked under every bed, in every closet, behind all the furniture and in all the rooms. She felt uncomfortable searching through his parents' bedroom. The room smelled different from the rest of the house — nicer, cleaner. She began to imagine that when she found him she would smack him, though she knew she would never actually do such a thing. She called for him, not loudly, because she didn't want to wake the baby. She began to beg him to come out and finally to offer him bribes. Cookies, candy, ice cream. She opened the back door, stepped out and shouted for him. It was dark now. She started to cry. She decided to call her mother, which she had been putting off. She was standing in the kitchen staring at the table where they'd had their snack. There was a sugar bowl on the table. It had small blue windmills on in. When she removed the lid, she saw there was hardly any sugar in it. She went over to the sink and lifted his tea and tasted it. It was revoltingly sweet.

She heard shouting upstairs.

When she entered the baby's room, he was standing over the
crib, gently cooing at his little sister, “You're some bad baby. Sure we're going to have to sell you.” He glanced up at Isabella. He looked dishevelled and flushed. With a sinking feeling she realized he might have been outside after all. Then he leaned into the crib and shouted, “
I LOVE YOU, BABY GIRL! YOU'RE THE BEST BABY GIRL THERE EVER WAS!
”

Isabella rushed at him, just wanting to get her hands on him, but the baby was awake and bawling.

“Get out of this room,” she hissed at him. She lifted the baby. She was exhausted and near tears again. Rocking the baby gave her comfort. She didn't care where Benjamin had gone. She would stay in this room with the baby until the parents came home. A rhythmic creaking sound started up in a nearby room and she knew he wasn't far.

When Benjamin's mother came into the bedroom, she looked at Isabella, who was still holding the baby. The baby had stopped crying but was hiccuping. Isabella could see she wasn't going to be in any trouble. The mother looked disappointed, but not surprised. She left the room. Isabella heard her call down-stairs for her husband. Then she heard her say, “Haven't I told you a million times not to jump on the beds? Benjamin!”

The baby heard her mother's voice and started to cry again. The mother came back in and took the baby from Isabella. “You go downstairs and Frank will pay you and see you get home safely. Thanks so much, Isabella. It was great to get out. I appreciate you coming over.”

Isabella nodded and said goodnight. She swore she would never babysit for that family again and she never did.

While Benny napped, Isabella slipped into Cooper's rubber boots and put on an old sweater and drove over to Shoppers Drug Mart. It was Halloween and colder than she had expected, but she didn't bother buttoning the sweater, just wrapped it around herself so it overlapped at her breasts. She was waiting at the checkout, hugging herself, when she realized she wasn't
wearing a bra. A man joined the line behind her. Her peripheral vision told her he was tall and overweight. Her bags of Halloween candy rang in at $12.38. Suddenly she was ashamed of herself. She hadn't been to the hairdresser in months and her nails were uneven and unpainted. She wasn't wearing a single molecule of makeup.

“Evening, Isabella,” the man said, and she turned, aware of herself shrinking along her spine, knowing by the voice it was Rex Chafe, cosmetic surgeon extraordinaire.

“How're you getting on?” he asked.

Everyone was asking her this.

“Great,” she said.

Rex was staring at her. No one believed her. They looked at her and thought, you can't be great. Your husband is dying, everyone knows he's been seeing another woman, your son is wild as the woollies and your dog is filling your glamorous house with feces. You can't be great, I don't believe it.

Rex placed a large bottle of green Scope on the counter and turned to study her.

“What have you got done to yourself, Isabella?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it your hair?”

“Oh dear, I forgot the bread. Excuse me.”

She scurried out with her candy, thinking, my god, I didn't even say goodbye, and crossed over to the bakery, though she didn't need bread, and joined the long snaking line, just in case Rex checked up on her. She was feeling that
ping ping
of insanity again.

She focused on the conversation of the couple in front of her. They were discussing their new home. It was then and there that Isabella decided to call a real estate agent, which Benny had been suggesting for a while.

She began searching for the new house in early November, just before Benny went into the hospital for the last time. It was a discouraging business, but she had done some investigations
at the bank and with their lawyer and had come to terms with her limitations. But it wasn't only that: she knew she couldn't live another day in their house once Benny left it. She would be a different person. She was shrinking, her life swirling around her like the Bermuda Triangle or some kind of alien-produced humongous whirlpool that Cooper would know about, and she was at its epicentre. She and Cooper could let the rest of the world spin while they stood — quiet, oblivious, blind.

She never told Benny. On Saturday she went to the Bagel Café and thumbed through the real estate section. She contacted an agent and only gave him her cell number. The agent was discreet and never asked her anything he didn't need to know. She said two bedrooms with a backyard. She wanted to avoid the downtown. He assured her they'd find something suitable.

Already she was changing. She felt it.

She would return home, flushed, to her laundry, Inky's deposits, Benny's needs, a disappeared Cooper. Was this how it had felt to be Benny? Deceitful, untrue, fraudulent? She had never kept anything from him before. It seemed massive, crippling, destructive, and then she pinched herself: he was dying. What could be more destructive than that?