Extensions (20 page)

“I'm going to take you for a short walk. We'll see how you navigate on these.”

This should be interesting. I had limped as far as the bathroom, but that required only two or three hops. I was not looking forward to bracing the crutch with my shoulder, but I would do as I was told, as Dad said. Even slipping on the left sleeve of the hospital gown was more painful than I expected; that done, I stepped down on my cast and prepared for a stroll along the hall.

“Take it easy,” the nurse said, seeing my mouth clenched in more than determination.

The rests lasted twice as long as the steps, and I felt I should apologize. “The trouble is, it's my right leg and my left shoulder. I have to give them equal chances to hurt.”

“I know,” she said, not unkindly. “That's why you have to practise. It will get easier as both heal.”

“I'll work on it.” I hoped to suggest she needn't waste any more of her time, but really I didn't want to be rushed through my pauses.

She reached up and gave me a pat on my good shoulder. “I'll check on you later.”

Unaccustomed to pain, I could not believe how difficult it was to keep from acting like what I would call a wimp in anyone else. As I stopped to rest for the tenth time in five metres, a man emerged from a room across and down the hall. He too was propped on crutches with a cast just like mine, but on the left leg.

“Care for a three-legged race?” He smiled.

In returning the smile, I momentarily forgot the pain. He was attractive in an unassuming way. Soon he was next to me, negotiating his crutches like limbs. He waited for me to advance down the corridor in unison, so I listened to my inner voice saying “Suck it up.” The shoulder would have to suffer for the mobility of the legs, I decided, swallowing a spray of stars that came from the choice.

His next question threw me off guard: “So, how did you do it?”

I had not thought up a response yet for strangers. I was not about to admit to being shot because of all the drama that would involve; nor could I say I was a nurse this time, in case he asked me a technical question about our injuries. To my own surprise I blurted out: “Doing a pirouette.” For some reason, a memory of Gail's sprained ankle from our
RAD
classes in junior high came back to me. “And I should have known better. I'm a dance teacher.” I then added hastily: “What about you?”

He stared at me as if he didn't believe me. Weren't dance teachers this tall?

“The Grouse Grind. A clumsy step for me too. It's not as if I haven't done it before.”

I had climbed the brutal eight hundred metres of Grouse Mountain myself. Three times. It was always Ray's idea and I vowed each gruelling ascent would be the last. “I guess we'll both have to learn to be more careful.” The punishment for my lie was a ripple of pain in the shoulder that added to the flush on my face.

“Maybe we should sit for a while. You look as if you need a breather.” He lifted a crutch and pointed to an open door. “The lounge is in there.”

“You seem to know your way around here,” I said, dragging after him. The lounge was empty other than a pale old man watching
TV
with his intravenous stand.

“Yeah, I've been up and down a few times. Maybe I didn't have as many visitors as you.”

I settled myself carefully in a chair, extending my leg and accidentally touching his, which was stretched out across from me. What did he mean by that? Had he been watching my room? “Or maybe I'm just lazy about therapy.”

“You won't be doing too much dancing for a while.” He gave me a crooked smile, unfortunately the kind I must beware of, for Ray Kelsey had one too. Height, thick, dark hair — all the warning signs were there. I glanced at his bare hands. The wedding ring was no doubt with his watch in an envelope in a locker.

“No, I guess not.” My cheeks were hot. “I'll have to find some other means of amusement.”

Then he blushed, acknowledging the innuendo I had not intended. In the midst of all our blushing, the old man raised himself creakily from his chair and did a two-step out of the room with his stainless steel partner.

“How long are you in for?” I tried to change the subject.

“You make it sound like a prison sentence. But I suppose you would be familiar with that, Constable Dryvynsydes.”

I stared at him. So he had been watching my room and seen all the uniforms going in and out. But my name? Maybe he had seen the
TV
account. Nurses talk too.

“You're showing me up in detective work.”

“At least in powers of observation. You don't remember me, do you?”

“Should I?”

“You should. You arrested me.”

MY MOUTH HAD NOT YET CLOSED when a familiar voice quacked outside the door to the lounge. Megan bounced in followed by Lonnie. She wore hipster jeans that showed off her tight little midriff.

“The nurse told us you might be here.” She gave me a hug that was arm's length by necessity. “So how you doing, girlfriend? Taking a fall for the force — that should earn you some brownie points.”

Other than detecting a whiff of envy in her voice, Megan's irritating buddy talk went over my head. I was still fixed on my wardmate sitting across from me. I could not place him at all. Had he been in a growop raid? Surely he was not part of the biker scene, and I didn't recognize him without a helmet or bandana. As Megan gushed, he raised himself onto his crutches. Smugly, I thought, knowing he was one up on me. Then he nodded farewell with another smile and left before I could introduce Megan and Lonnie to him, thereby learning his name.

“There's a fruit basket from our team in your room.”

I pulled myself to a standing position, trying my best not to wince in front of Megan, but she spotted the cover.

“Lonnie, see if there's a wheelchair around.”

Defeated, I was soon being wheeled back to my room where a mammoth hamper awaited me. Fruit was incidental to all the other delicacies like tapenades, pâtés, crisp water biscuits, canned brie, sugared almonds — and those were only on the outside.

Megan demanded I give a detailed account of the shooting, and I did. She said she would have done exactly the same thing in my position, but I knew she believed she would have spotted the kid's gun in time to take him down one way or the other. It's a good thing — or maybe a bad one — that every set of circumstances is unique and it's impossible to know how we would really react, if given the chance. We like to glorify ourselves in judging the actions of others. We all do it, not just Megan.

Megan was doing her best to console me with shop talk — how both our teams were getting restless and talking transfers — but I was beginning to flag again. I was thankful when another nurse appeared with a trolley of pills. Megan and Lonnie stood up, signed my cast, and left. One of the pills calmed my shoulder and made me drift off again. I'm not sure how long my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, Dad was sitting quietly in the chair vacated by Lonnie. He didn't say a word until he was sure I would not go back to sleep.

“How're you doing?” He had brought some cashews and oranges, which he now tucked shyly behind the miniature deli and Janetta's plums.

“Better after the painkiller.”

“I see you have some new signatures.”

“What do they say?”

“‘Chin up, Lonnie.' and ‘
LYLASBAWLM
, Megan.'” He spelled it out and waited for an explanation.

I rolled my eyes. “Love you like a sister but a whole lot more. It's a high school thing.”

“Isn't it a compliment?”

“Sure, if you mean it.”

“How can you be sure she doesn't?”

I knew I was too hard on Megan and conceded, “You're right, she probably did.”

Dad got nervous over my strong opinions about people. He didn't suspect hypocrisy or trickery in others because he had none himself. Sara had brainwashed Dad and Janetta with a theory she based on Grandpa's lush lawn wherever they lived. If the best remedy for weeds was healthy grass, the surest way to block resentment was with thick and impenetrable gratitude for what you had. Both Dad and Janetta had aced this exercise like star pupils, but despite repeating it so often, Sara never did master it herself. Neither would I. Indulging my irritation with the Megans of the world was like a guiltily satisfying second piece of cheesecake. Sara would have understood; I missed her for the second time today. “Janetta brought more letters, but I've only had a chance to read one.”

At the hint of imposing, Dad stood up until I said firmly, “It's your family too. We can read them together.” I picked up the second one, noting that April 16, 1900 was five years after the last. I read aloud:

Dear Sisters and Brother,

You have a new nephew Llewyllyn Thomas Hughes born
March 4, 1900. At six weeks he is plump and healthy
and brings me much happiness. I had given up hope for
a baby after losing one before birth after Owen.

Thank you for your letters Catherine. Congratulations
on your engagement. Clarence Williams is a lucky man.
I hope he will stay clear of drink and treat you well. That
is what matters for a woman in marriage.

The Extension mines are rich in coal but the town
has grown up without planning. Stumps from timbers
needed in the mine are everywhere, the water is poor and
scarce in summer, drainage is bad, and we live in makeshift
cottages that were moved from another used-up mine.
The most lasting feature is the coal dust covering them.
Our little house requires more space and many repairs,
but Roland does not have an interest in such work as
Tommy did.

I am reminded of Wales and of you whenever I look
out upon the bluffs that surround this town, especially in
spring when the oxeye daisies and delphiniums are in full
colour. I also planted a lilac bush next to our front door
and its blossoms, along with the white flowering dogwood
tree in our yard, bring me much delight. We must look for
beauty where we can.

Tommy and Lizzie and their two daughters live in the
new town of Ladysmith, where the loading wharves for
the Extension coal are located. We are 12 miles apart and
the mine train makes three trips a day between the two
towns, but I do not see much of his family. Gomer stays
with Mama in Chase River but for how long? He speaks
of marriage to Thelma who cleans rooms in Mrs. Bailey's
Temperance Hotel. Her family owns a dry goods store in
Victoria and has a place for him in the business. Gomer
has always hated the mines because the coal dust makes
him cough and because it is hard work. He has never taken
to work of any kind. I help Mama whenever I can. I have
asked her to live with us but she says our house would be
too crowded for so many souls. Tommy is building another
room and she will probably move to Ladysmith.

Mama has taught me sewing skills like Margaret.
There is more work than I need in this town, especially
repairs for bachelor miners.

I would not have known Evan and Gwynyth from
the photo you sent Mama. They are so grown-up. Please
continue to write. I will try to do better than one letter
every five years.

I remain your loving sister, Jane.

“At least we know we're not missing any letters,” I said to Dad. “She doesn't write because her life is so dismal with Roland Hughes and she's not the type to complain.”

“You solved that quickly.” Dad examined the letter, shaking his head. “My namesake. Over a hundred years ago. Note the second ‘y' in Llewyllyn. I guess Sara didn't know about the spelling or I could have been tied with the train station in Wales.”

“The new baby has made her chattier. No more kisses, though. Or Cassie.”

At the sight of all the floral and edible tributes surrounding me, I felt overwhelmed by my coddled life when no one ever looked after my great-grandmother except herself. Metres away sat my supreme guardian, who seemed to be reading my mind.