Mercy of St Jude (4 page)

The Most Merciful Virgin Church was the only church in
St. Jude. Non-Catholic visitors, for only visitors were non-
Catholic, worshipped elsewhere. With its oversized stained
glass windows and four-storey-high crucifix, the Most Merciful
Virgin was the most impressive and most beautiful building
in town. A stone's throw from Burke's store, the church
sat at the junction of the two main roads, one of which originated
at the far end of St. Jude where the Hanns and the
Byrnes lived. The other led to Sadie Griffin's house. Like most
good Catholics, Sadie would not pass a church without blessing
herself.

Good Christ, she's finally out of bed.

Sadie hurried on towards the church, her fingers already swishing up and down and across her face, her eyes intent on the old blue truck parked in front of Burke's. She watched as Lucinda descended from the driver's side to plant her feet gingerly onto the gravel.

Some frigging lazy. Driving to the store instead of walking. Slackarse.

“Father have mercy on us,” Sadie recited, trotting as fast as her legs would carry her from the church to Burke's. She stopped only to catch her wind before going inside. “Lucinda, my dear, what a lovely surprise!” she exclaimed, hand on her throat. “But what are you doing out and about so soon after having another one?”

Christ, she's the size of a house still.

“Afternoon, Sadie,” said Lucinda, choosing a loaf of bread. She did not look up.

“I sees you're driving today. Can't say I blames you, barely a week out of the hospital.”

Looks like it too. Crying shame, Derm rolling over to that in the morning.

Lucinda put the bread next to a box of cereal and some instant coffee on the counter. She passed Phyllis Burke a ten-dollar bill.

“See you been to church already, too,” said Sadie. “I don't think God would mind if you took a break, you know.”

“I'm sure he wouldn't, but I feel fine.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

Some gut on her. Never know she already had it.

Lucinda took her change and turned to leave. Bessie Foley, who had been standing nearby squeezing an orange, dropped it back into the bin and raised an eyebrow at Sadie, who nodded purposefully.

“By the by,” Sadie called out, “where was our Mercedes rushing off to the other day with such a heavy foot?”

Almost run me over in the road. Driving like a maniac with that goddamn dog, barking and frothing at the mouth. Got the rabies, that thing.

Lucinda seemed not to have heard. With a wave of her hand over her shoulder, she kept on walking out the door.

Phyllis waited until she was sure the door had closed. “Car was gone three days. Where'd she get to?”

“I said as much when I saw Mercedes at the post office yesterday.” Bessie's lips scrunched in frustration. “Not a word, my dear, not one blessed word. Just one of them nods she gives, you know, with that haughty face of hers.”

“I don't know why she's so closed-mouthed. I mean, we all only wants to help sure, to be good neighbours.” Phyllis glanced at Sadie. “Your Gerry's pretty tight with her. What do he say?”

“Now Phyllis, you knows I'm not one to gossip, especially about family.”

Lot of good Gerard is. Time he spends at that house, all he talks about is odes and sonnets. Stupid poetry. History is what I wants. There's dirt back there somewhere, I knows it.

“That Lucinda now. She's not looking like herself, is she, though?” said Phyllis.

Bessie grunted. “What can you expect, having a youngster at her age?”

“True. Least she did the right thing though,” said Phyllis.

“Not like some,” Bessie tutted, “getting rid of it and all.”

Sadie raised her eyes heavenward, hands together. Phyllis and Bessie blessed themselves. All three muttered prayers under their breath.

“You seen the new one, Sadie?” said Phyllis.

“Not yet.” Sadie had dropped by Lucinda and Dermot's each of the last two afternoons. Both times, Lucinda and the baby had been in bed. “I should stop in, I suppose, being family and all.”

Phyllis eyed Sadie through the thick bottom of her eyeglasses. “Surprised you haven't already.”

Sadie placed a loaf of bread on the counter. “You know me, I don't like to intrude.”

“Some sight, they say,” said Phyllis. “Bruises and gouges all over the place.”

“Sure it's just the forceps,” said Bessie. “They'll work their-self out in no time.”

Sadie's hand went to her heart. “Pray it do for the poor thing.”

Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. I seen where it stayed that way forever. Serve them right.

“Imagine Lucinda and Derm going at it at their age.” Phyllis shook her head.

Sadie rubbed her nose and scratched her ear. She rummaged in her purse for her wallet and a tissue. She blew her nose hard. She did not want that picture in her mind.

“They don't stop, they'll end up with a bunch of retards,” Phyllis added.

Bessie nodded. “Look at poor Mavis MacDonald, sure, with three of them thick as bricks.”

Sadie leaned in and whispered, “Mavis should have looked beyond the MacDonalds.”

“And Doris and Donny Whittle.” Bessie lowered her voice. “Doris claims her maiden name was White, but I got it on good authority that she was born a Whittle up in Green Harbour. It's not right, I tell you.”

“God'll be having none of that,” said Phyllis. “Never mind them gene things.”

Sadie sighed. “Some youngsters better off not born at all.”

“And who'd know better than you, what, having to bury two of your own?” said Phyllis with an exaggerated note of pain in her voice.

Sadie glanced at her friend, but Phyllis was looking down her nose at the jar of jam Sadie had placed next to the bread and her five dollars.

Phyllis punched a few keys on the register. “What's Derm want with a baby? He's too old for that.”

“Derm's still a fine figure of a man.” Sadie's voice had risen.

Phyllis laughed. “Always with an eye for the fellows, eh Sadie?”

Bessie poked Sadie. “Especially him, what?”

“Don't be silly, Bessie. Sure he's a married man, Derm is.”

Wife's a Yankee cow, mind you.

Phyllis squinted at the five-dollar bill. “Don't stop a person looking, especially handsome as him.” A sly look passed between Bessie and Phyllis, who added, “Pity Lucinda caught him first, eh, Sadie?”

“Pity about that poor youngster is more like it.”

And a pity I got to listen to you two old biddies.

Phyllis passed Sadie her change. Bessie coughed a little too loudly and covered her mouth with her hand.

Sadie picked up her groceries and left.

1999

Gerry lifts the lid off the pot of beans. The sweet, smoky aroma of molasses and bacon fills the room. “My God, that smells good. But you've got enough for an army, Ma.”

“Well now, I knows you don't be eating right up there in that Toronto. Sin City, that place. Got to get some good grub in you whiles you're here.”

“I'll have to buy an extra seat on the plane. Better get Gus and Kevin on it.” He glances around. “Where are they, anyway? And where's Debra?”

“At the bar. Dance there tonight. Won't be back till all hours.”

He puts the lid back on the beans. “Who's taking care of Mark?”

“He's sleeping over at Connie's. They does that, Debra and her, saves paying for babysitting.”

“And leaves Debra more money for partying. How is our Mark, anyway?”

“Talking about you ever since you were home last, Uncle Gerry this and Uncle Gerry that. Be different he had a father, I suppose.”

“Let's not go there, Ma.”

Any discussion of Mark's parentage inevitably leads to a tirade against the Hann clan. When rumour spread that Aiden Hann was to blame, Aiden not only denied it, he went so far as to say it could be any number of boys, or men. Sadie had nagged at Debra for ages to make the father, whoever he was, “pay for his sins.” Debra remained defiant. Sadie insisted that Gerry, as her older brother, have a talk with her, but when Debra told him it had nothing to do with him and he should just mind his own business, he found himself agreeing. Knowing that Aiden might have been responsible and, if so, was shirking that responsibility, did not make Gerry like him any better, but he suspected that Aiden wasn't far off regarding Debra's reputation, leaving Gerry to wonder if she wouldn't point a finger because she didn't know where to point. For that, and other reasons, he was more than willing to leave the subject alone.

Sadie flips a fish cake in the frying pan. “I'm just saying—”

“I know. Just let it be.” Gerry changes the subject. “Did Mark get that speech thing looked after yet?”

“I don't know. Hard to get much out of that Debra. She gets right contrary soon's you mentions anything. Get on her about it, would you?”

“Not like she'll listen to me, but I'll talk to her. It'll get worse if it's not seen to. I'd hate to have the other kidsmaking fun of him.”

Sadie tutts. “Debra has a hard enough time looking after herself, let alone a young one.”

“Yeah, well maybe some people shouldn't have children in the first place.”

“Come off it, Gerard, she does her best.”

“I'd hate to see her worst.” He takes two teabags from the canister.

“Debra never had your brains. Always was a bit slow, unless she's getting her drawers off.”

“Ma!” Gerry laughs nonetheless. His mother still shocks him sometimes.

“I'm only saying she's lucky she only got the one youngster.”

“Debra's problem is she thinks the world owes her a living.”

Sadie nods. “That's the Griffins for you. And Debra's a Griffin all right.”

“I'm a Griffin too. Don't see me waiting for the world to bring me breakfast.”

Sadie smiles and nudges a cod tongue to see if it's done. “You're more like my side of the family. The Duffies were always smarter than the Griffins.”

“Anyway, I don't want to argue about Debra. I only got two days here—”

“Two days?” Sadie whirls around, slightly off-balance. “How come that's all?”

“Because I've got all my vacation time spoken for.” He keeps his voice calm.

“Why? You were only home the one week.”

“I know, but I'm going to Europe next month.”

“What the frig's in Europe? French frogs slugging back the wine.”

“Now Ma, I'm always coming home.” He watches her fuss and fidget at the counter, moving food around for no apparent reason. “Besides, I'm going on business anyway so it makes sense to make a holiday of it.”

She grunts and marches into the back pantry. A few minutes later she returns, empty-handed but calmer. “So how did you get time off now if you got none left?”

“I told them my aunt died. They're pretty understanding when it's family.”

The words simmer around them, “my aunt” and “family” echoing in the stillness. He wishes he could sweep the air and make them disappear.

Sadie's cheeks are red blotches. “Your what? Aunt? Aunt, my arse.”

Gerry rubs his face vigorously with both hands. Despite himself, he feels a ridiculous grin on his face. If his mother sees that, she'll have a fit. Bad enough he called Mercedes his aunt, but if Sadie catches him smiling about it, even if he has no clue as to why he's smiling except that he's exhausted and obviously beginning to lose his mind a little, she'll disown him altogether. “Now Ma, it's just a word. Boy, but I'm starving,” he lies.

“Not just a word, Gerard, you—”

“Stop!” He says it louder than he intends, but the guilty truth of it is that he has long thought of Mercedes as family. Sitting at her table on cold winter evenings, reading aloud from Keats or Wordsworth, or perhaps from one of Mercedes' favourites, like Dickinson or Bishop, Gerry had sometimes found himself imagining that this was his home, that his mother wasn't the town gossip whose tongue everyone feared, that his father hadn't run off with another man. Later, at home, he would try extra hard to be good to his mother. “I'm sorry,” he says now, “but I've been on the go all day. I had a presentation this morning then I was running to catch planes. I never had a decent bite. Let's just eat. Please?” He puts on his most innocent face, one he knows she can't resist. “Speaking of work, why were you at it so late? You should slow down.”

“Had to help with the Lady's Guild earlier, set up for bingo tomorrow.” She puts one of the teabags back into the canister. “Besides, work gives me a chance to visit.”

Gerry knows that his mother doesn't get many invitations out. Her work is her social life. “Do any of them even ask how you are, Ma? Do they even care?”

“Hah, some of that lot don't know you're alive once you're done with the scrub brush. I swear to Lucifer, door shuts on you and you're good as dead till you're due back with the mop.” She smiles coyly. “Then again, they're not all bad. Like that young Father James. He was just asking after you this evening. Wanted to know did you go to church up in Toronto, and make the sacraments and all.”

Gerry rolls his eyes inwardly at the priest's supposed concern. He does not go to church in Toronto. He goes only when he's home. It's easier to spend the hour at Mass than to argue with his mother about not going. He takes communion with her as well, but he draws the line at the Stations of the Cross. All that genuflecting and mumbling and crossing himself, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, over and over again all around the church, it's more than even he can fake.

Sadie's head is cocked to one side. She has an odd smile on her face, sort of sly, secretive even. Gerry watches her a moment, curious as always about what goes on behind his mother's eyes, what thoughts bring that certain lift to her chin. But as much as he has learned how to deal with her over the years, and as necessary to his mental health as that has been, he still can't figure her out. For such a simple woman, she really can be quite complex.