When the Saints (10 page)

Janis comes out after a few minutes and tells us, “She looks like a chew toy. Lord knows what she’s been up to.”

Jewell has to leave for a doctor’s appointment and Jackie tells her to go on ahead, he wants to stick around a bit. Ma wakes up and makes toast and eggs for everybody, but it’s past noon when Poppy finally emerges. Her clothes are wearing her, she’s so skeletal. I connect all the pointy bones with my eyes, but I can’t seem to find the sister I remember.

“I thought I dreamed you,” she says to me. She sits down on the sofa with Swimmer glued at her side. She grabs his hand and asks us, “What the hell is this all over him?”

Janis inspects her work. “I think he looks rich.”

“Did you sleep?” I ask Poppy.

“I don’t sleep.” She sticks her bony fingers in her hair and works at the tangles. “I just worry.”

“You let us do the worrying,” Ma says. “You just try to eat something.”

“I have to go out for a while.”

Jackie pulls the truck keys out of his pocket. “I’ll take you.”

“I’m coming too!” Janis yells.

Poppy changes the subject. “Your tooth’s fixed,” she says to me. She touches one of her own front teeth as her eyes drift along my face. “I used to be better-looking than this.”

Jackie cuts in. “Pops, you get off them drugs and get healthy and you’ll be that gorgeous bombshell everybody used to talk about.”

I get up to get her some coffee and Ma whispers to me in the kitchen, “She’s probably going to get itchy soon.”

Every time we ask Poppy when she wants to leave on that errand, she stalls us. Jackie is already hours late for work. He calls to say he’s not coming in, but the boss says two guys phoned in sick already. Jackie hangs up and curses.

“They’re coming to get me.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll tackle Poppy if she tries anything.”

Ten minutes later, we hear a honk and when I walk him out, Jackie puts one arm around me and then the other. He hasn’t given me a real hug since he was the same size as Swimmer and it makes us both blush. He jogs down to meet a yellow truck and the second it pulls away, Poppy comes out and stands beside me. She squints in the weak light, rubbing her hands up and down her ribs.

“I’ll just be gone for an hour or two, Tabby. I got to get something in me.”

“How about you get your shit together instead? If you choose a needle over your own kids, then you’re not the Poppy Saint I remember. That girl had guts.”

She picks up a handful of rocks and squeezes them in her fist. “You got no idea what I’m going through.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She searches my face. “Drugs?”

“The other thing. What you have to do to get them. Not the shakes, not vomiting—nothing can be worse than selling yourself. If you can live through that night after night, you can make it through detox easy.”

The screen door bangs open and Janis comes charging at us, slamming into Poppy’s thighs. Poppy opens her hand and the rocks fall to her feet.

“I thought you left,” Janis yells at her. “Please, don’t go again. I promise I’ll stop putting hot dogs in the toilet. I’ll get a job so you can stay home with Swimmer.”

“A job?” Poppy says. “Doing what?”

“Walking pets.”

“You hate pets.”

“I don’t have to be their friend. I just have to put a rope on their neck and pull them up and down the driveway till they’re wore out.” Janis tugs Poppy’s T-shirt. “Let’s go back inside!”

As Janis pulls her back up to the trailer, Poppy turns and claws at me with her eyes.

“I
FOUND MY SISTER
,” I
WHISPER INTO THE PHONE.
“She’d taken off on a drug bender. But we got her back home and she’s going to a methadone clinic.”

“No shit.”

“Jackie knew about one downtown and talked her into giving it a try. It took us forever to get her through the door, but once she got a dose in her, it calmed her down a lot. The nurse wanted her to check into the hospital because of her weight and everything, but Poppy told her she’d sneak out to score if she isn’t with her kids, so they agreed to let her come in for a regular appointment each day. Do you mind if I stay in Jubilant a few more nights just to be sure she keeps at it?”

West sighs. I picture him standing in the hallway with one knee bent, foot against the wall. He’s probably got a beer in one hand, receiver tucked under his chin.

“Why the sigh? Still think I’m going to steal your truck?”

“Nah. I’m just horny.”

Now I see him fiddling with the phone cord, massaging his neck.

“It’s all right,” he says. “I was already bored and horny out of my mind before you ever walked into the Four Horses.”

“You’re good to me, West. It’s too bad you don’t drink coffee.”

“Sure I do. I just have to be in the mood for it.” He pauses. “Speaking of in the mood for it, you alone over there?”

Janis comes around the corner and yells, “Who are you talking to? Is that your man?”

I cover the receiver as fast as I can.

“Can I talk to him?” Janis asks.

I uncover the receiver. “Janis wants to say hello.”

“Put her on.”

Janis drags over a chair and gets comfortable. I stand there listening to her gab to him for over ten minutes about his views on everything from snowstorms to men who have ponytails. She probably learned more about him than I have. I let her keep talking until she brings the conversation around to the fact that I spilled a Pepsi in his truck.

T
HAT NIGHT, WHILE
M
A’S PLAYING
G
AME
B
OY AND THE
rest of us are zoned out in front of the television, Lyle Kenzie’s Ford comes roaring up the driveway. He’s banging on the door before we have time to react. Poppy grabs the kids and runs to the bedroom. I try to lock the door, but it’s too late. He pushes his way in, knocking me aside. I look through the open door and see another man out in the truck.

“Where’s she at?” Lyle hollers.

“There’s kids in here, Lyle,” Ma tells him.

“She needs to pay up.”

Ma tries to block the hallway, but he pushes past her. I’m right on his heels as he goes down and swings the kids’ bedroom door open. Janis and Swimmer are sitting on top of the toy chest.

“Where’s your mother at?”

“I ain’t talking,” Janis says.

“Don’t sauce me,” Lyle says.

“The cops are on their way!” Ma yells from the front room.

Lyle turns and walks right past me back to the living room, peers out the window into the darkness. He slides back the front of his coat to reveal a revolver tucked into the front of his pants.

“Seven eighty-two,” I say loudly, pretending to speak into a wire. “We got a 782. Lyle Kenzie and accomplice.”

Lyle snaps his head in my direction and finally recognizes me. He lunges, eyes flaring, then changes his mind and runs out the door, threatening something I can’t make out. Ma and I go to the window and watch the truck swerve out of the driveway.

“What’s a 782?” Ma asks. She doesn’t seem fazed, which tells me this has happened before. She goes back to check on the kids, and I phone the police for real. About twenty minutes later, a car arrives. The cop who gets out looks about ten years old.

“Your stairs aren’t safe,” he scolds, as if we haven’t got bigger fish to fry. He takes his hat off and Ma brings him a glass of Kool-Aid. He sits on the sofa and sticks it between his knees, taps his cigarette ashes into it while he fills out the paperwork.

Janis tells him, “My mama’s skinny as a piece of paper, so I said to my brother Swimmer, let’s get her into the toy box. Then that Lyle Kenzie comes in to bust some heads. You want to write down what he said to me? He said, ‘You keep sassing me, I’ll show you my gun,’ and I said, ‘Whoop-dee-doo, where’d you get your gun, Walmart?’”

“Janis Jean,” Poppy interrupts. “You’re telling a tale.”

Janis blushes and sticks her hands on her hips. “Well, I might not remember everything exactly as what happened.”

The cop stops writing, tells us they don’t have enough men on duty for him to stick around. He’s gone before Jackie shows up.

“How many times have I told you to keep this door locked?” Jackie yells at Ma. “I’m going to nail the goddamn windows shut, too.”

She presses Pause on the Game Boy. “How are we supposed to get fresh air in here?”

“You’re letting people in here with guns and you’re worried about fresh air?”

“I didn’t let him in.” Ma yanks off her glasses and they drop around her neck. “He barged in.”

Jackie gets some tools from his car. Janis tags along behind him, giving him her version of events. This time Lyle told her he was going to blow the place to smithereens.

“You see headlights, you call me,” Jackie tells us. “Don’t wait.” He glances at the kids. “And no more smoking in here. Go outside.”

“I don’t smoke!” Janis says. “It’s bad for your lunges.”

“Lungs,” Jackie corrects her.

“Lunges.”

“Whatever,” Jackie says. “It’s bad for them too.”

I
DRIVE DOWN TO THE STATION FIRST THING THE NEXT
morning. When I give my name, the clerk smirks.

“This must be the first time a Saint ever walked in here of their own accord.”

I smile sweetly. “But probably not the first time one of them spits in your coffee as soon as you turn your back.”

He makes me sit in the waiting room for almost an hour before he calls out, “You can talk to Detective Surette now if you want.”

“You mean this man right here who’s been sitting around watching the sports highlights all morning?”

Surette has some grey in his black moustache, but a boyish, round face. He gestures me into his office. There’s an Acadian flag mounted on his desk next to a brass trophy shaped like a man with his service pistol drawn.

“How can I help you?”

I sit down and set my purse on my lap. “I know you read the report. You want one less prostitute turning tricks for drugs, you got it. But now you’ve got to keep her safe.”

“I don’t
have
to do anything.” He switches off the television and eases into his chair. “She did right. Now you should get her out of Jubilant so she won’t have to look over her shoulder every five minutes.” He catches my expression and says, “Yes, I’ve got my own interests in mind too. You take your brothers with you and we can work something out.” He picks up and peels a spotted banana, takes two bites of it then tosses it in a wastebasket.

“What does that mean?”

“It means if you need help with a moving truck or a new place to live, something like that, you let me know.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Sometimes your brothers are the shit, sometimes they’re the fan. Either way, I’m the one cleaning up the mess. Right now I got no bigger problems to solve than this.” He taps a half-finished crossword puzzle. “And that’s the way I like it.”

He catches me eyeing his trophy and pushes it closer to my
side of the desk. “I got this one for Working My Ass Off.” He shows me how the buttocks slide off the man, grabs a tissue and polishes the brass butt cheeks before clicking them back into place. Then he opens a drawer, pulls out another trophy and sets it in front of me. “The Baby’s Bottom Award. For smoothness in a crisis.”

“What was the crisis?” I ask. “Tim Hortons run out of Boston creams?”

“I’ll wager it had something to do with brother number one or brother number two.” He offers me a piece of gum, but I refuse. He unwraps a piece and I sit there watching him blow an enormous bubble, fighting the urge to reach over and pop it with my finger.

“You got any awards not about your ass?” I ask finally.

He reaches down near his feet and hoists a homemade ceramic penis onto the desk.

I stomp back out to the truck and sit there fuming. He’s right. The only thing we can do is leave. But where are we supposed to go? No one wants us. It’s the story of the Saints, and it goes all the way back to Garnet Saint and his travelling shit show. Grandpa Jack may have been a thieving drunk from birth, but Daddy had a good woman who actually believed he deserved a chance. He could have got a proper job, paid his taxes, put food on our table. What did he do instead? Tried to be the biggest asshole in the world. It’s probably the only thing he ever succeeded at.

I start the engine and start heading back to the trailer, but before I get to the intersection I pull a U-turn and speed back through town. Some awful venom is welling up in my throat. I
roll down the window and spit a few times, but I can’t get rid of it.

Jubilant has only one hospital. It’s in an old building that used to be a nuthouse and it still reeks of crazy. The hallways are painted that yellow-green colour that makes anyone feel sick who didn’t come in that way. When I ask for Wendell Saint, every nurse in earshot stops what they’re doing and turns to look. He’s on the top floor in the far left corner, as far away from the nurses’ station as possible, and I’m sure there’s a good reason for that. I go up and stand in the doorway of his room, summoning all my nerve.

“Hi, Daddy.”

T
HE MORNING
B
ARBARA
B
EST CAME TO WHISK ME AWAY,
Ma insisted she and I wait out in the driveway. Daddy was getting out of jail any day and Ma was afraid if he showed up before Barbara’s Volvo pulled in, he’d raise holy hell and refuse to let me leave. Probably because he had so few of them, Daddy had always counted us amongst his personal possessions. Ma was his. Bird, Jackie, Poppy and I were his. His to ignore, or order around or use as scapegoats. His to demand an audience of when he had a joke to tell, and to smash a fist into if we didn’t laugh hard enough.

“She showed me pictures of where you’re going,” Ma said, glancing up the road every three seconds. “Some nice. It’s like a house you see people living in on a TV show.”

I stood there holding a ratty backpack of Bird’s that had only one strap, half listening as she ran through a list of things I should and shouldn’t do: Keep my head down in the car until the car is over the bridge. When I’m wiping the old people’s asses, sing a song in my head and picture a field of daisies. Eat everything they put in front of me, even if I’ve never seen it before. Don’t ever, ever, tell anyone who my father is.