Mud Girl (26 page)

It's almost dark when Colm brings Dad home, but at last the door does open.

“Here he is then, Aba!” says Colm, and his voice is full of grin.

Dad has a shadow of a grin on his face too, and Abi wraps her arms around him. It takes him a moment, but then he wraps his long arms around her.

Yes, there is a feeling that anything might happen.

A
feeling like that can't last long, though, and Thursday another feeling catches up with her, a feeling that she recognizes as a sad and growing one. Wondering how Lily is. Abi remembers that sometimes Jude works late on Thursday, and she thinks that if his boss is that desperate for help, maybe he works late often. She takes the chance, and when Amanda drives her home she asks if they can stop by the yellow and orange house first.

No truck.

“Want me to come in, or wait awhile?” Amanda asks.

“That's all right. I'll get a bus or walk.”

“It's a long walk,” says Amanda.

“Really, I'll be fine.”

“Next time, I should come in with Mortimer. Dyl would love to meet him.”

“He would. Next time, then.” Abi waves Amanda away.

There's a stillness to the house. The door is closed, curtains
closed, though Abi tries to peek through. She knocks on the door, suddenly wishing that she had asked Amanda to stay. She has to knock a second time before she hears a sound. Then the curtain is pulled aside and she sees Dyl, and hears his footsteps come to the door. He lets her in without saying a word.

The couch is empty.

“Where's your grandmother?” she whispers.

He stands staring at her for a moment, then softly pads to the back of the house, to his grandmother's bedroom. Here, too, the curtains are closed, the room is in murky darkness. Lily's thin form is under the quilt. Abi is glad she can hear the slight rasp of her breathing, and she is horrified that this is her first thought.

She whispers to Dyl. “Let's let her sleep. I'll make you some supper.” They go to the kitchen, where she finds the fridge door open and a jar of peanut butter on the floor in front of it, some broken crackers, a knife.

She closes the fridge door, and then realizes what it's all about: Dyl's been making his own food. He points to the floor, and says, ashamed, “Me splooshed shuice.”

Her heart aches for his shame. She puts a hand on his thin shoulder, and when he doesn't pull away, she kneels and gives him a loose hug. “That's okay, Dyl,” she says softly. She wants him to believe her words. “It's only juice on a floor. All two-year-olds sploosh juice. It's your job! It's my job to clean it up
and your other job to help me… Have you been taking care of your grandma today?”

He nods, and she gets a washcloth and begins to clean the floor, hiding her face from Dyl so he can't see how angry she is.
It's all wrong, this. Very, very wrong.

She finishes the cleaning, puts the crackers and peanut butter away, finds some vegetables to cut up, and some mayonnaise as dip. Makes a sandwich with a bit of ham, finds a kids'
TV
show, opens the front room curtains, and sets up a picnic for Dyl. So far all he's said to her is his words about the juice spill.

“There,” she says when it's ready, and puppets are on the screen, singing a happy song. “I'm going to go talk with your grandma now, okay?”

He nods.

In the dark room, she sits next to the bed. She hates to wake Lily, so she waits. Her eyes adjust to the gloom, and she notices one small painting, framed, and in place on the wall over the dresser. It might be called an abstract, Abi thinks. Perhaps this is it: Jude's painting. If so, it's the only one as far as she's seen. She tiptoes to take a closer look. In the lower right hand corner there is a name, but the name is Lily, not Jude.

Abi returns to the seat, and realizes that the woman's eyes are open and she's been watching.

“You paint,” Abi says.

“Long ago,” is the answer.

“Does Jude?”

“When he was a child.” She pauses. “He wanted to.”

Her eyes close again and she rests, and Abi thinks. About what it is to want things, and to work towards them, or not to. What it is to dream. From the front room she can hear Dyl humming, and she realizes it's the first time she's heard this from him, and she can't think of a better sound.

Lily rouses again, and with the slightest smile, she says “Thank you.” She reaches for Abi's hand, and together they are quiet. There are the television sounds, and beyond the house there are summer sounds of music, coming-home traffic on the main road a few blocks away. There is the faint smell of barbecue. At last, Lily speaks again. “You have a connecting heart, Abi,” she says softly, leaving Abi wondering. And before she can say anything, Lily's eyes close again, and within seconds her breathing is even and she is again asleep. After a while Abi goes back out to the front room, which is now darkening with twilight, and she sits with Dyl – he lets her put an arm around him – and waits until she hears the sound of the truck out front. Then she gently pulls away from Dyl, and tries to hurry without seeming to.

“You stay right here,” she tells Dyl, knowing he won't argue. She goes out, closes the door behind her, and meets Jude on the far side of his truck, away from the house. She
doesn't want Dyl to hear what she has to say. Jude's face flushes as he sees her. “You again,” he says.

Before he says more she starts. “
You
bring him to
me
when you need help. So don't tell me not to come here to help.”

He cuts her off. “I won't be bringing him around any more.”

“What are you going to do with him? You can't leave him with your mother anymore. Your mother…” She stops. “Your mother needs to be in the hospital.”

Now Jude's face is red, angry red. “Don't you tell me what my family needs! What would you know about family needs anyway? Or anybody's needs. Do you think I want you hanging around here? Cleaning up after my mother and making my son cry for you when I get home? You think I want that? Do you think I need your help? I don't. And I don't want to see you again. Ever! Am I clear?”

What Abi did not want to happen is happening: Dyl is listening to every word, his eyes in their usual shape – round and scared. Abi looks at him, and tears come.

“Stop!” she says to Jude, in a tight low voice. “Just stop!”

“No – I'm not going to stop until I see you leave. See the last of you.” He begins to walk with her down to the end of the driveway, a half-step behind her. She has the feeling that if she moves in any other direction, he'll pick her up and carry her all the way home. Her head feels fuzzy, the edges of
her vision seem blackened, her feet are heavy, but not too heavy to pick up and keep moving. She wants to turn around, but Jude is on her heels. It isn't until she's halfway down the street that he finally turns away, and she's almost to the end of the street before she turns around. She's hoping for a glimpse of Dyl's face, hoping she can send him a promise in a look. But he's gone. Just as well, maybe.

There are no promises.

Tangle

“A
re you all right?” asks Amanda.

The bottle of window cleaner has slipped right through Abi's hand. “Oh yeah, I'm fine,” she say, but it doesn't sound convincing.

Amanda straightens from where she's working on the bathtub. “You can talk to me, you know, Abi.”

Not about Jude, I can't.

“Thanks, Manda,” she says aloud.

Amanda nods thoughtfully. “Hey, why don't you come to my place Saturday, spend the night. There's a party I'm going to. You too. It'll be fun.”

“All right.”

“It's at Geoff's house. He was at the beach the day we met – remember him?”

“I don't think so.”
The only guy I was noticing that day was Jude.

Jude might be there
.

Amanda reads her mind. “I think Geoff and Jude had a falling out a while back.”

Abi nods, and wonders if her relief shows as plainly as she thinks it does.

S
aturday morning, Abi heads over to Horace's for tea. This could become a routine. She has her knitting to show to Ernestine, who promised to be there.

Just a couple of days earlier, Ernestine had phoned her, “just to chat” she said. “Now you're working, it's not leaving me much time to be a Big Sister.”

“That's how it should be,” said Abi. “It
is
leaving you a whole lot of time to spend with Horace,” she pointed out.

The moment of silence on the other end of the phone, the telling pause, caused Abi to feel a stab of disappointment.
Come on, Ernie!
she thought.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” she responded finally. But that was all she said. “Are you coming around for Saturday tea?”

“I'll be there. I'm just about finished the sleeves of the sweater. I need your help with the sewing together and the collar.”

“Oh, good!” said Ernestine, thrilled to be needed in the way she knew best.

So now the bag of knitting is in the old newspaper basket on the front of the borrowed bicycle, and Abi's on her way. She pedals lazily in the heat – it's been a record-breaking week – and ponders her friends. Horace used to seem like such an “open book.” Abi remembers a teacher using that phrase and, until now, it seemed to fit Horace. But he's not. He has fears and longings and they're trapped by his shyness. It's as if he's stumbling over the very words he needs, and he can't even see them at his feet. Abi suspects that, if he did, he wouldn't know what to do with them anyway.

And Ernestine. Mary Rhodes.
Who might have been Abi's own mother!
Now, there's a thought – except of course, it doesn't work that way. Abi – who would have a different name – would be quite different altogether. Or how does it work? How does anything work? Like Lily: it was supposed to be that, when you got sick, people took care of
you
, and not the other way around. But Jude…

Abi really does not want her thoughts to go there; she is relieved to see the red of Horace's home. She rises from the pedals and pushes harder as she nears. Horace is tending the track, and he waves as she swings into the driveway. It is hot enough to catch the heavy fragrance of dry pine needles.

“Mary said you'd be coming!” There's an odd pitch to his voice that Abi takes note of.

She jumps off the bike, leans it against the fence. “What's up?”

“Oooh, nothing much…” he says.

“I don't believe you!”

Instead of walking around the yard, he goes up the front porch stairs and through the front door.

“Wait just a minute!” says Abi. “Whoa!”

Standing by the door are two suitcases. One is old and leather, and the other is very new, and flowered. “What are
these
all about?”

Horace turns around and puts his hands on his hips. “What?” he says, but he's grinning.

Abi points to the old one. “That's yours,” she says, and pretending ignorance: “Whose is
that
?”

“Oh, that's mine too!”

She raises her brows.

“That's mine.” Ernestine steps up beside him from somewhere down the hallway.

So I was wrong about them!
Abi shakes her head, pretending she has to clear it. “Is there something anyone wants to tell me?”

Obviously, Ernestine isn't going to say a word.

Horace just looks out at his tracks, then he can't keep it in anymore. “Thought we'd go for a train ride.”

“A real train?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Abi laughs at herself. What a silly thing to say – as if they'd pack suitcases and sit at the
Ladner Junction
in the front yard.

Horace laughs with her, but Ernestine emits only her funny hiccupy sound. Abi tries to catch and hold her eyes, but Ernestine's eyes slide away after a mere second.
Are they steadfast, or are they flat and dull?

Come
on
.

“Where to?” Abi asks.

Horace makes a grand motion with his big paddle of a hand. “Over the Rockies – to Banff!”

Abi looks back to Ernestine. “Oh, wow,” she breathes. “That's perfect!” Finally, Ernestine gives her a half smile, nervous still, but at least a small admission of
hey, this is good!
For now, it's enough. Abi wonders how many hours have been spent this week, with Horace trying to convince her.

Ernestine heads back into the house. “Let's make the tea and finish that sweater,” she says. Last week, Ernestine cast on the two sleeves – actually she insisted Abi do the second while she watched.

This week, it's macaroon cookies. Uncle Bernard used to make them. Macaroon cookies is one of Abi's very few memories of her uncle. “I always called these ‘marooned' cookies,” says Abi, biting into the sweet coconut. Ernestine laughs too loudly.