Part 5 (2/2)
”I know what you meant. I'm answering what you should have asked.”
They were silent for a minute. Then Grace laughed, her temper repaired. ”You've been quiet long enough, maybe you can stand the racket. You were so good with your mom, we've been wondering how you'd keep yourself occupied.”
”Well, she's gone.”
”I know. That's hard to get used to.”
”Not for me, Grace. She was not herself any more. And really, she couldn't have got out any easier.” Out through the door to death, that heavy door that sticks on its hinges and doesn't want to push open. ”I've got different concerns now,” Clara said.
Trevor raced through this time.
Grace's look trailed after Trevor. ”You sure do,” she said.
”I can see what's happening to their mother, and I like her, and I'd like to help her.”
”That's all it is, then?”
”It's true, that I've wished for-I've missed-having children.”
”You're not old, I'm not saying that.”
”I'm only forty-three! They're better off with me, and I'm better off with them.”
Grace looked at Moreland, but did not allow her eyes to roll. The baby crawled to Clara across the berber carpet, new eight years ago, still creamy and clean in this spinsterish house.
”What's the little one's name?”
”Pearce.”
”Pierce your heart,” said Moreland. ”Sweet boy.”
While Grace and Moreland were still there, Clara ran over to the hospital to see Lorraine.
”Your priest came,” Lorraine said. ”He had a lot to say about you.”
Clara was wary about that. ”Did he?”
”That you've been lonely since your mom died.”
”Well, that was two years ago now. I'm not really lonely. I just haven't wanted to go back to church, to be honest.” Clara sat beside the bed, taking the upright blue chair.
Lorraine was sitting upright herself. She looked very tired, her wide face stretched taut around her nose and eyes, with purplish shadows. Her eyes were staring, a look that Clara knew from other people who were ill, not open to easy comfort. Her legs moved restlessly beneath the yellow sheets.
”He said I should be glad to have you for the kids. So that's my plan,” Lorraine said abruptly. It was too much. She could hardly bear to speak. Her body was aching, and her head felt like a large gla.s.s ball she had been trusted to carry, that she was bound to drop.
”I brought you some soup from my neighbour, Mrs. Zenko, the best cook I know. It'll do you good,” Clara said. She went to find the microwave down the hall.
Lorraine lay back, not at all wanting soup. She didn't seem to be able to cry, but she had sometimes found herself sobbing, noise without tears, and she didn't want to do that in front of Clara. She was tired in her chest and deep in each arm, in a way she found very frightening. Knowing herself to be really sick, knowing it from inside.
She wanted her brother Darwin. It had been hard to find the house occupied by a stranger, someone who'd never heard of him or Rose. She should have looked after Rose better in her last years, made her come live with them instead of Mom Pell. But now Clara had Mom Pell. Lorraine almost smiled. The tender unfamiliar feeling in her cheeks made her laugh, especially because it was about something kind of mean.
Coming back, Clara smiled too; relieved, probably, to see her more cheerful.
Lorraine slapped herself mentally and sat up. ”Thanks,” she said, reaching for the bowl. It was homemade, invalid soup: pale gold, a few tiny noodles, shreds of chicken and delicate slivers of carrot and green onion.
Clara sat and watched her eat.
”How are they?”
Arranging her mind to tell what could be told, Clara said, ”Trevor is happy, except for missing you, but he's an easy, good-natured boy. Darlene is sad, but not complaining. Harder to tell with Pearce.”
”Eating lots?”
”Oh, like a monster. I'll have to weigh him for you.” Clara paused. ”I thought I might take him to the doctor, just to-”
”He's sick?”
”In case you hadn't been able to take him lately, to get him weighed, and so on.”
Lorraine looked at her for a minute. Clara felt like she had stones in her stomach, but she didn't look away. Nothing to be worried about, she was saying to Lorraine's eyes. Behind, she was thinking Don't ask about Clayton. But Lorraine did not.
”Yeah,” Lorraine said, finally. ”The health cards are in my wallet, in the cupboard.”
Clara unlocked the cupboard for her, and saw Lorraine's scuffed shoulder-bag on top of the box and maps. Lorraine went through the skinny wallet to find the health cards. She pulled out a photo, not Clayton.
”My brother,” she said. ”Darwin.”
Clara took the photo, a broad smiling face under dark hair.
”We thought he was in Saskatoon, but we couldn't find him. The last place he was, they couldn't tell me anything,” Lorraine said, searching for the health cards. ”It seems like I'm all alone.”
”Well,” Clara began. ”You've got your mother, and the children...”
Lorraine laughed. ”That's Clay's mother. She's sure as h.e.l.l not my mother. Thanks a lot.” She handed three health cards to Clara.
”Oh!” That made more sense. ”But her name is Pell, not Gage.”
”Husband three, Dougie Pell. He wasn't around long, anyway. She's had a rough life.”
Clara couldn't think of anything to say to that that wasn't rude.
”My mother's dead,” Lorraine said. ”She died when Darwin was little. My cousin Rose brought us up. Darwin's got a different dad. My dad died before I was born, he was a long-haul trucker. After that my mom got married again.”
Clara wished she could respond, other than reciting the deaths on her own family tree. ”I always wanted a brother or a sister.”
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