Amazing Grace (26 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I'm not making the same mistake again. My search for Trixie begins immediately. My computer is smoking, but despite my hours of searching, I can only get so far. There are a few Trixie Graces on Google, but none with the last name Evans. That's not to say that she isn't out there. Lots of people aren't on the Internet. But Canada 411 doesn't come up with anything, and neither do Facebook or Linkedin. So I call Jonathan.

“Can you give me the number of your detective?”

“Who are you hunting for now?” he laughs.

“Your cousin.”

“Cousin?”

“Can you believe it? Maria gave birth to a daughter named Trixie Grace in 1970, which means she's four years older than you are. She was born in Toronto and I have to find her. She can fill in the gaps.”

“But I thought you said Maria didn't have any family. No one was at the hospital with her. Surely a daughter would want to be with her dying mother.”

“As we both know, life isn't simple. Maybe they lost touch as well.”

“Wow. I'm really happy for you, Mom, but you've gone through so much already. Are you sure you want to do this? I'd hate to see you disappointed. What if she wants nothing to do with you or us?”

“It's a chance I'll have to take. I remember Aunt Pearl's words when I received her letter. She wrote, ‘Kin is kin. We can't abandon you to the mercy of strangers now that we know you exist.' I'm not suggesting she needs my help, but now that I know she's out there, I can't ignore her. Do you understand?”

“Of course. I'll get Mr. Smith to call you.”

“His name is Smith?”

“Probably not,” he laughs.

“While I've got you on the phone, how are things?”

He hesitates. “Grandfather is going downhill. It's only a matter of time now. I didn't want to bother you with it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm in a good place. He actually apologized to me.”

“When you come to the end of your life, you want to leave this world unburdened. I'm glad he apologized. I never thought that would happen.”

“Me neither.”

Mr. Smith is on the case. Every time the phone rings I jump. Nan says I'm a flea on a hot stove. She's doing well; we get her up and exercising every day and her quality of life has vastly improved. It does our hearts good to see her so happy. While she recuperates, I ask her if she would mind talking into a small recorder, to share her memories of growing up in Baddeck. It's important to keep these stories in the family.

Often Dora and I sit in Nan's living room while she chatters away, and we listen to what life was like for her as a girl. It's got Dora thinking she should do the same for her grandchildren, and I think some of the other women in the community might feel the same, so I mention the idea to the church ladies as we serve tea and sandwiches to Earl “Diddy” Durdle's family after his funeral.

We're in the hall kitchen getting ready. Delima adds more milk to a pot of tea. “Who wants to go digging up that nonsense again? It was bad enough to live it once.”

Gladys unwraps another platter of ham and relish sandwiches. “Do you ever say anything positive, Delima?”

“Sure. I'm positive it's a stupid idea.”

I giggle in the corner while I put a variety of squares on a platter. Janet Pickup sticks up for me. “Well, I think it's a marvellous idea and we should keep it in mind, perhaps do something for our families for Christmas.”

Delima starts pouring the tea into Styrofoam cups. “And what exactly would you talk about, Janet? The time you got caught in the barn with Little Dan Angus McIntyre?”

Janet turns bright pink. “Delima! I was never in a barn with Little Dan. Now, Diddy was another matter.”

All the ladies hoot with laughter, but once the family starts pouring in, we sober up and tend to our task. I notice at one point Janet goes over to Diddy's wife and gives her a hug.

What happens in a Baddeck barn, stays in Baddeck barn.

The call comes through only a few weeks later. Mr. Smith has
located a Trixie Grace Bailey, nee Evans. She lives in Fredericton, New Brunswick. So close! He gives me her address and phone number, which I stare at for a while.

No, I'm not going to call her. That would be too much of a shock. I'll write to her first. Then if she doesn't want anything to do with me, it will be easier to walk away.

Not really.

I wait until all is quiet, with Fletcher and critters flaked out in front of the television.

Dear Trixie,

You don't
know me and
I don't know you, but we are family. I'm your mother's younger sister, Grace. We were parted through no fault of our own and spent our lives alone. I always wondered what happened to Maria and it's only recently that I found out.

I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mom had breast cancer and dementia and was in a very bad way when I finally got to meet her. I stayed with her until she died and she was peaceful and at rest in the end. I brought her ashes back here to Cape Breton with me because I didn't realize Maria had a daughter. I found your birth certificate in a book after her death.

You may not want to hear from me. I'm assuming since you weren't around that you and your mother were estranged and I'm sorry if that's the case. But I do hope you want to talk to me. I would love to hear about her life and I feel I've been given a second chance with you.

Despite the fact that your mother may have been a disappointment to you, (I know she was an alcoholic), I have some wonderful memories of her as a young girl and I'd like to be able to tell you about them. I'd also love for you to meet my son, your cousin Jonathan. He has a daug
hter who's off to university in the fall. Do you have any children?

There is a family homestead here that you might like to visit, and I can tell you about my great-aunts who saved me when I was a young girl.

I could ramble on, but I'll close for now. I'll put my address and phone number on the card and please feel free to reverse the charges if need be.

Kin is kin. I hope you feel the same way.

All my love, your Aunt
Grace. xo

Patience is not my strong suit—the wait for Trixie to get back to me makes me crazy. Once again I'm in a vortex of frustration of my own making. Why do I never listen to people? Both Fletcher and Jonathan were worried about my attempt to contact my niece and I pooh-poohed their concerns. Now, four weeks later and with no response, I wish I'd listened to them.

Oliver Willingdon dies in October. Jonathan thinks it best if I don't go to the funeral and I agree. He leaves his entire fortune to Jonathan. While Jon is pleased that they made up, the money represents a massive responsibility and he's unsure of his ability to cope. I tell him I have every faith in him and obviously his grandfather did too. Melissa and Juni are already badgering him about their philanthropic causes. They'll keep him on his toes.

In the meantime, I'm restless. Why can't I just put this aside and get on with my life? It's like I can never relax, knowing I have a niece out there. Maybe I will always be unsatisfied. Perhaps I should call her, but if the letter didn't move her, why would the sound of my voice change her mind? Do I really want Trixie to tell me to go away?

This time I don't ask for advice, seeing as how I never listen to it anyway.

I just pick up the phone and call her. “Hello, Trixie?”

“Maybe, but if you're a bill collector, I've never heard of her.”

“It's Grace, your aunt. Did you get my letter?”

“Oh! Good News Grace, telling me my mom is dead. Thanks a bunch.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Not like it was a big shock. I assumed she died years ago of liver failure.”

“So you were estranged? I thought you might be.”

“Estranged is the wrong word, Grace. We were pissed at each other. She didn't like me and I sure as hell didn't like her. We did the cordial thing and just never crossed paths.”

“That makes me sad. There are so many things I want to ask you about her.”

“Don't bother. She was a sad, grumpy bitch most of the time. I'd say you got off lucky avoiding her all these years. Look, I hate to burst your bubble but my drug dealer is here and it's important that I talk to him, so I gotta go.”

“You're pulling my chain, aren't you, Trixie? You're trying to be a smartass so I'll go away, but I want you to know that your mother was a great sister to me while I had her—”

“Bully for you, but I'm not interested in regressing. It irritates my shrink to no end. Ciao.” And she hangs up.

What an odd choice of words. She can't regress. So she's trying to survive her upbringing too, despite her tough-as-nails veneer.

I've gone about this the wrong way, asking her about her mother. What I need to do is ask her about herself. Her life and her dreams. Maria's life is over, but Trixie and I are alive; it's our relationship I need to nurture. I don't want to be tarred with her mother's brush. She needs to see that a relative can be supportive and kind, not someone to be overcome. Because despite her saucy mouth, I like her. She reminds me of me.

Now to plan a strategy, which means a long walk on my hill. The dogs and I head out.

It's almost Halloween and the ground is cold but I sit on the grass anyway. The dogs gather round. I see Tom and Jerry making their way up the hill, but they mosey and pretend they aren't interested, the way cats do. They might not make it up here before I have to leave.

It's windy, a kite-flying day. This hill was made for a kite and I can't believe I haven't flown one here. Maybe I'll have to drive to Fredericton to buy one.

Fletcher doesn't approve of my plan when I wander down to the yard to tell him. He's just coming in for supper.

“She told you she doesn't want to take it any further. You should respect that.”

“She doesn't know me.”

“This is how stalkers are born.”

In response, I shake the dish towel I'm taking off the line at him. He keeps going. I yell, “You're not the boss of me!”

“Thank Christ for that.”

Surprisingly, Dora thinks I should go. “The minute she sees you she'll be overwhelmed by the family connection. It happens all the time on that show, The Locator.”

Nan is on the fence. “Maybe send her some pictures instead, but don't get your hopes up.”

“Wait a minute, that's a great idea. I'll take pictures of all of us! That way she can see what she's missing.”

“She'll take one look at me and run for the hills,” Nan shouts. “Leave me out of it.”

But I don't. I arrange for a photographer to come over. Both Nan and Fletcher are being big babies about it, so I apologize ahead of time to the poor woman. “Just ignore them.”

“Kind of hard to do if I have to take their picture.”

It doesn't go well at first.

A formal pose of the three of us around the recliner is hijacked when all the dogs try to get in the picture at the same time. After a lot of barking and shouting we come to an agreement. Beulah is front and centre on Nan's lap. Daffy stands with Fletcher to one side, and Donald is at my feet as I sit on the arm of the chair. We discover later that Tom and Jerry have photo-bombed every shot, and that's after they refused to be in the picture with us.

Cats!

The photographer takes candid shots as well, and these are my favourites. She takes pictures of Fletcher working in his garage and Nan playing solitaire. She follows me up onto the hill and takes a really nice one of me poking my head out from behind a tree. I ask her to take shots of our view and also the trailers. I'm not ashamed of them. This is where we live and love.

It's one of the best things I've ever done for myself. All of us are thrilled with the results and we frame a couple of the more formal poses, but the others I have tacked up on my bulletin boards so I can look at them every day.

I get in touch with Melissa and she sends me an avalanche of pictures from the New York crowd, all of them on the computer of course, but she tells me how I can transfer them to an external drive and take them to get printed. Isn't technology marvellous?

Melissa and Juni are now nineteen, though Melissa looks younger than she did at sixteen, when I travelled to New York to sort her out. She's a striking girl, all cheekbones and bright red hair, at least for this month. She dropped out of Barnard College when she realized that fashion is endlessly more enjoyable than literature or anything else and now attends fashion school. She sounds giddy on the phone whenever we speak.

There's one picture I adore of her and her little brother, Ryder, who is now fifteen months old. He's a chubby little Buddha and Melissa has him up in the air as he smiles down at her. Their noses are exactly the same. It makes me want to weep with joy.

I'm putting the pictures in an envelope to send to Trixie when I get a call from Juni. She calls every month or so just to chat.

“Gee Gee, I need some advice.”

“Fire away.”

“My parents are getting back together.”

“Holy shit! You're kidding.”

“That's what I said! I've watched them fight for years and now suddenly everything is bliss. They even want to have a vow renewal. Can you believe that? It's so…desperate! I told them I want nothing to do with it.”

“Don't be so foolish. You are their only child; of course they want you with them on their special day.”

“But—”

“Juni, my love, the world can be a terrible and hostile place. Don't ever turn down the chance to celebrate love.”

“But—”

“You're frightened that it won't last. Understandable, but guess what, buttercup? You need to suck it up and go anyway. Now, is there anything else?”