Catch Me When I Fall (10 page)

“Maybe.” Valerie picked at a small tear in the vinyl-coated steering wheel. She hesitated. “I guess I just thought it'd be easier afterwards. That I would like him more.” She kept her eyes on the road but thought she could feel Joanna's wince. “I know,” she said. “What kind of mother am I?”

•  •  •

“So, how's Africa?” Brad boomed at Joanna over dinner.

“Still beautiful and still heartbreaking. You should visit some time.”

Danny said, “I thought you were going to become a minister.” He spooned four beans onto his plate, glanced at Valerie, and took one more.

“Well, that was a long time ago. I completed the first year at seminary.” Valerie noticed that Joanna never changed her voice when she spoke to Danny. Even during her visit four years ago when Danny was only seven, she addressed him as if he were wise and important. “But it was a tough year. Back then people felt pretty suspicious of women seminarians.”

“But then you became a missionary,” Danny said.

“Not really. I joined the Mennonite Central Committee and became a health worker.” Her voice was gentle. “I like to think I'm still doing God's work even if I'm not preaching the Gospel.”

“The babies you work with wouldn't understand the Gospel anyway.” There was that hint of belligerence in Danny's tone again, Valerie thought.

“No,” Joanna said. “Not the words.”

•  •  •

“How long do you think you're going to stay in Malawi?” Valerie asked later that night. Brad had disappeared to their bedroom to watch the hockey game, and Danny was in his room reading a fat novel with a fiery dragon on the cover.

“I don't know. Until it doesn't feel right to be there.”

“Do you ever feel homesick?”

“Homesick, no. Lonely, yes. I don't know how to explain this, Valerie. But I feel such a strong sense of calling. There's so little I can do to help, yet I feel like I'm meant to be there.”

“Doesn't the sickness get to you? And the crying?”

“That's just it. Some weeks are bad—when so many babies die I start to think of myself as an angel of death. But maybe that's what I'm meant to do. To hold them.” Joanna sounded so calm, thought Valerie. “I hum. I stroke their little heads. It's like it's my job to let them know, in their dying breaths, that they're loved.”

•  •  •

As they climbed into the car, Valerie asked, “Can't you stay longer? Everyone is happier with you here.”

“I have a few appointments in Edmonton before I fly back.” Joanna's grey eyes looked serene. She's happy to be going, Valerie thought.

Joanna said, “How much longer will Danny be seeing Dr. Maas?”

“Just a few more weeks. That's all our health plan covers. I think it will be a relief to finish.”

“Maybe you should tell her some of our family history. What we learned from Mom.”

“You mean like, ‘Keep yur house clean. Szort de closets.'” Valerie mimicked their mother's thick Dutch accent.

Joanna's eyes crinkled. “Alphabetize de spice cup'ort.
Ja
?”

“Na! Moof de furniture, ven yu vacuum,
hor
?”

“Vater de African violets from de bottom,
hor.
Als
yu don't vant zer leafs to turn brown.”

“Tuck de sheetz onder ven yu make de bedt.
Echt gezellig
, heh? Ent don't buy fitted sheetz—zey're impossible te folt neatly.”

Their giggles turned to snorts. “Iron everyting.”

“Polish yur szoes for
kerk
—I still do that,” Valerie said. “Oh—and if someone compliments you, say, Ja, yu just caught me at un goot time, heh?”

“Yeah. Minimize the effort it all takes.” Joanna adjusted her seat back slightly. She grunted, a sound that reminded Valerie of the guttural noises their visiting Dutch
tantas
made after climbing stairs. “We laugh, but she's in our heads, isn't she?”

“Yes.” Valerie paused. “Don't talk nonsense,” she said quietly in her mother's accent. She glanced over at her sister. Had she overstepped?

Joanna placed her left hand lightly on Valerie's right, which clutched the steering wheel. “I'm okay now. I got help. Are you okay?”

•  •  •

“Damn it!” The sound of Danny's rage travelled from the living room to the bedroom where Valerie was folding laundry.

“Danny Bouwen, watch your language!” She hurried to the living room and remembered to lower her voice. “What's wrong?”

“Damn program won't work. This is a stupid dinosaur computer!”

Valerie headed to the kitchen, to the list on the fridge. Freeing it from its magnet, she joined Danny at the computer, standing behind his rigid back. “How do you feel?” she said. The question sounded artificial. Silly.

He turned to her, his thin face twisted with annoyance. “I think—”

“A feeling word.” She thrust the list at him and waited, biting her cheek.

He gazed at her for a moment. “Mad!” he said. “Enflamed. Enraged,” he said. His finger moved along the list. “Frustrated. Irritated . . . Incensed . . .” Valerie put a hand over her mouth as a laugh burst from him. “I like these words,” he said.

•  •  •

On Sunday, Danny sat between his grandmother and Valerie in church. Brad, next to Valerie, was reading the bulletin, his thigh pressed against hers. She listened closely as Reverend Post, the retired guest preacher for the day, read the parable about the man who found a treasure buried in a field. “This is the word of the Lord,” Reverend Post intoned.

“Thanks be to God,” the congregation responded. Valerie glanced to the aisle beside them. Old Mrs. Veenkamp sat hunched over in her wheelchair, her chin resting on her chest. She clutched a bulky purse on her lap with one hand. The other arm, elbow balanced on top of the purse, gripped a wad of tissues to catch the drool that dribbled down her chin. Old Mr. Veenkamp held the Order of Service out for her to read along.

Reverend Post spoke in a loud monotone with a strong Dutch accent. He threw his arms out to the side. “A man found a treasure hidden in a field, and so he sold his belongings and bought the whole field! For joy he bought the whole field. Rocks, weeds, and all.”

Valerie's mind drifted to the nearby village of Blackfalds where her dad had attended auction sales when she was a girl. She remembered the boxes of junk he brought home. “I bought the whole box for fifty cents,” he'd say, his smile as wide as the Alberta sky. Valerie's mom watched with pursed lips as he unloaded the box in the garage next to the dozen other boxes of slotted wrenches, screws, nuts, bolts, cotter keys, udder balm, and cans of dried paint or old engine oil. Once, in the bottom of a box of rusty tools, he found a waffle iron that still worked. He and Valerie experimented on Friday nights with their own recipes. One night, they put pieces of orange in the batter, and the waffles turned out pea-soup green. Only she and her father ate them.

Valerie looked at Mrs.Veenkamp. Her arms were shaking. As she trembled, the purse inched toward the edge of her lap. Her hand lurched from her chin and the soggy Kleenex tumbled to the floor. Old Mr.Veenkamp gently nudged the purse back in place, adjusted her hand on the purse, got a new tissue for her, and helped her hold it to her wet chin. How many times a day, Valerie wondered, does he wipe her chin?

“The treasure is worth the whole field. Claim it—with great joy,” Reverend Post concluded. The pianist hammered out a jazzy version of “Amazing Grace,” and the deacons rose to collect the offering. Valerie glanced at Danny. He was playing tic-tac-toe with his grandmother on the children's bulletin. The sun streaming through stained glass turned one side of his head bright gold.

•  •  •

Early on a cold Thursday in April, Valerie drove Danny to his last visit with Dr. Maas. “You should have turned right on 71st, Mom. Now you'll have to go around the block again to get to the parking lot.” Danny sounded long-suffering.

“What have I said to you about backseat driving?”

“In three weeks, I'll be old enough to sit in the front seat.”

“It's not just age. You have to weigh enough. They've changed the guidelines since this car was made. There was a recall.”

“Yeah?” Danny sounded dubious. Valerie opened the glove compartment and handed him the Ford manual.

“Look at the loose sheets inside,” she instructed.

“Wow,” Danny said after a minute. “Okay.” Valerie adjusted the rear-view mirror to avoid eye contact with him. “Do you want to go to Wendy's or Harvey's for lunch later?” she said. “You could get a veggie burger.”

“I know what you're doing.” His tone was dry, even a little amused. Valerie turned the mirror back to look at him. “Maybe,” he shrugged.

•  •  •

After a half-hour visit with Danny, Dr. Maas sent him to the waiting room with a Sudoku puzzle and asked Valerie to join her.

“Danny's doing very well,” Dr. Maas said. She seemed to be redecorating her office—the walls were now bare, although inexpertly laminated posters covered the desk. The doctor drummed her fingers on one poster featuring a pudgy skunk and the words “Perfect Is a Trap.”

“He eats carrots and bread,” Valerie said. “That's about it.”

“You'll need to continue to help him expand his food choices,” she said, sounding unconcerned. “But he's eating enough, and that's great. I'm also pleased to see that he's communicating more openly.”

“I guess he's coming along.”

“And you're doing a great job supporting him.”

“I am?”

“Of course you are!” The doctor was now sorting through a box on the floor.

I'm doing a good job, Valerie thought. The words were a chinook after months of cold.

The doctor produced a somewhat-tattered piece of paper. “You need to sign this form and then we're done.”

“So this is it—the end of his treatment?”

“I'm here if you need me. But I think he'll be fine. Just keep doing what you're doing.”

•  •  •

She walked into the waiting room feeling a bit dazed. The way she felt in high school when she had participated in that trust exercise—she couldn't remember what class it was in. She had to fall backwards off the stage into the waiting arms of her classmates. She knew she would get hurt, probably badly. Why had it felt impossible to opt out? She stood on the edge of the stage, silent and resolute, while her classmates called encouragement. Finally, she let her body go, gravity wrenching her downward. But then they caught her. Her classmates caught her. As they helped her to her feet, she'd thanked them, surprise and genuine gratitude in her voice. A classmate had laughed. “As if we would drop you.”

•  •  •

As Valerie and Danny arrived at the elevator, a man in overalls lifted an electrical panel back in place over the wall. “All done,” he called cheerfully to a man in a suit who watched him. “You shouldn't have any more trouble with it. If it breaks again, though, don't call me.” He turned and winked extravagantly at Valerie. “Hell, if it breaks again, Jesus Christ hisself couldn't fix it!”

“Should we take the stairs?” Danny whispered.

“No,” said Valerie. “I think it will be okay.” She put her hand on his thin back and guided him into the elevator. “Let's see what happens.”

ELLIE PICKED UP
a flat stone and flicked it across the sluggish surface of the Blindman River. It skipped across the water, two, three, four times. “Lucky!” Ellie said aloud. Then she thought about Will, the reason she was back in Alberta, and imagined him next to her, his plodding voice explaining that it wasn't luck, just the shape and density of the rock, the angle and speed of the throw, gravity, wind velocity and direction, and the surface of the water. She tossed another stone. It sank at once, the little plop like a scalding jar of preserves sealing itself tight.

She glanced at her bulky sports watch. Four hours till Will's funeral. Four hours to write the eulogy the minister had asked her to deliver. He'd phoned yesterday afternoon, almost as soon as she'd arrived at her parents' house.

“I know you haven't kept in touch with Will,” he'd said, his voice warm, “but Will's mom said you were his closest friend when you were children.”

“I guess so. I don't know what I'd say though—I haven't seen him in about eight years.”

“Just share a few of the good memories,” the minister said.

Ellie had laughed a short, harsh laugh. “Okay.”

Now she took a pen and a pad of lined paper out of her leather backpack. She doodled a tiny maze in the margin. What to say? The only thought in her head was,
How
? How could Will, of all people, die in an accident? Rock climbing, her mother said when she phoned with the news. Impossible, Ellie had thought. Impossible.