Mercy of St Jude (8 page)

Years before, Farley Hann's house had been the only one on that road, which, back then, was really just a dirt lane up the hill. There would have been little likelihood of meeting another car. As the population increased and more houses were built, Hann's Hill, as it was called, opened up to join the rest of the town. The Hanns gradually acquired a street full of neighbours, including Lucinda and Dermot. On this Boxing Day night, most of these neighbours were either tucked into their own homes or at the Bryne's party. There should still have been little chance of running into anyone.

As Aiden approached the bottom of the hill, a police car moved towards them. Inexperienced with winter driving, Aiden hit the brakes. The truck skidded sideways on the icy road and rammed into the side of the cruiser.

“Mother of Jesus,” groaned Pat in the silent aftermath. “You okay?”

Aiden nodded. He was reaching for the handle when, out of nowhere, the doors flew open and they were each hauled out by a uniformed arm.

The policeman holding Aiden was unfamiliar to both of them. He sniffed the air. “So this is Patrick Hann. Driving under the influence, are you?”

The other officer, Bob Turner, shook his head. “You got the wrong one, Maloney. That one's Aiden, the younger brother.”

“That doesn't make sense. He's not supposed to be driving.”

Maloney shoved Aiden aside and grabbed Pat, twisting his arm behind his back. Pat cried out in pain. Aiden jumped in and dragged Maloney to the ground. Turner rushed to get him off, but not before Aiden managed to pound his ringed fist into Maloney's face, leaving a bloody scratch across his cheek.

Maloney jumped up. “Stupid fucking Newf. Get in the goddamn car.”

Stunned, neither Pat nor Aiden moved right away.

“Now!” Maloney screamed, his hand on his holster.

Still shocked but now scared witless as well, they scurried into the back seat.

The end result was that Aiden ended up with a stint in jail. When he came up for parole, things did not appear promising. Punching a cop was a serious matter. Then Mercedes showed up at the hearing. As a well-respected teacher and community leader, her promise to personally oversee Aiden's rehabilitation carried considerable weight.

Anxious to put prison behind him, Aiden, for once, kept his mouth shut.

Snow drifted down in fat airy flakes to settle softly on the
frozen white ground. It would have made for a picture-perfect
Christmas Eve but that was already three days past. The pot of
turkey soup was finally empty. Gifts had been put away; decorations
would soon follow. The time had come to prepare for
the New Year, to make resolutions. Sadie Griffin, as always, resolved
to keep her family safe, her secrets safer. Sadie had been
making the same resolution since her oldest son was born.

Them stupid little bastards. Hah!

Sadie snuggled her ear to the phone. She'd been waiting for the call and didn't want to miss a word. “Uh-huh…yes…go on, they didn't…ain't that something…well, not like they didn't have it coming to them…uh-huh…yes, thanks Bessie, be talking to you.” She popped the phone back on the hook and went to stand to the side of the living room window, slightly behind the curtain. “You hear about them Hann boys?”

Debra looked up from where she sat on the sofa, the sewing kit open on her lap. “What Hann boys?” she asked, threading a needle.

“Right. Like you don't know.”

“Lots of Hanns.” Debra pulled the needle through a small white shirt.

“Yeah, sure there are. Too many. Anyway, they got their-selves arrested.”

Debra's fingers stopped over a tray of buttons. “What for?”

“Driving into a cop and then beating on him.” Sadie pulled the curtain a bit more to the left to better see down the road.

“Really, now?” Debra smiled and picked a button. “The both of them?”

“Uh-huh. Bessie says it was more Aiden that did it, though.”

“They in jail?”

“They were till their father bailed them out.”

Arsehole Frank Hann. Wonder where he got the money for that.

Debra examined the button, put it back and picked a bigger one.

“Vwoom.”

Sadie smiled at four-year-old Mark who was kneeling on the floor with a pile of cars in front of him - police, ambulance, fire trucks - all lined up perfectly straight and from biggest to smallest.

“Vwoom.”

Smart boy, our Mark, smarter than poor Debra. Reminds me of Gerard, except when he tries to talk, of course.

“Vwoom, vwoom.” Mark's short, stocky body bounced from knee to foot to knee, over and over as he raced a small blue truck across the room.

“Careful there, Mark, don't bang into the coffee table,” Debra cautioned.

Sadie folded her arms. “Or that cop car there. No father here to bail you out.”

Debra had just inserted the needle into the button and was about to attach it to the shirt. “Give it a frigging rest, would you, Ma.”

“Hard to rest with an extra mouth to feed,” Sadie said, keeping an eye out the window.

“I told you, I'll get a goddamn job.”

“You wouldn't need to still be looking if it weren't for that Beth Ennis.”

Debra wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Despises her, I do.”

“Her fault you never got that job. Get on at the post office, you got it made, sure.”

“This is the second time that bitch is after screwing me out of a job.”

“When it comes to a Griffin or a Hann, the Hann wins every time.”

Every frigging time. Fed up, I am.

Debra jabbed the needle through the buttonhole. “Every Jesus time.”

Sadie's mouth tightened as a black cat made its way across the yard, leaving little paw holes deep in the pure white ground cover. Sadie didn't like cats.

“It's not fair.” Debra's voice was whiny, shrill. “She's no better than me. Just because she got that stupid diploma, thinks she's the smartest thing on two legs.”

“Just like her mother. Lucinda always thought she was better than anyone else.”

“Don't need no diploma to sort mail. Say your ABC's, you can do that.”

“Luck of the Irish. Still, no shamrocks up her arse when she got knocked up.”

Youngster died, mind you. Not so lucky there.

“Goddamn Byrnes,” Debra grunted. “Sick of them all.”

“Then again, she managed to get a husband out of it,” Sadie added.

“Christsakes.” Debra scratched inside her bra. “Shut up, will you.”

“Vwoom, vwoom,” said Mark, driving the truck up his mother's leg.

“Come here, you, and give me a hug.” Debra swept him up in her arms, tickling his belly and sending him into fits of giggles and shrieks.

“What a racket. Keep it down, you two.” Despite her tone, Sadie was smiling.

Arrested. Hah! Talk about a Christmas present.

1999

Gerry sips his tea at the kitchen window, staring out into the black arms of night. A large slanted rock across the street looks over the cliff onto the beach below. As a boy he would lie on that rock, ignoring the smells drifting over from the nearby fish plant, and dream of all the exotic places he'd read about in Mercedes' books. When he was older, he dreamt about Annie Byrne.

Every time he came home, he hoped he'd run into her. The only reason he'd returned for Cathy's wedding was because he figured Annie would have to show up to see her best friend get married. “Annie's not big on weddings, Gerry,” Cathy had told him. “I figured you'd know that.”

“Gerard?” Sadie's voice is loud.

He turns guiltily to his mother. “Yeah…sorry, Ma. What is it?”

She holds the butcher knife suspended above the cold, wrinkled turkey. “I said you want the white or the dark?”

“Either one's fine.”

“Lots here for a plate of sandwiches to bring along tomorrow. Family funeral, after all. Hah! Some family. Should bring something, seeing how much time you spent there with the old bat…” She keeps muttering to herself as she slices the turkey.

His mother generally hides her resentment of his and Mercedes' friendship, unless she's drinking, at which point all Hanns are fair game. Under the influence of one or two, she makes a few digs or snide remarks. More than that and she'll start to rant, calling Lucinda names like “Yank tart” or “man-robber,” Mercedes “mercy moneybags” or “dried-up old spinster.” The one time Gerry tried to defend Mercedes, who for her part never said a bad word to him about his family, Sadie went into such a rage she scared him. She remembered none of it the next day. He's grateful she only drinks at home.

“…they'll not be saying I don't do things proper, goddamn hypocrites.”

“Sandwiches are a good idea, Ma. That's really thoughtful of you.”

“Huh? Oh, right, sandwiches,” she says, then after a moment, adds innocently, “I suppose they'll all be home for it, eh?”

“White meat sounds good,” he says, ignoring the question. “So anyway, what's new with you? How are those bunions?”

“Bunions are bunions.” She looks at him. “You're looking some washed out, though. Travelling is hard on the body, especially for a funeral. Wonder who'll be there from away,” she says in her most casual voice.

Gerry smiles to himself. “Quite a few, I suspect. People had a lot of respect for Mercedes Hann.”

“Yes. Indeed.”

“I'm really going to miss her.” He'd last seen her when he was back for Cathy's wedding. Just as he'd done in high school, he read to her from one of her newly acquired books. Unlike the old days, however, when she would pretend her eyes hurt so he could read and at the same time earn money for supposedly helping her, this time she truly was not up to the task. Still, she refused to go to a doctor.

“Um-hmm.” Sadie's head is lowered over the bird. She carves for a while then turns it around so the breast cavity faces away from her.

“I'm not sure what I would have done if she hadn't been so generous,” he adds. Despite himself, he is beginning to feel a slightly sadistic enjoyment in the conversation. He really should go to bed.

Sadie keeps slicing, slowly, methodically. Only a short quick sigh slips out.

“Yes, she was good to a lot of people,” he continues, “even helped that frigging Aiden get out of jail that time. Now that's what I call generous.”

“Cops should have locked them up and chucked the keys. Good call, that was.”

“What do you mean? What call?”

Sadie looks startled. “Nothing. Not a thing.” She takes a decisive swipe at the pope's nose and plops it and the knife on the counter. “There. That's that.”

Gerry notices that his mother's back is slightly hunched. It occurs to him that she had this same roundness to her shoulders the last time he was home, but he'd forgotten it until this minute. He drains his cup. “How about a fresh pot of tea?”

“Sure, go on. Make you a plate to go with it.”

He plugs in the kettle, then hugs Sadie around the shoulders. She glances up at him. Her face looks tired; the colour in her cheeks does not match the pallor around her eyes. Whether he wants to see it or not, his mother is getting old.

“Some scoff here. You must have been cooking for days.” He kisses her forehead and hugs her again. “Thanks, Ma. It's good to be home.”

5

1999

Pat's hands are fists. His back is rigid. “That cop thought I was behind the wheel. He as much as said so. Now why was that? Huh? Why?”

“Let it go, Pat. Besides, Aiden's better off for it.” Lucinda rises unsteadily, one hand on the St. Anne medal around her neck. “I'll go keep Derm and Joe company.”

Pat waits until Lucinda is out of earshot. “Mercedes left that party, walked home and phoned the cops. I'd swear to it on a stack of bibles.”

“That's a bit hard to swallow, Pat,” says Annie. “Even I don't think Mercedes would turn in her own nephew.”

Aiden gets up from the table. “Well, we'll never know now.” His tone is harsh, angry. “And I, for one, don't give a rat's arse anymore. So drop it.”

“What do you want to defend her for?” asks Pat.

“Defend her?” Aiden shouts. “You are such an idiot, Pat!” Turning from his brother, he catches Annie's eye and mutters “fucking fool” under his breath.

Pat obviously hasn't heard the insult. “She did it on purpose and you knows it, too. You just never had the guts to say anything to her.”

“Come off it, you two,” warns Annie with a glance towards the doorway. “Don't be getting into anything tonight. Mom's got enough on her mind.”

Aiden ignores her. “What would you know about guts, Pat?”

“More than you, that's for sure.”

Aiden faces him eye to eye. “What the hell does that mean?”

Pat stares him down. “It means I'd face up to responsibility, that's what.”