The Secret Life of a Funny Girl (11 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

IT'S THE END OF May and there's nothing to look forward to except a mountain of work. The spring dance and ballet recital are history, and exams are staring me in the face. Piled on top of this is the school concert in early June, which only means extra band and choir practices squeezed into time meant for studying. But you know what? It's like this every single year. You can hardly even think about summer holidays with all this stress building in your brain like a kettle on boil.

This is my gripe on a Thursday afternoon as I rush out of school into a cold spring day, barely noticing the rain and fog smothering everything in grey. I'm in a huge hurry to get Beth-Ann over to Aunt Kay's, and then rush back to school. There's a math tutorial at 3:30 and I've got a list of questions.

I stop on the front steps of the school, pulling up the hood on Beth-Ann's yellow rain jacket and tying the strings beneath her chin, when she points a chubby finger over my shoulder. “Look, Reenie, that's Daddy over there!”

Sure enough, the big Pontiac is pulled up to the curb, Dad grinning at us through the windshield. Immediately alarm bells go off in my head. This is very strange, Dad never picks us up. Is it Mom? Is she all right? But Dad wouldn't be smiling like that if anything was wrong. Maybe he just took pity on us today, maybe he's here between appointments.

“Let's go, Bethie.” I grab her hand. “At least we don't have to walk in the rain.”

I poke my head inside the car. “Everything okay?”

“Everything's great, couldn't be better. I had an outside meeting that finished early, so I thought I'd save you guys from getting soaked.”

“That's great, Dad, but I can't come now, just take Beth-Ann. I've got a math tutorial starting in twenty minutes.”

“Maureen, why don't you forget about that tutorial today?”

What? “Forget about the math tutorial? Are you serious?” Extremely weird, definitely out of character.

“Yeah, forget about it. Jump in. I've got a surprise for the two of you.”

“Dad, I don't know. The math exam is on Monday.”

“Which means you have all weekend to study. Now get in the car. I mean it.”

“Okay.” I'm doubtful, but climb in the front seat, anyway. This is ridiculous; Dad is the first one to tell me to get extra help if I need it. But it's not worth a fight. I can always get my questions answered tomorrow, I'm thinking as we head down Elizabeth Avenue toward Kerry Street.

“Dad,” I say, as we pass the Jewish synagogue, “aren't we going to Aunt Kay's?”

“Not today. I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off.” And there's a smile as big as tomorrow on his face.

Taking the rest of the afternoon off? I don't suppose . . .

I glance at him sideways, suspiciously. “Any special reason for that?”

He looks over at me, eyes mischievous, a finger on his lips. “Shhh! It's supposed to be a surprise.”

Mom's home? My eyes are two big question marks and Dad nods back enthusiastically.

She's home!

I slide down the seat as pure relief floods my body. I cannot believe it. Is this nightmare finally over?

In the three weeks since Mom was home that Saturday, I've spoken to her five times on the phone. And every single time she was always bright and interested, really alert. But whenever I'd ask the big burning question—when was she coming home for good?—her voice would trail away. “It shouldn't be too much longer,” she'd say, quietly. “They're still adjusting my medications.” I mean, how frustrating is that? Why can't doctors just figure that stuff out, what's wrong with them? How can Mom sound so good and still need to stay in hospital?

Now it seems those long weeks of waiting are nearly done.

The big, heavy car trundles into the driveway and we all jump out, Beth-Ann chattering away, totally unaware that anything might be different. I'm steeling myself as I walk through the wet to the front door. I will not cry. Not this time. I will not ruin Mom's homecoming and make a fool of myself again.

The door swings open, we step into the living room, and there lying on the sofa is Mom. Eyes alive and dancing, arms outstretched to us.

“Mommy!” shrieks Beth-Ann, running and falling on top of her.

“Oh my baby,” says Mom, nuzzling into Beth-Ann's blonde curls. Then she lifts her eyes to me. “Come over here, honey. Come over and give me a hug.”

With forced composure, I cross the floor, kneel beside her. “Hi, Mom,” I whisper, the familiar sting starting up in my eyes, my throat tightening. But I blink fiercely and focus, push back the tears, melt myself into the feeling of Mom's gentle fingers running down the length of my hair. Don't ever leave us again. I lay my head on the plaid blanket covering her legs. Please don't ever leave me again.

Mom kisses the top of my head. “Oh, Maureen, thank God I'm finally home.”

“Is it over now, Mom?” I look up at her. “Do you have to go back?”

“Yes, sweetie, it's over. I do have to go back for appointments, checkups really. But I'm officially discharged from hospital. My bags are unpacked and I'm home.”

“Hooray!” yells Beth-Ann. “Mommy's home forever.”

A calm settles over me, but then it's rippled by a tiny niggling doubt. Can this be true, is Mom really all right, is she home for good? I remember Sister Marion's words that day in her office and they echo in my brain: “Your mother may always need a little extra attention, Maureen . . . you must be careful never to cause her any upset or confusion.” Maybe it's not really over. How can we be sure Mom will never get sick again? I push the nagging worry away. There's no point thinking about what's ahead—seriously, there's no way I can control that. I focus on the here and now: Mom on the sofa, her hands in my hair, the sweet realization that she's home again, released from that horrible hospital.

Dad picks up a birch junk and tosses it dead centre on the fire in the grate, where it crackles and bursts into orange flames, throwing light and heat through the room. “There now.” He rubs his hands vigorously, grinning at Mom. “Wasn't that a fine surprise? Although I have to say, Maureen figured it out right away. Can't get too much by her anymore.”

Is it possible for a moment to last forever? If so, I'd pick this moment now. Beth-Ann snuggled into Mom's lap; Mom's arm draped over me as I sit on the floor facing the fire; Dad in his armchair watching the wood burn, hands fanned out to the flames.

“One good thing about Newfoundland,” he says. “You can light a fire and enjoy it nearly any day of the year.”

We all smile, because it's true. And it's a wonderful thing, too. The roaring fire in the grate has everyone all warm and relaxed. Outside, wind lashes the window and rain dribbles down in squiggly lines, but here in this room we're safe and warm and dry. The four of us together at last, a family once again.

* * * * *

You know, it doesn't seem to matter what goes on in your life, the months still roll into each other same as they always did. Funny, isn't it, how that works? Nothing ever stops seasons from changing, not death nor sickness nor worry, nor even the good things that happen.

So it was in our house—May folded into June—and everyone fell into a new routine, sort of like the time before Gran died, but with tiny changes. Now Beth-Ann and I walk home after school and the house is always clean and orderly. Mom's usually resting on the sofa when we come through the door, and often Aunt Kay is there with her. I notice Aunt Kay doing some of the jobs Gran used to do—like helping Mom peel the vegetables, fold the laundry, and offering up definite opinions on life in general.

Mom's always bright and alert now, interested and asking questions about school and friends and homework. But I notice she still gets tired easily. Soon as she bathes Beth-Ann each night and tucks her into bed, she's in her own bed too. I remember what Sister Marion told me, that I need to help out as much as possible. So I clean up the kitchen each night, fold any leftover laundry, make sure the living room is neat and tidy. What choice do I have? To be honest, I'd be nervous if I didn't help.

I notice Mom is not going out very much, hardly at all really. The groceries arrive by delivery now, cardboard boxes filled with food left on our kitchen table. Even the small brown prescription bottles, with Mom's name on them in bold black type, are brought to the door by a driver, neatly packaged in a white paper bag. Sometimes I find myself staring at these little containers, lined up on a glass shelf in the medicine cabinet over the bathroom sink. Does Mom have to take these pills forever? What happens if one day she doesn't take them?

Once on a Saturday afternoon, Dad made a big production of piling us all into the Pontiac and we drove out the Conception Bay Highway, stopping at Berg's for an ice cream. But even there, Mom wouldn't get out of the car. “Get me a vanilla sundae, Dave.” She smiled. “There's no need for us all to go in.” I could see the concerned look across Dad's face, that he was really hoping she'd get out of the car. But he didn't say a single word about it, not a syllable. Just got out of the car himself, went into Berg's with Beth-Ann and me, and brought Mom back her sundae.

These are small things and don't really bother me too much. Because Mom being home has everyone happy again. Dad's constantly grinning, back to telling jokes and carrying on. Beth-Ann is always bubbling and bouncing around. The heaviness has totally disappeared from the pit of my stomach; I feel carefree and light, like I'm walking on clouds. The whole house just feels brighter and warmer with Mom back inside it.

Which brings us right to the morning of the school concert—Beth-Ann and I eating cornflakes at the breakfast table when, suddenly, my little sister pipes up with the question that's been nagging at me all week.

“Mommy,” she says, putting down her spoon. “Are you coming to the concert tonight?”

I wouldn't have dreamed of asking this, even though I'm dying to know the answer. The last thing I want is to make Mom feel uncomfortable. But I forgot about Beth-Ann, who's six and not thirteen like me.

Mom's standing by the sink, staring out the kitchen window at the light green leaves on the dogberry tree, her back gone tense and rigid. “I'd like to, baby girl, but I can't,” she says, still looking outside. “Not just yet. All those people—there'll be questions, stares. I can't face it. You understand, don't you, Maureen?” She turns toward me, eyes pleading.

There's a lump in my throat and I just feel so badly for Mom. It must be horrible to be so nervous about seeing people. “It's okay, Mom.” My voice is as strong as I can make it. “We understand, don't we, Beth-Ann? Dad will be there and Aunt Kay said she'd come too.”

But Beth-Ann's lower lip is pushing out and her blue eyes are narrowed. She's not going to be bought off this easily. “I want Mommy to come. I want Mommy to see me singing.”

“I know, Bethie. But it's still too soon. I just don't think I can go out tonight. I'm really sorry.” She leans back against the counter, looking at me so sadly that I'm suddenly scared. “There's so much I've missed. Your ballet concert, the spring dance. These are things I can never get back.”

“It doesn't matter, Mom.” There's no way I can let her get sad—I'll say whatever's necessary to keep that from happening. “You've seen the photos, heard all the stories. And it's just as well you weren't here for the dance, anyway—I made a show of myself, falling in a heap at my date's feet. There'll be lots more recitals and dances, so what difference does it really make?”

She smiles then, looks at me so lovingly that I'm embarrassed and lower my head to my cereal.

Meanwhile, Beth-Ann's head is popping right up. “Mommy!” she says, already distracted. “Mommy, can I join ballet like Reenie and dance on a big stage too? Can I, Mommy? Please!”

What is Beth-Ann like? First she's in a big pout over the concert tonight, now she's on to a totally new topic.

“Of course, honey,” says Mom. “We'll sign you up in September.”

Bethie jumps off her chair, spins in the centre of the kitchen, two chubby arms over her head. “Look at me, I'm dancing!” she cries, just as Dad walks in the room.

“Whoa! Watch out!” Smiling at Mom, he skirts Beth-Ann and heads toward the coffee pot, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Okay, girls, let's pick up the pace. Even ballerinas need to get to school on time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I REALLY DON'T MIND that Mom's not coming to tonight's concert. Well, actually, I do mind a bit, but what can you do? I just find it incredible how nervous she is about leaving the house. I do understand she's worried that people will stare or whisper about her. But sometimes you have to face your fear, stand up to it. As soon as people realize Mom is back to her normal self, they'll be on to a new topic of conversation. This I know. But the longer she hides herself away, the more questions people will ask. Mom's all better now—if only she'd come to this concert tonight, then everyone else would see that too.

I push through the glass doors of the school, clarinet in one hand and Beth-Ann's small chubby fist in the other. Behind me, Dad and Aunt Kay nod and chat with the other parents.

“Yes,” I hear Aunt Kay say. “She's really not up to going out yet. Yes, tires very easily.”

“Indeed I will tell her you were asking for her,” comes Dad's deep voice. “She'll be happy to hear it.”

Oh for heaven's sake.

“Slow down, Reenie!” complains Beth-Ann. “You're making me run!”

“Come on, Bethie, or we'll be late.” Head down, I navigate through the crowd in the foyer, when suddenly I plow into a well-dressed woman in a polka-dot dress.

“My goodness!” Mrs. Thomas reels back a step or two.

“Oh, Mrs. Thomas, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?” Cripes! Just my luck to bang into Debbie's mom.

“No, of course you didn't hurt me.” She smooths down the skirt of her dress. “It is very crowded here, though, isn't it? How is your mom? Is she here tonight? I haven't seen her in quite some time, not since your grandmother's funeral, I believe.”

See? If Mom was with us, this question would never be asked. I smile brightly.

“She's fine, thanks, Mrs. Thomas. No, Mom isn't here. She still gets tired, so she needs to go to bed early.”

“Hmm. I see. My, that's too bad. And it's your last Fatima concert too, isn't it? She must be really tired to miss such a special occasion.”

God! I grit my teeth. “She wanted to come, but I persuaded her to stay home and rest.”

This is a big lie, of course. Mrs. Thomas's eyebrows lift in response to my explanation. “Aren't you a thoughtful daughter. Anyway, I'm sure I'll see your mom at the Mother and Daughter Tea.”

“Yes,” I say. I feel like screaming in her face. “Nice talking to you, Mrs. Thomas.” I walk away quickly, before she can say another word.

“Such a dangerous woman”
— I remember Gran's assessment of Debbie's mom. Gran was certainly right about that. Sometimes I just really miss my grandmother. She was so smart, and she could size up people in an instant.

I deposit Beth-Ann with her little friends in the Grade One classroom, then head over to my own. This is how it works with concerts at Fatima Academy. All the girls stay in their own classrooms until it's their turn to perform on stage in the gym. So I'm walking down the hall in the Junior High section when who do I see coming toward me but Miss Godwin.

“Hello, Maureen.” She smiles at me kindly.

“Hello, Miss Godwin.”

“Maureen, I understand your mother is home from hospital now and feeling better.”

“Yes, Miss, she is. Thank you.”

“Yes, your aunt tells me she's getting stronger with each passing day. I'm so happy to hear it.”

My aunt? Aunt Kay? Miss Godwin was talking to Aunt Kay? “I'm sorry, Miss, what was that?”

“I was speaking with your aunt in the front lobby and I'm so happy to hear your mother is improving steadily.”

I blink rapidly. You know, it's funny when this happens, when your brain locks down and you can hardly think, let alone form an actual sentence. “I, uh, didn't know, didn't realize. Uh, Miss Godwin, you
know
my Aunt Kay?”

“Indeed I do. From the Ladies Auxiliary at the parish. A lovely woman.”

“Of course,” I stammer. “Yes, yes she is.”

“I was pleased to be able to tell her how your behaviour has improved over the last little while. That you are actually a delightful girl. No more difficulties whatsoever.”

Oh no! I'm completely speechless and just stare at Miss Godwin. Meanwhile, lines of girls stream around us, like we're an island in the middle of the corridor.

Miss Godwin is looking at me oddly. “Your Aunt Kay was very interested in hearing such a good report about you, Maureen.” Yes, I bet she was.

Some of the girls are starting to look at us, whispering to each other and grinning.

“That's wonderful, Miss,” I finally sputter.

“My, isn't that sweet? Just look at the two of them.”

I turn around. Patsy and Evelyn are standing there, saucy smirks on their faces. Oh, for heaven's sake!

“Hello, Miss,” says Evelyn. “Having a nice chat with Maureen, I see.”

“What're you talking about, Maureen?” Patsy sneers.

“My goodness, girls,” says Miss Godwin, looking stern. “This is a private conversation.”

“Oh, Miss, come on, tell us.”

“Absolutely not.” Miss Godwin is quite firm. “Now ladies, we're holding up traffic in the hallway. Into your classroom, please. The concert will be starting shortly.” She bestows a parting smile on me, and then continues on her way in her distinctive bobbing gait.

“Suck,” Patsy hisses at me as I shoulder ahead of her into the classroom.

Aunt Kay knows. How will I ever explain that awful behaviour to her? She has such a high opinion of me—well, she's about to be cruelly disappointed. Who could have imagined Aunt Kay knows Miss Godwin? Nobody ever mentioned that before. Just when I thought all that business was dead and buried, it's rising up to bite me in the neck.

“Hey, Maureen.” Oh cripes—here comes Patsy again. “You know, you used to be a bit of fun one time. But you've turned into a real pain, sucking up to Miss Godwin and all the other teachers.” She stands there, taunting me with her eyes.

What would you do? What I'd
like
to do is fight back, say something really clever. But certain images flash through my head like a slide show—a mom who's disappeared, a dad who drinks too much, a family of brothers and sisters scattered about in foster homes, a thirteen-year-old girl with no one to love and comfort her. How can I say anything mean to Patsy? “Miss Godwin's not so bad,” I say. “I just started to feel really badly about making her miserable.”

Which of course is the absolute truth. The bald honesty of it takes Patsy by total surprise, so much that she actually takes a step backwards. She looks at me strangely. “Is that so?” But the scorn is only half-hearted.

I raise my eyebrows and look sideways at Debbie, standing next to me.

“Wow,” she says, as Patsy walks off. “I guess the truth will set you free.”

But there's no time to process this thought, because Miss Godwin is standing in the doorway, clapping her hands impatiently. “Ladies, excuse me. I need my Glee Club girls now, please. All my Glee Club girls form a straight line, please, as we're on shortly.”

We all line up by the wall—Glee Club not being an option for anyone—and proceed downstairs for our last performance on the Fatima Academy stage.

* * * * *

The sun is just setting and there's a rosy glow on all the faces, as families tumble out into the parking lot, chatting and congratulating each other. Trudging along behind Dad, Aunt Kay, and Beth-Ann, I'm thinking about the earlier conversation between Aunt Kay and Miss Godwin—will Aunt Kay bring up the subject and, if so,
what will I say?

As we drive off, Aunt Kay sits in the front seat chatting away about who sung what solo and how wonderfully the band played, while I'm on edge. By the time we pull up outside Aunt Kay's bungalow on Poplar Avenue, the sun is gone and night has crept in its place.

Aunt Kay turns around to say goodbye to Beth-Ann and myself. “That was a lovely concert, girls. I'm so glad you invited me.” Then she looks at me meaningfully. “Maureen, tomorrow after school, you'll be home?”

“Yes, Aunt Kay.” Guiltily, I cast my eyes down.

“Excellent. I'll see you then.”

“What's all that about?” Dad watches as Aunt Kay unlocks her front door.

“Oh, she probably just wants me to babysit sometime,” I answer carefully. At least Aunt Kay said nothing in front of Dad.

“Hmm.” The answer seems to satisfy him as he slips the car back into gear and we chug up the hill, through Churchill Square, toward home.

* * * * *

She's waiting for me the next afternoon. All the decks have been cleared for a chat between the two of us. Mom's resting in her bedroom. Beth-Ann's outside with Billy and Bobby, and through the open window over the sink I can hear their shouts and laughter. A soft, gentle breeze drifts into the kitchen, carrying the nearby hum of a lawnmower and the smell of cut grass.

Aunt Kay gets right to the point. “Maureen, I was speaking with Margaret Godwin yesterday evening—I know her from the parish. She made reference to you, how your behaviour has improved, that there are no more difficulties. Can you kindly tell me what she's talking about?”

I twist my hands in my lap. “Aunt Kay, can you please promise not to tell Mom and Dad?”

“I have no intention of telling your mother anything that might upset her. Now, what's going on?”

So I tell her. The whole sorry, sordid story. The words sound horrible, even to my ears. I can only imagine what Aunt Kay must think. “But Aunt Kay,” I say, finishing up, “this was ages ago, back in April. I've apologized to Miss Godwin and to Sister Marion and I've been so good since, you wouldn't believe it!”

Aunt Kay's face looks so hurt I can hardly bear to look at her. “Maureen, what were you thinking? Margaret Godwin is a true lady, she's kind and gentle and thoughtful. Her one joy in life is her music. How could you mistreat her in this way?”

“I guess I thought I was being funny. But Aunt Kay, it's over now. I did apologize, and besides, the school year is nearly finished, anyway.”

“Maureen, I'm just dumbfounded that you would act like this in the first place. You've been so good and unselfish during your mother's illness. It just doesn't add up. Besides, these sorts of things have a way of following you. Often there are repercussions, even if you do apologize.”

Right away I think of the valedictory speech that someone in my class will give at the Mother and Daughter Tea. Aunt Kay is more perceptive than she realizes. There's about as much chance of me being valedictorian as being the next astronaut to fly to the moon. I sigh. That's certainly a big repercussion.

“Aunt Kay, I'm so sorry to have disappointed you.” I really am. In some ways, Aunt Kay's opinion is more important to me than anyone else's. “I promise you that I'll never act like that again.”

She looks at me searchingly. “I believe you. We all make mistakes, but it's important to learn from them. Now, I think we'll keep this matter private between us. Nothing will be gained by bringing more problems upon your parents.”

I nod dispiritedly.

“But you must remember that every human being has a right to be treated with respect and dignity. It's a sin to be cruel to others.”

I think of Miss Godwin slumped at her desk, one hand over her forehead, a Mozart record scratched and ruined, the whole class in an absolute uproar. Yes, that was certainly cruel. There's no other way to describe it.

“I'm sorry, Aunt Kay,” I say again, in a low voice.

She places her hand over mine on the kitchen table. “As long as you've learned something from this, that's the most important thing. Now run down to the basement and take the clothes from the dryer. I want them folded and put away before your mother gets up.”