Darren Effect (8 page)

When she woke Bill was standing in front of her and her toes hurt. She leaned forward, thinking of standing, then saw her feet: they were red and swollen. The windows rattled violently,
and she recalled Darren Foley's comment that the weather was changing.

Bill knelt in front of her. “We're going to take you into the hospital in a minute, Heather. Do you understand? Good. Mandy's already in the car. You understand what I'm saying, don't you? You were mildly hypothermic when they brought you in. You're fine now, but you might need some medical attention. Heather?”

“What's that on my feet, Bill?”

“Blisters. Not to worry.” He smiled unconvincingly.

The pink slippers stopped by. She said something to Bill, and Heather looked up to see her swatting him with the back of her hand. The woman was hugely buxom and had tight red curls and a generous face. Bill rubbed his arm in an exaggerated manner. Something crashed in a nearby room and a short sausage-shaped dog trotted up to them and sniffed the untouched tub of water near Heather's feet. Then he turned his rump to them, his ears folded back, and growled. The woman with the pink slippers kicked him and said, “Go on. Get out.”

The dog bolted from the room. A door opened and cold air swept into the room and the dog began barking, but he was outside now and the sound came to them as though wrapped in a thick sweater.

“Won't talk to you,” the woman said. “But he's a nuisance for barking.”

Bill said to Heather, “My second cousin, Helen.”

“Pardon me?” Helen said, swatting Bill again. “Second cousin once removed.”

They were flirting. Heather gazed up at the woman, liking her anyway.

On the way back to St. John's, Heather sat in the back bundled in blankets, her feet, which were becoming fiercely painful, resting on the seat. It grew so warm that Mandy, in the front, stripped off layer by layer, but never complained.

“Where's your car, Heather?” Bill asked.

“Cape Broyle,” said Mandy.

“We'll get it in the morning then. Mandy and I.”

“I'm sleeping in,” Mandy said.

“You can sleep in.”

It was snowing heavily now. It covered the windshield within seconds of the wipers clearing it. Bill was driving slowly. “Not the time of year I would have chosen for a hike up the Southern Shore.”

Both women ignored him.

“Listen,” Mandy said. “I saw something weird out there. Like a white cross.”

“In the woods?”

“Yes.”

“I saw that too” Heather said, only now realizing what it had been.

“So that's where you were,” Bill said. “Way out there. Christ, the two of you. That was Suse's Meadow.”

“Suse who?” Heather asked.

“That's right. At the edge of a meadow,” Mandy said. “I nearly walked right by it because of the fog. Creepy. That's when I called you, Bill.”

Heather wished her sister would be quiet. It was maddening. “Bill,” she said. “Suse who?”

“Suse. She went cow hunting one day and was never seen again.”

“How old was she?”

“When was this?”

“They looked for her but all they found was her sunbonnet, out on a bog. My guess is she was about thirteen, fourteen.”

Heather tried to lean forward. “Suse
who
? Did she have a last name?”

“She was a servant girl. Her family was from Brigus South. Years later they found her bones. Suse Hayes.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“Who found them?”

“Some fellas out hunting. They thought at first it was a lost sheep. But the hair was still on her head.”

“Oh. My. God. Are you enjoying this, Bill?”

“They brought the bones back in a biscuit box. It was later they put the cross out in the woods where she'd been found.”

“Cow hunting?”

“Her bones all fit in a biscuit box?”

“That's the story I heard.”

“I don't believe that,” Heather said. “I don't believe she just got
lost
.”

“Neither do I,” Mandy said.

“Why not? You two got lost.”

“What do you think, Mandy?”

“My first thought was rape and murder,” Mandy said quietly.

“Me too,” Heather said, feeling close to tears. “My first thought.”

“I wonder if this is some fundamental difference between men and women,” Bill said. “I thought it was an interesting story.”

“An
interesting
story!”

“Well, from a folklore perspective.”

“A girl gets lost in the woods,” Mandy said, gulping. “She either freezes and starves to death over several days, though no one can find her, or — more likely — she is tortured and killed, and you say it's an interesting story?”

“Freezing to death takes less than several days. You two don't realize how lucky you are.”

But both Mandy and Heather were crying. Heather couldn't believe how horribly sad it was. She put her hand on her sister's shoulder, and Mandy took it in her own. They cried more.

“Jesus,” Bill said.

At emergency they also told Heather she was lucky. The frostbite was not severe; they did not expect gangrene to be a concern.

“You're a lucky gal,” said the intern, not from Newfoundland.

She hadn't eaten all day, the temperature had dropped ten degrees in two hours, and she had been wandering in stockinged
feet through the wet, snowy woods for no one knew how long, but she was lucky. When they said
lucky
, she imagined a wide blue sky that never closed above a bog and on the bog, a tattered sunbonnet.

“There's some terrific hiking in this province, isn't there?” the intern said. His hair was flattened at the back of his head; it was clear he'd been recently asleep. “I'm ordering antibiotics. That's routine. I like to tell hikers to be prepared. Appropriate clothing, especially footwear — ” Heather wondered if he knew she'd lost hers — “and always carry plenty of food and water, a map and compass if you've got one. Now, is there anything you need to tell me?”

Heather shifted on the bed. “Like what?”

“Like any medical conditions?”

“Why?”

“It's a routine question.”

“None that I can think of.”

A nurse came in carrying a tray, and the intern jumped back. “The nurse is going to clean and dry your feet, then wrap them in sterile bandages to prevent infection. Frostbite is like any injury.” Gradually, the intern was moving closer to her again. “It's due to the formation of ice crystals in the tissue but also to decreased blood flow. Imagine the blood in your extremities thickening and turning sludge-like. When your body gets cold, it gets smart.”

“Can I get in here?” the nurse asked, and the intern jumped back a second time. She glanced at Heather and rolled her eyes. The intern was still talking, but Heather found it difficult to look at him. Instead, she watched the nurse, who was working silently on Heather's feet. She wore a small embroidered pin resembling a pumpkin pie.

“As soon as your body temperature drops, those tiny blood vessels in your skin and extremities narrow. This keeps blood flowing to vital organs like your heart and brain. Of course, that comes at a price, as we see here.”

Heather tried to smile at him. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. His bright enthusiasm was commendable, but give him ten, fifteen years and it would be like pulling teeth to get this kind of information from him. He wasn't wearing a ring, but it was likely he was engaged. Years of family life lay in wait: the house, the renovations, the cars. The neighbourhood, the pets, the schooling. The first serious illness.

“Now if those blisters had been filled with bloody fluid — ”

A second nurse appeared in the doorway. “Doctor,” she said flatly, and the young man spun around and jogged out of the room.

The first nurse took a deep breath and patted one of Heather's bandaged feet as though it were a bundled infant all fed, washed and tucked in for its nap. “That's grand,” she said. “Let's pray for a speedy recovery. You don't want to be coming back here.”

“What do you call those birds?” Heather's mother asked, looking at the feeder. “Lovely, aren't they?”

“Juncos.”

“I didn't know you were a hiker. Did you join a club?”

“No.”

“Are those your crutches? What's the verdict on your feet?”

“Mom.”

“Oh, no. You're not crippled, are you?” her mother joked.

“Mom, listen — ”

“Actually, I have a little speech.” Her mother laughed self-consciously and moved closer to the bed, gesturing with the unlit cigarette. “Let me just say one thing and then I'll go outside and smoke this. I did understand, honey. And I
do
understand. I wasn't taking sides. If I took sides, it would be your side.”

“I know, Mom.”

“I just didn't want you to feel endless sorrow. You always knew how I felt about that man. Sitting on the fence, the way he did.”

“I'm pregnant, Mom.”

Her mother straightened. She studied Heather's bathrobe more carefully.

“You're showing, too.”

Heather nodded.

“Well.”

They stared at each other a while, Heather trying to look apologetic, though she didn't really know how she felt. The window of opportunity for terminating the pregnancy had passed, though she had never made a conscious decision to keep the baby. In fact, she didn't think she did want the baby.

“So what
is
the verdict on your feet?” her mother asked at last.

“That I'm lucky.”

Her mother laughed and took a seat on the bed. She let her shoes drop from her feet. They thudded — one, two — on the hardwood floor. Heather relaxed.

“I'll have to think about this.”

“I thought so.”

“I'll have to get used to the idea.”

“Yes.”

“It's his?”

“That's a fair guess.”

“Who else knows?”

“Only you, Mom.” The conversation was predictable and soothing. “And my doctor.”

“Mandy?”

“Well. I had to tell Mandy.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A little tired. But pretty good. A breeze so far.”

Her mother didn't smile. “Everything is as it should be? On schedule?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if you have a pack of cards anywhere in this place?”

*

They played rummy 500 or crib and outside winter gave way to spring. At least once a visit, her mother told her to stand so she could see how far along she was getting. Other than that, Heather did her best to avoid any discussion of her condition.

One day Heather told her mother the story of Suse Hayes.

“They say she went cow hunting, Mom. Does that make sense to you?”

Her mother had just dealt and was moving her cards around in her hands. “What? Cow hunting? Why not?”

“Cows don't run wild.”

“They did at one time. Occasionally one wouldn't come home, I guess, so they had to go find it. What is it with you and Mandy and cows? She's asking me the same questions. Is this a movie you two saw?”

“I just told you. Mandy and I saw a memorial cross in the woods.”

Her mother put her cards down on her lap. “Can I just say one thing?”

“If you criticize, you leave. That's the rule.”

“Yes, the rule, I know.” She raised her cards again. “One of the rules. Your discard.”

Heather laughed. “I don't have that many rules.”

“Don't smoke. Don't criticize — though who distinguishes criticism from comment, I don't know. Don't ask any personal questions.”

“That's not true.”

“It is.”

“Then how do you know so much about my life?”

It had been years since Heather had seen her mother in slacks, though she could remember her wearing them every day, and in summer, a pair of white shorts. Now she wore one of two polyester skirts, which she claimed fit her so comfortably she could not bear to put anything else on. Her blouses were continually coming out and gathering folds at her waist, the one
part of her body that had gained weight. Each day she sat pencil-straight on the edge of Heather's bed, and Heather marvelled at the endurance of her back.

Her mother said, “I suppose it helps to be a shrink.”

“I'm not a shrink.”

“Do you know what I read recently? I read a very interesting article about something called disenfranchised grief.”

“Don't you think I know about that?”

“I'm just trying to help. You don't have to snap at me.”

“Labelling doesn't help. It doesn't make any difference. I'm angry you would even bring that up.”

“What would you say then to a patient in your position?”

“
Clients
. They aren't referred to as patients.”

“What would you say?”

“I'd say, I can see you are experiencing a lot of pain and it is real.”

“You're being deliberately cold.”

“I'd pass over a box of tissues.”

Heather's backyard was turning green. The sky was bright blue, but all morning round cold-looking clouds had been passing quickly overhead — a sign it wasn't as warm outside as it looked. Many people were interested in clinical psychology because they were curious about themselves; it was a means of self-discovery. Heather had not thought this was the case for her. She'd thought, at one time at least, that she simply wanted to help people.

Disenfranchised grief was for those unable to publicly acknowledge their loss — homosexuals, the families of AIDS victims, women who miscarry and, yes, women in love with other women's husbands. Heather found it difficult to compartmentalize her feelings, or her relationship with Benny, in that textbook manner. The study of grief — the models, stages, expressions, process — it all seemed pointless in the face of grief's blind impersonal energy.