“I don't believe you.”
She flipped the oven door shut. “Have you ever known me to lie?”
Annie wavered. “Are you telling me Gerry made it all up?”
“Make no mistake about it.” She gave Annie a swift disapproving glance up and down, from her chest to her toes, then dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Now look at you. All the âA's in the world are useless to you now and there's not one thing you can do about it.”
Annie glared at her. “Nothing I can do about it, huh? Just you watch. I won't get stuck in this town and end up like you.
No frigging way.”
“That's for certain. No education. A baby to raise, and given the circumstances, who knows what it'll be born like. I hear they're looking for people down at the plant. It's seasonal, but you'll be able to get the dole after.” Then, her voice cold and spiteful, Mercedes added, “You'll be a nothing in a nothing town, just like the rest of the Griffins.”
For one instant, Annie felt a tremendous urge to strike out, to smack the smirk off Mercedes' face. But then she took a hard look at this woman who she had always respected, always looked up to. A numbing chill crept through her.
“Fuck you, Mercedes.” She marched out and slammed the door.
For days after, the conversation echoed in Annie's mind. Her own bitterness, her rage and her fear. Mercedes' cold-bloodedness, her heartless honesty. Until finally Annie knew there was another choice. Good Catholic or not, it had to be considered.
She was no one's puppet. Not Mercedes'. Not even God's.
Abortion was not a subject much discussed in St. Jude.
Annie had assumed all of Newfoundland would be the same.
But at the counselling centre she met a young woman a few years older than herself, a graduate psychology student who volunteered her time, who listened and provided information, who kept her opinions to herself.
Given the space and the freedom to think, Annie began to feel again. The panic receded; the pain set in. She was carrying a child from the first and only love of her life. Could she let them tear it from her? What if this was her only chance at motherhood? Even in her desperate state, when the last thing she could imagine was wanting to get pregnant, even then she knew that someday she might feel differently. Whatever she chose to do, her life would never be the same; she did not delude herself that it could be otherwise. At times, she was filled with anger, at herself, at Gerry, at Mercedes. But underlying it all was a vast sadness. Everything she had ever been taught, everything she had ever believed in, told her that what she was about to do was wrong. Still, she made her decision, knowing that in doing so, she was denying an integral part of herself.
The day before the abortion she lay on her bed in tears. Would God ever forgive her? What if some awful thing happened to her during the procedure? How would her parents feel when they found out why? Would they ever forgive her?
Someone knocked on her door. She ignored it. A familiar voice shouted her name. The louder he called, the harder he knocked. When it was obvious that he was not about to give up, she pulled the curtains together to make the room darker, then opened the door.
“Pat, what is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes as if she'd just woken up. “Keep the noise down. You'll be waking the dead with this racket.”
“Sorry. Had to come in town today, and your mother made me promise to check on you. Some dark in here. Where's the light?” His hand skimmed the wall.
“No, don't. Look, I'll call you later. I was up all night studying.”
“Sure, no problem.” He flicked on the lamp. “I made you some soup.”
She tried to turn her head away, to hide her red eyes and blotched face.
“Goddamm it!” Pat's fist hit the desk. “It's that son of a bitch Griffin, isn't it?”
“I don't want to talk about it.”
“What the hell were you thinking, getting caught up with him?”
“I mean it, Pat.” Her hand was under his elbow moving him towards the door.
“Fine, fine.” Twisting out of her grasp, he opened the curtains and took a good look at her. “Aw, Annie. Come here, girl.”
Wrapping her in his arms, he held her like a child. The gesture was so unlike him that she started to cry. He kicked the door shut.
Patting her back, he sat her on the bed. “There'll be other fellows, lots of them.”
She nodded numbly and tried to smile.
“Tell me about it. I promise I'll just listen. Honest, I won't say a thing.”
Annie was afraid if she said one word, she would lose control completely.
“Why don't I stay for a while, keep you company?”
She forced her voice to remain even. “No, you go on. I'll be all right now.”
When she insisted, he went to the door, but once there, he waited, his hand on the knob. He stood there for so long that she finally asked, “Something wrong?”
“Noâ¦it's justâ¦you're not in trouble or anything, are you?”
What? Was it printed on her forehead?
He walked back and squatted down in front of her. “Are you pregnant, Annie?”
“Oh God.” She couldn't hold it back then. Out it came, the whole story, until finally, her voice shaking uncontrollably, she told him about the abortion.
“Frigging Aunt Mercedes, and that arsehole Griffin. Aiden was right about that bastard all along. If I ever gets my hands on him, I'll break his neck.” He stopped and looked at her. His eyes softened. “But that's neither here nor there right now, is it?”
She shook her head.
“You got someone to go with you?”
“Not yet. No one knows. Maybe Cathyâ”
“Never mind that goodie-two-shoes. I'll take you over.”
“Oh Pat, will you?”
“Of course I will, Annie.”
“Do you think I'm awful to be doing it?”
“No. I think it's the right thing. I mean, what choice do you have?”
“Pat, no one else knows about this, okay?”
“I'll never tell a soul, I promise.”
“What about Aiden?”
“This one's just between you and me, Annie. Forever.”
She'd known him her whole life, but she felt she'd never really known him at all. When she needed him most, Pat was the best friend she could have asked for. He stayed with her all the next day, and close by for another two. He made her cookies and soup and endless cups of tea, he brought her ice cream and magazines and Tylenol. He talked to her sometimes and he shut up at others.
On the fourth day, he went home. Aiden was getting curious. Alone again, an intense sadness locked onto Annie's heart. She felt empty, void of life, unloved, unlovable. She tried not to think about Gerry, about what was, what could have been, but her thoughts were not so easy to control. Neither were her dreams. There was one that kept recurring, the details changing but the crux always the same. She was on the beach, searching frantically, trying to find something she had seen from the kitchen window. She didn't know what it was, only that it was tiny and precious and that if she didn't get to it right away the sea would take it back again. She would be running along the shore, tripping over rocks or dodging driftwood, pushing against the wind or fighting the water and sand around her feet, but, no matter how hard she tried, she could never reach it before the waves washed in and carried it away.
Somehow she managed to keep up with her courses, leaving her room only if she had to, for classes and meals, to fulfill her RA duties. She slept a lot. She did not socialize. She let Cathy and her other university friends believe it was all due to Gerry moving away. They let her be. Her only visitor was Pat, who drove in about twice a week to make sure she was all right.
Citing exams and term papers, she managed to avoid St.
Jude until March. When she finally did arrive at her parents' house late one Friday evening, her mother wrapped her in her arms and gave her one of the biggest hugs they'd ever shared.
“Annie! I was starting to worry with your not coming to see us for so long.”
“Sorry, Mom, I just got bogged down with school stuff, you know?”
“I know, girl, but it's only a few hours, home and back. Still, you're heading into your third year now and things are harder, I suppose. So how are you?” she asked, uncharacteristically tucking her arm into Annie's as she led her into the kitchen.
“Fine. How's everything here? Where's Dad?”
“Gone to your aunt's with a drop of broth. We're right worried about her. She got a wicked bug, been in and out of bed for weeks now. Never steps outside the door. Keeps asking about you, though, all the same,” she added, her eyebrows raised.
Annie shrugged innocently and asked after her sisters.
Her father bounded through the back door. “Annie, my love, you're home.”
Smelling of winter and warm, clean sweat, his evening bristles gave a comforting scratch to her cheeks. “Hi Dad, I missed you too. How's things going?”
“I'm right as rain, but Mercedes is looking some poorly. And as usual she won't go to the doctor no matter how much your grandfather pesters her. Says she's just tired and we should mind our own business and quit fussing.”
“Oh well, can't imagine there'd be too much wrong with her.”
He gave her a hurt look. “That's not very nice, Annie. She keeps asking when are you coming home. I think you should go over there.”
“What? Now?” Annie was sorry she'd left the sanctuary of her dorm room. “Look, I'm tired. I just want to go to bed.” Grabbing her bag, she escaped to her room where she fell into a deep sleep almost instantly. She'd been doing that a lot lately.
First thing the next morning, her mother started in. “Your grandfather wanted me to wake you up and send you over. I let you sleep in but now you got to go see her.” She finished wiping the counter. “What's she so interested in you for all of a sudden?“
“Darned if I know,” Annie muttered. “Just let me have a cup of tea first.”
The dregs of the tea had grown cold in her cup when the phone rang. When she heard her mother answer and say “Hi, Dad,” she knew her time was up.
She walked slowly, working hard to generate some steam, some reserve of anger. All she felt was a barrenness as flat and cold as the ground beneath her feet. As she approached the house, she surveyed the back yard, the flower boxes, trees and bushes all covered with snow or burlap. In summer they sang with perfume and colour. Now they lay dormant. It was hard to believe they would ever come back to life.
Callum met her at the door with a hug. “Some good to see you.” He leaned back to look at her. “You okay? You're looking kind of pale there.”
“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired.”
“You and Merce both, it seems. She's resting out in the front porch.” He took her coat and hung it on a hook. “I don't think there's anyone she wants to see more than you. I don't know why but I'm guessing you probably do. So go on in, okay?”
Annie nodded. She didn't offer an explanation.
Years ago, Mercedes had renovated Callum's old bedroom into a year-round sunroom overlooking her garden. In the summer it was the prettiest room in the house, the view through the picture window changing gradually throughout the season. On this day, all Annie saw outside was the harsh reflection of the morning sun on the cold, hard snowpack. Inside, she was struck by the contrast of the warm yellow walls against the pallor of her aunt's skin, further highlighted by the colourful afghan that covered her. Annie recalled the last words she'd said to Mercedes. She was surprised that the memory made her sad.
As she stared down at her aunt, so pale, so lifeless, she wondered, is this what she would look like dead? Mercedes was eerily still. A second thought struck her â what if she really is dead? Annie opened her mouth to say her name. Her tongue seemed frozen yet her nerves tingled with a mixture of revulsion and fascination. She touched the arm under the afghan.
Mercedes' hand jerked. Annie shrank back.
Milky eyes looked at her. They moved to Annie's stomach then back up to her face. Any sympathy Annie might have felt blew right out the frosted windows.
Annie's mouth slit into a crisp smile. “Dropped a few pounds, didn't I?” Her voice cold and deliberate, she added, “Had a little help, mind you.”
The eyes drifted from Annie to the open door.
“No one else noticed,” Annie answered the silent question.
“Of course, they didn't know how bad I needed to lose the weight, now did they?” Her heart felt like ice, a reprieve from the pain it had grown accustomed to.
Mercedes didn't speak.
“Is there anything else you wanted from me?” Annie asked, the words so saccharin-coated they could have come from Sadie Griffin herself. She waited, stubbornly refusing to look away.
“Go ahead and ask. The sky's the limit, obviously.”
Mercedes' lips parted. Still she said nothing. But her eyes seemed fuller and sadder than before. Witnessing a mortal sin can do that to a person, Annie figured.
Annie's heart started to hurt again, the ice thawing into a dull throb that wandered in and settled right down, spreading through her body. She gave up then, sick of the game, sick of Mercedes, sick of herself.
She was closing the door when she heard a mumble from the bed. She listened for a minute until she recognized the novena.
The thought that Mercedes might pray for mercy on Annie's hopeless soul made Annie want to just lie down and cry forever, to give in to the futility and the waste and the crushing sense of defeat that she couldn't shake. Because for all her tough words, Annie had lost herself. And she had no idea of where to search, and no conviction that she even wanted to find the person she thought she'd been. The one thing she did know was that a novena would not be near enough to save her.
Annie went to school. She ate her meals. She worked and studied hard. She learned to keep moving, to carry on. She discovered that when the spirit dies, the body doesn't always tag along; a person is simply stuck with living. The world keeps turning. Every morning brings another sunrise. For most people, the drudgery of just being alive eventually starts to pay off and they're rewarded with minute slivers of pleasure, brief glimpses of how they used to live in the world back when they were happy. Life begins again, even though the world and how they view it is permanently altered.