Amazing Grace Read online

  “She’s not home.”

  “No, she just didn’t answer. I don’t need this.”

  “Stop spiralling and take a deep breath.”

  “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Good.”

  The big dogs come with me as I climb the hill to try and heal my bruised ego, which is totally ridiculous. Fletcher’s right. The poor woman is probably out shopping with a friend, or she’s gone to Cuba for a holiday. Just because she didn’t answer the first time I tried to reach her doesn’t mean she’s rejected me again. Stop being a baby.

  But I try several times to call over the ensuing weeks and no one answers. Jonathan checks back with the detectives and they assure him it’s the right number and that a Maria Evans, formally Maria Fairchild, is living there.

  Now I wish I hadn’t bothered, because my mood is definitely darker.

  Fletch comes in for his midday meal, a tuna salad stuffed into pita bread. Tom and Jerry rub up against his legs hoping for a flake of tuna to drop. “You should go to Toronto. Go knock on her door.”

  “Why would I waste the money?”

  “Because you’re sad, Grace. You’re sad. Do us both a favour and rip this bandage off once and for all.”

  So on April 1 (so appropriate), I’m standing in front of a small non-

  descript brick building in Scarborough, east of Toronto. It’s rundown, almost like it’s given up. Inside is not much better. The place hasn’t been painted in years. What a depressing place to come home to.

  Her apartment is on the second floor and as I make my way up, various smells of cooking and rotten garbage greet me. I proceed down the corridor and look for her apartment number. I hear music blaring from behind one wall and arguing behind another. There’s also the faint wail of a baby crying.

  “Oh, Maria. How did you end up here?”

  I’m now face to face with her closed apartment door. Do I want it to open? My stomach feels sick, but I take a deep breath and knock.

  Silence. I knock again and put my ear to the door. There’s no sound from inside. My disappointment is deep. To keep preparing for an encounter, only to have it turn into nothing, is killing me. This is going to have to stop. I did my best. Fletcher is home waiting for me. My family is complete.

  There’s a noise behind me. A middle-aged man in his undershirt peeks around the edge of his door. “Are you knocking for me?”

  “Sorry, no. You couldn’t tell me when the lady who lives here gets home?”

  “Someone said she’s in the hospital.”

  Unbelievably, that has never occurred to me. “Oh no. Do you know why?”

  “I mind my own business. All I can tell you is that she’s a drunk.” With that he slams his door shut.

  “And you’re an asshole!”

  The rest of the day I spend on the phone, calling every hospital in the city. No one’s heard of her. Tears fall off the tip of my nose as I dial. A drunk, he said. My beautiful Ave Maria, with her golden hair and lovely, creamy complexion. What godawful things happened to her? My heart might break right here in this lousy motel room.

  I’m down to my last two phone numbers. Once more I explain that I’m looking for my sister, whom I understand has been admitted to hospital. I give them her name, address, and phone number and ask them to check. The girl puts me on hold. It gives me a chance to blow my nose.

  She comes back on. “Yes, we have a Maria Evans from the same address listed here. She’s on the fourth floor, room 410.”

  “Thank you so much!”

  Maria is close. It’s so much to take in that I call Fletcher and tell him the news.

  “I’m sorry to hear she’s ill. It’s a good thing you went.”

  “The man from the apartment across the hall says she’s a drunk.”

  “Oh dear. Be careful, Grace.”

  “You were the one who told me to come here!”

  “Just don’t jump in with both feet. Perhaps you could talk to her doctors before you introduce yourself. She may not be up to such news. Don’t be hasty.”

  “You’re right, but I just want this over with. I’ll call you tomorrow. Everything okay there?”

  He chuckles.

  “What?”

  “Dora came over today with cold chicken and a salad, dressing on the side.”

  “That was nice.”

  “You’ve sure changed your tune.”

  “Harvey is a mackerel expert. The woman is starved for normal conversation.”

  My sleep is fitful, and I spend most of my time staring at the alarm clock. After all these years, I’m getting my wish, so how come it feels like I’m going to my execution?

  The hospital elevator opens onto the fourth floor. My last chance to stop this. The doors start to close again, but I reach out and push them back. Once I get my bearings, I see the nurses’ station on the right, halfway down the hall. That’s where I head.

  “Excuse me, could you tell me what room Maria Evans is in?”

  The young man looks at the computer. “Room 410. She’s in the far bed.”

  “Thank you.”

  I walk exactly how I did when I went to the compound, taking small, reluctant steps. Completely around the fourth floor. If I’d started in the opposite direction, hers would have been the first room. Doesn’t matter, I needed that time to prepare.

  The room is made up of curtained walls, most of which are pulled back to some degree. One of the beds is empty, but the other two have elderly women in them who are in desperate need of a hairdresser. I give them a quick nod and head to the last bed on the left. The curtain is completely around the bed, and I’m unsure if I should intrude.

  “It’s okay, dear,” one of the patients says. “She’s in there, but she likes quiet.”

  “Thank you.”

  My heart pounds as I peek around the curtains and instantly I get the shock of my life. She looks like Aunt Mae. A very sick and thin Aunt Mae, but still. There’s immediate relief that I know this woman after all. She looks like family.

  Her eyes open as I walk towards her. “Maria?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Ave Maria, it’s me. It’s Grace, your sister, Amazing Grace.”

  I reach out to touch her hand but she pulls it away.

  At this point I’m overwhelmed. “Don’t you remember? I’m your sister. We haven’t seen each other in a very long time.”

  She tries to focus, but the effort seems too much. Her head sinks back into the pillow and she shuts her eyes.

  “You’re tired, I’ll come back later.”

  Whether she hears me or not I don’t know, but I immediately leave the room and go in search of a washroom so I can lock myself in and stop hyperventilating. When I look in the mirror I’m as white as a sheet. I splash some water on my face so I don’t faint, and then I sit on the john and rock back and forth.

  She’s so ill. I’ve come too late. If only I had looked for her when Jonathan told me that night on the phone. All these months wasted, and it’s no one’s fault but my own. How could I have been so selfish?

  I’m not sure how long I’m in the washroom, but eventually someone wants to get in, so I gather myself and walk to the nurses’ station. The same young male nurse is at the desk.

  “Excuse me, where can I find Maria Evans’s doctor? I’m her sister from out of town and I’d like to speak to him.”

  “He’ll be here at one. I can mention that you’d like to see him.”

  “Great. Do you know where I can get a coffee?”

  “We have a cafeteria on the lower level.”

  In four hours I’ve had three extra-large cups of coffee and an overpowering urge to smoke, but instead I stuff my face with two brownies encased in cling-wrap that just happen to be by the cash register to entice the inevitable impulse buyer like me. They are deli
cious, more so because I haven’t had a sweet in months. All I do is sit at a cafeteria table and shake my foot, trying to keep myself together.

  At a quarter to one I’m at the nurses’ desk once more.

  “I’m here. I’ll just wait outside the doors on a chair in the corridor. Please don’t forget to tell him.”

  “Sure thing.”

  An hour and a half goes by before a clean-shaven man with a stethoscope around his neck takes a peek out those same doors. I hold my hand up and he comes over and shakes my hand before sitting himself.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Orrell. You wanted to speak to me?”

  “Yes, I’m Maria Evans’s sister, Grace, but we lost contact when we were girls and I’ve just now found her. You’re not her family doctor, are you?”

  “No, she doesn’t have one as far as I can tell.”

  “Is she dying?”

  He gives me a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid so. She has stage four breast cancer.”

  “Damn. It runs in our family.”

  “Unfortunately, Maria was already compromised when she arrived here. It’s very clear she’s been an alcoholic most of her life. On top of that she also has early onset dementia.”

  “Oh god, dementia’s in the family as well. I’m too late, aren’t I? She won’t remember me, or be able to tell me anything of her life.”

  “Often their long-term memory is much better than their short-term, so it might be possible for her to remember you, but as she’s so ill, it’s hard for her to communicate. She’s here because there’s nowhere else for her to go.”

  “So she doesn’t have a family?”

  “No one has come to visit.”

  “What a terrible waste. I wish there was something I could do.”

  “There is. Our nurses are very busy; having a family member be able to sit with her would be a real blessing.”

  “How long does she have?”

  “A few weeks, perhaps. We never know.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate you filling me in.”

  He shakes my hand again. “If you could let them know that you’re her next of kin. There are papers to be filled out.”

  “Certainly.”

  I’m so drained at this point that I leave the hospital without going back to see her. I need to gather my wits about me. When I get back to my motel room, I fall on the bed and lay there until the outside street lights turn on. Then I call Fletcher and tell him that I’ll stay here until she dies and bring her back with me to be buried beside Aunt Pearl and Aunt Mae.

  “Do you want me to come?” says Fletcher. “I can come and stay with you, if you want.”

  “No. No, I need to be with my sister, just the two of us. I want to take care of her until the end.”

  “Well, don’t you worry about anything. I’ve got it covered.”

  There’s nothing more wonderful than a man who takes care of everything.

  Except two men who take care of everything. Jonathan calls me half an hour later.

  “Mom, I’m sorry to hear about your sister.”

  “It’s a bitter pill. I should have reached out sooner, but I’ll do my best for her now. At least she’ll be with family in Cape Breton.”

  “Look, I want to make things easy for you. I’ve booked you into a nice hotel closer to the hospital and you can collect your car rental tomorrow at the front desk.”

  “But Fletcher—”

  “I’ve spoken to Fletcher and told him I want to do this for you, and he’s okay with it. Also, when it’s time for you to come home, just give me the name of the funeral parlour and I’ll take care of it, as well as your plane ticket.”

  “You don’t know what this means to me,” I manage to squeak out.

  “I do know, Mom. I love you.”

  My son loves me.

  I’m in Toronto for the entire month of April. Every day I spend at the hospital in a chair by Maria’s bed. She doesn’t know who I am, but I notice after a while that she visibly relaxes when I walk in. I feed her like a baby bird and cut up fresh fruit in tiny bites to slip onto her tongue. She likes bananas the best.

  The nurses know me by name and one of them will always stop and chat for a moment while attending to Maria. I’ve also become friends with the ladies in the other beds, but mostly I pull the curtain around my sister’s bed so I can have her all to myself. She lets me hold her hand now.

  I rattle on about how much she hated when I mimicked her behind her back. She’d chase me but I’d run like the wind and she’d give up. Or the time we tried to make breakfast in bed for our mom, but we spilled a glass of orange juice all over everything on the tray.

  “Do you remember my friend Helen? She and I would play in the tree house.”

  She tries to say something, but it’s garbled.

  “Yes! We were always together. I think you remember her, don’t you?”

  That reminds me of the pictures I brought with me, to show her my life back home, thinking maybe she’d enjoy them. So one day when she’s a little clearer, but oh so weak, I prop her up with pillows all around and lean over to show her the photographs one by one.

  “This is my husband, Fletcher, with our dogs. Do you see the tiny one? Her name is Beulah, and she’s as saucy as anything.”

  She’s looking at the photo, which is great. It almost feels like she’s with me. Please let her stay like this for a few more minutes.

  “And this is my son, Jonathan. Isn’t he handsome? He lives in New York with his daughter, Melissa. Do you see her blonde hair? That’s what your hair looked like when you were a little girl. That was the last time you saw me and I saw you. You were twelve and I was nine. I missed you very much when you left. I missed Mama, too.”

  She starts to fidget so I go through the photos like a deck of cards to find one she might like. That’s when I come upon the pictures of the woods at the camp and the bog. I didn’t know they were in this pile, but this is perfect.

  “Look, Maria. Do you remember the woods where you and me and Mama used to walk? And here’s the rock we would sit on. And here’s the bog. Look. Do you remember the bog?”

  She grabs my hand and squeezes it with a strength that’s surprising. She shakes my hand to and fro.

  “Yes, Mama! That’s right! I don’t know where she is. Did she ever find you? Were you together at all? Did you miss me, even a little?”

  A tear runs down her cheek, but she laughs. A guttural laugh.

  When the nurse comes over, I ask her about it. “With Alzheimer’s patients, their reactions are not always the correct one. If she shed a tear, she might be happy, or if she laughs, she might want to cry. It’s an emotion and a release. It can bubble up any time. You can never really know what it means.”

  That’s enough for today. Gathering my belongings, I take one more moment to stroke her brow. She stares at me. I kiss her forehead and tuck the blanket around her before I leave.

  I have a quick fast food meal on the way back to the hotel. I take a bath and watch television for an hour. Then it’s lights out. I’ll try a few more pictures with her tomorrow.

  The hotel phone rings at five in the morning. Maria died sometime in the night. Why didn’t I stay with her? She was alone in the end.

  There is so much to do and yet a weariness takes hold and shakes me to my core. Even holding the cellphone up to my ear seems too much, so I lie on my side and let the phone just rest against my cheek. Fletcher picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Gracie, I had a weird dream about you last night. You were trying to make me eat coconut balls.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Not really.”

  “Maria died.”

  “Oh no. I’m very sorry, Grace.”

  “It’s a good thing. She’s found peace at last. Call Jonathan and tell him. The hospital knows I
’m coming in later to deal with the formalities, and then I’ll contact the funeral home. After that I’m going to get the landlord of her apartment building to let me in so I can gather her belongings, such as they are. I’d like something to remember her by. Look, I have to go. I know I just woke up, but I’m tired.”

  “You’ve been looking for her your whole life. You’re allowed to be tired.”

  “Talk later.”

  I hang up the phone and weep into the pillow. My only contact is gone, and she was unable to tell me anything. The disappointment is vast.

  Much to my surprise, Jon and Fletch fly in to be with me that night. They didn’t have to do it, but it’s such a relief to see them at the door.

  Fletch opens his arms and I jump right into them, while trying to kiss Jonathan at the same time.

  “You have no idea how good it is to see you!”

  “We could hardly let you deal with all this by yourself.”

  I fill them in on the past month, and how difficult it was to not be able to communicate with her.

  “I’m sure you did, Mom. Maybe not with words, but you were there to hold her hand. She felt you with her.”

  “You’re right. At least that’s something.”

  The dismantling of someone’s life is a bureaucratic ordeal. Papers to fill out and agencies to inform, each province with its own way of dealing with the matter. We spend a good deal of time on the phone and at the hospital. Then we go to the funeral home to discuss our options.

  We decide on cremation; it will be easier to bring her home this way. The funeral director asks us if we want to see the remains.

  “It’s up to you if you want to go in,” I tell them.

  They both say they will. I’m glad to be able to share this with someone. I want Maria to count.

  Her casket is top of the line. When I depart this earth, I want a pine box, or even a cloth shroud. Just plant me and go your merry way. But since Maria went without her whole life, we want her to feel special. It sounds silly, but it makes sense to us.

  She looks better in death than she did in life, her face calm and serene.

  “She does look like Aunt Mae,” Fletcher says. “It’s uncanny.”