Miriam Toews - Summer of My Amazing Luck

When my mom died I wanted to know every detail of her life. When did she have her first perm? Had she suffered from post-partum depression? Did she have a lot of friends when she was a little kid? Why did she want to be a therapist? Didn’t she sometimes just hate her clients? Was she in love with my dad? Had she ever had an affair? With a woman? Did she enjoy sex? Did she have any recurring nightmares? How did she get that scar on the back of her leg? Who could tell me? Why hadn’t I found out all these things when I’d had the chance? And suddenly it occurred to me that Dill and Lish’s kids and all the kids of Half-a-Life might want to know the details of our lives, too, right down to the last squalid detail.

Sometimes you can keep someone almost alive, still alive, by remembering the details, by always remembering. I could hear the girls laughing at each other as they squatted by the side of the road, peeing. Lish was giving them instructions. Dill was still sleeping. Good ol’ Dill. He had no idea who my mom was, who his dad was, who the twins’ dad was, where we were going, when we’d be back. All he knew was that he was with me right now and right here. I thought of my dad, scared stiff in the car while my mom sped around enjoying herself, unafraid. Sometimes the memory of the living hurts worse than the memory of the dead.

It came to me suddenly that while I was spending so much time remembering my dead mother, I was forgetting to remember my father, who was alive. My mother may have been what I needed, but my father was what I had.

“Lish,” I called over to where the others were. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

“What?” Cars were swooshing past us, their occupants staring at us curiously. A VW van drove past us slowly and two guys in it gave us a peace sign and honked their horn. Lish and I rolled our eyes at each other.

“At the border. I have to make a call.”

“Who’re you calling?”

“My dad.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Okey doke.”

We were still kind of hollering at each other because of the wind and the cars and everything. The girls were just finishing up. Letitia was crying a bit because she’d peed on her dress, her favourite dress. Alba, in her bossiest voice, was telling her, “Well, you should have spread your legs farther apart and lifted your dress high, right Mom? Right Mom? RIGHT MOM? MOM,MOM,LETITIA SHOULD HAVE SPREAD HER—”

“YES ALBA! She should have. Drop it already. She’s already forgotten about it. Good grief. Lucy, Lucy, I’m sorry this has all gotten so … GET IN THE VAN,” she yelled, “YOU’LL FALL IN THAT DITCH LEAVE THAT GARBAGE ALONE. Geez Hope, Maya, haul Alba and Letitia into the van,” Lish said.

“Ugh, she’s covered in pee, I’m not touching her,” said Hope.

“ALBE HELP YOUR SISTER RIGHT NOW FOR GOD’S SAKE HER DRESS IS ALREADY DRY.”

“I always have to do everything, why can’t Maya …”

“Oh no, Dill’s awake now, Luce,” said Lish. “He looks pissed off. Maybe you should nurse him here. It’s okay, Dilly, your mama’s coming. Can you guys entertain Dill for a sec? Luce, I’m sorry this has all got so, you know, emotional.” She quieted down a bit as we got closer to each other. Lish dragged out the word emotional to make it sound ironic and comical. She knew it was one of those words that didn’t mean a hell of a lot and sounds cold when you just say it. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just fine. But now I’m leaking all over the place. My right breast feels like it’s going to explode. I better nurse him.”

“Well, so far in one short stop we’ve got you crying and leaking milk, we’ve got the girls peeing on themselves, we’ve got some more rain coming right now, we’ve got fresh honey, we’ve got Dill screaming, we’ve got the girls bickering, I could use another cold root beer, or better a shot of tequila, and hey hey hey we’ve been on the road for all of ninety minutes. Isn’t travel relaxing? I told you we needed a holiday.”

“Okay. Well let’s just drive to the border and then we’ll give the kids a chance to run around for a bit and I’ll nurse Dill and call my dad and you can just sit … and like that.”

“Think he’ll be home?”

“My dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely.”

“Lucy?”

“What.”

“I’m, you know, sorry about your mom. ALBA,” she said over her shoulder, “STOP TALKING ABOUT THE DRESS.”

“I know. Thanks.”

We both took big cartoon breaths with our mouths clamped shut, and looked at each other for a second or two. Then I said urgently, “Lish, watch what you’re doing or we’ll hit the ditch. I can’t swim.”

“Right.”

In the fifteen minutes it took us to reach the border Letitia had removed her dress and panties and shoes and sat stoically, completely naked, in the back of the van. Alba was waving Letitia’s panties out of the window, threatening to show them to passersby. Letitia refused even to look at her, let alone take the bait and lunge for her panties. Hope and Maya were arguing about how many planets there are, nine or ten or thirteen or twenty-three, and Dill was back in his car seat chewing on an uncapped Crayola marker. A glorious fuchsia dye stained his lips, his teeth, his tongue, his cheeks, his hands, and his saliva, mixed with breast milk, was drooling out of the side of his mouth in fuchsia.

The guy at the border pointed at Dill behind us and said, “I think the baby has a problem.” As Lish had insisted, she did the talking. I think the border guys were a little confused, not sure exactly what to do with us, but it gave me time to wander off to a pay phone. Lish started filling out some forms and I took Dill with me to the phone. The girls romped around in the patch of grass behind the Customs building.

I dialed and listened to a few rings. The answering machine came on. My dad’s voice sounded far away and serious, very professional: “I’m sorry I am unable to answer the phone at this time. Please leave a message with your name and number and I will call you as soon as I am able. Thank you.”

“Uh. Dad. Dad? It’s Luce. I’m calling you from the—”

“Lucy?” My dad had picked up the phone.

“Hey Dad. Screening your calls?”

“I’m just trying to avoid Mrs. Sawatsky. Do you remember her, from down the street?”

“Yeah. So what, do you owe her money or something?”

“No. No. It’s not that. She’s quite determined to have me for dinner some night and I’m not sure.”

“What? You mean like a date? Geez.”

“Well. No. No. Regardless, I have no intention …”

I couldn’t believe it. My dad on a date? This was ridiculous. The peeling paint on the honey sign, my dad on a date. How long had it been, anyway?

“How are you doing, Lucy?” asked my dad. “And Dillinger? How’s the apartment working out for you?”

“Oh. Great. How are you?”

“Very good. Very good. Uh.”

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you say hi to Dill.”

I put Dill’s mouth to the receiver. Fuchsia marker ink got all over it. “Say something Dill. Say hi to Grandpa. Say hi, Dill.”

“Mom,” said Dill. I heard my dad saying some things like Hello Dillinger, how are you? It always cracked me up to hear my dad say Dillinger.

I took the receiver. “Did you hear that, Dad? He said mom. I guess it was the first word that came to mind. He’s pointing at the receiver now. I think he remembers your voice.”

“Oh. Well. It’s been quite some time since … uh …”

His voice would be all that Dill would remember of my dad because he had never seen my dad. We had talked a couple of times on the phone, though, to arrange for me to get stuff from the house and things like that. I know it seems weird that a grandpa did not see his grandchild, but I don’t think it was that he didn’t want to, just that he didn’t know how to. I think it made him sad. My mom, me, Dill, everything in his life hadn’t turned out the way he had thought it would. I think he thought I wanted him to leave me alone. Which I did — but then again I really didn’t. But how was he to know. “So Dad,” I said, “I’m at the border with a friend of mine and her kids. We’re going on a little holiday.”