queen of hearts?” Lily plucked the lone card from Grandpa’s hand, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not a bad sign you’d be left with her.”
This was typical of her innuendo. Her hand would brush against Grandpa’s arm while clearing away his plate. Once he backed away so suddenly that a knife flew across the room and hit the wall, leaving a dung-brown smear. Their relationship was full of these strained flirtations, punctuated by moments of volatility.
What it came down to was this: Lily needed a man in her life. Her singleness, her old-maid status, seemed unnatural, cruel. Although Kaz had long vanished, his phantom remained behind in the form of her deep loneliness, which she’d transferred over to his father. It didn’t take much for her to erupt in a shower of tears and throw herself into Grandpa’s arms — his body rigidifying, hands awkward as paddles as they patted the back of her head a few times before pushing her away, gently but firmly. His face turned grey, grief-stricken almost, thanks to whatever she’d whispered in his ear.
On the day of Lily’s disappearance, Tom took his sweet time to show up. He’d been in meetings all morning, hadn’t even had a chance to check messages. Or so he said. Rita suspected he’d banked on it being a false alarm. Just wait half a day and Mom would reappear. Unless she didn’t.
He plunked his briefcase on the kitchen table, loosened his tie, and ran his hands through his coarse, buzzed hair. Not even a fleck of grey. Although he was forty — six years older than Rita — Tom was often mistaken as her younger brother.
“No sign of Mom, still? She hasn’t called? Must’ve lost track of time at the mall.”
True, Lily was a sucker for promotions. But shopping since the crack of dawn? Tom was a little late in the game to breeze in and throw around unhelpful suggestions.
Family stuff didn’t fall on him the way it fell on Rita. And he was quite happy to take the back seat. It had been this way for as long as she could remember. Tom had always found convenient reasons not to be around the house: his paper route, his job at the corner store. “It’s good for a boy to be independent,” Lily had said. And as long as his activities were tied to earning money, Grandpa seemed quite fine with his absence.
Most of the time when they were growing up, Tom wanted nothing to do with Rita. On one sweltering summer afternoon, though, she was allowed a glimpse into his adventures. Carrying her sand pail, she followed him a few blocks to an abandoned apartment building. In the overgrown courtyard was a wishing pond that hadn’t held water for years; rotted leaves clogged the paint-chipped bottom. But if you dug through the muck carefully enough, every so often a shiny penny or nickel would be illuminated. So Tom set her little, nimble fingers to work, telling her they were like pirates digging for buried treasure. In the end, they had half a pail of coins, from which her share was enough to buy a cinnamon lollipop. How fiery sweet it had tasted.
Only years later did it occur to her that her brother had given her less than a 5 percent cut of the spoils. The realization made her laugh. Even then, he had a firm grasp of profit margins.
By the time high school rolled around, Tom had moved on to other, more lucrative activities. He had no time for her — no time to torment her even — because he had places to go, games to make. His best friend had a broad forehead and blunt features, as though his face had been carved from a hunk of cheese. That family was rich by neighbourhood standards; they owned two divey bars, where Tom must have gotten his start on the pool tables out back. The sweaty, metallic tang of adrenalin and crumpled bills surrounded him wherever he went. Maybe Kaz would have knocked some sense into him, but not sweet, feeble Grandpa; he was past that stage in his life. Tom could get away with anything.
“So what’s the story, guys?” Tom asked.
“The cops just asked a bunch of questions, looked around the house. Left a list of things for us to do. God knows what my hard-earned tax dollars are going to!” Gerald stirred his coffee with a clatter.
“I thought Mom was doing so much better these days.” Tom looked at Rita.
“Me, too.”
“I guess she still has setbacks every so often.”
“We have to find her, Tom.”
Rita heard her voice cracking, as she let herself be pulled into his embrace, but even the way he patted her back felt mechanical. It wasn’t comforting. If her brother looked worried, he didn’t look worried enough; there was something hard and concentrated about his expression, as if he were bracing himself for the worst because he’d always known in his heart the worst would one day happen.
“We will find her. I’ll drive around the neighbourhood and swing by the mall on my way home.”
“Already did that,” Gerald interrupted.
“Mom’ll come back on her own. Any minute.”
Tom was just saying what they wanted to hear.
“And what if she doesn’t?”
“Well, then. It’s out of our control, I guess.”
Maybe, deep down, he’d find it a relief if the worst happened. To be free. Free of the fear that next time their mother wouldn’t be okay. Free at last of the burdens of family. For reasons Rita had never entirely understood, Tom had long resigned himself to the fact that their family was a losing investment. And what was the point of throwing good money after bad? He could walk away from it all; in his head, maybe he’d already walked away years ago. His powers of self-preservation never ceased to amaze her. Sure, he’d worry about Lily’s disappearance, to a point, and then that would be it. He wouldn’t move heaven and earth to find her.
If anyone were going to step up, it would have to be Rita.
“So I hear your ma’s had memory issues for a while now?” There was an aggressive edge to Gerald’s voice, implying that someone should have filled him in a long time ago.
“Sure, she has her ups and downs,” Rita said. She could feel the tension running up her brother’s neck, the same posture overtaking her own body.
“Must’ve been hard being a single mom. Bad luck, your father’s death.”
Rita and Tom exchanged arch looks, his a little sharper than hers. They could imagine how Lily would have spun the story for Gerald, the story of how she’d tragically lost her beloved husband.
“Did she tell you things were peachy ’til Kaz kicked the bucket? That he was a great dad — Father of the Year?” Although Tom wore a bit of a simper, his jaw had tightened. It was the look he’d get while leaning over a pool table.
“You two didn’t get along?”
“Never got a chance to find out.”
Gerald looked befuddled.
“The guy walked out on us.”
“What? I thought he died of a stroke.”
Rita glanced at her brother warningly. Why did Gerald have to know about any of that crap? “Yeah, he did die of a stroke.”
“But that only happened years later. After he’d left us high and dry.”
“Oh.”
“Yep.
