Henry's Sisters (30 page)

We were silent for a while, that ruffling, never-ending wind swirling my hair. Poor Grandma. Poor Henry. Bald and hiding. Dying quick because he had no hair.

I put my hands to my own hair, ran my fingers through it with the wind. It was hair. Only hair.

‘I think I’ll shave my head,’ I said.

I expected Cecilia and Janie to freak. They didn’t.

‘If I’m bald, Henry won’t feel so embarrassed. He’ll go out. He doesn’t have much—’ I had to stop. Heartbreaking. ‘He doesn’t have much more time. I want him to enjoy what time he has.’

‘My hair has always been the only thing that’s pretty about me,’ Cecilia said as the wind twirled her hair. ‘The only thing. But what’s it brought me? Nothing. I’ll shave mine off, too.’

‘Me too,’ Janie said. ‘In fact, I think in my next book the killer will be bald.’ She thought for a sec. ‘And it’ll be a woman. A bald woman. This’ll be good research for me. I’ll get the scissors.’

We did not waste much time.

Dad came by to see Henry and we told him what we were going to do. ‘Count me in,’ he said, instantly.

Cecilia’s girls were dropped off by a neighbour as Cecilia slung a pink towel around her shoulders. I had the scissors and razor ready to roar.

‘Are you cutting Mom’s hair?’ Kayla asked. She was wearing a beautiful orange-and-gold sari. I did not ask her where she got it.

‘Actually, I’m shaving it off,’ I said.

‘Cool,’ Kayla said. She crossed herself.

‘Yeah, way cool,’ Riley added. She twisted a hair around her finger. She was wearing a shirt that said, E=MC
²
, and a red headband. It did not completely cover her spreading baldness.

They thought. ‘Why?’

‘Because your uncle Henry is embarrassed about being bald and he won’t come out of his room, so we’re shaving our heads so he’ll live his life again,’ I said.

‘Rad,’ Kayla said. ‘It’s monklike. I’ll do it.’

‘Me too,’ said Riley. She yanked out a hair, studied it, let it drop to the floor. ‘I love gravity,’ she muttered.

I held the scissors. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ I said. ‘We’re Henry’s sisters…’

‘So, like, you’re saying we’re not part of the family?’

Kayla was so quick.

‘Not important because we’re young and not old?’

Riley was quick, too.

I did not take offence to the old part. ‘No…’

‘That’s what it sounds like,’ Kayla said. Her sari swished around her. ‘It sounds like you don’t think that if we shaved our heads it would matter.’

‘Like our relationship to him is less than yours.’ Riley stuck her chin out.

‘You always argue,’ Cecilia said. ‘Always. Must you always argue? All your aunt Isabelle was saying was that you don’t have to shave your heads. You’re kids.’

‘Henry’s a kid at heart and he’s lost all his hair.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So we want to do it, too,’ Riley said. ‘I always pull out my hair because I’m stressed. I hate myself. If I shave my head I can’t hate myself, right?’

‘You shouldn’t hate yourself anyhow, sweetheart,’ I told her. All Bommaritos were whacked. Except for Henry.

‘We’ll do it for Henry,’ Kayla said.

‘Yeah, for Henry.’

Janie snuffled. ‘Oh! Oh! I love you two girls! You’re true Bommaritos!’ She hugged them close.

‘You are wonderful young ladies,’ Dad said.

‘Aw, Grandpa, are you going to start blubbering again?’

‘No,’ Dad blubbered. For a manly man, tall and strong with a tough face that practically shouted, ‘Don’t screw with me,’ he sure was an emotional guy. I wiped a tear off his scar. He seemed surprised by my gesture, which set off another round of tears.

Cecilia said, wonder in her tone, ‘By damn. I think I’ve raised good kids.’

I hugged those girls tight. We are off our rockers as a family and they all drive me insane, but I love them, I do.

Even Momma, the Mean Grinch, who had not been mean at all since she’d sent the coffee cups flying.

We all swung pink towels around our shoulders and got ready for the razor.

‘We should all shave a little bit of everyone else’s hair,’ Riley said. ‘You know, family like.’

‘Right. And you can pray or dance or hoot, whatever your religious preference,’ Kayla added.

‘Let’s do it,’ I said, gung-ho. ‘Razors ready? Say hello to baldness!’

‘To baldness!’ We all cheered, scissors and razors and fists thrust into the air like champagne glasses.

So we did it. Those razors hummed and purred as we each took turns shaving the others’ heads. We went straight down the middle first and laughed at our skunkhood. Then we made stripes of baldness on either side. We thought about leaving it at that, but no, we had to be bald, bald, bald. When we were done, we were totally bald. Six bald heads, our hair piled up on the ground – blonde, reddish, white, brown.

‘Come out and play, Henry,’ Kayla whispered. ‘Come out and play.’

Momma came home from the grocery store about one minute after we’d cleaned up the kitchen.

She dropped a bag of groceries on the floor when she saw our coneheads. I heard the eggs crunch. ‘Oh my Lord,’ she breathed. ‘My Lord. And you, Carl!’

I braced myself.

‘You’re all bald! You’ve…you’ve shaved your heads!’

‘Now, you girls let me handle your mother,’ Dad said. ‘You all step on back.’

‘We had to, Momma,’ I told her. ‘It’s the only way that Henry will leave his
room—’

‘How could you—’ She slammed her purse on the counter.

‘How could we?’ I shot back. ‘He’s embarrassed about his head, about losing his hair. If we’re all
bald—’

‘How could you—’ Her mouth was tight, hands on hips in fists.

‘We don’t need your approval, Momma,’ Janie said. ‘We’ve set our boundaries, and within our boundaries we made a family decision together.’

‘River, we did this for Henry.’ Dad’s voice, always so smooth, seemed to reach her. ‘We did it for him. He needs to leave the house, he needs to live.’

‘Chill, Grams,’ Kayla said. ‘Pray you won’t flip out.’

‘Bald is cool, Grams,’ Riley added. ‘I was almost there anyhow. You know. With my hair-plucking problem.’

‘How could you,’ Momma started up again, her voice pitching. ‘How could you do this without me?
Without me?
’

We shaved Momma’s head.

She was still beautiful.

‘You are more beautiful today, River, than you were when we met,’ Dad said to her, his voice ringing with this quiet, loving sincerity. ‘You will always be beautiful.’

‘Oh, stop it, you old dog,’ she said to Dad and, by gosh, they kissed. On the lips. In front of all of us. Two bald people kissing who were clearly still in love.

Even after all we’d gone through without Dad.

I would never completely understand my momma, this I know.

We waited until Henry woke up from his nap before we trooped into his room, one by one. Dad, me, Cecilia, the girls, Janie.

Momma came in last, arms outstretched, a smile hiding the tears that were ever present since Henry’s diagnosis. ‘Your bald momma has arrived, Henry!’ she announced, bowing to him as he clapped and laughed and kicked his feet with delight. ‘Now get your bottom out of bed. The bald Bommaritos are going out to dinner to celebrate our baldheadedness!’

Henry got out of bed, gingerly, giggling, and took us to the bathroom, where we all crammed in and admired ourselves in the mirror.

‘Now I not the only bald one.’ He grinned. ‘I bald. You bald.’

I stared at myself. I had a skinny head. Cecilia’s was perfectly round with a curve at the back. Janie’s was smooth. Momma preened to the left and right, admiring her profile. I swear my dad was even handsomer than before.

Kayla said, ‘We are the weirdest family I know.’

Riley said, ‘It’s like we’re so weird I’m past being able to get embarrassed about us.’

‘I have never, in my life, met better people,’ Dad said. ‘You’re the best. The best people I know.’

Momma leant over and kissed his cheek, and he linked an arm around her shoulders.

I studied myself. I had gone from braids and a wild, travelling, nomadic, alone life to short, curly hair to nothing.

I almost thought I liked nothing best. I was a new me.

A new Isabelle.

I kissed Henry’s bald head. ‘We love you, Henry.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I love you guys, too. We the Bommaritos! We the
bald
Bommaritos! Family hug! Bommarito hug!’

I gathered the family and Velvet outside and snapped photos. I shot Dad kissing Momma, Momma’s bald head tipped back for the kiss. I shot Cecilia with an arm linked around Janie, and Grandma saluting and Velvet dancing. I shot Kayla running around with Riley on her back, and I shot all of us together, with a timer, in a pyramid.

But my best photo was of Henry, arms outstretched, flying across the lawn, his face beaming.

We created a jaw-dropping stir when we bald people entered Davido’s Italian Pizza joint located in downtown Trillium River in an old brick building.

For our outing, Grandma tied a pink ribbon to the top of her flight hat. When she first saw all of us bald people, she muttered, ‘It’s an ancient tradition in Indonesia, but these natives are friendly.’

Velvet said, ‘Well, shut my mouth! I am chugged full of love for you people,’ and then hugged everyone.

Davido’s is always full because the pizza crust is thick and tastes like northern Italy on a blue spring day. All eating and drinking shuddered to a stop as the customers stared in shock at our family, forks and knives clattering to the plates and floor, the silence noisy enough to blow my eardrums to Venice.

Together, we probably knew all the humans in that joint. Between Momma and Grandma’s history in this town, our high school years, the bakery, Cecilia’s teaching, the girls’ friends, church families, seniors from the senior centre, Henry’s friends and their families, well, I don’t think there was a single stranger in there.

But it was so dead quiet.

Not a word.

Then Grandma announced, her pink bow wobbling, her voice strong, ‘I am Lady Lindy, queen of the air, and these natives will not hurt you! They are peaceful.’ She saluted.

‘We’ll need a table for ten,’ I told the hostess with spiked green hair, who was grinning at Henry.

‘Hey, Henry,’ she said to him, her thumb up. ‘You rock, man. You rock.’

Henry laughed, his old laugh back, gone when he was in his bedroom, death sneaking in step by step, stealing his cheer. He stuck both thumbs up and announced, booming loud to the whole restaurant, ‘Yeah, yeah. I Henry. I rock! We rock! We the Bommaritos! We be bald! Yeah, we be
bald
!’

Like I said, we knew everybody and they went wild. ‘Bommarito!’ they shouted and hooted, ‘Bommarito!’

‘We the bald family!’ Henry announced, both fists churning in the air. ‘The bald Bommaritos! See? No hair!’

We were mobbed.

It took us half an hour to get to our table.

Grandma prayed at dinner. ‘Dear God, this is Amelia. I told you to heal my co-pilot. What are you, dumb? He’s still sick. What are you, deaf?’ She shouted that last part. ‘Get it right, God. Don’t screw up. What are you, blind? Amen.’

Somebody took up a secret collection that night and we did not even have to pay for our meal.

When Momma found out, she bent her bald head and cried, right there in the restaurant.

We made the front page of the local paper the next day. A reporter had been at the restaurant with his family and raced out to his car to get his camera and take a picture.

There was an article about the Bommarito family and how Henry was fighting pancreatic cancer. The reporter noted that Henry was embarrassed about not having hair and wouldn’t leave the house. It detailed how we wanted him to continue his life and to enjoy the time he had left. (He got ahold of Janie; she always spills her guts.)

The article mentioned that Janie was the famous crime writer, Cecilia was a popular teacher, I was a nationally famous photographer, and our family owned Bommarito’s Bakery in town.

Henry giggled when he saw the photo of all of us at the restaurant. ‘We famous. We like the movie stars.’

The next morning I took Henry to the senior centre to help with Bunco. Janie and Cecilia went to the bakery.

A rumbling, grumbling pickup truck stopped next to us and Henry rolled down the window and waved, both hands, both arms. There were two tough dudes in the truck. Longish hair, hard faces. Mean. One had a face that looked as if he had fought through one too many knife fights.

‘Henry, get in here,’ I hissed. ‘Roll up the window.’

‘No, I say hi! I say hi.’ He leant out the window. ‘Hey, hey!’

‘Henry, get in here!’ I pulled on him.

‘No, I say hi to Sammy and hi to Petie!’

‘My man Henry! Henry!’ the driver boomed and smiled. Gone was the knife-fight face as his eyes tilted up, his yellowy smile almost cute.

‘Henry, dude,’ the other one drawled, flashing him some sort of hand signal. ‘I dig the hair, dude. Dig it.’

‘I be bald!’ Henry laughed. ‘I got the cancer. Pain-cree-at-
ick
. It icky! That’s it. That’s all.’

I saw their faces drop. ‘Oh man, that sucks,’ Knife-Fight Face said. ‘That sucks.’

The light turned green. A car honked behind us. I didn’t move, though. Henry was talking!

‘Hey, dude,’ the Hand Signaller said, crushed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Henry.’

‘Hey! All my friends sorry.’

‘Can we do something for you, dude? Can we help?’

The car honked again.

‘No. No. I good. Jesus told me I go home soon. I like seeing you today!
I like it!
’

The car honked again. I heard both men swear.

Henry whispered, ‘That bad words.’

The men with the bad words got out of that grumbling, rumbling truck, slammed the doors, and glared at the driver who was honking, their leather vests stretching across deep chests.

The honking immediately stopped. I turned around. It was four young male teenagers. They were now slouched in their seats, mouths gaping in fear.

The tough guys turned back to Henry. ‘You fight it, Henry,’ Knife-Fight Face said, swiping a rough hand over the tears in his eyes.

‘No, I not fight. I going to heaven! Pretty quick. Jesus tell me. I gotta go do the Bunco. I see you in church. OK? I see you in church?’

Surprisingly, they nodded.

‘OK, Henry. We’ll see you in church,’ Hand Signaller sighed, grabbing Henry’s shoulder.

‘OK dokay. Jesus loves you.’

‘Yeah, man, he digs you, too.’

‘Yeah, yeah!’ Henry laughed. ‘Jesus digs you!’

In my rear-view mirror, I watched one of the tough guys sling an arm around the other one, patting him on the back.

‘Who were they?’

‘Oh, that Father Mike’s cousins. They so nice and friendly.’

OK dokay.

‘You pretty, Is.’

I reached out to hold my brother’s hand.

Bob The Man in Charge had seen the article. He called again. Kayla took the call. She told him she’d pray about his reason for wanting to speak to her aunt Janie and blessed him.

‘Don’t you want to see him again?’ I asked Janie. ‘His English garden? Read classics together? Scoff down a few scones with your lemon tea?’

‘I do. I don’t. I do.’ She checked the stove, the oven, anguished. She took deep breaths. ‘I’ll have to sit in my serenity corner, light candles, commune with my therapist.’

‘You’ve already communed with your therapist,’ I drawled. ‘What did she say, for the hundredth time?’

‘She told me to call him.’ Janie sighed, hands to her temples. ‘I need my embroidery.’

‘Then do it, Aunt Janie,’ Kayla said. ‘Here, wear my sari when you call. It’s good luck.’ She handed Janie the orange sari she’d been wearing.

Janie put on the sari.

It didn’t help. She couldn’t pick up the phone and dial. Too scary.

The next day, Henry and I went to the animal shelter. He wore a blue shirt with a picture of a black, grinning cat on it and his Velcro shoes.

I noted again that the shelter needed a major face-lift and more room.

‘Paula Jay,’ Henry sang. ‘Paula Jay, where are you? Henry here. I here to pet the doggies.’

No one answered, so we headed towards the back and the kennels.

In the back, we found Paula Jay and Dawn. They were putting leashes on a few dogs to take them for a walk.

‘Hi Paula Jay, hi Dawn,’ Henry said, delighted he’d found them.

‘Hello, Henry!’ They smiled.

My breath caught midway in my throat, stuck there.

Paula Jay and Dawn were both bald. Not a hair on their heads.

‘Hey hey!’ Henry yelled. ‘You bald!’

The ladies laughed. ‘Yep. No hair. No more shampooing and curling. We’re like you, Henry!’

He clapped his hands, his smile lopsided, endearing. ‘Now we be bald together. We all be bald!’

Yeah, we all be bald.

I hugged those ladies close.

The dogs barked. The cats meowed.

I sniffled.

Henry wanted to go to the bakery later in the afternoon, but I took him home first for a nap. He argued with me and Velvet for a while, but we got him fed and upstairs. Halfway through reading a book to him, he fell asleep.

I ran into Grandma in the hallway. I saluted. ‘Hello, Mrs Earhart.’

‘Greetings,’ she told me. She was wearing her green flight uniform today and had tied a jaunty yellow scarf around her neck.

‘How is your day?’

‘The weather is fine for takeoff. I will be leaving soon.’ She went into Henry’s room on tiptoe, one toe at a time. ‘Don’t wake the native,’ she whispered, after patting Henry on the shoulder. ‘This native is sick, perhaps malaria or snakebite. He needs his rest.’

She grabbed two blankets from a closet and a pillow and lay down on the floor next to Henry’s bed. This was not new to me. Since Henry became sick, Grandma often slept on his floor.

I wondered, feeling this black depression start to steal over me again, how Amelia Earhart would do without her native. Without her co-pilot. Without her friend.

I closed the door quietly before Grandma’s pain became too much for me to breathe through.

Bommarito’s Bakery was jammed. It was Mommy Wednesday. We had about sixteen mommies and their kids. The mommies were passing around white wine in Thermoses. I pretended not to see it.

I went to the back and shook my head at the orders. Birthday cakes, wedding cakes, and the usual cookies, treats, breads, and so on. We had hired two teenagers headed to college in the fall. One studied Microbiology and the other wanted to be a brain surgeon. For now, they iced.

Bao’s hands were flying. Belinda cut out cookies. Lytle and a brother rolled dough.

Janie was ringing people up like there was no tomorrow, chatting as if she was a normal person who didn’t usually hide in a houseboat. The girls were making cranberry nut bread and Cecilia was filling orders.

‘This is crazy,’ I said aloud.

Cecilia laughed. It was great to hear that laugh. It had been too long.

The girls’ bald heads snapped up in surprise at their bald mother’s laughter.

I saw Kayla smile at Riley. They wriggled in their seats.

Henry did not want to eat dinner that night or the next. Day to day he continued to waste away. He still had his smile, but the wattage was dimmed, his breathing laboured, his walk slowing, his plane sputtering.

The decision to not do chemo again had been easy. Dr Remmer had shaken her head after seeing Henry one afternoon. ‘Get the dogs married, Dr Remmer!’ Henry wheezed, leaning heavily on me.

So that was it, we were done. We moved to what is gently known as ‘palliative care’, which means you make the person comfortable on their way out the door.

On Wednesday night I asked Henry if he still wanted to go to church. ‘Are you OK, Henry? You tired? We don’t have to go.’

Henry’s mouth opened. ‘Is! You silly. We have to go. Henry help at church Wednesdays. What Father Mike do without me? He need help. I help him!’

‘You’re right, Henry. You have to go. Father Mike needs you. I thought that if you were too tired, we could take one night off.’

‘No. Not night off. I help.’

We got in the car and drove in silence. Henry put a hand out and I drove with one hand, one hand in his.

‘Henry,’ I asked. ‘Are you scared?’

‘Am I scared?’

‘Yes.’

‘Am I scared of church?’ He was perplexed.

‘No, no.’

‘What scared of?’

‘Nothing, Henry. I got confused.’

‘Ha! Ha! I get confused, too. But you mean am Henry scared to die?’

Sometimes he has these flashes where he cuts through to the hard truth. Bulls-eye. On target.

‘Yes. Are you scared to die?’

He squeezed my hand. ‘No, you silly, Is, I told you. I not scared to die. Jesus will come and get me. We fly up to the angels on a moonbeam or sun ray and I get some wings on my back and I go live in heaven and I come and visits you.’

It was dark, so Henry didn’t see my tears tearing straight down my face.

‘How will I know when you’re visiting me, Henry?’

I didn’t think he’d have an answer to that one, but he did.

‘Hmm…’ He put a fist under his chin. ‘Hmmm. Lemme see. Let Henry think. Hmmmm. I think, Is, you know I’m visiting you when the wind picks up your hairs and swirls it all around all around all around.’ He mimicked my hair flying even though I had no hair. ‘That from my angel wings.’

‘You’re gonna be my favourite angel.’

‘Yeah,’ he snickered. ‘I your favourite angel. I fly around. Zoom. I always there with you, Is. I there.’

‘I love you, my brother, Henry.’

‘I love you, my sister, Is.’

We held hands the rest of the way to the church.

My grief was so overwhelming I could feel it crushing me from the inside out.

We were late to church on Sunday. We all went, the whole gang, including Dad. Henry headed, slowly but smiling, to the front of the church and sat in the front pew so he could help Father Mike. We found a place at the back of the church and knelt down, exhausted.

We were stressed and rushed and tired. Henry had had a bad night again. He’d felt sick and alternately I, Momma, Velvet, or Janie had been up with him. Dad had come at three in the morning when Momma called him and had stayed the night and helped us get Henry ready for church when he insisted on going.

So we dropped to our knees and said our prayers in church. Dad bent his head, sombrely, slowly, his jaw locked. Momma held her rosary. I watched her lips moving a mile a minute.

Grandma prayed out loud, her flight goggles on top of her head. ‘God, this is Amelia. Today I’m praying for you. I pray that you help all the natives out there who need help and my co-pilot who has malaria fever or baboon bite instead of sitting back on your butt and doing nothing. Does the devil got you or something? Amen.’

She sat back and twirled her thumbs. No one said anything about Grandma praying out loud. She had lived in that town forever and they were used to her. Many had commented that they sure liked this Grandma better than the other one.

‘I would like the Bommarito family and Amelia Earhart to come up.’

Father Mike’s words broke through my raggedy thoughts like an electric bolt, most of my thoughts cantered around my encroaching depression, and how I would live without Henry. I was fighting back, but I was weakening, I could feel it.

‘Come on up,’ he boomed, smiling.

I felt Momma freeze beside me.

‘Momma, come on,’ I whispered to her. ‘Get Grandma.’

No need. Grandma had heard the invitation and she was up and striding down the aisle, saluting people. Cecilia and I pulled Momma to her feet.

Janie put a hand on my back and I felt it tremble. Janie does not like big crowds, had only agreed to go to church because of Henry, and she sure as heck didn’t like being the centre of attention.

Cecilia and the girls came up behind me after Cecilia whispered a little too loud, ‘What the
hell
?’

It wasn’t until later that I realised Dad hadn’t come with us to the altar.

But I was distracted by Henry, who was standing next to Father Mike, who was…
bald
. I felt my mouth drop open.

We helped Momma up the stairs to the altar. Bald Father Mike smiled at us. When I knew that Momma had her footing, Grandma was not pontificating at the podium, Janie had not fainted, and Cecilia’s girls were standing next to her (Kayla was actually wearing a dress today with only three giant crosses), I turned to the congregation.

Baldness.

Not complete baldness, but many, many heads, including a huge group of teenagers, and young children who I learnt later were Cecilia’s students.

I heard Momma’s intake of breath. ‘Good Glory,’ she whispered. ‘Good glory God. Good glory God.’

‘The natives have lost their hair!’ Grandma shouted, arms outspread. ‘The natives have lost their hair!’

Janie made a squealing sound and fluffed a lace hankie.

Cecilia put her hands on her face and made these long, sobbing sounds.

Riley said, ‘Sweet. Now I’m not the only bald dude in school.’

Kayla nodded. ‘Cool. Way cool.’

And me.

Well, I’m a regular mushpot now. All those people. I saw baldness and I saw kindness. I saw a shiny head and I saw caring eyes. I saw the lights shining on those head cones and I saw generosity of spirit. I saw people I’d recently met and people I’d known since high school, all smiling.

I saw Knife-Fight Face and the Hand Signaller. Bald people from the animal shelter and the senior centre. Our neighbours and Bao and Lytle and his brothers.