Mercy of St Jude Read Free Page A

in front of a small clapboard house at the other end of town. The lampshade by the door is still missing, leaving a bare bulb to illuminate the broken top step. The paint is still peeling. He wonders if his brothers drank away the money he left for repairs. This time he’ll hire someone to do the job.
    He’s not long in the house before Sadie rushes in.
    â€œGerard, you’re here!”
    She looks windblown but otherwise much the same as when he was home six months earlier. Her dark eyes are only slightly faded and, except for the two deeply pitted frown lines on her forehead, her face is oddly smooth for a woman near sixty. On top of her head are waves of grey, her old-woman-do, he calls it. She can afford to have it coloured and styled but, even though it makes her look older, she refuses to change it. His monthly supplements would allow her to quit working if she wanted, to stop cleaning house for others and put her own feet up for a change. But she says no, she’ll just grow old and die if she sits idle. She says nothing about the tidbits of gossip she picks up along the way, but Gerry knows that gossip keeps her young.
    He holds out his arms. No matter what anyone else thinks about his mother, and despite the grief she has caused him, he loves her, and he knows that she loves him, more than she loves anybody, including her other three children. This is not something he is particularly comfortable with; it’s a simple truth he’s come to accept after twenty-five years, as have his sister and brothers.
    With two strides he stands in front of her. He lifts her slight body off the floor as he hugs her, and feels her fierce strength as her short arms squeeze him tight. There is a smell of fresh peppermint and, behind that, something musty. She’s been drinking.
    â€œWhat you doing here so soon?” she asks when he sets her down. “Weren’t expecting you till after midnight.”
    â€œI got an early flight, then rented a car and hit the highway.”
    â€œI’d known that, I’d come straight home. Wish you’d called.”
    Gerry takes her coat and hangs it on a nail. “Didn’t get a chance.” In truth, he needed time once he got here, time to see Annie. He couldn’t tell his mother that.
    â€œWell, I’m happy you’re here is all I knows.” She looks him over. He knows what’s coming next. “You’re after losing weight. Too skinny by far. Not eating right up in that Toronto, are you? You needs a good boil-up.”
    â€œA cup of tea would be great.”
    â€œI got fish cakes and cod tongues, a turkey, fresh buns, beans in the oven.” She studies his face. “Why your eyes so puffy? And stop that frowning. You’ll end up with holes in your head like me.”
    Her hand comes up to smooth the two vertical furrows above his nose. Smiling, he does the same to her. It occurs to him how odd it would look to anyone passing by the window, both of them standing there, rubbing a spot of skin between each other’s eyes. “Crazy Griffins,” they’d probably say. It would not be the worst thing they’d ever said about his family.
    â€œSo, how are you, Ma? Keeping out of trouble?”
    â€œDon’t look for trouble, it won’t look for you. You’re sniffling. You got a cold?”
    â€œJust the plane. I’ll be fine tomorrow. You said something about fish cakes?”
    The mention of food launches his mother into action, like a holy woman on a mission from God. She slices a few rashers of fatback pork and throws them into the frying pan. Bustling to the fridge, she hauls out potato salad, mustard pickles and beets. All the while she chatters on about people he knows: Millie O’Shea’s new hip, Barber Manning’s failing eyesight, the ongoing fight between the Smiths and the Powers over the berry patch dividing their two properties.
    Surprisingly, she hasn’t yet mentioned