Lie on Your Side

"Lie on your side," Nan said. "I'm not saying it a third time."

Abby came in with her skates.

"Jess is having six girls Friday," she said. "Six. Nan says I can't sleep over."

"Nobody in this family sleeps out in the winter," Nan said.

"That's not a rule. You made it up."

"I made it up 50 years ago," Nan said. "It's held up well."

"Later, Abs," Kevin said. "I nodded off in the crane cab on Friday. With a full box on the hook, over a man's head."

"Did Gary yell?"

"Gary says once, not twice, so I've got bigger things than Jess. Why's Nan's chair out there?"

"She sits in it," Abby said. "Outside my door, all night. She told me to sleep on my side and never look at the ceiling."

"Mom."

"It's creepy, Dad," Abby said. "I wake up and I can hear her breathing out there."

Nan filled in a word.

"Dad slept in a chair in the hall," Kevin said. "Years of it, outside my room. In his work clothes, with a flask."

"He did."

"You told me it was his back."

"I did tell you that."

"I was 15. I worked it out for myself. He couldn't stand to lie down next to his own wife."

"Kevin."

"Don't do Dad to my kid, Mom. The chair's going in the basement."

"You'll want to think about that."

"You came the week after Abby turned 10, with one bag and that chair and that wrist," Kevin said. "You said a month. Harbourview has a room, and we'll look on Thursday."

"Thursday's bingo."

"Then we'll go after bingo."

"I'll go to your Harbourview the day Abby turns 21," Nan said.

"Mom."

"And who'll sit up, then?"

"Nobody needs to sit up."

Nan looked at him over her glasses, then at Abby.

"Well," she said. "Sleep how you like, then, my love. Your father knows best."

"Sleep diary, Tuesday," Kevin told the phone on his dresser. "Chair's in the basement. Abby's sleeping on her back like a starfish, to show Nan."

The heater ticked.

"3:14," he said into the dark, thickly. "She was on me the full two minutes. I got her off."

He stood up.

"She went out, and the door didn't move. My legs are wet sand."

He opened the door.

"Hall light's on. Mom's door is shut, and I can hear her snoring. There's nothing out here, you big baby."

"Abby's door's open a bit. She's asleep, still on her back. I'm going to fix her blanket."

He went in and pulled it up to her chin.

Her eyes were open.

"Dad," she breathed, with her lips barely moving. "There's a lady on me."

The blanket over her chest was pressed flat in a round dent.

"Okay, Abs. I've got you," Kevin said. "I'm going to lift her off."

He put both hands out over her and pushed. His hands met cold wet wool where there was nothing to see.

"She won't move," he said. "Abby, she won't move!" Then he shouted, "Mom! Mom, get up!"

Nan came with her stick. She did not come in. She sat down on the floor in the doorway with a grunt.

"I'm up," Nan said loudly. "I'm up, and I'm watching. You've had your sit."

"Mom, she's not moving!"

"Go on, now," Nan told the bed. "This one's watched. Off you go."

The weight went out from under his hands.

Abby curled onto her side.

"She was so heavy," she sobbed. "Dad, she smelled like a wet coat."

"I know, Abs. I know." Kevin turned. "Mom? What's wrong with your chest?"

"Not a thing," Nan said, short of breath on the floor. "Get your daughter a drink of water."

In the morning Abby slept on the couch.

"What is she?" Kevin said. "What does she want with a kid?"

"I never asked her, my son. You don't ask."

"She wasn't after me."

"No."

"She was holding me still. So I wouldn't come."

"She sits on whoever would come running," Nan said. "That's why she faces the door."

"And you in the chair?"

"If somebody's awake and watching that door, she can't go in. So she takes her sit on the next one asleep."

"Dad's chair."

"11 years, from the winter you turned 10 till you went to Ontario. She came for your aunt Rose when Rose was 10. Nobody sat up for Rose."

"I've seen the one photo," Kevin said. "Don't tell me the rest."

"I won't."

"Hang on. If Dad was up in the chair, who was asleep?"

"Who do you think?"

"You," he said. "Every night. For 11 years."

"Two minutes a night. I'd count, and fight, and at two minutes I'd get her off." Nan almost smiled. "I told your father it was a bad chest, so he wouldn't think it was his fault."

"And the wrist?"

"There's nothing wrong with my wrist," Nan said. "I needed a reason to move in that you'd say yes to."

"I called him a coward," Kevin said, into his hands. "For 26 years, in my head. A man in a chair with a flask."

"He knew what you thought. He said it was cheap at the price."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Would you have carried that chair down any slower?"

"No," Kevin said.

"I'll sit up, then. I'll come off the early shift."

"Then she'll have her sit on me."

"Your heart, Mom. You can't fight that off every night."

"I did for 11 years."

"You were 48!"

"And I'm 79 now," Nan said. "So which of us is it going to be? I nodded off twice last week in that chair, my son."

At noon he rang the port.

"Port," Gary said. "And yes, the ship's late, before you ask."

"I need nights off," Kevin said. "All of them. I can do days."

"There's no days, Kev. I've got three men off with the flu, and I'm missing my kid's hockey game to sit here."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Is it the old lady?"

"Yes," Kevin said. "It is, actually."

"Take a week," Gary said. "Then tell me something I can use."

Abby was awake on the couch.

"Are you sending Nan away?" she said.

"No. Nan's staying."

"Good. She cheats at rummy, but she's okay. So can I go to Jess's?"

"No," said Kevin and Nan together.

That night the chair went back outside Abby's door.

"Leave the hall light on," Abby said. "I'm on my side, see? I'm not even looking at the ceiling."

Nan stood in her doorway.

"Call me," she said. "Video. Prop me on the dresser, so you can see I'm all right."

"I don't want to watch that, Mom."

"Your father didn't either," Nan said. She went in. "Keep your eyes on Abby's door, and hold me up beside it. Talk to me while she sits, because I like a voice."

On the grey screen, his mother lay on her back, hands folded on the quilt.

"Tell me about the crane," Nan said. "What can you see from up there?"

"The whole of St. John's. The harbour, the boats coming in, and every light on the hill."

"Your father liked the harbour at night," Nan said. "He said it looked like somebody had stayed up."

"It's ten past three," he told her softly. "Abby's asleep on her side. The heater's ticking, and I'm right here."

At 3:12 Nan's eyes opened. Her quilt went down in a round dent.

"I'm counting with you, Mom," Kevin said. "100, 110, 120. That's two minutes, so come on. Get her off."

On the screen, the dent shifted a little to one side, the way somebody does when they settle in for a longer sit.