I have a video of Thompson’s third birthday party. In it Janie and Bunny stand shoulder to shoulder, just outside the madness that encircles the birthday boy: kids yelling; Sandy marching the cake, all lit up, through the room; Madeline trying hard to be in the centre of the action, spinning on one foot and sucking up all the energy like it was ginger ale; Thompson happy and calm as ever; and Ralph Nicole and me stoned, playing guitars and singing “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain,” “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” “This Old Man,” and “Bud the Spud.” And then about five feet back from it all, Janie and Bunny, dressed like they’re going to church, stylish, ironed and arranged, ready for high tea or a meeting with the priest.
Bunny was quietly in charge, letting Sandy and me be parents, but I can tell by her face in the video that she was just barely keeping her cool. Janie was beside her; together they formed the two-headed matriarch of our family. After Bunny died, Janie assumed matriarchal duties on her own. Janie went to the head of the table for Thanksgiving, Christmas and family birthdays. And it was on the occasion of another birthday, my own, that I finally drummed up the courage to ask her questions that had been burning inside me since Mary Simon had revealed the secret of my adoption three years before.
Of course, questions had been swirling around Janie long before that fateful drive to the airport. Women in my life were all too comfortable voicing their suspicions. For example, when I first started seeing Cathy Jones a decade or so before. Cathy was a five-sided coin, a Newfoundlander with a beautiful heart and a knee-jerk honesty that could hurt if you were in her line of fire. We met and fell in love on the spot. She and her boyfriend came to a Blackie and the Rodeo Kings show at Barrymore’s in Ottawa. We got right into it fast—instant friends—flirting and laughing until her boyfriend came up to us and asked how things were going. Cathy turned and gave him her report plain and simple: “I’m going home with him” and pointed across the table at me. So perhaps not surprisingly she took one look at Janie, one look at Bunny, then back at me and bellowed out, “There is no fuckin’ way Bunny is your mother. She’s too old, Tom. Janie has to be your mother. And I’m going to find out for myself if you don’t.” More than once I’d have to pull Cathy back into her seat and tell her no. We had a four-year love affair that was so intense we should have known it wasn’t going to last, and it didn’t.
Later, a different girlfriend, Andrea Ramalo, was beyond persistent. I think she was attracted to the possibility of my Mohawk blood raising exotic interest on the white-bread Queen Street art scene. It seemed like she woke up every morning asking me when I was going to talk to Janie, and asked the same question as I closed my eyes to go to sleep at night.
Mostly I was annoyed by how confident these women were in their opinions, how willing they were to instruct me on how to deal with my family, my life. Ultimately I’m kind of thankful to them for edging me closer to the truth. But what they didn’t understand was that it was my story, my life, and I’d deal with it when I was good and ready to deal with it. Not a second sooner.
Now that second had arrived.
It was my fifty-sixth birthday party, and I was about to drive Janie home. She always likes to leave the party early; she likes to waltz through the door as dinner is hitting the table and gets the hell out when the dishes are being cleared. I walked her out to an old van that Thompson used for his band Harlan Pepper and buckled her into the passenger seat. We drove off down Amelia and Kent streets, then across Aberdeen to Bay and around a few more corners to her apartment on Charlton Avenue.
I pulled into the driveway and through to the back parking lot of her apartment building. The June sun beat down on the windshield and I began to sweat. I tried to stay calm, but my thoughts were racing around in my head and I became more animated. My voice got louder and more direct, and my hands flew in front of me as I spoke.
There were questions I wanted to ask, but I needed to make sure Janie had a way out, that she’d be able to open the van door and disappear into her apartment without much effort. I wanted to make it easy on Janie. So I slowed my mind down and grabbed the steering wheel to keep my hands still. I started out nice and cool, like I was pointing out a blue jay or a robin dropping down on the lawn in front of us.
“Hey, Janie. I found out a couple of years ago that Mom and Dad weren’t my real mom and dad. They weren’t my birth parents, anyway, and you’re the only relative I have now. You were also really close to Bunny, so if at any time in the future you remember anything about where I came from, anything you’d feel comfortable sharing with me, please do.”
She asked me how I found out. I said that Mary Brennan’s granddaughter had told me.
“That damn Mary Brennan. She always had a big mouth,” Janie said.
“Well…okay, yeah,” I said.
What happened next, happened fast, and was so final it left me numb. Words that had been tied down to railroad tracks for fifty-six years broke free and shot across the fields—liberated truth in such full colour it made me dizzy.
Janie turned to me and her eyes teared up. “I’m sorry, Tom. I don’t know how to say this. I hope you forgive me…I’m your mother.”
I stared straight ahead at the wall of Janie’s apartment building for what seemed an eternity. You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die? Well the same happens when you’re being reborn.
Janie began to cry, and I put my arms around her and told her it was okay. Now I could finally be there to take care of her, to protect her. I wanted her to know that the secret she’d been keeping was not going to change how much I loved her.
The truth was out, and this moment was ours and no one else’s. I leaned back in my seat and followed my instincts. Here we were, mother and son for only the second time in our lives, and my first act was to keep her on the sunny side of the street.
“It’s okay, Janie. Don’t worry about a thing. Everything is going to be just like it’s always been. Better in fact. Nothing is going to go wrong. I’ll make certain of that. You’re still Janie to the kids. You’re still Janie to the grandsons and all our friends and family.”
It was hard to believe that it was this easy. From the back of my mind it seemed impossible; from deep in my heart it was simply forbidden. But in reality it all came down to Janie and me, and nothing could hold us down this time. In the end, all it took was one drive home together.