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Quiet Time

Katherine Alexandra Harvey
Contents (102)
  1. Chapter 1
  2. Chapter 2
  3. Chapter 3
  4. Chapter 4
  5. Chapter 5
  6. Chapter 6
  7. Chapter 7
  8. Chapter 8
  9. Chapter 9
  10. Chapter 10
  11. Chapter 11
  12. Chapter 12
  13. Chapter 13
  14. Chapter 14
  15. Chapter 15
  16. Chapter 16
  17. Chapter 17
  18. Chapter 18
  19. Chapter 19
  20. Chapter 20
  21. Chapter 21
  22. Chapter 22
  23. Chapter 23
  24. Chapter 24
  25. Chapter 25
  26. Chapter 26
  27. Chapter 27
  28. Chapter 28
  29. Chapter 29
  30. Chapter 30
  31. Chapter 31
  32. Chapter 32
  33. Chapter 33
  34. Chapter 34
  35. Chapter 35
  36. Chapter 36
  37. Chapter 37
  38. Chapter 38
  39. Chapter 39
  40. Chapter 40
  41. Chapter 41
  42. Chapter 42
  43. Chapter 43
  44. Chapter 44
  45. Chapter 45
  46. Chapter 46
  47. Chapter 47
  48. Chapter 48
  49. Chapter 49
  50. Chapter 50
  51. Chapter 51
  52. Chapter 52
  53. Chapter 53
  54. Chapter 54
  55. Chapter 55
  56. Chapter 56
  57. Chapter 57
  58. Chapter 58
  59. Chapter 59
  60. Chapter 60
  61. Chapter 61
  62. Chapter 62
  63. Chapter 63
  64. Chapter 64
  65. Chapter 65
  66. Chapter 66
  67. Chapter 67
  68. Chapter 68
  69. Chapter 69
  70. Chapter 70
  71. Chapter 71
  72. Chapter 72
  73. Chapter 73
  74. Chapter 74
  75. Chapter 75
  76. Chapter 76
  77. Chapter 77
  78. Chapter 78
  79. Chapter 79
  80. Chapter 80
  81. Chapter 81
  82. Chapter 82
  83. Chapter 83
  84. Chapter 84
  85. Chapter 85
  86. Chapter 86
  87. Chapter 87
  88. Chapter 88
  89. Chapter 89
  90. Chapter 90
  91. Chapter 91
  92. Chapter 92
  93. Chapter 93
  94. Chapter 94
  95. Chapter 95
  96. Chapter 96
  97. Chapter 97
  98. Chapter 98
  99. Chapter 99
  100. Chapter 100
  101. Chapter 101
  102. Acknowledgements
Title: Quiet Time by Katherine Alexandra Harvey. Logo: Vagrant Press. Background picture: A woman’s body is visible from the mouth to the lower torso, wearing a white satin, mock-neck dress. Three lea
Quiet Time by Katherine Alexandra Harvey. Logo: Vagrant Press

Copyright © 2022, Katherine Alexandra Harvey

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

Vagrant Press is an imprint of
Nimbus Publishing Limited
3660 Strawberry Hill St, Halifax, NS, B3K 5A9
(902) 455-4286 nimbus.ca

Printed and bound in Canada

Cover image: Inpatient © Iness Rychlik
Editor: Whitney Moran
Cover design: Heather Bryan
Typesetting: Rudi Tusek

Epigraph © Camille Rankine from "Emergency Management,"
first published in The New Yorker, 2020

NB1608

This is a work of fiction. While certain characters are inspired by persons no longer living, and certain events by events which may have happened, the story is a work of the imagination not to be taken as a literal or documentary representation of its subject.

The logos of four organizations that provided financial support for the creation of this publication: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Province of Nova Scotia and, the Ar

Nimbus Publishing acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities from the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts, and from the Province of Nova Scotia. We are pleased to work in partnership with the Province of Nova Scotia to develop and promote our creative industries for the benefit of all Nova Scotians.

We acknowledge the support of ArtsNL, which last year invested $3.2 million to foster and promote the creation and enjoyment of the arts for the benefit of all Newfoundlanders and Labradorians.

For Jordy and Emma

Some days I want to spit

me out, the whole mess of me,

but mostly I am good

and quiet.

–Camille Rankine

Chapter 1

I was born with premature tear ducts, so it was impossible for me to cry. When I woke each morning, my eyes were sealed shut, gooey and filled with pus. My mother would wipe them with a warm cloth so I was able to pry them open and see again. I cannot speak to the moments of blindness, but I remember the absence of something.

I was six months old when the doctor told my parents I would need surgery to open the ducts.

“It will be simple and quick,” the doctor stated, matter-of-factly. He had seen this many times, and to him, it was routine. “We just probe the duct to enlarge it.”

The doctor couldn’t possibly fathom the anxiety my parents felt. Their daughter, the perfect one, the one who had survived, how could she be sick?

We arrived at the hospital on the day circled on the calendar. The walls of the waiting room were painted neon green, covered with images of exotic animals. Zebras, elephants, tigers, lions, and giraffes loomed over rows of interconnected vinyl chairs that linked the expectant children. We were all there for the same reason: we were suffering. Some kids were bald from cancer treatment, others coughed weakly as their parents wiped their runny noses. The corner of the room contained a small plastic table with matching chairs, a bookcase filled with colourful storybooks, and scattered toys as if a child had been ripped away mid-play.