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9 pages, Audiobook
First published September 20, 2022
I was seven that November when we were tossed from our apartment in St. John’s. I had lived in twenty houses by then. I don’t remember a lot of them, but most of them were scattered along a couple of roads in a place called the Goulds, about an hour away from town. It wasn’t much of a place, not even a village, but it was where Jennie was born and where her parents, Lucy and Ned, still lived, on Petty Harbour Road.
Repairing me seemed to be impossible because no one seemed to know why I was sick. A doctor I could not remember having been to see had once said I had a nervous cough. Jennie seemed to think I had a nervous cough because I was nervous all the time. She said she had heard of other people who had nervous coughs, but she never named them. Calling it a nervous cough made it sound like I was constantly trying to clear my throat, but that wasn’t the case. The cough was so deep, so loud and so relentless that each of my three brothers had tried to kill me to shut me up.
I didn’t want to be led to the living room by Jennie and have to kneel with her while she held my hand to keep me from losing my balance and tipping over sideways like a statue. I didn’t want to walk among the same grown-ups I had walked among the day Lucy had her false alarm, Jennie’s boy dressed to the nines as if nice clothes could disguise the fact that I looked as though I would be the next to go.
You read more books in a week than anyone I know has read in their entire life. I never saw the point of books, but there might be one. You better hope there is. You have a lot of time invested in them that you won’t get back. - Grandmother Lucy to young Wayne.
It was kind of the funniest year in a lot of ways, a bit sad in some other ways. And even though the book is called Jennie's Boy, I kind of struggled with the notion of calling it Lucy's Boy. - Author Wayne Johnston interviewed about "Jennie's Boy."