“I was in a daze the first few weeks of going out with Toby,” Anne-Marie continued. “I even forgot to eat!”
I tugged my shirt down off my nose. “Really? I’d never forget to eat. I like food too much.”
Anne-Marie put her hand on my shoulder. “Trust me, Kit. When you’re in love, you’ll know exactly what I mean.”
“But I am in love. Remember? The letter I sent? I told you all about him.”
“Oh, right. What was his name again?”
“Elliot. I call him Moptop, remember?”
She burst out laughing. “Moptop? What kind of nickname is that?”
I shrugged her hand off my shoulder.
“It’s a nickname. His hair…it’s curly. It was all in the letter.”
“Oh, I remember now,” she said, playfully slapping my leg. “What’s he like?”
Suddenly I didn’t feel like telling her every detail.
“He’s really smart. He likes to speak French.”
She giggled. “A nerd, huh?”
I felt myself flush. I tried to think of something to tell her. Something awesome about Elliot.
“Does he play sports?” she asked. “Toby plays on five teams.” She counted on her fingers. “Soccer, lacrosse, hockey, football and…let me see, there’s one more…um…”
When Elliot had tried to play basketball with Iggy in the driveway, he was hopeless. He’d dribble the ball and his curls would fall into his eyes, and he was constantly blowing air upward out of his mouth, desperate to get the hair out of his face. And on every attempt at a basket, he’d stick his tongue out in concentration. And I found all of these things “simply perfect.”
“Basketball!” Anne-Marie exclaimed. “That’s the one. Basketball. Toby’s the star player.”
I picked up a stone and threw it over the cliff’s edge.
“So tell me more about St. John’s,” she said.
“Not much to tell.”
“There must be something.”
There were lots of somethings. Days’ and days’ worth.
“Did you make any friends?”
“Um, yeah. Didn’t you read my letters?”
“Of course I did. It was a long time ago, that’s all. Refresh my memory.”
“There is this old man next door, and he’s really eccentric and—”
“An old man? Are you serious? You made friends with some kooky old geezer?”
“Well, he, um, he needed someone to clean and—”
“Oh. My. God. Do not tell me you were somebody’s cleaner. Gross.”
It had only been six months, but the girl in the paint-spattered overalls was gone.
“Did you manage to meet anyone your own age or what?”
“Yeah. A girl in my class. Caroline. We got pretty close.”
Anne-Marie took a compact mirror out of her purse and examined her face.
“So? What’s she like?”
“Well, she’s into grunge.”
“Grunge?”
“Yeah, you know, like Nirvana and Green Day?”
Anne-Marie put on some lipstick and puckered, admiring her handiwork. “Never heard of them.”
“She’s into carpentry too. She even started a petition to get a shop class started at our school. And she’s super sporty. Star of the floor-hockey team and everything.”
Anne-Marie snapped the compact shut. “Ooooh, gotta watch out for those sporty types. Lesbians.”
I looked at Anne-Marie like she had ten heads. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s true. Toby said that he went to a co-ed hockey camp last summer and most of the girls there were dykes. This Caroline chick’s probably a lesbo with the hots for you.”
I shielded my eyes from the nonexistent sun.
“She actually reminded me of you,” I said quietly.
“Really? Weird. Anyway, sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go. I’m meeting Toby. For some QT—you know, quality time? See you at school on Monday?”
“Yup.”
She stood up to go. “Just so you know, you might think about dressing up a bit. For school. We kind of go all out now, you know what I mean?”
I picked some lint off my brown cords. “Yeah, sure.”
“We’re cool, right, Kit?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“See ya later then?”
“Yup.”
“You staying here?”
“Yup.”
“Suit yourself. Laters.”
She left me on the cliff’s edge, longing for the nerd, the so-called dyke and the kooky old geezer. I pulled the neck of my shirt up over my nose again. Barely a trace of Chanel No 5 remained.
My father sat around drinking all day long and did nothing to help Nan. I didn’t mind tending to Nan, but tending to Dad really pissed me off. I made sure he knew it too. At lunch I’d carefully place Nan’s meal in front of her, but I’d practically throw my dad’s at him. At supper I’d give Nan the nicest pieces of meat, and I’d give Dad all the burnt bits. And at bedtime I’d fluff Nan’s pillow and give her extra blankets, but I’d turn the lights out on my father, leaving him to sleep it off in his recliner, cold and uncomfortable.
Ms. Bartlett had a fit one day when she came to check on things. She took one look at me and tore into my father. “The girl’s exhausted. Can’t you see that?”
“What do you want me to do about it?” he said. “I can’t cook. I can’t do all that woman’s stuff.”
“Then why did you bother coming back to Parsons Bay? You’re just a hindrance here. You’re making it harder for Kit.”
Dad poured himself a drink. “Why don’t you mind your own business and go plant a tree or something, you big hippie.”
I exploded. “Why don’t you shut the hell up? Ms. Bartlett’s only trying to help.”
Nan called out from the bedroom.
“Nice one, Kitty,” said Dad. “Now look what you did. You woke her.”
I shot him a look and made a move to go see to Nan.
“I’ll go,” said Ms. Bartlett. “Sit down, Kit, and put your feet up.”
When Ms. Bartlett had left the room, Dad smirked at me. I could have smacked him. Instead, I smirked back, and then I picked up his bottle of booze and threw it against the wall, just like he did with the bowl of beans all those years ago. The glass smashed into a million pieces and the stinky, disgusting liquid sprayed everywhere, and I wanted to sop it up with a sponge and rub it hard into his ugly face and say, “Here ya go, Dad, here’s your booze. Are ya happy now?”
I thought I was as mad as I could get, but when Dad didn’t react, I got even madder.
“Guess you’ll be running down to the liquor store to replace that,” he said calmly.
“In your dreams!”
Ms. Bartlett ran into the room. “What on earth?”
She took one look at me, shaking with anger amidst a sea of shattered glass, and understood. She grabbed Dad’s coat from the hook in the hallway and threw it at him. “Go,” she said. “Give us all a break for a while and get out.”
“Fine.” He shrugged. “No sweat off my back. I’ll go down to the pub.”
I rolled my eyes. “Surprise! Sur-freakin’-surprise!”
Dad got up from his chair. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Kitty.”
“And drinking doesn’t suit you.”
He went to the front door. “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
He opened the door.
“Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya,” I said as he went through it.
Ms. Bartlett and I burst out laughing because it was funny, but at the same time it wasn’t, and my laughter turned
to tears. I tried to hide it, but there was no hiding anything with Ms. Bartlett. “Oh, Kit, just let it out,” she said as she held me while I cried.
After a few minutes, I tried to pull myself together. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up.”
“I’ll do it,” she said.
I wiped the tears from my face. “It’s okay. I made the mess; I’ll clean it up.”
“We’ll do it together,” she said.
She started on the spill and I started on the glass.
“He’s certainly a piece of work,” she said, mopping up the puddle of booze.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Your mother…will she ever…?”
“Nope. She’s dedicated to the man. God knows why.”
Ms. Bartlett shook her head.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I can handle him.”
“Yes, Kit, but you shouldn’t have to.”
I smiled. “That’s what Iggy said.”
“It’s not right,” she said. “You shouldn’t have to put up with it.”
“Is that why you said I could stay with you instead of moving to St. John’s?”
“They told you about that?”
I dumped a dustpan full of glass into a plastic bag. “Kind of. Dad blurted it out. During a drunken fit.”
“It was just a suggestion. But they wouldn’t go for it. I just thought it would do you some good. To live somewhere quiet for a while.”
“Without him.”
“Yes,” she said. “Without him.”
“I would have said yes, you know.”
“It would have been nice,” she said.
“Yeah, but then again, maybe the way it turned out was best. I mean, if I was living with you, maybe you wouldn’t have found romance and got married.”
Ms. Bartlett laughs. “True.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes, Kit. Very happy. Frank is a wonderful man.”
“I was surprised when I heard. It’s funny how things turn out sometimes.”
“Yes,” said Ms. Bartlett. “You never know what life will bring. Things can turn on a dime. And if there’s one thing we never run out of, it’s hope.”
Maybe there was hope for my pathetic life yet.
I stood in front of the mirror, looking like the poster child for the Hideously Ugly Pathetic Loser Society. It was my first day back at my old school, and I was pretty sure wearing high-waisted jeans from Bartlett’s and a T-shirt with a faded Care Bear decal would not qualify as “going all out.” But I’d been so busy taking care of Nan, the last thing on my mind was laundry, and all my good clothes—the ones Mom had bought me—were either dirty or wrinkled.
I opened a tube of lipstick I’d found in Nan’s medicine cabinet. I wondered what Anne-Marie would think of “old lady red.” I put some on and puckered at my reflection. It looked awful. I threw the lipstick in the garbage and called Elliot.
He answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
I could tell by his voice that I had woken him.
“Tell me I’m gorgeous.”
“Huh?”
“Tell me I’m gorgeous.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need to say it out loud for it to be true.”
I smiled.
“I hope you’re smiling.”
“I am.”
“So, how’s Parsons Bay?”
“People suck.”
“I’ll never let you down.”
“I know.” I looked at the clock. “I have to go.”
“Yeah, me too. I better get up and get ready for school.”
“Bye, Moptop.”
“Au revoir, ma petite souris.”
“Um, okay. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and went back to the mirror. I grabbed some tissues and wiped my lips clean. I wondered what souris meant. I looked at the clock again to see if I had time to look it up but then decided that it didn’t really matter—it could have meant “troll” or “dragon” or “hideously pathetic loser,” but Elliot would have meant it in the nicest possible way.
I made dad promise to stay home and look after Nan while I was at school every day. He said he would, but I didn’t trust him, so I asked Ms. Bartlett to check in as often as she could.
My first month back in Parsons Bay pretty much sucked. I dreaded going to school every morning. The kids I had once hung out with had become clones of each other. They dressed the same, wore their hair the same way and talked about the same things, and everything they talked about was stuff I had no clue about, stuff that had happened after I moved to St. John’s. Everything seemed to be a big in-joke that I wasn’t in on.
And I never thought I’d say it, but I dreaded going back to Nan’s at the end of the day too. There was no bread and molasses waiting for me, only a useless lug of a father giving me grief and my poor sick Nan, hidden under a pile of blankets, giving me weak smiles. My strong, sturdy Nan now a wilting flower.
I missed my St. John’s life. I missed my mom and Iggy and Mr. Adams and Caroline. But most of all I missed Elliot.
It felt like someone was punching through the skin of my chest with two hands and wrenching my heart every time I heard Nan cough. Nighttime was the worst. When Nan was coughing, I’d toss and turn; when she wasn’t, I’d shiver outside her door, my ear pressed hard against it, listening for her soft snores.
And on the morning of February 14, when I saw the bloodstained tissues in the garbage, it was like whoever had grabbed my heart had decided to rip it into a million little pieces. I’d never imagined that on my first Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend, my heart would be broken.
When I told Dad about the blood, his face went all sober-looking. That’s when I knew it was bad. An ambulance came to take her to the hospital.
“We’ll take good care of her,” the paramedic said, but I couldn’t shake the bad feeling that washed over me as they wheeled my beautiful, sweet Nan out of her little blue house, loaded her into the ambulance and took her away.
I called Elliot in tears.
“Can you hear this?” he said.
“What?”
“This.”
“That scratchy sound?”
“Yeah. It’s a zipper. I’m packing my bag. See you soon.”
seven
Two Fights, Both Lost
My nails were almost bitten off by the time his bus pulled into the station. It was almost eleven at night, dark and cold.
I watched the passengers get off.
Slowly.
How many people can you fit on a bus anyway?
The windows were dark.
I could see shadows.
But not his.
Did he sit in the very back seat or what? Why would he sit in the very back seat?
A punch in the gut. Maybe he had changed his mind.
I smacked him when I saw him. “Did you sit in the very back seat or what?”
“That’s where the cool people sit.”
“I almost had a heart attack.”
“Come here and give me a hug.”
“I didn’t tell my dad you were coming. I didn’t get a chance.”
“It’ll be fine. Me and your dad are cool.”
When we walked through the door, Dad jumped up from his chair and gave Elliot a huge hug.
“I’ve missed you!” he said. “It’s been too long. Too too too too long.”
Elliot and I looked at each other. Dad reeked of booze.
I told Dad that Elliot would be staying a couple of nights.
He
clapped his hands together and yelled, “Splendid!” He tore the cushions off the couch and yanked the sofa bed out. “Voila!” He stared at the bare mattress and then stuck his finger in the air. “Be right back!”
When he left the room, Elliot pulled me close for a hug. “This is the weirdest Valentine’s Day ever.”
“I’m just glad you’re here,” I said.
“Your nan will be okay, Kit.”
I wrapped my arms tighter around his waist, no longer feeling alone.
Dad came back with a sheet and a blanket. He tried to tuck the sheet in and fell onto the bed. He couldn’t get back up again. He was flipping around like a fish on dry land.
“Geez, Dad,” I said. “You’re as useless as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking competition.”
Elliot swallowed a laugh. We watched my father try to make the bed for about ten minutes. At one point Elliot stepped forward to help, but I put out my arm and stopped him. When the bed was finally made, Dad said in a happy-go-lucky voice, “Well, whaddyathink?”
I mimicked his happy-go-lucky voice perfectly. “I think you’re drunk!”
Elliot elbowed me in the ribs. “It looks great, Mr. Ryan.”
I kept in character. “I agree, Mr. Ryan! It’s swell. I mean, get a load of those corners! Why, you’re a regular little Susie Homemaker. Somebody give this man a medal!”
“Are you being smart with me, young lady?”
Elliot stepped between us and patted the mattress. “Nice and firm. I’ll have a great sleep tonight.”
My father smiled. “Make yourself at home, young man.”
Elliot took my dad’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, sir, I really appreciate it. I’ll only be here two nights. Back to school on Wednesday.”
“Please,” slurred Dad. “Call me Phonse.”
I stared at them in amazement. They were like best buds.
Dad opened the fridge. “Wanna beer, Edward?”
“He’s underage. And his name’s Elliot.”
Elliot plugged in the kettle. “Sit your bums down and I’ll make some tea. How about a game of cards, Phonse?”
Dad beamed. “Sure!”
My boyfriend sure had a way with drunken losers.
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