Getting rid of someone just because he did something that bothered me?
Tyler returns. “You okay?”
“Fine. Let’s go, though.”
“Yeah, sure.” He turns on the ignition and we roll. “Mind if we stop at the office? You can check your e-mail.”
“That would be great,” I answer and stare away to the side so he can’t see my eyes. The trees, the rocks, the waterfalls: everything seems rougher and wilder as I see Paris again in my mind, dead baby rabbit in his mouth.
Yet already I feel as if something’s opened up inside me and emptied. Something’s missing as we roll into the lot in front of the Park Office. I don’t have to push anyone back or sneak someone quietly past the front desk. It should all just be a huge relief.
“Hi,” I call to Tyler’s dad. I look down at the floor of the office. “Where’s Quincy?”
“Hello.” Tyler’s dad smiles briefly. Then his mouth straightens. “Guess Tyler didn’t tell you. I had to have Quincy put down yesterday.”
“No. Um, I’m sorry.” I keep walking. A feeling builds and rolls up through me. Surprisingly, not sadness or sympathy toward Tyler. Instead, it’s a wave of anger. He never told me about Quincy. Why did he, the day after his dog was put down, show me the wolf retreat? Just because he lost his dog, does he have to make me lose mine too? Give up, not lose, I remind myself. I gave Paris up myself. It was really the best thing. I don’t have to hide a big skulking wolf cub as I head for the computer at the back. I pass the stuffed wolf behind the plate-glass window. He’s still eyeing the rabbit with a hard, yellow stare. Just like Paris.
I sit down at the keyboard and miss Paris chewing at my shoes. I quickly get to my mailer and download. Still nothing from Zane. I start a letter to him.
Hey Zane. Maybe you’re getting my e-mail but I’m not getting yours. And it’s so lonely out here I actually miss Mom. I can’t believe I just wrote that.
I remember Tyler throwing the poppy over the cliff. What if I had drowned in the river yesterday? How would Mom have felt? Bet she would have felt sorry that she sent me off to Dad’s.
The dog we found under the cabin killed some baby rabbits. Well, some of them I had to finish for him, they were so far gone. I’ve never killed anything before. Remember when I wouldn’t let you step on that daddy long legs? You thought I was so goofy for picking it up in a tissue and setting it free outside. So maybe Tyler, the ranger dude, was right. The dog is a wolf.
That’s what I think at least, so I had him committed to a wolf retreat. I wish I knew whether I did the right thing.
Mostly it’s beautiful out here but it’s also empty, untouched, wild…and just lonely. I could take it if you were here, or Mom. Please write. Love Zanna.
I press Send and then look at the list of e-mails from Mom. Love You, Paris News, Exciting News, More Exciting News, Call Me, Answer Quickly, Last Chance. I decide to click on the last one first. Maybe the subject header means she’s visiting soon.
Zanna, my love. I need to book the plane tickets by 6 a.m. Friday, your time. I’ve tried to call your Dad’s satellite phone, but knowing him, he’s switched it off till he’s in the mountains. Call me immediately.
There’s a string of numbers that doesn’t resemble any phone number in Canada but I look at my watch and I feel sick. It’s 4:00 p.m. Too late. Maybe she can’t come now. I click on Answer Quickly.
Darling Zanna, You must still be very angry at me, but don’t let your feelings get in the way of the experience of a lifetime. Let me know if Dad can get you to Calgary Airport by Sunday and I’ll get the plane tickets for you.
Plane tickets for me? She hadn’t been planning a visit. Plane tickets for where? I wonder, as I click open Call Me. You never knew with Mom. If there was a big time limit, maybe I was supposed to meet her somewhere: Rome, London, New York City. I breathe a little quicker imagining it all.
Hey Zanna, Call me. The seat sale is almost over. Don’t miss out!
I open More Exciting News.
Monsieur Langois has just made the most generous offer. He has a travel budget for the featured artist but since I am already in residence, he will fly a family member in for my show. You’re the only one who appreciates art. Isn’t it wonderful? Write back soon so I can make all the arrangements.
She doesn’t want me to live with her after all. “A visit is better than not seeing Paris at all,” I tell the screen and copy the long string of numbers down. I run to the front. “Please can I use your phone? I need to call my mother right now. It’s long distance but my dad can pay you back. I’m going to Paris!”
Tyler’s dad smiles as he hands me a receiver. I key in all the digits slowly to get it right; still, the ring doesn’t even sound the same, and I’m sure I must have done it wrong when someone finally picks up. “Oui, allôo?” It’s a man’s voice.
I would hang up, especially since he sounds hesitant, sleepy maybe, but I hear my mother’s voice in the background. “Ma mère,” I say in my best school
French. “Je cherche Joanna Segal qui est ma mère.”
I hear background noise, crackling. “What’s wrong, Zanna?” Mom asks me in a breathless rush.
“What’s wrong? I thought you invited me to your Paris show. I’m calling you back like you asked.”
“But the deadline was this morning. It’s past midnight here. You’re sure everyone’s all right?”
“Yes. What do you mean about the deadline?”
She pauses on the other end. I hear crackling.
“The seat sale. It’s over. Did you not read my e-mails?
I can’t ask Jacques to pay the full fare for you.”
“But what about the travel budget they have for you? Dad can pay the difference. Or I could use the money in my account.”
“Zanna, the difference would be over a thousand dollars.”
“Okay, well then Dad can drive me to Calgary on Sunday and I can go standby. That will be cheap too, right?”
“I don’t think so, Zanna.”
“It’s the experience of a lifetime, like you said, Mom. Dad and I can make it work.” I hear the rumble of Jacques’ voice in the background but can’t hear or understand what he’s saying.
“Zanna, when you didn’t call in time, I took it as a sign and made a decision. We’re supposed to be apart for a while. We both need the space.”
I inhale deeply and let the air out. “Because of Jacques,” I whisper to her.
“Honey, he’s the one who originally suggested you come, so don’t be mad at him. But I have to have a life too.”
“Mom, he’s answering your phone after midnight.
I already know you’re sleeping with him.”
“Oh, grow up!” she snaps. “I know you check your e-mail obsessively. If I’d been that boy, you’d have answered me immediately.” She catches herself and stops. Dead silence. Thousands of miles away, across an ocean, Mom sighs. “There you go. Do you see what I mean? You know how to push all my buttons.”
I swallow hard, willing myself not to beg and not to cry.
“Are you there, Zanna?”
Another swallow and then I make myself tough.
“Where else would I be?”
“Don’t be that way. I’m the one who won’t have anyone from my family to see my exhibit.”
“That’s right.” I swallow hard, realizing all she wanted was an audience. She didn’t really miss me at all. “Mom, I have to go. Someone else needs to use the phone. Bye.” I slam down the receiver to cut off her answer.
“Easy,” Mr. Benson says. “I know you’re excited about your trip, but I might want to call someone else another time.”
“There is no trip,” I whisper; it’s all I can manage. I feel like throwing my head back and howling. Instead, I walk back to the Internet computer. Slumping back into the chair, I have to sign on again because the computer has timed me out. Just like Mom.
I go back to the list of e-mails from Mom and tap Enter to read the one with
the subject header Exciting News.
Zanna, I’m so excited and so frustrated at the same time. You’re not around to hear my good news. I’m to be feature artist at the Galerie Jacques, starting this weekend. I wish you could be here for the opening. You who have always been around through all my struggles.
Her good news, her art show, her struggles. It’s always about her. The fact that she’s not around for me just isn’t something she ever considers. I open Paris News next.
Hi Zanna, I’m painting the cliché Paris scenes. For me, they are all beautiful: the Eiffel Tower, the café on the corner, the Arc de Triomphe. I suppose I should e-mail you some photographs so you can see for yourself. I feel so happy here. So free. I love it.
Of course she feels free: she doesn’t have me. I rub at my eyes. One more to read, then I’m all caught up.
Love You. The flat is small, gray, and dingy. The bathroom has the ugliest stained tub and there’s only one bedroom. I know how you like your privacy so I’m sure I made the right decision. You wouldn’t have been happy here.
Yeah right, I think. There you go. Only one bedroom, and Mom and Jacques want their privacy. Me on the couch would just not have cut it. That was the big decision she made when I didn’t call by her stupid deadline.
I know you’ll love the mountains and being with your father and brother much better. Still, I miss you darling. I love you xxxooooo, Mom.
Okay, so I’m going to suck it up and write her back. I want to act nonchalant like I really don’t care. I want to be mature and congratulate her on her success so she’ll regret not having me at her show. So she’ll miss the me that used to get along with her, the one who was her best friend. Instead, every bad thought comes out through my fingertips.
Hey Mom. You’re still a mother with two children, so how dare you act like you’re a free spirit and do whatever you like? And c’mon, I’m so far from civilization, phones, and the Internet, I can’t return your e-mails zip-zap. Let’s face it: you planned it that way so I couldn’t connect with Zane. As far as privacy goes, I’m sharing a room with Martin. Only a curtain separates us. A couch in your living room sounds like luxury. You’re painting Paris scenes and yes, I have beautiful mountains. Still, I can’t even get canvas to paint anything on. So much for your parting present. And all this would be okay, really, it would be, if I could only believe you loved me. Because if you really loved and missed me, it wouldn’t have mattered about the extra thousand dollars my ticket would cost. Or the strawberry tattoo on my ankle. Or the boys I like that you can’t stand. You know in the end you just sold me down the line. You wanted your boyfriend Jacques as your audience right now, not me.
I stop. Letting all my feelings out isn’t helping. The thing is, once you write something, it’s there on the screen in front of you, black and white, true and hard, something to face. And I can’t face it all right now. I place the cursor at the end of the message and backspace, watching the jittery cursor make my problems disappear.
CHAPTER 11
WHEN TYLER comes to the back to get me, he knows something’s up but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches me. I try not to show anything. We climb into the truck.
He sticks the key in the ignition but doesn’t turn it. “Now that we’re alone, do you want to talk about whatever went on back there?” Tyler finally asks.
“One moment you’re wildly excited and going to Paris. Next moment you’re…this?” He gestures with both hands toward me.
My arms are folded and I’m hunched over. I kick out at the hump dividing our sides of the truck.
He’s facing me, blue eyes unblinking, expecting me to open up and share.
I want to kick him. “Why didn’t you tell me about Quincy?” I stare out the side window at the crappy house across the street where the old woman with the walker lives.
“C’mon, Zanna, why should I have?” he says gently. I don’t turn back to him; instead, I kick the door.
“Quincy was Dad’s dog, and it’s not like you even knew him.” The engine roars up in agreement. I feel his hand on my shoulder. “Why should I make you sad about him?”
“Do you feel bad about him being put down?” I turn back to look at him, wanting to know that someone feels as awful as I do.
“What do you think?”
He’s watching the road now, staring straight ahead, but I hear it in his voice. There’s a hole inside him too, so I decide to tell him about Mom. “Okay. It has nothing to do with Quincy and nothing to do with Paris. Or at least not the dog Paris. My mother changed her mind about my trip to France.”
“What?” Tyler brakes hard for a bump in the road. We still bounce up and down. “Why?”
“She says it’s because I missed a seat sale. I didn’t answer her e-mails in time and I never called back before the closing date.”
Tyler’s brow furrows and the truck speeds up again. “You still having trouble with the computer?
I swear no one else does.”
“You’re right, only me. I’m the only one who doesn’t open e-mails that say Answer Quickly and Last Chance.”
“Oh, ohhh!” His mouth buckles with sympathy.
“Maybe you should give her the Park Office number for next time.”
I raise an eyebrow at him but he’s driving around a pothole and concentrating.
“There’ll be other seat sales, right?”
I shake my head. “Maybe after she dumps the boyfriend living with her.” I swallow hard. “Honestly, I think my mother wants me to live with Dad so she can just do anything she wants.”
“C’mon, you’re not a little kid. They’re not married anymore. She can date whomever she wants.”
I kick the divider hump again. “They never were married,” I say quietly.
“Yes, well, they’re also separated, obviously.”
“Physically, like in different countries. But they’ve never really explained what’s going on to me and Martin.
They just do their own thing. They divided Martin and me up because they thought we should live with the parent of the same sex. They never asked us what we wanted. I missed my brother!”
“That’s rough.” Tyler grips the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, no judgment in his voice.
“So how do you know she’s living with a guy?”
“He answered the phone and it’s past midnight over there.”
“There could be lots of other explanations.”
“Nah. She dated in Toronto too, but just snuck around. Thought I was stupid. My boyfriend is supposed to be the reason for shipping me off to the hinterland. Clearly it’s her wanting to have one that’s the real factor.”
“Hard to take, isn’t it?” Tyler glances toward me and then back at the road. “I mean, that your parents can’t be perfect. The Father’s Day and Mother’s Day cards all make out like everyone else’s parents are.”
Mother’s Day cards. He’s got that right; they’re the worst. You’re always there for me. You understand when no one else can. You make me feel special. I mean, none of those apply. I knuckle at my eyes trying to force the tears to stay inside. I will not let my mother make me cry.
I take a deep breath and put my hands down again, watching Tyler’s profile. He’s got a lot of wrinkles around his eyes for a seventeen-year-old.
I never noticed that before. They make him look older. His mother died; maybe sadness makes him more mature. Still, he didn’t sound sad about his mom as much as disappointed.
We turn onto the dirt road to the cabin. He starts on another topic. “What are you going to say to Martin?”
“Um, um…I don’t know.” We roll into the driveway of our cabin and I realize I can’t face my brother. He wasn’t there for the rabbit massacre: how can I expect him to understand? “Tyler, can you stay a while? Just till the crew all gets back,”
“Can’t do it alone, eh?”
I shake my head.
He shrugs his shoulder. “Sure. Just wish you had a phone so I could
call home and let Joyce know I’ll be late for supper.”
“Don’t we all.” I roll my eyes. “Can I get you some orange juice?”
“A glass of water would be fine.”
We walk into the cabin together; it’s unlocked, the joy of living in the country. I get us a couple of glasses of water but then it seems claustrophobic in the living room, the air sticky. “Can we go onto the deck?” I stand in front of the sliding door, glasses in hand.
He slides the door back and we sit staring at the lake. It’s choppy, a moody gray, with the mountains in the background, dark charcoal. Plum-colored clouds gather on the skyline. I shiver. “Looks like a storm’s coming.”
“Yeah, the wind’s picking up. Guess your dad will be home soon, then.” Tyler looks back toward the road, as if expecting him.
“I don’t know. Remember, he camps out in Arctic blizzards.” I shiver again at the thought. What if he does decide to stay out all night? Without Martin or Paris, I’ll be all alone in a shack in the mountains. It’s not like I could ask Tyler to stay the night.
“You’re cold; do you want to go inside?” Tyler asks.
“No, really, I’m fine.” I shudder again. Mom had a cow when she came home once and Zane and I were alone in the apartment, doing absolutely nothing. I don’t know Dad’s rules. Maybe he’d do the same, or he’d have a moose instead.
“At least go and get a jacket,” Tyler says. “I’d give you mine but I left my backpack in the truck.”
I dash back in and grab one of Dad’s from the closet. It’s heavy, with a quilt lining, and it drapes down to below my knees.
“There you go! Better?”
I nod and stare out at the lake. My hands on the arms of the chair are almost covered by the sleeves. Tyler puts his hand on top of mine and it feels good, warm, reassuring…and maybe something else.
Last Chance for Paris Page 8
