Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  I leaned back and looked at her. We'd talked so much in the past about our romantic difficulties, about the impossibility of finding a good man, and I did think she'd understand what had happened with Greg.

  But my problems went so much further than that, and the idea of laying out all the little stupid things I'd done for the inspection of someone who was as together as Lydia's web site columns proved she was... I couldn't do it. "It's okay. Never mind. Look, why don't we go thrift shopping? Right now? It'll be fun." It would be a distraction, anyhow.

  Lydia, queen of the thrift shoppers, gave me a shocked look. "Who are you, and what have you done with my friend who thinks thrifting is one tiny step above dumpster diving?"

  So glad we were off the topic of my issues, I said, "Can't a girl change her mind? Teach me how to find the treasure hiding in the trash."

  She grinned but my throat tightened. I didn't think I'd find any treasure in the trash heap of my life.

  *****

  Lydia drove us to the thrift store, chatting about work but somehow always coming back to her coworker Percy, and with every mention of the guy she was clearly falling for though she still didn't seem aware of it my spirits sank lower. He sounded right for her. Nothing in my life was right for me, and I didn't know why.

  A saying of my dad's swirled around in my head but I couldn't quite pull the words from my memory. Something about getting cooked without realizing it was happening. That was how I felt. Each little piece of crap in my life was individually only a degree or two on the oven's temperature dial, but put together they were roasting me alive.

  I hated the thrift store the second we walked through the door. It was crowded and messy and if someone had told me all of the merchandise had been pulled from a garbage bin I wouldn't have been a bit surprised. I tried to hide it, though, because I knew Lydia liked the place and had in fact bought some nice things there. I didn't see any, though. All I saw was junk.

  As we walked around and she pointed out things she thought I might like, I bumped into a rack of necklaces and one tumbled to the ground. Feeling stupid for being so clumsy, I retrieved it and began to hang it back up but froze mid-way.

  A small silver frog pendant dangled from the chain, like it was clinging to it with one foot.

  Frog. I remembered now. My dad's saying had been about the old story that a frog put in hot water would jump out but that one in gradually heating water would not realize its danger so would stay put and eventually boil to death. He'd loved to tell my mom whenever she was stressing him out, "Dana, you're frying my frog!", even though she always pointed out that the proverbial frog was boiling not frying.

  My frog was poached beyond recovery.

  Or was it? Would getting out of the water make a difference at this stage? Was there any way I could get out?

  I couldn't look away from the silver frog. Its tiny bulging eyes seemed to be staring into my soul, and it somehow whispered, "Go," from its closed mouth.

  Lydia nudged me. "Should I leave you two alone?"

  I jumped. "What? No. I just... it's cool." It was more than cool. It felt like an escape route somehow. I clutched the chain tightly in my palm and brushed the frog with a fingertip.

  She grinned. "Why a frog?"

  "I don't know. I just love it."

  That wasn't entirely true. It felt scary and dangerous. But I couldn't put it down.

  She gave my shoulder a pat. "Good enough. It's all about finding something that clicks with you. I'm off to find slippers. You staying here?"

  "Yeah." Her words slipped past the frog-induced haze in my head and I turned to her. "You don't like the slippers I got you?" I'd bought her adorable ones for Christmas, hot pink and furry. They'd looked so comfortable I'd wanted a pair for myself but I didn't do pink. I'd thought she'd like them but I had also wondered if they were too girly for her. Apparently I'd messed up. Again.

  She rolled her eyes. "I love them. Unfortunately, so did my damn dog. He shredded them this morning."

  "I can get you new ones if you want," I said automatically, then realized I really wanted to. I could at least do one good deed to make up for all the bad ones I'd done lately.

  "It's not your fault Paddington trashed them. You don't have to do that."

  But it would make both of us feel good. "I don't mind," I said, excitement making the words tumble from me. "If they'd make you feel good."

  She considered for a moment, then shook her head. "No, it's okay. Thanks though. I'll find something here."

  Here in the garbage. But then, my necklace was here. It felt like it had always been mine, like it was waiting here for me. Maybe her perfect slippers were waiting for her. "Okay. Good luck."

  She wandered off, and I did a little looking at the other jewelry but mostly studied my necklace.

  I'd been thinking about the frog thing, the need to escape a situation, right before I found the necklace, and I took that the same way now as I'd always taken it, back when my tarot cards were actually working, when something I saw during the day appeared in a tarot reading at night.

  It was a sign.

  It meant something.

  This time, it meant I should escape.

  But how? And to where?

  My phone buzzed to signal an email, and I checked it then wished I hadn't.

  Larissa,

  The executives from the yogurt shoot aren't pleased with the final pictures. We are shooting again at eight this coming Sunday morning and they'll be here to monitor the situation, so get in by seven at the latest so we'll be ready to go.

  Chaz

  Not only would I lose my Sunday morning, but Greg would probably be there. But I had to go or I'd lose my job and again be back at square one, or square zero as Dad always said, in getting my own studio.

  I wrote back that I'd be there and added the appointment to my calendar though it made me feel sick, then went back to the email program to delete the message. When I sent it to the trash, I remembered the other message I'd trashed last week, which felt like a lifetime ago.

  I wanted to escape. Would teaching in Kuwait get me out of the hot water that was slowly but unstoppably killing me here in Toronto? Or just into new and even hotter water?

  I didn't care. I needed a change. The tarot cards had spoken of a fresh start. Maybe this was exactly what they'd meant.

  Though my fingers shook, I found and replied to the original Kuwait email, letting the school principal know I wanted the job. She'd probably found someone better already, but I had to try.

  I couldn't live like this any more.

  Chapter Nine

  Dear Larissa,

  Thank you so much for writing! You've made my day.

  I'd like to have you fly out this Friday evening your time, if you can handle that. You'll get here late Saturday night Kuwait time, and I'll meet with you Sunday evening after work to let you know what's up and then you can meet your class on Monday. Grade four. Overall, they're a great bunch of kids.

  Email me your phone number when you get this and I'll call you to arrange the details.

  Janet

  I stood in my hallway, where I'd just taken off my boots, and stared at my phone. She'd barely taken fifteen minutes to reply even though it had to be the middle of the night in Kuwait. And Friday? She couldn't be serious. It was Tuesday now.

  But I emailed as she'd requested, and she called me right away, and our short conversation left my head spinning but also left me in no doubt that she was serious.

  "I've been combining classes for weeks just to make sure there's a warm body at the front of the room since I can't be everywhere at once and then last week another teacher quit and now I'm out of warm bodies. Your email came at the perfect time. I'll take care of everything for you."

  She did, with amazing speed. Less than half an hour after the call, while I was still sitting staring at my frog necklace wondering what I'd done, she emailed me with the details of my flight and how she would meet me at the airport to take me to
a furnished apartment paid for by the school and what I should bring (skirts that covered my knees and tops that didn't flash any cleavage or show off my shoulders) and what I shouldn't ("pork products" made me giggle despite my shock at the situation, since I wasn't in the habit of carrying bacon in my baggage), and closed her message with, "I'm thrilled about this, Larissa. You're exactly what I need."

  Maybe, although I had my doubts. But was this what I needed? I did want to get away, but so soon? And to Kuwait?

  I wasted a few minutes in utter panic then made myself smarten up. Yes, so soon. The sooner the better, and the further away the better. I'd leave all of my messes behind and start fresh. No more thinking about it. Time to figure out what I had to do to make it happen.

  First, and probably most time-consuming, I had to get rid of my apartment and the stuff it contained. I was on a month-to-month lease so I could get out without losing much money, but I needed to get a storage locker and move everything I owned into it.

  My stack of library books needed to go back, and if I had time I'd buy myself an ereader as Janet had suggested since it was easier to travel with than paper books. I'd long wanted one, so it could be my gift to myself, a 'thank you' for allowing myself this new start.

  And, last but definitely not least, I needed to say goodbye to my mother and everyone I knew.

  The last task turned out to be the hardest.

  Some parts weren't so bad, of course. I emailed my volleyball team to let them know they'd have to find another female body to fulfill the league's quota, and though I did get several "Sorry to see you go" messages I figured overall the team was as relieved to lose me as I was to leave.

  On Wednesday morning I told Chaz I'd found a new job, because I couldn't make myself just not show up though I wanted to, but I refused to say what or where and he eventually said, "There's no shame in giving up, Larissa. Not everyone can handle this world." I didn't bother to argue since he was right.

  I offered to work the rest of the week so that I could make sure Hayley knew everything she needed to know, but he gave me a slimy smile and said, "She's going to be just fine, trust me. No help needed. In fact, I'm sure you've got lots to do for your new job so it's okay if you don't work today either."

  His emphasis made me realize that he thought I was just quitting instead of moving on to something else. I took a breath to correct him but instead said, "Actually, that'd be great. Thanks." Why waste my energy?

  I didn't waste any saying goodbye to Hayley either. I didn't want to see how happy my quitting would make her.

  I spent my unexpected day off sorting my stuff into what I'd take and what I'd leave behind. Given Janet's restrictions on what I could wear to work I'd figured I would need a major shopping trip, but in fact I had hardly anything that showed my knees and only one low-cut top. Score one for my non-girly wardrobe; everything else I owned was neat and professional. A little boring, perhaps, but neat and professional.

  Once I'd finished sorting I rented a storage locker, which I'd load up on Thursday and Friday, then used some of the money I hadn't spent on clothes to buy an ereader which I stocked full of free novels and a few non-free ones I'd been wanting to get. They were nearly all romances, which I'd never have read in public on paper even though I enjoyed them since everyone would be able to see the trash I was reading, but since I did hope that my fresh start would include the arrival of a fresh new man filling the ereader with romance seemed appropriate. I'd been single for way too long and I needed that to change.

  That night, though I didn't want to, I made myself go visit my mom who I hadn't seen since Christmas, taking my library books with me so I could return them on the way to the subway.

  Into the deposit chute the books went. A whole bunch of romances, each of which I'd finished with a vague sense of dissatisfaction at how unreasonably perfect the women's lives became once the men showed up and a strong sense of envy that they had such wonderful men and I didn't, then the self-help ones. "How to Be the Girlfriend of His Dreams" "Looking for Something: What's Wrong With Your Life and How to Make It Better" "Why He Cheated and What to Do So He Never Does It Again"

  I had more of those sort of books but I stopped reading the covers after those three, feeling sick both that I read so much self-help and that even with all that assistance I still hadn't been able to do anything to help myself.

  On the subway, I vowed that I wouldn't allow a single self-help book to sully my new ereader's screen. I'd been reading books like those since the day I caught Greg cheating and nothing had changed, so why keep bothering with them? I needed new scenery and a new start, not a few words by some self-important guru.

  Mom still lived in the house where I'd grown up, with my dad's clothes still in the closet like they'd been for the twenty-four years since his death. Even walking through the front door made me feel stupid and small and awkward again, and trying to explain to her why I was going overseas on such short notice when I wasn't quite sure myself didn't help.

  "But I thought you were going to start your makeup studio. Run your own business. Isn't that what you wanted?"

  "It was," I said, then corrected myself. "It is. And I'm still going to. I won't be in Kuwait forever. Just the rest of this year and then all of next year. Then I'll come back and get the studio going."

  She looked doubtful. "Won't the industry have changed? And you'll have lost all your contacts."

  I tried not to let my face show that I'd thought of this too and it did concern me. "I'll be fine," I said, willing it to be true. "I'll just have to work a little harder when I get back. No problem."

  Harder than I'd already worked, with no success, to get a studio started in the last few years? I didn't honestly think I had it in me to try even harder.

  That depressing thought threatened to drag me down but I took a deep breath and said firmly, "I'll make it happen, Mom. I will. Don't you worry."

  She sighed. "I hope so. You know your dad always said the best thing in his life was having his own business. I want that for you too."

  I knew he'd said that, all right. I wondered if she had the faintest idea how much it had hurt me every time he'd said it. I managed a smile, though. "I know. And it'll happen." Fiddling with my frog pendant for courage, I added, "For now, though, I need to get away."

  "Just like Rachel." She looked up at the family portrait on the wall, taken only days before Dad's car accident. Dad stood in the middle with Mom on his right and me beside her. Rachel was on his left, but with enough space between them that another person, maybe the boy Dad always wanted, could have fit. Even then, my older sister was on the fringes of the family.

  She had stayed around Toronto until I graduated from high school, coming to my graduation with her packed suitcase in the car, and then took off to explore the world. She returned from time to time, still the tomboy she'd been growing up but somehow also exotic and unknowable, but she never stayed long and we hadn't seen her for three years now.

  "I guess so."

  Mom shook her head and turned her wedding ring on her finger. "You have to face up to things, you know. Running away isn't the answer. Face them and deal with them."

  This from a woman who'd kept her dead husband's stuff in the house for a quarter of a century.

  I didn't say that, of course, because I couldn't, and when I didn't answer she sighed and began grilling me on all the details of the trip until I was terrified to go.

  Where will you be living? In a tent somewhere?

  What about the school? Is it safe?

  Will anyone speak English? How are you going to survive if they don't?

  Will there be camels walking around the city?

  Does everyone carry a gun? Are you going to get one too?

  Can you even buy food there?

  They aren't going to sell you into slavery, are they?

  Finally I said, "Mom, come on. Janet, the principal, says it's safe. She's been over there for four years, she must know."

  "But
she wants you to go, so she won't be honest. She'd say anything to get you over there."

  I'd woken up in a cold sweat at three in the morning with that exact thought, and hearing it from Mom didn't exactly take away my worries.

  I suffered through ten more agonizing minutes of my mother's warnings and dire predictions of my lack of success in both teaching and getting my studio together on my return before I finally said, "I should get going," and managed to extricate myself with promises of frequent emails and visits home whenever I could.

  Walking down the street to the subway station with my mom's unexpectedly girly parting tears freezing on my jacket in the cold winter air, I promised myself I wouldn't put myself through any more of that. Cowardly, I knew, but I couldn't take it. No more in-person goodbyes.

  I didn't have time for any on Thursday and Friday, which I spent on the subway shuttling the baggage of my life into my storage locker. Nearly everything but my clothes stayed behind since my Kuwait apartment was furnished, but I brought two things that surprised me: my main set of tarot cards and the opal ring Greg had given me. The cards weren't working any more, and the ring was useless to me, but when I put them in the locker and began to leave I had to go back to retrieve them because I felt so awful without them. They'd both been part of me for so long, and maybe the cards would work better in Kuwait. The ring, of course, would always be useless, but somehow I couldn't make myself leave it behind.

  I took a taxi to the airport on Friday, and though getting there increased my nervousness because it meant I was really going to Kuwait it also gave me a strange sense of peace. Now I couldn't cave in and go say my goodbyes in person, and that felt like a good decision. I might cancel the whole thing if I got upset enough, and even the idea of that panicked me.

  The flight Janet had booked for me left Toronto at ten o'clock and would take around seven hours to get to Frankfurt. I'd be there for a couple of hours and then board another plane for a five-hour flight to Kuwait itself where Janet would meet me. I'd never flown for longer than three hours and I couldn't imagine what I'd do with myself for all that time trapped in one place with nowhere to go.