The Way Back Home

by Allan Stratton

  “Sure thing. Are you?”

  “I’m Teddi,” Aunt Teddi says to Mom. “You’re Carrie?”

  “Yes,” Mom says, a bit nervous. “We’re so grateful you got them home in one piece.” She shakes Aunt Teddi’s hand. Did that just happen? “Please, come in for a coffee.”

  “Thanks, but you’ll be wanting private time, and Mom’s pretty tired. Why don’t you come by the Bird House tonight for supper? I can order in pizza.”

  Mom’s face somersaults. “We’ll bring the dishes and cutlery.”

  “The Bird House.” Granny blinks. “People will be sneaking in.”

  Aunt Teddi takes her arm. “We’d better get you back, then.”

  Dad gives her the key and we wave them off. I wait for the yelling to start. It doesn’t. Instead, Mom puts her arm round me as we head inside to the kitchen table.

  “So about Toronto,” I say.

  “We can talk about that later; we’re just so relieved to have you home,” Dad says. “And, right now, there’s something else … Zoe, we need to know what you were doing before you ran away.”

  “Whatever it was, honey, please tell us,” Mom says. “We won’t get mad. Promise.”

  “Absolutely. Promise,” Dad says.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  They exchange glances. Mom says, “Last night we called the police to say that you and your granny had been found. We told them that you were with family and we were sorry for any trouble we’d caused.”

  “The police called back this morning,” Dad goes. “They said to bring you to the station when you got home. There’s an investigation going on. They want to ask you some questions.”

  “What about?”

  “You tell us. It’s all we could do not to ask them. We thought if we said anything we might get you in even more trouble.”

  “We’ll stand by you, honey,” Mom says, “but you have to let us know what’s been going on. We need to be prepared.”

  “I don’t know anything about anything. Whatever’s wrong, it’s Madi. She’s setting me up like she always does.”

  Mom and Dad look hollowed out.

  “I guess we’ll find out when we’re there,” Dad says, getting up like we’re going to a funeral.

  As we head out the door, Mom’s phone rings. She checks who’s calling. “Not now, Jess,” she murmurs to herself. We pull out of the driveway and head to the police station.

  I should’ve stayed on the streets.

  40

  We step into Chief Lambert’s office: grey walls, vinyl floors, a computer desk, chairs and a screen mounted on a side wall. The chief’s a big, stocky guy with slicked-back grey hair and a smile that hardly shows.

  Mom and Dad introduce us.

  “I’m glad you’re back in town,” he tells me.

  My lips move, “Thanks,” but my throat’s too dry for the words to come out.

  The chief motions us to the chairs in front of his desk. Mom and Dad sit close on either side of me. I wrap my feet round the chair legs and hunch in.

  “Before you ask any questions,” Dad says, “does Zoe need a lawyer?”

  The chief pauses, like Dad’s fallen into a trap. “Why would she need a lawyer? What do you think she’s done?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know. I was just asking,” Dad says, a bit shaky.

  “Have you told your parents about the bridge?” the chief asks me.

  The bridge? I feel sick. “No. Not exactly.”

  “What’s this about a bridge?” Mom asks.

  “Saturday night, your daughter was attacked on the bridge down McClennan Sideroad,” the chief says.

  Mom and Dad go pale.

  “We received a call from Zoe’s principal at eight forty-five this morning,” he continues. “A student reported seeing a video of an attack that he thought might be connected to Zoe’s disappearance. We recovered it by nine thirty, at which point we called you.” His eyes lock on mine. “Were you aware the video was being taken?”

  I nod, embarrassed, ashamed.

  “I need as much information as possible before I speak to your attackers. Could you tell me about the events that led to the video?”

  I stare at my feet. “My cousin Madi invited me to a surprise party for Ricky, a guy I like,” I say quietly. “When Mom and Dad were in bed, I snuck out to her boyfriend’s car. Only there wasn’t a party. Madi and her friends drove me to the bridge and then, well, you know what happened.”

  “Honey?” Mom says. She and Dad are frozen in their seats.

  “If you could direct your attention to the monitor.” The chief starts the video.

  I don’t watch. I don’t need to. I see every second in my head.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Guess.”

  Mom and Dad stiffen.

  “Spit on me. I’m a Bird Turd.”

  They each put an arm round me.

  “Think Bird Turd can fly?”

  They take a hand.

  “Drop her.”

  They squeeze so hard it hurts.

  “You tell anyone about tonight — anyone — we’ll get you. Understand? You won’t know where, you won’t know when, but we’ll stuff you in the car and finish what we started.”

  I hear new stuff. Inside the car, as they drive away. I look up. Madi is turned facing Katie and Caitlyn in the back seat. She imitates the way I cried: “Help! Waaa! I’ll die! Waaa!” They laugh and give her high-fives. The video cuts out.

  “Sweetheart …” Dad says like he’s coming out of a nightmare.

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” from Mom. “What they did … oh my God … my God.”

  They hold me like Mom’s fancy china. No, more than that. Like I’m the most precious, important thing in the world.

  Mom strokes my hair with her lips. “Honey, we should have listened. We should have asked questions. We pushed you away.”

  “It’s our fault,” from Dad.

  “We’re sorry, we’re sorry,” they say, over and over.

  A wave upends me. “I’m sorry too.”

  I don’t know how long we hold on to each other. All I know is, even if one day I get like Granny, I’ll remember this moment as long as I live.

  41

  It’s almost lunch by the time we head home from the police station. Mom checks her phone in the car. There are five voice messages from Aunt Jess. She and Uncle Chad are parked on the road by our place. They get out of their car as we pull in the driveway. Suckhole too; she’d been hiding in the back seat.

  “What do they want?” I ask.

  “I expect they’ve heard from the police and come to apologize,” Mom says. “Look, Jess has brought flowers. Guess there’s a first for everything.”

  “You don’t have to see your cousin if you don’t want to,” Dad says.

  “I’ll have to sooner or later. May as well get it over with.”

  “Don’t say a word,” Mom says. “Your dad and I will do the talking.” She turns to the Mackenzies with her biggest church smile. “What a lovely surprise.”

  Uncle Chad hasn’t brought wine, but he stinks of Scotch. Suckhole’s grey as porridge. She can’t look me in the eye.

  “Zoe, we’re so relieved you’re home,” Aunt Jess says. She shoves the flowers at Mom. “I left five messages, Carrie. Where were you?”

  “Oh, out and about. My phone was turned off.”

  Aunt Jess exhales. “Good. We’re so glad we got to you first.”

  “What do you mean?” Dad asks innocently.

  Uncle Chad shifts his weight. “We’ve found out about something.” His breath could curdle milk.

  “That sounds serious,” Mom says.

  “Let’s say it took us by surprise.”

  Suckhole glances nervously at the highway.

  “Well, come in then, come in. Coffee? Cookies?”

  Everyone shakes their head no. We gather round the dinette set. Suckhole squeezes between
Uncle Chad and Aunt Jess.

  “So what did you find out about?” Dad asks.

  “Uh, yes, well.” For once it’s Uncle Chad who’s sweating. “Madi ran home from school this morning, scared out of her wits. The police called about ten thirty. It seems there was an incident Saturday night. Perhaps Zoe’s told you?”

  “Perhaps you could tell us,” Mom says with a thin smile.

  Aunt Jess fingers her pearls. “It’s actually more like a misunderstanding, really. Everyone’s fine. There needn’t be a problem. But, well …”

  “But, well, what?” Mom asks.

  “Saturday evening, Madi was studying with friends. A boy asked them out. Madi called Zoe to see if she’d like to come and … I guess she did.”

  “It seems the boy had had a little alcohol — you know boys,” Uncle Chad says. “Apparently, he held Zoe over a bridge. He pretended he was going to drop her. Of course he wasn’t. It was just a silly prank.”

  “Only it got videoed and now the police are involved,” Aunt Jess interrupts. “They want us to bring Madi to the station this afternoon for questioning, if you can imagine. We thought we should have a talk before things get out of hand.”

  We stare at them. Silence.

  “Before I forget, heh, heh …” Uncle Chad says awkwardly, rubbing his hands like he’s pitching a tractor. “Jess and I have been thinking it over and, well, a salon on Main Street makes sense. We’d like to loan you the money.”

  “It’s what family is for,” Aunt Jess says cheerily.

  Mom and Dad keep staring.

  “Carrie? Tim?”

  “We’ve seen the video,” Mom says, cold and calm.

  Suckhole gasps.

  “I beg your pardon?” from Aunt Jess.

  “When you drove over, we were at the police station watching the video.”

  “Did you really think you could bribe us?” Dad asks, astonished. “Did you think we care more about a salon than our daughter?”

  “We thought you’d come here to apologize. Stupid us,” Mom says. She turns to Madi. “This isn’t the first time you’ve hurt Zoe, is it? We’ve blamed Zoe for so much, but it’s always been you, hasn’t it? The drugs and the condoms in her Dreamhouse box: They were yours, weren’t they?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Aunt Jess huffs.

  Mom’s eyes spear her to her chair. “Your daughter learned from a pro, Jess. Since we were little, everything I loved you took or laughed at. You’ve treated my family like dirt. I let you. I thought I deserved it. Well, enough.”

  Uncle Chad’s neck puffs red at the collar. “Who do you think you are?”

  “The parents of a pretty terrific daughter,” Dad says.

  “But the police!” Aunt Jess gasps. “You have to help us with the police.”

  “We don’t have to do anything,” Mom says.

  “Please, Zoe!” Suckhole squeals. “I’m sorry for everything. The Dreamhouse. The bridge. Everything!”

  “Madi,” I say, quiet and calm, “if you’re really sorry, you’ll change. If you’re not, it’s none of my business.”

  “But you have to stop things. You have to say it was a joke, we were pretending.”

  “Then you’ll do the same to somebody else.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Sorry.” I look her in the eye. “It is what it is.”

  Madi goes white. For a second she stands bug-eyed, then she sobs up a storm.

  “Listen up, Carrie,” Aunt Jess says, rising from her chair like a hot-air balloon. “All these years I’ve zipped my lip about your secret brother-in-law, or should I say sister-in-law. No way I wanted to be associated with that. But my family won’t go down alone. You deal with the police or I’ll tell the town about that he-she of yours.”

  Dad leaps to his feet. “You treat my sister with respect.”

  Mom’s on her feet, too. “Teddi saved Zoe and Granny. She’s more family than you’ve ever been, and a better woman than you’ll ever be.”

  “Now get out of our home.” Dad points to the door.

  The Mackenzies shrink.

  “We won’t forget this,” Uncle Chad says, as they slink out.

  “Neither will we.” Dad shuts the door behind them.

  Through the window, I see them scurry to their car like sewer rats.

  “What’ll they do?” I go.

  Mom brushes her hands. “Who cares?”

  42

  We drive to the Bird House for dinner with dishes and cutlery. There’s a bottle of Purell in Mom’s purse.

  Aunt Teddi greets us at the door. “I never would have imagined the Bird House like this,” she whispers.

  “We did what we could,” Mom says.

  “Of course. It’s a shock is all.” Aunt Teddi brings us to the dining-room table. I can tell Mom’s relieved that she’s put towels over the chair seats. Granny and I sit together.

  “So how did you spend your day, Mother?” Dad asks.

  Granny looks at Aunt Teddi. “You tell them.”

  “Well, we had a nap,” Aunt Teddi says. “Then we went through the house and saw things. We found Tim’s baseball mitt, didn’t we?”

  Granny nods. “It was hiding someplace or other, but we found it.”

  “Then we found my high school diploma, an oven mitt that looks like a hippopotamus and Tim’s teddy bear,” Teddi says. “After that, we came out to the veranda to see your bird nests.”

  “I love my bird nests.”

  The pizza guy shows up. Aunt Teddi pays and brings the boxes to the table. Dad says grace and we dig in.

  “I love how you do your hair,” Mom says.

  “Easy maintenance,” Aunt Teddi smiles.

  Over pizza, they catch up on each other’s lives. How Dad met Mom and how Aunt Teddi met Wilf. Their memories of having a much older/much younger sibling. They make it sound fun.

  “What do you remember, Mother?” Dad asks.

  “When I was ten, I stuck my tongue on a fire hydrant.”

  After we’ve finished eating, I bring down the album of Dad and Aunt Teddi as kids. We see the summer visits to the Bird House: Aunt Teddi on the front lawn, about twelve, cradling Dad as a baby, and pulling him in a wagon when he was a toddler. Then we see Dad in elementary school playing with his summer friends, while Aunt Teddi, late in high school, sits arranged with Granny on the veranda glider.

  Granny points at picture after picture, nodding and smiling.

  See Aunt Teddi, Mom, Dad? This is Granny’s home. Her life. It’s where she belongs.

  Granny starts to drift. “Zoe, can you tuck me in?”

  “Sure.”

  We leave the table. I help her brush her teeth and coax her into her nightie and out of her shoes.

  “Sing me a lullaby?” Granny asks, once I’ve gotten her under the covers.

  I sing her the one she sang me when I was a kid. Granny fills in the words that I’ve forgotten. I give her a kiss on the forehead. “See you tomorrow, Granny.”

  “You too, Pumpkin.”

  On the way downstairs, I hear my name.

  “Zoe’s a fine young woman,” Aunt Teddi says. “I watched her with Mom.”

  “Mother and Zoe are quite the pair, aren’t they?”

  “Not many kids could toilet their granny,” Aunt Teddi says. “You’ve trained her well.”

  “She uh, we uh—” Mom says, pleased and confused.

  “She toiletted Mother?” Dad asks, like changing Depends is a miracle.

  “Bathed her too,” Aunt Teddi says.

  “Good Lord. The care workers at Greenview have a terrible time with that.”

  Teddi laughs. “Well, she’s got the magic touch. Like I said, you’ve raised a wonderful kid.”

  Okay, I’m getting embarrassed. I mean it’s like I’m the Granny Whisperer or something. I clump down the stairs so they can hear me coming.

  “Ah, there you are,” Mom says as I enter the dining room. “Your Aunt Teddi’s been saying wonderful things about you.”


  “Uh, thanks?” I blush.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Mom gets up. “Well, we should get going. Thanks again about Zoe, Grace, tonight.”

  “No, thank you.” Teddi smiles, as we all move to the front door. “Coming home wasn’t like I’d expected. You’ve made me feel so welcome. And Tim, it’s so good to see you all grown up.”

  Dad shifts awkwardly. “Good to see you, too. It shouldn’t have taken so long. I’ve felt so guilty.”

  “Why?” Aunt Teddi asks. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “When you contacted me, I should’ve told Mother.”

  “I didn’t want you to.”

  “I should have anyway. The whole situation. I was afraid what people would think.”

  “But we’re together now,” Aunt Teddi says gently.

  Dad nods. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  For a second, they face each other, not knowing what to do. Then all at once, they hug. They hug so tight.

  43

  The kids at school all know why I was away. Suckhole and her gang have been suspended and charged with forcible confinement, reckless endangerment and uttering death threats. It’s on the local news: their names have been withheld, but the town knows anyway.

  In the hall, a couple of Suckhole’s hangers-on tell Ricky it’s my fault they’re in trouble, and blame him for turning in the video.

  “You mean you wouldn’t have?” he tosses back. “What kind of asshats are you?”

  At lunch, Ricky comes up to my table. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Thanks about the video.”

  “No big deal. Dylan showed it to me. I was so disgusted.” He pauses. “So, uh, I hear you have an aunt?”

  “Yes,” I go. “And since everyone’s talking, double yes, Aunt Teddi is trans.”

  He blushes. “So what’s she like?”

  “Terrific. She listens and she loves Granny.”

  “Cool.”

  This is when I know that Ricky’s a friend. All friends really care about is if you’re happy. He’s not the only one on my side. All through lunch, people come up to see how I am. I had no idea Madi had so many enemies; all these kids who sucked up to her ’cause they were afraid not to.