Body Swap

by Sylvia McNicoll

  His fists uncurl. Once the contact is broken, I quickly step in between them. That gives Mr. Davidson a moment to breathe hard and calm down. I feel safe, knowing he’s not about to throttle me, a girl who’s younger than the daughter he will be burying.

  Mr. Davidson takes a step back.

  “He, we, are all angry with the car manufacturer,” Hallie says carefully. “We’re sure Saji Motors is at fault.”

  “How is that possible?” Sarah’s father sounds tormented. He pulls at his own hair from either side, completely breaking down. People close in around him, talking low, patting him. Sarah’s mother breaks into the circle, reaches her arms around him, and they cry together.

  Only just imagining their pain, my eyes fill up; swallowing becomes difficult. I have to back away. Losing my own sister was a huge blow but, thank Eli, my children are still alive, even though sometimes distant. I shake my head. I whisper to Hardeep and Hallie, “This isn’t the right time. We’re making it worse for them. We’d better go.”

  Hallie looks like she wants to disagree, but thankfully, she follows me as I move toward the stairs. I call out to Linda and Margret, who seem even more reluctant to leave. Still, they are dependent on the ride, and so they slowly stand up and push in their chairs. More slowly still, they follow us back up to the front-door exit.

  “We can’t give up on Applegirl’s accident. It’s too important!” Hallie says as we head to the Hurricane.

  “You think Sarah’s death is because of a gas pedal problem?” Linda asks from behind us. “You should let Saji Motors know, then!”

  “Don’t be so naive,” Margret crabs at her, then clasps her hand on Hallie’s shoulder, slowing her down. “We can go to the police with this information, right now.”

  “Exactly.” I’m glad Margret agrees. She’s always had a good head on her shoulders. “They’re investigating the accident, after all. They should be able to take it from there.”

  We all finally straggle to the car and climb in.

  “You don’t need that thing,” Margret complains when Hallie reaches for her El-Q. “I can direct you.”

  Hallie slips the device back into her purse.

  Margret is right. It is a short, easy drive down the city streets after rush hour. I watch for any hesitations or surges when Hallie accelerates or brakes. But the Hurricane seems to perform well.

  Suddenly, Hallie brakes and honks the horn loud.

  I look around to find out why and see Chael and Kendra, startling apart from the noise.

  I wave frantically, wanting Chael to know that I see him.

  If he does, he ignores me.

  But Hallie must now acknowledge that her crush is a player, at best, if not an outright cheat. Didn’t that kiss at the pool mean something to him? I search Hallie’s profile from the back seat to see any reaction. Nothing much. Of course, in a way, Hallie cheated, too. At least her body did. I have been holding hands and kissing Hardeep since Chael’s kiss, but Hallie doesn’t know that.

  The Hurricane rolls forward again.

  Hardeep gives me a small sympathetic smile. He takes my hand and squeezes it. I could love this boy if I were his age. Find it hard not to love him at the point in time I’m in now. But can Hallie?

  Another block and we are at the police station. We drive past a parking lot half full of squad cars — black-and-white penguins lying in the snow — and pull into the visitors’ parking.

  I wish we could leave Margret and Linda behind, perhaps with the window open a crack. But it’s winter and Margret likes to have her say in everything; Linda loves an adventure.

  Instead, all of us head to the entrance of the large, beige concrete building where the doors automatically slide open and close silently behind us. We step into a spacious foyer with a black tile floor and walls the colour of winter sky. Rows of black fabric chairs sit near two counters. The sign above the long wood-grained one says it’s for police checks. There seem to be many people behind it, working at computers. Ah, technology! So many screens to keep people from helping anyone.

  The sign over the other, more of a cubical manned by a single officer, says it’s for collision and other reporting. We stroll up to the lone police officer and wait for her to look up from her paperwork.

  Margret coughs.

  Finally, the officer puts her pen down. “How can we be of service today?” she asks.

  Margret speaks up. “We have some important information regarding the car accident that occurred on Guelph Line a few days ago.” Just as well she takes over.

  Hallie is still an inexperienced teen in a geriatric body. I may have a mature soul but I look like a teen with potential attitude.

  “Have a seat on the bench. Fill out this form, please.” She hands Margret a clipboard and a stick pen. “I’ll have an officer out to talk to you in a moment.”

  Margret turns the clipboard over to Hallie and a moment turns into fifteen minutes. Even with all her hesitation at filling in my personal information, Hallie returns the clipboard well before Officer Meryl Wilson steps in through the door.

  “Oh my God!” Or perhaps I should say, Oh my Eli. My heart sinks. She’s the one who gave Hallie the speeding ticket and wants my licence suspended.

  Officer Wilson heads to the counter and talks to the person on duty there. When they finish their discussion, she heads our way.

  She smiles, friendly enough, extending a large hand and reintroducing herself.

  Only Hallie shakes it.

  “I understand you have some information regarding the car accident we’re investigating?” she says.

  “Yes,” Hallie answers.

  “Follow me to the office, then.”

  We all squeeze into a tiny room with a desk and two chairs on opposite sides. Hallie quickly claims one — she needs it with her bad knees; the rest of us shuffle beside Hallie as Officer Wilson claims the other. With no personal photographs or memorabilia anywhere, the room feels like an interview closet rather than anyone’s office. It smells vaguely of pine cleanser.

  “So what information do you have regarding this case?” Officer Wilson asks, pulling up a screen on the computer.

  “Sarah Davidson complained on the Saji Happy Motoring message board about her gas pedal,” Hallie says.

  “Oh, now I know why you look familiar. You’re the lady who was speeding on the QEW the other day.” She faces the screen and types something.

  “Yes and I also explained about my accelerator sticking. We had the car towed to Saji Motors and they repaired it.”

  “Are you satisfied with the job?”

  “The gas pedal seems to be working so far … but …”

  Officer Wilson stops typing and folds her hands on the desk for a moment.

  “On the message board, another person complained that the Saji repair didn’t work for their vehicle. That the car still sped up on them,” Hallie adds.

  “Do you have their contact information?” Officer Wilson asks.

  “Not exactly. The person went by the name Applegirl.”

  “We think Applegirl is Sarah Davidson’s handle,” Hardeep adds.

  “Her nickname on the message board,” I explain in case she’s as uninformed about these things as I am.

  The officer stares at Hallie as though waiting for more information. Then she nods. “All right. We can have our IT department look at the site. They can establish her identity more definitely.”

  “Yes, but …” Hallie says.

  Hardeep finishes for her. “Those posts have all disappeared.”

  Officer Wilson frowns.

  “We think Saji Motors took them down. They are deliberately withholding this information from the public,” I tell her.

  Officer Wilson shakes her head. “So we don’t have any evidence at all.”

  “We all saw the site. We can be witnesses,” Hardeep insists.

  “That is something,” Officer Wilson says. “But it may not be enough. We need to get a subpoena to ask Saji for their web
site information. The judge may not feel this is enough to go on.”

  “What else do we need?” Hallie asks. “Her brother knows she was having accelerator problems. She ran a red light.”

  “None of that proves the gas pedal stuck at the time. What we really need is an eyewitness, preferably in the car at the time.”

  “Aw man, Sarah is dead,” Hallie says, sounding more teen than she should for a senior. “If she had another passenger, he or she would be dead, too.”

  “I have to agree,” I say. “It sounds like Saji Motors will get away with this forever. And their cars are killing people.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Hallie

  “YOU COULD CALL YOUR SON AND see if there’s something he can do,” Susan tells me as we walk out of the building. Then she turns to Hardeep. “Her son is a lawyer.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Hardeep says as we head toward the Hurricane. “Should make things a lot easier.”

  “Not necessarily,” Susan answers him. “Lawyers can be a lot harder to convince … uh, so I’ve heard, anyway.”

  “He is stubborn,” I agree, playing along. What do I really know, anyway? I shrug my shoulders as we reach the car. “Let me just text him. I don’t want to disturb him if he’s in court or something.” My standard cover. A phone set on vibrate shouldn’t disturb him at all. I just want to avoid talking directly to people who know Susan really well. Ron already thinks she’s ready for the home, and every time I screw up, I only make things worse.

  Went to Sarah Davidson’s funeral. Found out she had gas pedal issues. Police say this is not enough. What do you think?

  The El-Q burps instantly. So much for avoiding actual talking.

  “Mom, you went to some strange person’s funeral?” Ron repeats.

  Again, whatever I do makes Susan seem senile to him. “Hello, honey. How are you?” I answer sarcastically. It’s what my mom does all the time to me if I hit her up for money or a lift without a chat first.

  “I’m fine, you?” he says apologetically.

  “Good, thank you for asking.” I roll my eyes for Hardeep and Susan’s sake. They open the car doors, and one by one, everyone climbs back in. I get into the driver’s seat and turn the key so that the car will get warm.

  “So this funeral,” he starts in again.

  I cut him off. “The Davidsons give all the apple picking tours to schools in the area. Everyone knows them. Linda and Margret wanted to go, too. Heck, they go to lots of funerals of people they don’t know.” I’m making the last part up. But from the looks of how much they enjoyed the food and conversation, it sounds like something they would do.

  “But you asked these people who were grieving about their child’s death whether her gas pedal stuck?”

  “Not me personally. My adoptive granddaughter Hallie did.”

  “You brought your new teenager friend along?” From the tone in Ron’s voice, I can hear he thinks this is demented, too, as in coming from an old person possibly getting dementia.

  “She’s my technology buddy. Remember, she’s getting her volunteer hours in. Ron, my two young friends actually saw that post on the Saji Happy site. They can testify about the gas pedal complaints.”

  Ron sighs loudly on the phone.

  Susan nudges me from the back seat and whispers, “Ask him about a class-action suit.”

  “Ron, tell me what it would take for you to sue Saji Motors.”

  “Well, as you know, I practise a different kind of law.”

  Whoops!

  He pauses. “And the allegations you’re making against a major car company are serious. You need strong evidence. No one would take this on without that.”

  “What’s strong evidence? Applegirl died.”

  “More accidents, for one. I mean you can’t have a class action without a few victims, more than two certainly. Eye-witnesses who actually feel that gas pedal sticking during the accident would help, too.”

  “But these car crashes are fatal. Unless people come back from the dead, we don’t have any witnesses.” When you think about it, Susan and I have done just that. Of course, if I told him about visiting that carnival in the other world, he’d order up an ambulance to deliver me straight to Sunnyside.

  “On another note, Mom …” Ron sounds uneasy and hesitates. “Can we talk about something else for a minute?”

  “You can’t change the subject, Ron. This is important.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll ask a colleague who works on these things. But what I have to discuss is important, too.”

  I suddenly know what he’s going to talk about and I feel a little sick. There’s nothing I can do to save Susan from this. In fact, everything I say or do pushes Ron further toward this idea.

  “Would you look at another residence with me? This one’s near Tansley Woods. Elmwood Village. You could still go to Aquafit with your friends, visit the library. You’d never even have to get into a car.”

  My mouth buckles as I look up into my own green eyes reflected from the rear-view mirror. Susan’s eyes currently. They look so bright and happy, hopeful. “Sure,” I answer, discouraged, wishing there were some other answer he would accept.

  “Well, that’s great. Sheryl will be so pleased.” Now his words rush out quickly. “I promise you’ll like this one. The units have lots of light; they’re individual apartments with little kitchens. You cook your own meals if you like or buy a dining plan …”

  I’ve made this all too easy for him, I can tell, so I backtrack. “That is, I’ll look at this residence if you promise to keep an open mind on the Saji Motors lawsuit. And … my friend Hallie can come.”

  “But Hallie is a teenager! Why don’t you bring Linda and Margret, instead? You could all put your names on the list. Think how much fun it would be if your friends lived there too.”

  “Hallie’s coming. I want her opinion.” But of course, what I need is Susan’s thoughts on this residence. Hopefully, she will be the one who lives her life out there if our souls return to our bodies.

  “Fine. Five o’clock at the condo sound okay?”

  “Let me check with Hallie and get back to you. Love you.” I hang up before he can argue.

  “He wants you to look at homes?” Margret repeats as I put the El-Q into my bag.

  “Yes.”

  “But if you move out of your condo, we won’t be able to do the crossword together,” Linda says.

  “Or get a lift to the pool,” Margret says.

  “She’s going to lose her driver’s licence, anyway,” Susan says, sounding annoyed as she tells them, “if she can’t convince the judge about the gas pedal sticking.”

  “Ron thinks you both might want to sign onto the waiting list, too,” I tell the old ladies.

  Linda’s eyes pop and her jaw drops.

  “I’m too young,” Margret snaps.

  Linda struggles. “Um, um, but it’s so far from the mall.”

  “They provide buses for that.” Neither of them looks convinced. Too bad , I think. Susan will have to go in there alone. Unless … “You know, they usually provide a nice free meal for guests who want to tour.”

  “I could check my calendar,” Margret offers.

  “I know I’m free,” Linda says.

  “I will come with if Hallie wants me to,” Hardeep says.

  Visiting an old-age home just so he can be with me, or at least Susan in my body — it breaks my heart. Susan texts my mother to let her know where we’re going and that she won’t be home for supper.

  She reads the answer text out loud. Be home by ten. Love you.

  When I hear those last two simple words, I miss my family so badly that I have trouble swallowing. I blink hard.

  “Maybe you should call your son,” Susan says gently. “Tell him we can make it and give him numbers.”

  All together there are five of us, now. I have doubts this will make Ron happy, so again, I text him instead of calling. Less chance of an argument that way.

 
Hallie will come with us to tour the residence. Her friend Hardeep, and Margret and Linda, too. All expecting free dinner. Please arrange. Love Mom XXOO.

  Then I put the Hurricane into drive and we head back to the condo to wait for Ron.

  CHAPTER 28

  Susan

  I WATCH AS HALLIE DRIVES EVER so carefully down Upper Middle, slowing well in advance of lights or stop signs, gently, gently speeding up again. “How will we ever get an eye-witness to a gas pedal failure,” I wonder out loud from the back of the car.

  “What we need is a video,” Hardeep suggests. “A dash cam could show when a driver loses control of the gas.”

  “Hey, that’s a great idea!” Hallie points a wrinkled finger at Hardeep in the mirror. “We can use the El-Qs if we have another problem.”

  “Maybe we should try forcing the issue,” I say. “We could try stopping and starting hard when there’s no one around.”

  “That sounds very unsafe,” Margret grumbles. “Here, let me have that thing.” She reaches for my purse in the front seat and removes the device. “How do I start this again?”

  Hardeep reaches over the seat and sets it up. “Now you just need to press the red circle when you want the video to begin.”

  Margret reaches down, presumably to video the gas pedal. “Can’t really see if your foot is pushing down or not.”

  “The driver will just have to narrate the video,” Hallie says. “Hey, the mall lot looks empty right now. I’m going to turn in and try braking hard.”

  Margret shakes her head. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, this is exciting!” Linda clasps her hands together as we enter into the lot. “Like solving a mystery.”

  “Won’t Ron mind if we’re late?” I ask. Of course, I know how much he hates other people’s tardiness. It’s a waste of his time and he has so little of it.

  “We won’t be. We’ll just try once. Ready, Margret? Turn on the video.”

  Margret aims the El-Q camera on Hallie, who, behind the steering wheel, talks to an unknown audience.

  “I’m Susan MacMillan and I’m going to test out the gas pedal on my Hurricane this afternoon. It’s been into Saji Motors twice. Computer diagnosis said nothing was wrong. The second time, mechanics cleaned the electronic throttle plate and installed a reinforcement bar. On the Saji message board, other drivers complained that the repairs did not help with the problem.