Brenna thinks about that. Another person who will eventually leave her. Her mood plummets further. She doesn’t respond.
“When my mom is released from the treatment center she’s in, I’ll go help her out. And I’ll have saved up enough to take care of her for a while. That’s the plan anyway.”
Treatment center? Brenna decides not to ask. “And you’ll finish school then?”
“Hopefully. Or do it through distance education.”
They have reached a wooden bridge that spans a stream meandering down Mount Seymour. As they lean against the rail they look up at the trickling water. Ryan puts his arm around her shoulder again.
“I think I’ll contact the minister,” she says. “He was Kia’s friend, and he encouraged me to contact him if I wanted to talk. I’ll see what he can tell me about Kia. Maybe we can meet at a coffee shop or something.”
“Let me know if you want me there,” he says. “Moral support.”
“Thanks, that would be nice.” She leans into him. “I guess I’m opening that can of worms, aren’t I?”
“Yes, I’d say you are.” Ryan turns and leads the way back down the trail. “But I always rather liked worms.”
Brenna rifles through her desk drawer until she finds what she is looking for—the business card she was given at the chapel where her mom’s service was held. It has all of the minister’s contact information on it. She decides to send him an email and chooses the more informal-looking address of the two that are listed.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hello Reverend Reid,
After my mom’s service, you said it would be okay to contact you if I wanted to talk about anything. I hope that offer is still open. I was wondering if maybe we could meet and include Angie Hazelwood. I have some questions about my birth mom, Kia.
Thank you.
Brenna Yokoyama
Sept. 15
Ryan has “mother issues” too. What else do we have in common?
Kia wrote about that instant/magnetic/physical pull between her and Derek. (My father. Weird.) It’s different for me and Ryan. Ours is like a friendship that is becoming closer. It felt so good to hold hands, to feel his arm around me. If Dad hadn’t been in the yard when we got home, would he have kissed me again? A real one this time?
I think so.
Did I want him to?
Yes.
Mom’s only been gone 2 months. Is it wrong to feel this way???
“Whatcha doin’?” Georgialee slides into the chair next to Brenna in the school computer lab.
“Nothing.” She quickly exits the website she’s been browsing, but it’s too late. Georgialee has seen it.
“Aid-A-Child?” Georgialee asks.
“Just researching a project for the Social Justice Club,” she says. Her skin burns with the lie. She can’t meet Georgialee’s eyes.
“Are you joining again?”
Brenna shrugs.
“Why Aid-A-Child?”
“I’ve always been interested in them.”
“You have?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Brenna can hear the skepticism in her friend’s voice. “They do good work.” She knows she should tell her the truth, but she’s not ready to do that. “Did you know that 2.4 million children under the age of fifteen in Uganda have lost one or both parents to HIV/AIDS, the most of any in the world? And many of those children also test positive for HIV.”
Georgialee studies Brenna’s face. “Social Justice Club is starting up again on Thursday,” she says. “Will you be there?”
“I’m thinking of it.”
“That’s great, Brenna! Everyone will be glad to see you again.”
Brenna knows she should tell the truth now, before the lie grows any bigger, but she can’t find the words.
“And are you going to the school dance on Friday night too?”
“No. I’m not feeling it.”
“Too bad. I was hoping to meet Ryan.”
“What makes you think I’d bring him?”
“Wishful thinking, I guess. I think it’s time I meet him. Make sure he’s good enough for my best friend.”
“I’m his service project, Georgialee.” She knows she’s stretching the truth again, so she changes the subject. “Keep an eye on Naysa for me.”
“Oh. My. God.” Georgialee shakes her head. “I can’t believe Naysa’s actually old enough to go to a school dance. I still think of her as a little pesky kid.”
“I know. Me too.”
ten
Tears are words the mouth can’t say nor can the heart bare.
(JOSHUA WISENBAKER)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hello, Brenna,
First of all, please call me Justin. Reverend Reid makes me feel so old! And stern. I’m so glad you contacted me. I’d be delighted to meet with you and hope Angie will also join us. Evenings and Saturdays work best for me.
Justin
Brenna stares at Justin’s email. Connecting with Angie via email is completely different than meeting her in person. She decides to send the invitation before it’s too late.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi, Angie,
Justin Reid and I are planning to get together to talk. We’re wondering if you’d like to join us. Evenings and Saturdays work best for Justin.
Let me know.
Brenna
Brenna quickly hits Send before she loses her nerve.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi, Brenna,
I’d love to meet you! Just tell me when and where. I’ll be there!
Angie
Sept. 17
The can of worms has been split wide open.
“I got myself into a bit of a bind with my friend Georgialee,” Brenna tells Ryan. They’ve passed the halfway point on the Grind and have stepped to the side of the trail to catch their breath.
“Oh yeah?” Ryan wipes his face with the red bandanna he’s had tied around his head.
“Uh-huh.” She wonders why it’s so easy to share things with him. “She caught me looking at a website with info about Ugandan orphans.”
“Oh no! Not that!” He feigns horror. “Now she’s going to hack into your illegal baby-smuggling operation!”
Brenna swats his back as he replaces the bandanna and resumes his lead up the steep trail. “I don’t know why, but I haven’t told her what I found out about Kia.”
“That’s understandable. It’s pretty personal,” he says.
“Yeah, but I lied and said I was researching a project for the Social Justice Club.”
“Uh-oh.” Ryan glances back at her. “Lies have a way of coming back to bite us in the butt.”
“Exactly. So now I either have to go to the first meeting tomorrow and suggest a project or admit to Georgialee that I was lying.”
“Which is worse?”
“I don’t know. Probably admitting that I was lying, ’cause then she’d want to know why.”
“Then I guess you’d better come up with a project.”
Brenna sighs. “Like what?”
“It’s a no-brainer,” Ryan says. “Raise money to send to Aid-A-Child to help with those orphans. No one has to know your connection to it.”
Brenna stops dead in her tracks as the possibilities settle over her. This would be the perfect way to reconnect with Kia. Why hadn’t she thought of it herself?
“You okay?” Ryan asks, retracing his steps to stand with her.
Brenna nods but doesn’t say anything. Her mind and heart are racing.
“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea,” he says, misunderstanding her reaction.
“Or maybe it was!” She starts to move again, ideas pinging through her brain. “Any thoughts on how we can raise money?”
“I always
liked cupcake sales,” Ryan teases.
Brenna rolls her eyes. “Just what I need,” she says. “Cupcakes. My freezer is still full of brownies and Nanaimo bars.”
“Maybe you could sell those too.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She smiles.
“But I think what you need to do is figure out how to sell this idea to the club first,” Ryan says. “And then figure out how to raise money.”
“You’re right. I’ll do some more research tonight.” The decision gives her a rush of energy, and she picks up her pace, pushing past Ryan.
“Hey!” He grabs her daypack, pulling her back so he can scoot ahead of her again. “I’m the leader here.”
“Oh yeah?” She snatches at his arm as he’s maneuvering past, but he hip-checks her and takes the lead again. Brenna then grabs his pack, causing him to lose his balance on the steep slope. He crashes into her and they both begin to slide downward. They quickly come to a stop, but by then Ryan has grabbed her with both arms to regain his balance. Laughing, he pulls her into a hug. She laughs too and squirms, but he doesn’t let go and then they both become still. Brenna notices that their breathing, which is deep from the exertion, is in unison. He smells warm, earthy. She finally looks up and finds him looking down at her. The forest is still. Their faces are close. She lifts a hand to push back the bandanna, which is sliding down his forehead. He places his hand over hers, holding it against his face.
“Brenna…”
“Yes?”
Voices of hikers coming around a bend in the trail below snap them out of the moment. Ryan doesn’t finish what he was going to say and slowly releases her. He gestures for her to take the lead. “After you, mademoiselle,” he says, sweeping his arm out to let her pass.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she says as she takes the lead. Thoughts of her Social Justice project have been replaced with thoughts of Ryan. What had he been about to say?
Forty-five minutes later, Ryan raises his fist in a gesture of victory. “We conquered it once again!” he shouts.
They’ve left the trail and are standing right below the chalet. “That’s five Grinds under your belt now,” he says. “Is it getting any easier?”
“I’m not wearing a belt,” she says between heaving breaths, “and no.” She gulps down the remainder of her water, not caring that half of it spills down her chest. The intimacy of the moment on the trail is gone.
Ryan glances at his watch. “I think you’re wrong. We’ve already shaved ten minutes off our time. That’s two minutes less per Grind.”
“You’ve been keeping track?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I don’t know. Too much pressure.”
“Have I been pressuring you?”
Brenna pushes him in the chest. “I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t pressured me to take up hiking!”
“You’ve got a point.” He smiles and cocks his head.
“And if I’d known you were timing us, I wouldn’t have taken so many breaks.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” he says.
“But now I know, so I’ll feel the pressure next time!”
He rolls his eyes. “Forget I said anything.” He leads the way to the Skyride. “But ten minutes is ten minutes.”
They both stare at the view unfolding below the tram. “We won’t be able to hike in the afternoon for much longer,” Ryan says.
“No,” Brenna agrees. The sun is beginning to set behind Vancouver Island in the far distance. “It’s getting dark earlier and earlier.”
“We’ll just have to go twice on the weekends,” he says.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. The first snow will probably fall in November, and then we’ll have to quit for the season.”
“That’s when we start the Snowshoe Grind.”
“That’s right! You remembered.” He smiles down at her.
“I’ve never snowshoed before.”
“Neither had I before I moved here. You’re going to love it.”
Brenna watches the valley station as it comes into view. She doesn’t know about that, but she’s glad to have a reason to keep on seeing Ryan.
“Whatcha doing?” Naysa asks, peering into the fridge.
Brenna closes the website she was browsing when Naysa came into the kitchen. She had spent the last couple of hours researching information to bring to the next day’s Social Justice Club meeting, knowing she’ll need a good pitch to sell her idea. The first meeting of the year is when everyone has a chance to suggest projects. “Homework.”
As Naysa walks around the kitchen table, she glances at the screen of Brenna’s computer. The photo of her and Ryan on the Grind is on her desktop. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is. So what’s up with you?” Brenna asks, wanting to change the subject.
“What do you think I should wear to the dance?” Naysa asks, spooning chocolate pudding into her mouth.
“Nothing too warm. It gets really hot in that gym.” Brenna scans Naysa’s body, noticing with surprise that Naysa has put on some weight too. Damn those desserts their neighbors keep delivering. “Why don’t we go to the mall after school tomorrow? Find you something new to wear?”
Naysa’s eyes light up. “Really? That would be awesome!”
“I know Dad wanted to buy you some back-to-school clothes anyway.”
Naysa smiles. “Thanks, Brenna!”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi, Brenna,
Would next Friday work? (I have plans for this week.) Check with Angie. If it’s a go we can choose a location.
Justin
Brenna shows the Social Justice Club a YouTube video clip from the Aid-A-Child organization. The camera work is professional, the music draws viewers in, and although the story of the orphaned children is tragic, it has a positive spin. It’s both heart-wrenching and inspiring. She shuts off her computer. “So you see?” she says to the group gathered around her computer. “If we get involved, we can make a difference.”
“You want us to go to Uganda?” Jas asks and then smiles at the laughter from the rest of the group.
Brenna ignores him and continues with her well-rehearsed conclusion. “These children just need proper medicine, nutritious food and some loving care. Aid-A-Child is an organization that is there right now doing the work. But they need money, and that’s where we come in.” She looks around the room. “Any questions?”
There’s a long pause while the group processes the information. “Why did you choose Uganda?” Georgialee asks, and Brenna recognizes the skepticism in her voice. “There are organizations all around the world that are crying out for donations.”
“Like I told you, HIV has hit Uganda hard. There are so many children who have lost both parents to AIDS. Why not Uganda?” Brenna doesn’t make eye contact with her friend.
“There must have been something that made you aware of this organization.”
Brenna simply shrugs.
“Last year we decided we wanted to take on social-justice issues close to home,” Courtney reminds her.
“And our mandate is to educate rather than fundraise,” Blair adds.
“So, this is a new year,” Brenna says. “And we can educate people about the orphaned children of Uganda while also fundraising for them.”
The room grows quiet.
Brenna begins to panic. While doing the research, her plan had become cemented in her heart. She knows she only has a few more minutes to sell her idea and through it make a connection with Kia. “What I really like about Aid-A-Child,” she says, “is that they discourage their orphans from begging on the streets by teaching them skills, like dancing or singing. Then the kids perform to raise money to help themselves.”
“Then why do they need our help?” Blair asks.
“What they earn doesn’t nearly cover what they need. But at least they’re not just sitting around waiting for handouts.”
The bell rings, ending the lunch hour. “Let’s think about it over the week,” Courtney says. “And if anyone else has any project ideas, they can present them next Thursday.”
Naysa steps out of the boutique’s change room. She’s wearing a short snug skirt with a long loose-fitting blouse that flows as she moves. She also has a scowl on her face, the same one she’s been wearing since they started shopping.
Brenna nods. “That’s better. What do you think?”
Naysa steps in front of the full-length mirror and turns to look at her backside. “I don’t know…”
“This suits you way better than all those snug tops,” Brenna tells her sister. “This blouse is glam. And you have great legs. The skirt lets you show them off.”
Naysa’s eyes fill with tears. They’ve been on this mission for two hours already, and they are both frustrated. “I’m not trying to look glam!” she says. “I want to look like everyone else!”
Brenna sighs. She knows the feeling. At a school dance everyone wants to look as hot as they can, but they also don’t want to stand out by looking different. The trouble is, what everyone else will be wearing doesn’t suit Naysa’s changed shape. “Let’s put this outfit on hold, just in case we don’t find anything else. But we’ll keep looking.”
“Maybe I won’t go to the stupid dance,” Naysa mumbles, slamming the change-room door shut behind her.
Brenna leans back in the armchair in the waiting area. She feels like she’s Naysa’s parent instead of her sister. What would her mom have done in this situation? She sinks deeper into the chair. Her mother wouldn’t have had to deal with this. Both of her daughters have gained weight as a result of her dying. When she was alive and healthy, she cooked delicious meals, and they were lighter than the cheesy casseroles they’ve been eating for months now, and dessert used to be a rare treat. Maybe it’s a good thing the supply of donated food in the freezer is beginning to dwindle.
The quest for the perfect outfit continues without success. An hour later they’re back in the same shop, purchasing the skirt and blouse. With a grim face, Naysa takes the bag from the salesgirl and leads the way out of the mall.
Dancing in the Rain Page 9
