Grandpa strode across the kitchen, letting the screen door bang behind him. The odours of farmyard and cows came with him. “Boy! What in the name of old Harry have you got under that tarp? Stupid little car, I bet. That’s my tarp. Ever heard of asking? Where’s that son of mine? What’s he say about this carry-on? Probably nothing. He’s the do-nothing kid, even if he is a grown-up. A real passive-repulsive individual, your dad.”
Ty sat up on the couch, closed the book with his finger marking the page he was reading. “Hi, Grandpa.”
“Look at you, you big tub of lard, lying around in the house, reading a goll-durned manual. Just get on with the job!”
Ty didn’t say anything. What was the use?
Grandpa threw a couple of sticks into the stove, poked the fire like he was prodding a reluctant steer. “Your grandma is some worried, boy. She’s been nattering on about every accident that’s happened on this stretch of road for the last sixty years. One of the Beatons was crushed by a tractor. A Nixon rolled his pickup. And then there was your Uncle Scott. Who knows what caused that one? I have my own opinion about that. No one wants to hear it though. Not enough proof, they say. Slick roads, maybe a deer, or faulty controls. Didn’t help that it was a tin can VW Scott Armstrong was in — and you want to fix it.”
He turned on his heel, pointed to a covered dish on the table. “Your Grandma sent over apple crumble for supper. She’s trying to use up all of last year’s old ones before the harvest.” He headed out the door, letting it slam behind him. “Like talking to brick walls, the whole lot of them,” he said loud and clear. “Need their heads read.”
Ty shook his head. Veronica and Mom peeked around the corner of the staircase. “Is it safe?” Veronica giggled.
“Safe as houses,” Ty said. Sometimes he could let what Grandpa said roll off like rain. Other times the old guy really got to him.
“You will take care, won’t you Ty?” His mom took out three mismatched plates and cut a small, a medium, and a big piece of Grandma’s crumble. Veronica stood on the kitchen stool and brought out the vanilla ice cream from the freezing compartment of the ancient refrigerator. The motor clanged like it wanted to go on strike.
Ty made grilled cheese sandwiches. They ate those first.
“I don’t want much crumble,” said Veronica, wiping ketchup off her chin. “I don’t like cinnamon.”
“We know,” said her mother.
The three of them sat at the kitchen table. Veronica perched atop two old flat cushions on the powder blue bench. Ty hunkered on the chrome chair and Mom on a wooden chair. Nothing matched in their house, Ty reflected — not the people, not the furniture, not the dreams. But the fire crackled in the stove and he felt fine all over, the taste of apples, sweet pastry and ice cream, the sharp smell of cinnamon and brown sugar, and a tall glass of real milk from Grandpa’s remaining cow, June.
Ty had stayed up two nights running, reading the sections on alignment and the engine. He was torn between fixing the outside first so the car looked good, maybe cheering Mom up, and fixing the problems with the engine and electrical system.
Every day when he got home from Robin’s house, he walked around the car before going in the house to wash up. Sometimes he sat in the driver’s seat, running his hands over the steering wheel. He’d thrown out the ratty steering wheel cover. Scott had probably needed it to drive in Calgary in the winter.
He’d already cleaned the windows that were intact and repaired the tears in the tarp over the driver’s side window with duct tape. The ghost didn’t show up, just a cold draft on the back of his neck every once in awhile, and the smell of forest floor.
Fear gripped him at times. What if he was crazy, seeing a phantom? What if mental problems ran in the family? What if he couldn’t do this? He fought off the nagging questions like they were so many mosquitoes.
He’d taken to running with the dog down to the lake and back before he started work. It stretched his calf muscles and loosened the stiffness in his knees and shoulders. Warm days he swam out to the middle of the lake and back. Then he cleaned the edible food out the refrigerator. His dad accused him of being a human vacuum cleaner and brought home more groceries.
“This load is going to have to keep you for awhile. I’ve got a lumber contract over by Cranbrook. I’ll try to get home weekends.” He and Ty filled the frig and the store room with supplies. “Take care of your mother.”
Ty nodded. He wanted to ask why his dad didn’t get a contract right here in the valley. Did he like being away from them all the time? Maybe so.
Sometimes his mother watched Ty work on the old car. She helped him clean out the old garage. Each afternoon, though, she’d disappear for an hour or so with a canvas bag. She said she was going to the mailbox. Ty knew she went further than that. At least she was getting exercise. That had to be good.
Ty removed the big screws and wrenched the driver’s door off its hinges. He removed the six bolts under the fender. Then he carried the door and the bent fender into the garage and banged on them with a wooden mallet. He banged and banged, but he couldn’t get them to look smooth. He needed to buy a second-hand door and fender. He had managed to fix the front left wheel and had bought a new tire.
He checked his bank account and whistled. He needed to make a trip to Ralph’s Auto in Benton. Nat’s big brother, Ralph, was closer in age to Uncle Scott than to Nat or Ty. Nat was the afterthought or surprise package in the Ferris family. The whole clan had pointy noses, dark bright eyes close together, and sharp ears. No wonder the family was nicknamed the Ferrets. Ralph had even been tempted to call his wreckers The Ferret’s Place, but his mom talked him out of it. He was a real go-getter, Ralph. He’d begun repairing and selling cars before he was sixteen. Now he owned three golden oldies — a Camarro, a Thunderbird, and a Chevy with fins. Must be worth thousands of dollars, but he wouldn’t sell. He said they were keepers. Ty wanted a keeper, too, a VW keeper.
Ty’s mom sat on the porch swing watching him spreading plastic on the ground to catch the broken glass as he swept it out of the car. The broken window had made quite a mess. He had an empty oil barrel for the glass shards. They looked like little squarish diamonds.
He liked having his mother rocking back and forth, listening on the radio to “Cross Country Check-up” or “Quirks and Quarks” while he worked.
Veronica had all her dolls lined up watching too. Her Mickey Mouse doll was at the head of the line. She had put her favourite teddy in the back seat of the car.
“To keep you company, Tyler. But don’t you drive off wiff him, okay.” Veronica had trouble pronouncing her “th’s.” The preschool wanted Dad to put her in a speech class, but there wasn’t time or money for it. Dad figured she’d grow out of it eventually. Ty thought his dad relied too much on time to heal everything. Ty figured nothing got better unless you worked at it. Just like Princess, the VW. It wasn’t going to fix itself, that was for sure.
He wormed his way under the back of the car and stared up at the underside. He had washed it off and gotten rid of all the weeds and grass. He was trying to see how much he remembered from the diagrams in the book.
It would be good if he could lose some of the beef around his middle. He’d fit under the car easier. He did feel as if he was getting taller. His calves hurt and the doorframes seemed to be shrinking.
With help he could put the car up on supports so he could work on the underside. Lying there taking in all the wires and hoses, smelling the fresh oil and washed metal, life felt good.
“Someone’s coming in a big pickup,” Veronica yelled.
Ty was jammed under the car. It would take a couple of minutes to clamber out.
“It’s just the Beatons in full flight,” Mom said. “Stay where you are.”
“So it’s true. Tubby is fixing up a sewing machine.” Ty heard Doug’s voice loud and clear above the squeal of tires and the roar of their muffler.
“Maybe he’ll be able to sew a new school flag for Benton Hi
gh School,” laughed Ben. “Come on out, Tyler.”
“He’s stuck under there. Maybe forever,” Doug laughed. “That would be great, wouldn’t it? We could have crumbled Graham crackers.” Ty could imagine Dougie’s unshaved face leering. For a nineteen year old he had a grizzled chin. He usually kept it two-day’s growth long so it looked ratty and unkempt.
Ben didn’t add anything more. He was the youngest of the Beaton clan. He hung out the passenger window with his brown hair in his eyes. Ben was about Ty’s age but a year behind him in school. He refused to do homework. Beatons didn’t like school. Old man Beaton said it was a waste of time.
Ben didn’t look much like the rest of the Beatons. For one thing he had dark brown wavy hair and ears that were small and tucked in. The rest of the Beatons — Doug, Mervin, Desmond, and their sister Lynette — had ears big as handlebars and hair a dirty blond that bleached in the summer sun.
Ty managed to pull himself out from under the Volkswagen just as the pickup took off down the highway with music blaring and tires spitting gravel.
Ty leaned against the car and shook his head. What with his grandpa’s sharp tongue, his dad’s doubts, and the Beatons driving circles around him, he didn’t have much support for his project. At least his mother and Veronica were behind him.
He couldn’t help chuckling. “Get a life, even if you are as big as Omar the Tentmaker’s son,” his grandpa would have said.
He heard the crunch of gravel on the lane and jumped up, hoping it was the boys back so he could tell them where to get off. He stormed around the corner and came face to face with a girl on a bicycle, a tall honey-coloured girl with her black curly hair in tight cornrows and beautiful dark eyes. She was slim and moved easily. Her outfit looked like Gap casual. She had expensive taste.
“You’re looking rather fierce,” she laughed, showing dimples in a face with high cheekbones and a broad forehead. She was more handsome than pretty, Ty thought. “I’m Haley Nixon, Robin Nixon’s niece. Are you Tyler Graham?”
Ty was at a loss for words. His mouth hung open. His arms felt too long and awkward and hung like an orangutan’s.
“Is this the Graham place?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry, come in.” Ty turned and led her to the porch. Mom had disappeared inside, but Veronica was sitting surrounded by her dolls. She grinned.
“Robin says you’re fixing up a car.” Haley walked over to the Volkswagen and caressed the hood like it was a beloved pet. “Can I help?”
Ty shook his head in disbelief. This girl wanted to help him rebuild an old car. This good-looking girl could just walk into a stranger’s yard and announce her intentions.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked. “How badly off is it? I love old cars, don’t you? You can get up close and personal with them. The new ones are all run by computers. Computers are all right in their place, but an old car is special. It’s got its own personality.”
Ty didn’t know what to say. Veronica had gone inside, hauling an old suitcase full of dolls with her. The radio played on in quiet mode on the porch, some musical program with really weird stuff. Ty turned it off.
“Do you want a cola?” he asked. “Juice?”
“He speaks.”
Ty felt his face flush, his armpits drown in sweat.
Haley walked around the car once, climbed on her bike. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Robin wants us to clean out the basement and put up a porch swing. Then we can discuss how to go about this job here. Okay?” She pedaled away.
“Okay.” Ty hurried inside as soon as he had touched the car and thrown the tarp over it. “See you tomorrow, Princess.”
Just who was he calling Princess now?
Chapter 9
Ty stuck his head in the door. “I’m going for a bike ride, Ma.” He wanted to catch up to the girl. Maybe apologize. Ty didn’t know. He just had to go after her.
Haley rode along the highway ahead of him. She was going slow, really concentrating — probably straining to hear if any cars or trucks were coming. It was pretty nerve-wracking on this winding stretch of road. The locals all drove their cars and trucks as if it was a straight stretch of road with no curves. Instead, high banks, big trees, and narrow shoulders closed in on the highway.
Ty wished he could read her mind. She would think her aunt had slipped a cog thinking she’d want to work with a dumb hick like Tyler Graham. He hadn’t said anything. He’d just stood there.
A huge lumber truck passed Ty. Haley had pulled off by the mailboxes on the east side of the road to let it pass. She paused. Obviously she had spotted the narrow gravel road that led up the mountain across from his family’s place. She started up bravely enough. She was in good shape. Better shape than Ty. He pulled off on the lake side on the west side of the road, close to the road down to summer cottages by the lake, so he could watch her progress.
How high would she have to go to get a long view? A prairie person like her needed more sky. If Tyler had felt bored by the prairie, then Haley Nixon must feel like she was drowning in tall trees, thick bushes, massive flowers, and overdeveloped vegetables. They were real opposites. “Like chalk and cheese,” Grandpa would say. She had the confidence Ty could only dream of having.
That old trail would be a great place to build leg muscles. Robin said that Haley was planning on entering the teen triathlon in Calgary. Her mother had been an Olympic runner from the Barbados when she was in her twenties. So Haley had a runner’s body. One of the reasons Haley had said yes to coming to Benton to help her aunt was that she could swim across the lake, run the trails, and cycle the roads. She’d be some kid to keep up with. Tyler shook his head.
Haley stepped off the rutted gravel trail and stood between two giant pine trees. He could just see her white shorts through the trees. The fragrant smells of pine needles and moss filled his nostrils. He drew in a deep breath. His sneakered feet were cushioned by piles of rust-coloured pine needles. The forest floor was soft and the air cool. A distant horn blew. Through the branches of the trees behind him, he could just glimpse Kootenay Lake, the ripples shining in the setting sun with flecks of gold. The hills on the far side of the lake rose deep purple. Streaks of pink and red painted the undersides of the clouds on the western horizon.
He heard something big and lumbering crashing through the trees in the darkening woods across the road. It was probably a bear. He could see Haley racing down the gravel track on her mountain bike. She paused for a second before she turned onto the highway and sped south to her aunt’s house. She glanced back once.
Ty stood in the shadow of a pine tree and watched her go. Then he climbed on his bike and followed her. He wanted to make sure she was safe.
As he came around the bend by Robin’s house he could see Haley opening the door to the little front porch. Robin was sitting in there, protected from bugs and moths by the screened windows.
He sat down at the edge of the road on an upturned fruit crate under the apple tree. The valley was still. The air clear. The night dark. He was afraid to interrupt. His heart sounded loud in his ears. Maybe he should just leave — just tiptoe out of here.
“What did you think of Tyler?” It was Robin’s voice. Ty had to stay now. He had to hear what this girl thought of him. “What’s the matter?”
“I freaked,” Haley said. “I heard something big crashing through the woods near an old trailer.”
“No one has lived up there for four years. It’s Armstrong land. Tyler’s Uncle Scott used it whenever he came home to visit his sister Grace and his family. He had a girlfriend that no one in his family approved of. I think they met there. It’s all water under the bridge.”
“What about the noise?”
“Probably a deer or a bear. If it was a deer, you may have saved its life. They run across the road in the dusk and get killed.”
Ty leaned against the old apple tree, listening. What had gotten into him? Why was he eavesdropping, spying on these people?
“I asked you wh
at you thought of Tyler Graham?”
“He couldn’t put two words together.”
Ty was afraid that had been her reaction. What an idiot he was.
“He wasn’t at his best,” Robin said.
“The car’s neat.”
“Good.”
“His mother took off as soon as I arrived,” said Haley. “Is she allergic to strangers? Maybe she’s a little racist, like some folk I’ve met.”
“She’s shy.”
“His little sister is cute. Spoiled, I bet.”
“Her Granny Graham spoils her. It’s because of her mother being…”
“Shy?” asked Haley. “Come on Aunt Robin, tell me the story. You know you can’t help yourself. You’re always analysing everyone. I’m afraid to read your books for fear of finding myself in them.”
“Writers are so transparent. Even their bratty nieces see through them.”
“So tell me.” Haley’s voice faded. She’d gone inside. Ty considered leaving, but he was afraid Robin would spot him. A few minutes later he heard teacups rattling on saucers.
“Tell me the story, Aunt Robin. Please,” Haley said.
“I guess I was in Grade Eight when I first noticed the Armstrong twins. In a small school the big kids don’t really pay much attention to the little ones. But the Armstrong kids were something special. Scott was a good artist for the size of him and his twin sister Grace could sing like an angel. We had a terrific teacher that year in our little school down the road. Miss Wyatt had me writing the Christmas play and Scott working on the scenery and the flyers. Grace sang a solo and led the sopranos. Miss Wyatt made all of us feel like ruddy geniuses.”
“She reminds me of one of my teachers. My dance teacher makes us feel like stars.”
Robin went on. “The stupid community didn’t renew her contract. I don’t know why. Maybe she smoked or had a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend, who knows. But she sent me off to high school in Benton with a bug in my ear about going to college and writing. That was some far reach for a girl from the Kootenays in those days. I’d thank her if I knew where she was.”
The Ghost in the Machine Page 5
