At the Edge of the World
Page 17
“You really want to go?”
“I don’t want to, I have to.”
Des slumps back into the sofa; his arms droop by his side. “I’m sorry, Ivan. I really am. I tried, you know. I’m so sorry,” he says.
It’s not what I expect, and it almost makes me change my mind, but what Maddie said is true. If it’s not okay for Willow, it’s also not okay for me.
“I think you should get help, Des. That doctor guy at the clinic seems nice. Go talk to him.”
“And you’ll just be at Peter’s?”
“For now, yes.”
Des stands up and says, “Give me the case. I’ll drain them down the sink. I’ll change, Ivan, I promise. Starting now.”
“It’s too late, Des. I’ve made up my mind.”
“You’re only eighteen—you can’t make this decision for yourself.”
“I can and I have,” I say.
“I promise to change, I really do.”
But I’ve heard that so many times before, I can’t believe it anymore.
“I’ll see you soon, Des. I’ll just be down the hill. Try not to burn Grandma’s house down. I’d appreciate it if you don’t do that.”
Des has tears in his eyes as he follows me up the stairs and into my bedroom, where I pull the backpack out from under the bed and put my clothes in it.
“I’ll come by tomorrow, or maybe I’ll send Peter. That’d be better. I’ll get Peter to stop by tomorrow and see how you’re doing,” I say.
Leaving the house with my pack on my back, I feel a hundred feet tall and as tiny as a mouse at the same time. I don’t know if I’ve made the right choice, but I do know I can’t keep on going the way I was. Maybe Des will get better, maybe he won’t, but I can’t keep hiding his problem or making it my own.
I should have done this a long time ago.
FORTY
Maddie
“Come in,” says Peter when I knock on the studio door.
I seldom come out here. It’s Peter’s private domain, and he discourages visitors, but today I have something important to say that can’t wait until he comes into the house.
“Look,” he says, handing me an almost finished violin.
“Oh, it’s beautiful. Where’d the spruce come from?”
“Remember just after the fire there was that barge that went over and lost all those logs? Des salvaged a bunch, and he gave me some. Nice wood. There were a couple of pieces that were dry enough to use right away.”
We both study the violin, and I’d bet we also both think about Des.
“What did you come out here for?” Peter asks after a minute.
“Peter…” It’s hard to say what I want to say, and holding this beautiful violin in my hand doesn’t make it any easier. He made it for me. For the part of my tuition at Emily Carr that isn’t covered by the scholarship. But my mind is made up, and I have to tell him.
Peter reaches out and takes the violin from me. “This violin, Maddie. I made it to sell for your tuition, but I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said to me and Bo the other day, about how we looked but didn’t see. We’ve done that to you too, haven’t we?”
My heart is so full, I can only nod.
“I have a buyer already, you know. He’s ordered another one too. So here’s the deal. I’m going to sell these violins, and the money I make from them I’ll put in an account. If and when you decide to go to Emily Carr, or wherever, the money will be there for you. If you aren’t at university, you’re on your own, but when you do go, Bo and I will have a little fund waiting for you.”
It’s more than I hoped for, and all I can say is “Thank you.”
As I leave the room, Peter says, “And Maddie, you should get your driver’s license. That would be helpful.”
“Yeah. I will.”
AFTERWORD
Maddie
River, Jack and Noah arrive through the back door, carrying boxes of pizza. They’re followed by their sisters and then by Katia, Bea and Sally, who I wasn’t expecting but who hugs me close and says, “You should have told us.”
We sit in a circle on the floor.
“So what color are you painting it?” Jack holds a slice of pizza up to his mouth and bites, the cheese and tomato oozing out the sides.
“We’ll start with white primer. Grab any brush and roller and any can. The whole place needs to be covered. Walls, ceilings, trim, everything.”
We’re painting Ivan and Des’s house. Bo and Peter have taken them to Victoria so Des can check in to some kind of clinic he’s found there. I didn’t think Ivan should have to go, but apparently the doctor says it’s best if the whole family is there to support the person entering the clinic. The whole family means Ivan. And Bo and Peter. I stayed behind to get the house painted, since it looks like Ivan’s going to be on his own for a while. He can stay in our back room for a bit, but maybe if the house is nice he might want to come back here. All his tools are here, all his stuff.
I also stayed home in case we hear any news of Willow and Pedro.
Jack shoves the last of his pizza slice into his mouth and picks up a brush and a can of paint. I’ve already opened and stirred the can, so he only has to dab his brush in and walk to the wall. In big, bold letters he writes SURF on the wall, then stands back. River claps. He jumps up and takes the brush from Jack. SEALS, he writes, then hands the brush to Noah. RAVEN. He hands it to Kyra. STORM. She passes it to Laurie. FUN. She hands it back to Jack. He puts more paint on the brush and walks to the next wall. WATER. He hands it to Bea.
Around and around the walls we go, writing words until the whole space is covered. A wash of white words. Then, when there is hardly any space left, Jack hands the brush one more time to River. LIVE. He hands it to Noah. LIFE. He hands it to Katia. LOVE. She gives it to me. IVAN.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Some books take a long time to write, and this is one of them, so I first want to thank Laurie Elmquist, Julie Paul and Alisa Gordaneer for listening to so, so many drafts. Your patience and encouragement mean the world. Thanks also to Joanne Hewko for learning to surf with me; to Dave Pinel and Caroline Fisher for housing me in your lovely camp and sharing the coast with me; to Michelle Mulder, Robin Stevenson, Alex Van Tol, Caleb Schulz and Alexis Martfeld for reading through the jumble of an early draft. Thank you, Sarah Harvey, for your vision. Rowan, thank you for sharing the world you and your friends live in with me, and Michael, thank you for keeping up with the changes over the years, for bringing me hot tea in my sleeping bag on cold coastal mornings, and for always keeping a space for my writing.
KARI JONES is the author of numerous novels for young readers and teens. She lives on the west coast of Canada with her husband and son and their dog, Tintin. For information, visit www.karijones.ca.
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