by Ian Fraser
Copyright 2012. Ian Fraser
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
HEARTS OF FLOWERS
I should have seen it coming. Alice and I were in the back seat. The adults in the front were making small talk. Dad mentioned he wanted some jerky, which made Mom say she could do with a smoothie herself. Stupidly, I volunteered to get them at the next stop we made. Beside me Alice was playing with Bear, emitting little noises as she made him walk on the seat between us. Alice looked at me and grinned, showing her teeth. I exhaled. There’re times I don’t mind my sister and other times when I do. Right now I was somewhere inbetween. Truth be told, I was distracted, wondering why I’d spoken up and offered to get the food. I hadn’t suspected anything when it was announced we were going camping in a state park.
Now we were already in the forest wilderness: there were none of the usual shopping plazas and even the gas stations were few and far between. I told myself we probably wouldn’t get to stop before we got into the park itself – where I doubted there’d be somewhere to get food.
There we are, said Mom. I felt the car turn off the road. I peered out the window: a little log cabin store with a Budweiser sign in the window and one of those old style coke machines out front. It looked small against the broad trunks of the oak trees behind it. I heard mom lean forward and grunt as she got her purse off the floor. There was the click of her seatbelt, and she turned to us flashing a five dollar bill. Jerky and smoothie? Mom said, adding that I should take my sister so we could each get something we wanted.
Hindsight is a great tool. At that moment, I remember seeing without looking. Mom’s face, her eyebrows raised, and between the front seat, Dad’s fingers curled around the steering wheel. His knuckles were white, but I didn’t register it at the time. It had been a dull few hours of driving and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Dad turned and said come on chum, which is what he always called me. I said all right. Alice as usual was bent over her Bear, making little noises which in her tiny world passed for conversation, so she wasn’t paying attention. I leaned past her and opened the door; she looked up as the heat of outside rolled into the chilled cabin. What are we doing, she said. I said we’re going to get something to eat. Okay, she said, poking uselessly at the seatbelt button until I helped her. I glanced back at Mom and she nodded, encouragingly. I got Alice’s seatbelt off and gave her a nudge to get her going.
My feet had barely touched the ground when I suddenly got a bad feeling about this, like maybe, just maybe, my sister and I had been suckered with a five dollar bill. The car wheels skidded on the sand around the little store. I grabbed Alice and tried to protect her from the worst of the churning grit as the car wheels spun. Then the car hurtled forward, off the sand and back on to the road, and roared off. What’s going on? Alice said. I ran after the car. It was stupid, but something kept my legs running, like I’d be ever able to catch up with Mom and Dad.
Wait, I called to the back of the swiftly disappearing car. Wait, you’re our parents, you’re not supposed to do this. But they had, and it was just my own dumb fault for thinking they wouldn’t. I coughed in the dust. We’d been with them for five months, long enough for both Alice and me to get much too used to calling them Mom and Dad.
I find myself disappointed in people, especially at times like this.
I slowly walked back to Alice, who looked lost and forlorn with the dust cloud billowing behind her. It’s happened again, hasn’t it? she said, and I had to agree, it had. She began crying then and there was nothing to do but hold her close and awkwardly pat her and lie to her and tell her it was all right.
She was younger than me. She always was.
Gertrude saw the whole thing happen. She was in her easy chair just inside the store window. Her mom didn’t like it when she sat with her feet up on the sill, staring dolefully at the trees and the mostly-empty road. But mom’s not here, Gertrude thought and did it anyway. She was a senior in the local high school. One more year and she’d be gone. She knew this and so did her mother, which probably accounted for the walking-on-eggshells relationship between the two of them.
Mom had gone into town to the wholesaler to pick up supplies, and Gertrude was on duty – even though it wasn’t one of her official shifts (listed on the fridge at home). She’d seen the far-too-clean SUV come down the road and was watching for signs that they’d slow and pull in. There was so little to see that even the occasional cars were fascinating to Gertrude, especially on the morning shifts when she was acutely conscious of not being in school. Her mother was pushing things, and although Mr. MacKay accepted the notes Gertrude handed over – hastily scribbled excuses from her mother – both Gertrude and her teacher knew the situation. It made her feel ashamed.
It wasn’t like they were poor or anything; Mom could easily afford to pay for someone to mind the store. The truth was her mother didn’t care. I’m almost old enough, Gertrude thought. There were times when she felt like a runner ahead of the start of a race: coiled and waiting for the starter pistol to go off and propel her far from Mom, the store, this entire backwater region.
Outside, the car halted and Gertrude considered it, wondering how long she could delay pulling her legs off the cooler.
The ting-a-ling of the doorbell usually gave her a second or so to wake up, straighten her legs, and pretend to be looking for something behind the counter. This had worked repeatedly with her mother, who had some kind of undiagnosed OCD thing, and saw only what she wanted to see when she was busy with a task.
Mom worked in simple ways. Once the task was done, she’d eventually snap out of her tunnel vision, look around, begin to pay attention to the little things. Gertrude quelled the feelings of guilt as her inner clock ticked down to the start of her real life. But mom never heard the ticking.
The SUV back door swung open. The tint on the front windows rendered the passengers and driver invisible. A little blonde girl in a dress slipped into view. She wore sandals and looked young, maybe six or seven. She was followed almost immediately by a black haired boy wearing a t-shirt and jeans. His sneakers looked grimy. He looked to be around twelve. Gertrude watched blearily, rubbing her eyes and getting ready to pull her legs off the cooler. For now the boy had his back to her; he seemed to be leaning into the car.
Gertrude braced for the influx of road-burned kids. They always gasped when they stepped into the cool interior, and then, as if there were invisible signs pointing the way, they’d congregate behind the shelf in the corner, between the potato chip packets and the fruit juices. Mom had installed one of those rounded mirrors up by the ceiling to cover the blind spot favored by shoplifters. It never really helped unless you stared at it nonstop. The mirror was more about letting would-be thieves think they were being watched than for any genuine surveillance. That was mom all over, Gertrude thought. Appearance was always more important than the reality.
Through the window she noticed the little girl clutched a teddy bear to her chest. The boy still leaned in at the open back door. Gertrude ran the imaginary conversation in her head.
Oh and don’t forget to get some Snickers—
I won’t—
Then the unexpected happened. Even through the store window she could hear the squeal of the wheels as the car accelerated, instantly obscuring the kids in a cloud of loose sand. Some dust receded and she saw the car hurtle forward, its backdoor still open. With surprising speed, the boy ran after it, but it was clearly useless: the car was pulling ahead with every second. Gertrude slipped her feet off the cooler and stood, pressing her nose against the store window. The car’s open backd
oor wobbled, then pulled shut from the increasing velocity. The boy came to a halt. It’s not coming back, Gertrude thought, as the vehicle dwindled. She turned her attention to the little girl, clutching her bear and wincing in the drifting clouds of dirt. Her expression was unreadable. The boy turned and trotted back.
I should have seen it coming, Bobby thought, reaching his sister.
“You said it wouldn’t happen again.” She clutched Bear, her eyes screwed up against the grit.
“I was wrong.”
“Yes but you said.”
Bobby sighed inwardly as he held her close. “I know.” He cleared his throat; it felt like he had a handful of grit in his mouth. “I know,” he repeated.
The squeak of the store door got their attention. A lanky teenage girl peered out at them. “Everything okay?”
“What’s it look like?” said Alice.
Bobby nudged her. “Don’t be rude.” He tried to smile at the girl. “Our parents just had to go do something.”
“Is that right?”
Bobby exhaled, aware of how lame it sounded. The girl eyed them for a moment. “Come inside, I’ll treat you to a soda or something.”
Alice put on her serious face. “We’re not supposed to take things from strangers.”
This seemed to amuse the girl. She smiled. “My name’s Gertrude. There, now I’m not a stranger. I run this store.”
“What, all by yourself?” Alice said, surprised.
“Sure,” the girl shrugged.
Alice glanced questioningly at Bobby. He nodded. What’s next? he wondered, following after Alice, who now skipped happily to the store entrance. She’s so young. The difference of just a few years growth was profound. The store interior was unexpectedly cool; he inhaled and shivered.
Gertrude squinted as the lights flickered. Here we go. She braced herself for the gloom of yet another power outage. But it didn’t come. The outages had prompted her mother to install a generator out back that automatically cut in when the power failed. She waited a second, but evidently, this wasn’t one of those times. She turned her attention to the two children. “Soda or fruit juice?”
“We don’t mean to impose,” the boy said, with such an adult expression of worry that Gertrude had to restrain a smile.
“It’s no imposition at all,” Gertrude said. What on earth is going on here? She nodded at the soft drinks freezer. “Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”
The little girl did a quick check sideways to her brother before heading for the Snapples. The boy coughed. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re quite welcome.”
He also made a beeline for the fruit juices. Gertrude leaned against the front of the slanted counter, feeling the chill of the glass on her back. Do I call 911? she wondered, watching the girl struggle with the tricky handle on the freezer before finally getting it open on the third try. Gertrude knew her mother would have called the cops by now. But there was something odd here, niggling at her. She realized what it was: the boy wasn’t surprised at all. If anything, his demeanor was of quiet resignation, as if… as if he knew he and his sister were on their own now. How could kids be familiar with being abandoned? Gertrude considered their clothes. They looked new. None of the garments showed any wear and tear. The SUV gleamed as if it had gone through a wash and wax job prior to the journey—
I listened to the girl’s thoughts as I helped Alice with the bottle cap. She’d chosen an apple flavor. I took a chance on some no-name brand that said it was orange juice. A quick check of the label revealed a string of ingredients a paragraph long, none of which had ever been within a mile of an orange. Still, beggars can’t be choosers. The girl was thinking about calling the police. Currently, she was still trying to work out what was wrong with the picture. Entirely my fault – I hadn’t acted surprised enough.
Like previous times, I’d been too focused on my sister. I call Alice my sister coz that’s easier than explaining the truth. The orange juice tasted like industrial nectar, but it cut the dust and gave me time to think. I smiled at the girl and said thank you again.
Beside me, Alice was chattering to Bear. I kept an eye on her to make sure she wasn’t going to feed the drink to him. It would dirty the clean floor, and we’d already made enough mess by landing here, so far away from anything. Most previous times, we were let go in urban areas. I worry sometimes about the accumulative effect of it all on Alice. Security and stability are crucial in a child’s development, and thus far I’m about the only constant factor in her life. I don’t want her to develop the alienation I feel, lapping at the edges of who I am.
I listen in to the Gertrude girl as she wonders whether she’ll get in trouble when her mother returns. I can tell she’s inherently kind, although her plan of leaving this store and heading in search of fame and fortune is a doomed idea. It’ll end badly. She’s thinking of the electrical generator they have out back, and wishing she was somewhere with more neon and a regular electricity supply. To her that means a more successful life. It was my bad that the power supply flickered when we first came into the shop. I usually keep myself under control. But I’m going through puberty and the hormonal adjustments make me a little scattered at times.
“My name’s Bobby,” I said to the girl. “And this is my sister, Alice.”
“I’m Gertrude.” The girl smiled, breaking my heart. I wanted to tell her to stay put and forget her silly notions of big city life, be content with where she was, but for now I didn’t.
“So you said your parents were just going to do something?”
Alice spoke. “Hopefully.”
I couldn’t resist from smiling. Alice is such an optimist. It’s part of childhood. Initially I was probably like that as well. We’re in a bind here, in this little store on the outskirts of a state park. There’s no place for anonymity. If this girl, or her mother calls the police, the problems will mount exponentially. We don’t exist. The odds are good that Child Services will separate us. But worst of all, they will spot us and come swiftly after us. I can’t let the girl make the call, and in addition, when her mother returns from her secret liaison with the phys ed teacher at the Super 88 motel on I-47, the back of the car filled with Costco purchases for the shop, she too would have to be persuaded not to do anything.
There are disadvantages to being a child, too numerous to mention.
We’re trapped. I could take Alice by the hand, say thank you, and lead us along the road. But this Gertrude girl is good-hearted; she might resist the impulse to call 911, but she’ll almost certainly tell her mother the story of seeing two little kids being left behind.
“Gertrude, please don’t make the call,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
I eyed her. “You know what I mean.”
“Call who?” the girl said.
“The authorities, of course,” Alice said in a sing-song way, playing with her Bear.
I just had time to shush her when there was the noise outside of a car pulling up. Gertrude glanced, pulled a face. It had to be her mother.
“Big city life isn’t half as good as the life you have here,” I said. “Even though the Clark twins give you so much trouble.”
Gertrude’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know about them?”
Outside, the car horn blew. A voice called “Gertrude! Come help!”
When the little boy mentioned the Clark twins, I had to stop myself from taking a step backward. No one knew about them. Not even Mom. Sure, the teachers were aware that the Twins tended to be in the area when something went wrong, but by the time teachers made it through the crowds, the Twins had their innocent faces on and besides, there were two of them.
The Twins were always immaculately dressed. Perfect princesses – it showed with every smug flick of the hair, each supercilious sneer down their perfectly-formed noses at those they considered trailer trash. The worst of it was that the staff seemed to buy into the idea that the blonde princesses couldn’t possibly be t
he cause of any strife. It was always someone else, usually less well-dressed, not as pretty, or calm and convincing.
My mother hooted the car horn again. The boy stared at me, a casual hand on his sister’s shoulder. She looked more concerned with her teddy bear than our conversation. I asked how he knew about them. I’d spent nights planning intricate revenge that was never carried out to fruition. The plans usually faded once the twins had moved their attention to someone else.
“Have you gone deaf?” said Mom from behind a crate, bouncing the store door open. “Oh,” she said, seeing the children, and flushed. “Hello,” she said to them and bustled past me. “Some help?” she said sotto voice en route to the back. I nodded, and got moving, acutely aware of the boy’s gaze, which seemed to look right into me. Odd, I thought, stepping outside and automatically trudging to the open back of Mom’s car. I glanced along the road. All quiet. Part of me hoped I’d see the car returning, but there was nothing, just the soft movement of trees lining the road.
“Where did those kids come from?” Mom said in passing.
I was unsure why I lied. “I think they’re camping nearby.”
Mom grunted. “This time of year?”
Us being so close to the state park, there was a constant stream of tourists and campers, from folks in the big RVs to the simple backpackers with pup tents, making their way in or out of the park. This time of year, with winter just around the corner, the stream began dwindling. We usually stayed open for a week after the first snow, just to be the first port of call for the hardcore campers making their way out of the park.
I heard the girl lie on our behalf and was grateful. Alice and I weren’t out of the woods yet though.
“Your parents let you come here by yourselves?”
I said yes, adding that I was old enough to look after my sister. Gertrude volunteered she’d bought us each a soft drink, which caused a flurry of interest to flash across the mother’s face. Evidently, this wasn’t the norm. From what the mother had been doing in the motel, I knew she was distracted. We exchanged a few pleasantries about the area and the imminent approach of colder weather. I told the mother our parents were fairly hardy types, but that the general plan was to be gone long before the first proper snow. She said that was nice – and I knew her mind was elsewhere. She told her daughter to mind the store a little bit longer while she briefly popped home.
