“Must have been rough. On you, I mean.” He looked down at her, those gorgeous eyes soft, tender, penetrating.
“It wasn’t pretty.” At each other’s throats day and night. Just because we were upstairs in our beds, we couldn’t hear them? The drinking? The crying? The fist through the kitchen wall? “What about your mom?”
Ben’s jaw tightened. “Well, my mom,” he said, then paused, his gaze fixed on the sidewalk in front of them. “She made the decision to leave us last year.”
Samantha caught the flash of anger before he looked away. They had much more in common than she’d first thought. She was about to say so, when he asked, “Hey, want to grab a quick coffee? It’s not far.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds good if I can swap mine for tea or hot chocolate,” she said, grinning. “Lead the way.”
As Samantha walked beside her brand-new friend, she wondered how any mother could leave a beautiful young son like Ben Swift.
Chapter Two
“Do you think me, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless?”
- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
“I’m going out, Momma,” Veronica announced as she headed for the back porch, shiny ponytail high and bouncing, a cloud of her signature floral scent floating about her.
Two teenagers loitered in the doorway for Veronica, looking bored and slightly amused. The taller wisp of a girl with the pixie haircut sized up the kitchen with a grin that spoke volumes, her gaze first resting on the faded wallpaper, then moving to the avocado-green fridge and stove, circa 1975. Her attractive, plus-size companion chewed on a wad of gum, cracking and popping bubbles, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she checked her watch. Whether their boredom was real or affected, it gave her sister’s new acquaintances an air of worldliness that made Samantha uneasy.
“I’ve got work at seven, Ronnie, so you know what that means,” their mother said. “Sammie will be here alone.”
Embarrassment washed over Samantha. As if she were a child! But her embarrassment turned to shame when the strangers openly appraised her mother. Rising from the table, Darlene was the embodiment of exhaustion, even though she had work within the hour. The night shifts and the drinking were already taking a conspicuous toll. Silvery roots glinted through her wavy blonde hair; she had given up on her usual desire to hide them. Dark circles under her eyes didn’t help. And you’re only how old, Momma? Forty-one doesn’t have to look like that, she thought, cringing at what was becoming of the pretty mother she remembered.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t wait up, Sammie.” Veronica and the others left, slamming the door behind them.
“She shouldn’t be late,” her mother said, opening the fridge door. “Her new job starts first thing in the morning.”
Samantha grunted. “I’m not a youngster anymore, in case you haven’t been keeping track. Go on to work, I’ll be cool. I’ve got my room to finish rearranging.” She pictured the colourful disarray of books and clothes strewn over her floor upstairs.
Darlene quickly packed a bag lunch and pulled on her worn blue hoodie, tossing her a distracted look. “I’ll lock the door behind me. Veronica has her key too. See you later, honey.”
Samantha watched through the window as her mother crossed the street to wait at the Metrobus stop. How strange it was, locking doors all the time and startling at the unfamiliar noises of the city, even late at night. She thought of her quiet little hometown on the other side of the island. The nine-hour bus drive that whisked them away had been fraught with anxiety and silent tears she had done her best to hold in. She pined for Leah, her playmate and closest pal since kindergarten. Why had they left, when others, like Leah’s family, opted to stick it out and make a go of fishing for crab instead?
Of course the way things worked out, they had little choice. Darlene’s claim to receive the aid package for displaced plant workers remained in dispute, due to the two years she’d taken off to care for their ailing Nana. And Jack, Samantha’s father, had only recently found work in the oil sands out west, joining the growing exodus of able-bodied Newfoundlanders who saw Alberta as their only hope of earning a fair wage to support their families. So there would be no support money coming to them for several weeks.
Her face clouded, thinking of her mother. In spite of their grim financial plight back home, Darlene had kept up with her partying. Most of the Calmer women snubbed her when the weekend drinking continued with anyone who accepted her company, including some of their husbands. The gossip turned distinctly ugly after the Friday night when Cheryl, her mother’s long-time friend, had discovered Darlene alone with her husband, parked on the wharf in his pickup truck. Samantha’s friend, Leah, had looked anguished, relaying to her what she’d heard from her folks, saying she thought Sam ought to know.
Her mother, ostracized by her own community, had applied for several jobs in St. John’s, and had been surprised to get a telephone interview a week later for the call center position. Now here they were, doing their best to settle into this strange, new urban life.
Minutes later, the music of Pearl Jam filled the house. The familiar songs made Samantha feel more at home as she organized her books and things on her bedroom shelf. Sometimes she wished she could escape into her favourite stories and live there as a beloved character. She daydreamed of disappearing into one of the faraway, fairy tale adventures, becoming the heroine and living happily ever after. Because happily ever after wasn’t attainable in real life. Not in hers, anyway.
She thought of September and trembled inwardly. Would she be cast as a complete school misfit this time around? Making new friends among her peers didn’t come as easily to her as it did for effervescent Veronica, a difference her sister happily pointed out every chance she got.
Not that her sister had ever hung with the goody-two-shoe crowd, those elite kids who could do no wrong. Veronica gravitated towards the kids who acted in a wild hurry to grow up and experiment with anything and everything that tickled their curiosity. Back home, she had basked in the attentions of a satellite of friends and hangers-on and a parade of eager, pubescent boys. Even during their summers in church camp, Veronica had been sought after, switching on the charm with an irresistible smile and a smart-ass remark.
Samantha toyed with the notion of reinventing herself for her St. John’s high school experience, finding the idea initially appealing because no one knew her history here. Perhaps she could create a new persona, one that exuded confidence and was a total kick to be around. Maybe she would try a new hairstyle and ask Veronica to give her some tips about makeup.
But wasn’t that a lot of work? Did she have the energy and the stomach to act the part? And would it be worth it to play against type, only to be more liked?
She’d been quasi-popular at one time, she mused, lining up the last of her books and turning to hang up her clothes. In the early years, Sammie Cross had scores of friends besides Leah, all jockeying to sit in the desks closest to hers, or to be given the high honour of holding her hand when they lined up in pairs for morning assembly. She had also been indulged in the coveted role of Teacher’s Pet through most of her early academia. Who wouldn’t want that? Model students with perfect marks and gold stars, and perfect ringlets or plaits styled by their Nana are afforded these kinds of privileges.
What had bugged her most in junior high were the slackers who’d borrowed her notes to copy, notes she had slaved over and they’d gotten for nothing. Being liked—or simply being accepted—came with that price tag. And the notion of being favoured by a teacher was more of a liability than anything. Would her straight A’s have to be sacrificed as well?
Another of their glaring differences. Veronica coasted along on C’s, seemingly satisfied with a passing grade and nothing more. Her interests lay elsewhere, and probably why she’d been quick to find the job at the store, so she could buy the things for herself their mother couldn’t afford. She adored fashion, parties, and of course, boys, and
blathered on about matters unimportant to Samantha. As long as she had blue jeans, shorts and soft, comfortable T-shirts, Samantha was content. And running shoes or flats. No high heels for her; they only hurt her feet.
She decided to scrap the makeover idea.
She returned to her folder filled with photographs. Flopping on the bed, she riffled through them until she found a particular one. Her favourite, because Ben’s expression held a haunted quality she’d missed when she had taken it. Now that she pondered a bit more about his life, she clearly saw the sombre, faraway look in his eyes her camera had caught.
That was the thing about photography she liked, seizing moments in time and immortalizing them; using her camera—and a little skill—to expose truths that only existed if one had the eye to capture and appreciate them.
Samantha switched the CD in her player to Nirvana. As Cobain’s straining vocals tugged at her core, her thoughts drifted to her second encounter with Ben. Armed with her camera and a new roll of film that morning, she’d caught sight of him walking around the corner on Gower Street.
Perplexed, she’d discovered herself admiring his build in a black muscle shirt and torn Gap jeans with the knees out. Typical of Ronnie to make eyes at boys, this was something new for Samantha. Boys rarely piqued her interest, given the limited prospects back home, but she had also sworn off boys since the horrifying incident on the hockey bus last winter.
Struck by a familiar wave of awkwardness, she’d held back until he turned and saw her.
“Hello again, Samantha Cross from Calmer Cove,” he said with a friendly wink.
He remembered! Flustered or not, she loved how he articulated her full name, flowing from his lips like a smooth, musical caress to her ears. It sounded so much nicer than Sammie or Sam. By no means, however, was she silly enough to think he liked her in a “I want to be your boyfriend” kind of way. With her glasses and her turbulent mud-brown hair, she was hardly dating material, that was for sure. She accepted his friendship, fine with her for now. She didn’t know if she could muster up trust in a guy any time soon, not since their father had moved on so firmly without them.
“Hi, Ben,” she said, falling in beside him, trying to match his gait.
“What are you doing with that camera?” he asked, eyebrows arched. “Boy, that was a dumb question, wasn’t it?” He chuckled, jamming his hands in his pockets.
She smiled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just looking for a few shots here and there, whatever catches my interest.” The sun beamed hot on her skin and a trickle of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades as she tried to keep up with him. Talk about a long stride! How tall was he, anyway?
“I’m going home to grab my sunglasses; wanna come?”
“Well…sure,” Samantha said, feeling totally unsure.
“It’s all right, we’re nearly there. You can wait outside if you like.” After walking together in silence for a few minutes, Ben turned to unlock the door of a blue two-storey townhouse near the end of the street. Like most of the homes in this older neighbourhood, his was a Victorian-style row house with no front yard and a concrete step that joined directly on to the sidewalk. In this case, the house had one detached side with a narrow driveway, but no car was parked there at the moment.
When he reappeared wearing aviators, Samantha attempted a conversation starter. “Lived here all your life, I s’pose?”
“Heck, no. I’m almost as new around here as you are. We downsized from Mount Pearl last year. The old man wanted a smaller place close to work and a change of scenery. Want to see the back garden? There’s a cool little patio where we can sit.”
Samantha agreed and trailed after him around the side of the house. She found it difficult not to stare at his form as he walked ahead of her, and at the way his hair reflected the sunlight. Entering the yard, it pleased her to see a lush green canopy of leaves overhead from surrounding maple trees, giving dappled shade to the lounging area. A high privacy fence encircled them and the patio table and chairs looked inviting. Nothing special, but a veritable Shangri-La compared to her dump of a back garden.
“What sort of photography do you do?” he asked. “Landscape, wildlife, macro shots?”
She paused, tickled by his knowledge. “I like all of it, but portraits are my favourite.”
“For real?” A lazy smile spread across his face. “Will I do for now?”
“May I?” She hesitated, holding up her camera. “Without the sunglasses? If you’re sure you don’t mind, of course.” Her self-consciousness returned when he laughed. Now he definitely thinks I’m strange.
“I was kidding, but…okay, why not?” he said, looking flattered. “Never been a model before. I don’t want you to waste your film. What should I do?”
“Whatever. Do what you normally do,” she said, adjusting the lens. “How about sitting over there?” She pointed at a rattan lounge chair, thinking the shaded lighting in that area would prove ideal.
While Samantha snapped away, her instinct told her the pictures were going to be good. Her newfound subject was rather photogenic, even if he did appear a trifle unsure. Satisfied she’d done him justice after a dozen shots, she sat down beside him. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a small white shape moving in the window overlooking the yard.
“Ooh, how adorable!” she said. “What’s his name?”
“Her name is Lily,” Ben said, looking up. The little cat paused her grooming long enough to stare down at them, unblinking. “She’s not allowed outside.”
“Nice to have a pet, indoor or otherwise. Wish I had one.” Samantha thought of the cat she used to know well—her Nana’s. “I guess you’ve made friends in this neighbourhood since you moved?”
Ben put his sunglasses on again and leaned back in the lounger, stretching his sneakered feet out in front of him. “Sure. Don’t worry, I’m sure you will too, especially when school starts. Is your sister older or younger than you?”
Samantha gazed up at Lily, who resumed washing her delicate face with a tiny white paw. “Older. Veronica’s got one more year, I have two.” After a brief silence and struck by a loss for words, she blushed. “I think I better go now.”
Ben got up and walked her out to the street. “Hey, maybe I could show you and your sister around town sometime. Next time I get the old man’s car, I’ll look for ya. Take you on a little tour. How’s that sound?”
She flushed again. “Sure, if you like…” She knew he noticed her reddened face, but he didn’t speak of it.
He smiled. “Until we meet again,” he’d said with a wave.
So now, it indeed seemed inevitable that Ben would meet Veronica. It was pointless to think it wouldn’t happen. And then? Samantha turned off the music, sprawled on her bed and opened Wuthering Heights, one of the novels she had purchased at the bookstore. She didn’t want to think about what would happen then. Why torture herself, ruminating over things that were out of her control?
But after reading only three pages, a familiar exhaustion crept in, of too many emotions at once, a weariness with the life she had come to know over the last couple of years and its sequence of events. While still aching over Nana, her entire world had imploded. And just when she’d fathomed her life couldn’t get any worse, it had. Their father had left the province.
Like it or not, she knew she had to accept this new existence she’d been handed, but the wounds of grief were still raw. Discarding her glasses and closing the book, she squeezed the first of the hot tears from her eyes, weeping without solace until her pillow was a sodden, distorted lump.
Chapter Three
“Here, child,” her grandmother is saying, placing the steaming bowl in front of her. “Moose stew I made ’specially for my Sammie. I know how much you love Nana’s stew.”
Samantha pulls her chair in and grabs her spoon, her mouth watering. She smiles as she looks into the bowl. Her smile freezes, then fades. “Where are the dumplings?” she cries. And what is this water
y mess being served to her? Where is the rich gravy? Her spoon clicks around the perimeter of the bowl, searching for the barely existent chunks of meat and vegetables, picking up nothing but fragments of onion and tomato. “What happened to your stew, Nana?”
“Now child, you eat that ’cause you’re not getting anything else till it’s gone.”
Sammie looks up at her grandmother towering over her. Horrified, she turns her head, trying to blink away the image: the poor old woman forgot to put her dentures in again, and she is wearing nothing but a brassiere and a waist apron over her underpants. Her shrunken mouth distorts the entire bottom half of her wrinkled face, and the pallid, sagging skin of her torso looks cold, almost translucent. The toothless hole breaks into a wide grin. Pale gums glisten.
“Listen to yer grandmudder,” Darlene slurs from behind her, sipping from a goblet of wine. “Come on, Momma, ’bout time you put some clothes on.”
Fist to her mouth to suppress a scream, Samantha flees from the room.
***
“Do you have the hair dryer? I need it. Wake up.” Veronica knocked on the bedroom door Samantha had locked the night before. She woke with a jerk from the awful dream, shaking away the shadowy cobweb of images clinging to her sleepy thoughts.
“Hang on,” she groaned, squinting with myopic eyes at the clock on her bedside table. Eight-fifteen. Her sister was getting ready for her new job. She unlocked the door and yawned as Veronica brushed past her, wet hair clinging to her bare shoulders. Dressed in a snug white teddy and nude underpants, Veronica’s face lit up in a wide smile when she spied the photos of Ben on the dresser. Distracted by her despair last night, Samantha had forgotten to return them to their hiding place.
Calmer Girls Page 2
