Somehow I slipped down to the floor. I grabbed a fork and stabbed it into his leg. He howled, and I scrambled out from under the table and was on my feet running to the front door. I swiped my arm at a vase and sent it smashing to the ground. I heard him slip on the water and stumble, and knew he was down on all fours, his hand reaching out to grab my foot. I made it to the entrance and slammed the screen door on his face.
He didn’t come after me. He couldn’t. Not until he put his belt back in to hold up his pants.
Down the driveway. Up the street. Around the corner. A bus was coming and I ran and waved at the driver. He stopped, and I hopped on, not daring to look back.
I didn’t know what bus I was on. I sat in a seat and rode until we came to the end of the line. I got off and crossed the street and rode another bus until I had to get off that one, too. I did that for hours, my face pressed to the window because…because what if I saw a woman with red hair?
I got home close to midnight. Lana and Dick were both there. For a moment they looked relieved. Then the shouting started. When they finally shut up I explained.
It turns out I was wrong. The next day Lana said she questioned her mom up, down, and sideways, but no, Rita hadn’t mailed letters to Lana at her parents’ house.
So.
Nobody wanted me. Lana and Dick didn’t want me living with them but didn’t know what to do, and Hazel and Ernie wanted to send me to a home for wayward girls. “Like Shirley should have done with Rita,” Hazel spat out.
I stayed with Lana until after Christmas. I kept hoping, the way stupid kids do, that I’d get the gift of my dreams on Christmas morning. Rita would be there, smiling, holding out her arms to me. That would be my present. The best present ever.
But…Rita was a no-show.
So.
Off I went to live with some people called Bob and Sue. Cousins. Or something.
I didn’t care.
Chapter Seventeen
I went to a new school starting the middle of January and decided to steal a few things straight off. I beat up a couple of kids, too. “Begin as you mean to go on,” Grandma used to say. Pretty sure she didn’t mean this though.
Bob and Sue decided they’d made a mistake. They really weren’t prepared, they said. They bought me some new clothes. And they said they were sorry.
Finished off fourth grade living with Doug and Martha. Kinda liked them, so I held off stealing and fighting (but found out I was a genius at cheating on tests and faking projects). They promised to take me with them to a cottage in the summer. It belongs in the family, somehow, and everyone shares time up there. I’ve seen photographs, and was really keen about going. So of course, they changed their minds about taking me. Someone came to babysit. Babysit! I was almost eleven! So I acted like a baby, pretended I couldn’t talk.
I hated fifth grade and hated the teacher and skipped school and stole money from the teacher’s desk when I did show up. And so when Doug and Martha went on a holiday, I spent three weeks with Edna. Started school there, but Edna, a widow, said it was too much for her. I don’t know why. She wanted me to clean her floors and paint the kitchen ceiling and lug boxes from the attic. I slept in the guest room, but I was clearly a slave. Instead of going back to Doug and Martha’s, I went to a new place. Who knows the reason.
Margaret and Frank. They were nice, and they went to church every Sunday. And when Christmas rolled around, I was determined to get a part in the Sunday school play. Most of the girls wanted to be Mary, to wear the blue dress and hold the baby in their arms. But Mary doesn’t have any lines. And the whole mothers and babies thing wasn’t my thing. For me, it was the angel part or nothing.
One Sunday we stayed after church to start work on the play. Caroline Smithers wanted to be the angel. “You won’t get it, you know,” she hissed at me. “You’re new here. Do you know who I am?”
How I hated her smugness. But I stood in front of a mirror and practiced imitating her. “Do you know who I am?” I sneered at myself.
We lined up in the choir loft (the closest the angel could get to being a heavenly presence, I guess) and took our turns. Three girls went, mumbling, before Caroline Smithers got her chance. “Behold, I bring thee great – ”
“Speak up, Caroline, dear,” said the Sunday school teacher.
“Behold, I bing tee….”
All the girls giggled.
“Start over!”
“Fear not!” I hissed at her.
She shot me a dirty look, too stupid to know I was trying to help.
“Behold. Um. Behold. Great tides…um…of…” Caroline trailed off, forgetting the words.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. I jumped up and bellowed: “Fear not! I bring thee good tidings of great joy.” I spread my arms wide (for wings). “For unto thee this day is born a child.”
I didn’t get to finish because several people were clapping.
Instead of the old moth-eaten costume in the church storage, Margaret made me a brand-new one. It was shiny white satin and sheer chiffon with silver lace angel wings. It was so beautiful. I cried when Margaret gave it to me. She made me a halo out of tinsel and a clothes hanger and pinned it into my hair. I remembered my beehive with Liz and when I was alone I teased all of my red hair out around my head and left it like that.
On Christmas Eve the others in the play paraded slowly up the aisle to the altar-turned-manger and took their seats in the straw. I stood in the loft and suddenly knew I was going to cry. Candlelight and organ music and people singing in the dark. I almost missed my cue, I was so choked up. Everyone knew I was supposed to start, and so everyone turned to look up at me, wondering if I had stage fright.
A thrill charged through my body. I felt electric. I spread my arms and spoke in a voice that didn’t seem to be mine. I didn’t miss a word. When I finished, I wanted to do it all again. And again and again and never stop.
There was silence. The choir was supposed to start up, but the master paused for a moment. Everyone was staring up. I lowered my arms, and the hymn began.
Afterwards, Margaret told me I was stunning. Stunning! She said, “You looked a vision up there.”
Her kindness made me cry.
In January, probably thrilled with the success of having me attend church, Margaret and Frank thought I should do something called Girl Guides.
Every Monday night a bunch of girls got together to sew and knit and light matches, and earn badges and sing songs around a fake campfire in a church basement and say things like twit-twit to-woo. I was the only one who could light matches.
I lit a fire in the church bathroom and the fire trucks came. I promised not to do it again. I didn’t. But I did get caught shoplifting.
Margaret and Frank were sorry. I could tell. But they said they thought I was out of control and too hard for them. I promised, and I saw them look at each other. And I knew. And for the first time, I was mad at myself. I could have stayed there. They were nice. I should have done better. Tried harder.
It was my own fault.
Off to Cathy and Philip by the end of the month. Distant cousins, I think. She had great clothes and was so pretty, and I drooled over her John Lennon hat.
I liked them. They were a little older than Lana and Liz. Cathy had known Rita and promised to tell me about her if I behaved.
“Do we have a deal?” she asked.
Why on earth I should behave just to hear about my stupid loser mother was beyond me. But I didn’t want to move again. I didn’t want to blow it again like at Frank and Margaret’s.
So I behaved.
Cathy had hung around with Rita in elementary school. “She was funny and smart and had so many friends.”
“Yup. That’s why she got pregnant – funny and smart and…” I suddenly remembered Mrs. Huggins. “And a little too friendly with the boys,” I added in a snotty voice.
“Maybe you’re too young to understand.”
“Understand what? Why she doesn’t want me?”
Cathy sighed. “One day…well, one day, I hope you’ll forgive her. She didn’t have an easy life.”
“Yeah. Real tough being the youngest-ever prom princess at her school.”
“That’s not what I meant. When her dad took off, the kids teased her a lot. She made up for it by being brighter and more dazzling than anyone else. I think after a while, everything just kind of caught up to her.”
“What do you mean, ‘her dad took off?’ What do you mean?” No one had told me this. Anton Jovanovich took off on Grandma?
Cathy looked guilty. But she took a deep breath. “Sorry. I thought you knew. Rita’s dad – your grandfather – embezzled. He was an accountant. It was so embarrassing for Rita, going to school, knowing everyone was talking behind her back. Anton was supposed to go to jail, but the company decided not to go after him. He got a job pumping gas. One day, he was gone. I remember my mom saying Shirley aged a dozen years overnight. Rita was in eighth grade. In high school she tried to leave the past behind.”
And so…and so she set out to be the best. I realized something at that moment. I wasn’t at all like my mother. Rita gets bad news and shines. I get bad news and become a thief, a cheat, a liar, a pyromaniac.
Shame and trouble. That’s me, folks.
Some of the fight left me. Maybe I understood Rita a bit, after all.
So I behaved myself and helped out a lot and studied hard and things sure seemed to be improving. One night Cathy and Philip even said they wouldn’t mind me living with them permanently. They couldn’t have kids of their own. When I asked why not, Cathy got me a book and sat down and explained what she called the birds and the bees. She wasn’t squeamish about it. Just told me straight out all about women’s bodies and what happens to us and how we get babies.
I liked when she said “us.”
The part about getting babies was stupid and I tried to imagine how Rita could do such a thing at fifteen. I was eleven and there was no way. No. Way.
And she told me it didn’t look like she and Philip could ever conceive a child and maybe I’d like to live with them as their adopted daughter.
I remember something hard and tight letting go in my chest. I remember hearing birds and feeling as if my heart might fly up to the treetops with them. I hummed the Beatles – “She Loves You” and “I Want to Hold Your Hand” – and I played with the other girls in their skipping games and didn’t trip anybody once. I remember thinking I could forgive Rita. I remember feeling astonished when I saw a crocus pushing through cement, determined to bloom.
One day I raced home from school with huge news. “Guess what?!” I yelled. “You’ll never guess!” I couldn’t wait. “I got a part in the school play,” I said. “The evil stepmother in Cinderella.”
“Why, that’s wonderful, Cass.”
But at the end of May, Cathy said, “I have some good news, too. I’m going to have a baby!” She had her hand on her tummy and she was humming.
And then…
“So you do understand, sweetie?” she said. “We’ll need your room for a nursery.”
Dizzy. Drowning. “But I can help. Honest. I’ll take care of you and do work around the house. I can do all sorts of things. Cook and clean – anything. Just name it. You won’t be sorry.”
“I know. I know I wouldn’t be sorry. You are a really good kid, Cassie. I really mean that. It’s just…I really can’t manage both you and a new baby. But don’t worry. We’ll find a really good place for you. I promise.” She wouldn’t look at me. And I really didn’t want her to say really one more time.
Cathy was throwing up a lot and Philip said to stop pestering her.
She didn’t make it to the play. Everyone said I was the most evil, awful stepmother they’d ever seen.
In July, Cathy took me to a store and bought me go-go boots. When we got home, Hazel and Ernie were waiting. Said they were willing to take me back. I screamed. I punched and kicked and bit. Ernie grabbed me and picked me up. I stole Cathy’s John Lennon hat from the hook. Out the door. Thrown into the backseat.
I won’t write about the next couple of days. I ran away.
Lana found me. She went to the soda shop near High Park and there I was, spending the money I stole.
Next day, she drove me to Doris and Ray Fergus. I thought I’d scream if I met any more relatives!
I ripped up my photo of Rita.
«««
This time, when Leanna finished reading, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t look at me. She started sobbing.
“I can’t bear it. I can’t.”
“Leanna…”
“In books, it isn’t like this. I mean, it might be, but one knows it isn’t real. One knows it’s fiction. But you…your life…”
“I told you before I’m glad I’m writing it. Honestly. It’s weird, but I feel powerful. I don’t know how to explain it.” I could see Leanna was searching for one of her words to explain it, so I cut her off. “When I write it, I make it mine. My story belongs to me. I’m…I’m the playwright. I’m the producer. I’m the director. I’m the star.” I smiled. “They’re the characters in my play, and they can lump it.”
“That’s it! You’re right! And what would they think if they knew you were writing about them? If they knew what you really thought? Wouldn’t they be shocked?” Leanna wiped her eyes. She wasn’t crying anymore.
“Children should be seen and not heard,” I said with my mouth pursed up like a bitter old frump. Mabel. Hazel. Edna. “And little jugs have big ears.”
“There’s a child among you taking notes.”
“What?”
Leanna shrugged. “It’s from a poem. That’s all I know.”
We smiled at each other. Best friends. Somehow, the two of us went together like peanut butter and grape jelly. But I’m getting ahead of my story. In the story I’m writing, I’m about to meet Leanna.
“I hope you’re going to be nice to me,” she said when I told her.
Chapter Eighteen
Doris showed me the guest room. Here, at least, I had a big queen bed all to myself. I wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. But first, I wanted to shower for hours in the hottest water I could stand.
“Unpack, and then we’ll talk,” said Doris.
By talk, she meant she was going to tell me what was what.
“I’ve put around that you are a second cousin’s daughter and your parents are dead. Understand me?”
I nodded. “Don’t tell anyone about Rita.”
“That’s right. It will only make things difficult for you.”
She meant difficult for her, but I didn’t want to make trouble on the first day. Later, maybe.
“There are a lot of girls around here to play with. I do hope you will be nice.” She smiled, but there was ice behind that smile.
Again I nodded. Cathy told me Doris and Ray always took a week at the family cottage. I really wanted to go. After all, if it was a “family” cottage, wasn’t it part mine? So…I would be good.
The neighborhood girls were waiting after supper. They came to the front door to meet me. Doris put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me outside.
They told me their names and said it’d be great to have someone new to hang out with and then one girl – Kathy – pointed at a kid down on the sidewalk with a buggy.
“That’s Lee,” she said, and added, “Really lame.” She put her finger to her head and did the thing for crazy.
We all heard this huge burp. Lee had a baby on her shoulder and the baby belched and threw up. Lee looked like she was going to pee her pants. She put the baby in the buggy and ran up the street.
All the girls giggled and I recognized them. Patty Huggins and her stooge
s all over again. Yank the puppet strings. They looked different, but they were exactly the same. This time they were after Lee. Not my problem.
“Told you,” said Kathy. “She lives next door, by the way. She’ll try to make friends, for sure. She’s got this thing for orphans.”
I swear she leered at me. And then – as always – the questions.
Are you really an orphan? How did they die? How old were you?
I stood up and yawned. “I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow?” I went inside and leaned against the door until they left. I heard them talking about me, making suggestions about my life. I went to my bed and wanted to sleep, but I was wide awake. I stepped back outside and sat on the porch steps and enjoyed feeling really good and sorry for myself.
Stupid, stupid Rita.
Then she was back, the kid from next door, wearing a different shirt, crossing over the driveway to my side.
Lee had stringy brown hair and the ugliest glasses – pointed cat eyes with sparkles. She had on long shorts and a short top and her stomach stuck out between. Her knees were dirty, and she had saddle shoes. Saddle shoes! Who on earth wore saddle shoes anymore?! Those other girls were wearing brassieres. Lee looked like a baby.
“I love your name. Cassandra. Sounds Russian and mysterious.”
“No one calls me Cassandra.”
“Oh! I understand! I really do! My name is Leanna, but no one calls me that. I just get Lee and I hate it. It’s so short. You can’t really get your tongue around it.”
Weird kid. “Do you want me to call you Leanna?”
“Oh! Would you? It would mean the world to me! And I’ll call you Cassandra always. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“O…kay.”
“Leanna and Cassandra. They match, don’t they? Almost as if we were twins together and these are the names our mother chose.” She shivered. “It’s so romantic, isn’t it? Say! Do you want to pretend we’re twins? And…and…I know! We don’t know we’re twins! Our mother had to give us up at birth and we find each other and…we become the best of friends, but then we find out – ”
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