Trail of Secrets

by Brenda Chapman

  TRAIL

  OF

  SECRETS

  TRAIL

  OF

  SECRETS

  Brenda Chapman

  Text © 2009 Brenda Chapman

  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, digital, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.

  Cover art by Jock MacRae, design by Emma Dolan

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program.

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program for our publishing activities.

  Napoleon Publishing

  an imprint of Napoleon & Company

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada

  www.napoleonandcompany.com

  13 12 11 10 09 5 4 3 2 1

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Chapman, Brenda, date-

  Trail of secrets / Brenda Chapman.

  ISBN 978-1-894917-76-6

  I. Title.

  PS8605.H36T73 2009

  jC813'.6

  C2009-900683-9

  For my nephew Dylan Chapman,

  who runs like the wind

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jen, it’s for you!” Dad called as I turned to look at myself in the mirror. My hair was sticking out every which way, and my eyes looked half-open and bleary from lack of sleep. Great. This was the last picture of me that Pete Flaghert would be taking with him to university. I tried to flatten my hair into shape with both hands as I headed for the stairs. With any luck, Pete would be half-awake too, and he wouldn’t notice how bad I looked.

  He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. His black hair was freshly cut, and he was wearing his favourite black T-shirt and new jeans. He looked rested and full of energy. His brown eyes looked me over, and I saw him smile before he glanced down at the flowers he was holding in his hands. “Hey, Bannon,” he said. “I picked you something on my way over.”

  The pink roses were wrapped up in cellophane with a big white bow, so I knew he’d planned ahead. I stepped off the bottom step and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Pete,” I said. “These are really nice.” The flowers distracted me for a moment, and I forgot how miserable I was feeling. “I need to find something to put them in.”

  Pete followed me into the kitchen where I rummaged around in the cupboards for a vase. Dad watched from where he was flipping eggs in the frying pan. A plate with buttered toast sat on the counter beside a cup of black coffee. “Try under the sink,” he said.

  Pete leaned against the kitchen table with his arms folded. “Hello, Mr. Bannon,” he said.

  “All set for McGill?” Dad asked.

  “Just about. I have to gas up the van and then pick up my parents. It’s a seven or eight hour drive, so my folks want to get on the road soon.”

  “Well, take care of yourself, and don’t spend all your time working.” I kept my head down. I’d be happy if Pete spent all of his time working. Dad reached over and shook Pete’s hand. Then he scooped the fried eggs onto the plate and took a sip of his coffee as he walked towards the back door. He liked to eat on the steps where the sun was strongest this time of the morning.

  After the door shut behind him, Pete and I stood looking at each other. I was having trouble hiding how awful I was feeling and didn’t trust myself to speak. Pete reached over and grabbed one of my hands.

  “I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. We’ll be seeing each other before you know it.”

  “And there’s always e-mail,” I said.

  “You’ll be so busy with school and everything going on, you’ll hardly know I’m gone,” he said. I think he was trying to convince himself as much as me. Then he pulled me to him in a last hug and kissed me. “Take care of yourself, Jen. I’ll e-mail you as soon as I get settled in residence.”

  “I’ll want to hear all about your trip and your room and everything,” I said.

  We walked to the front door together, and Pete gave me one more hug before he leapt down the front steps to his van. I waved and watched until he’d rounded the corner and was gone from sight. I knew that Pete and I would both be going through a lot of changes this year and that he might not think of me in the same way once he got to university. To be honest, I wasn’t all that sure what kind of relationship we had—we’d never talked about being a couple or not dating other people. For all I knew, Pete might just think of me as a very close friend—one step up from a sister. I sighed and turned back towards the stairs. I’d change into shorts and go for a jog to take my mind off all the things I didn’t want to think about. With any luck, Ambie’d be out of bed and happy for some company.

  “Let’s take our muffins to my bedroom,” Ambie said, already halfway down the hall. She was still dressed in her green housecoat and pink slippers the size of small, furry animals. I was happy to notice that her hair looked to be in the same bizarre state as mine. There were times I could have sworn we were twins separated at birth.

  Ambie straightened the covers on her bed and invited me to sit. She plopped onto the chair in front of her computer and spun around to face me. While she talked, she peeled the wrapper off her blueberry muffin. “So,” she said, “Pete get away okay?” She licked her fingers.

  “Yeah. He dropped by this morning.” I didn’t want to talk too much about that. I was hoping that seeing Ambie would make me think about other things. I realized that I hadn’t talked to her in a couple of weeks and felt a pang of guilt. I’d always believed no boy would ever come between us. It probably explained why Ambie hadn’t seemed too excited to find me at her door. “So, what’s new with you?” I asked. “I’ve missed seeing you this past while.” I promised myself I’d be a better friend from now on.

  Ambie took a bite of her muffin. “I missed you too, but I guess you were otherwise occupied.” She looked out the window and avoided my eyes. My pang of guilt was turning into a stab in my belly. “Anyhow, I’ve been busy with this and that.” She looked me in the eyes for the first time since I’d arrived, and I puzzled over what I saw in her expression. I’d never thought of Ambie as secretive, but I knew her well enough to know that she was hiding something. We’d been best friends for ten years and were probably closer than most sisters.

  “Anything exciting?” I asked, waiting for her to spill her secret like she usually did.

  “No. Well, nothing I can really talk about yet,” she said.

  “Everything okay, though?” I probed. For some reason, her answer left me uneasy.

  “Better than okay.” She stretched. “I think my life is finally falling together.” She stood up. “I hate to ask you to leave, Jen, but I have some things to do. Maybe we could go to the mall this afternoon if you want, though. I have to buy some new shoes for school.”

  I pushed myself up from the bed. “Sure, no problem. I’ll come back later.” Ambie was in a hurry for me to leave, but I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe she just needed some space, and she’d come around after lunch.

  I walked home and opened the back door. I could see my little sister Leslie talking on the phone in the kitchen. She didn’t notice me at first. Leslie had just turned eleven, and she’d shot up a few inches over the summer. I’m five eight, and Leslie looked to have passed the five foot mark, something I knew she was happy about. Mom wasn’t all that tall, so I had beaten the inherited short-genes odds. We were still waiting to see about Leslie. Her brown hair had grown longer over the summer and had lost its pixie shape, making her look older. Even her dark eyes didn’t look as young as they had a few months before. Part of that might have been the dile
mma my mom had thrust her into when she’d recently decided to move to California with her new husband, Mr. Putterman. Mom was determined that Leslie would join her in Los Angeles before school began, but for the first time in her life, Leslie wasn’t playing along. I knew her refusal to get on the plane to L.A. was causing my mom untold grief, but I was secretly cheering Leslie on. I didn’t want her to leave any more than she wanted to go. Besides, my mom was the one who’d chosen this new life, not us.

  Leslie’s voice rose slightly. “No, I can’t come Thursday. I have two dog-walking jobs on the weekend.” She listened for a few beats then said, “No, he’s not here right now.” She turned and saw me. One hand came up to the side of her head, and she made circles with her pointer finger while rolling her eyes. “Okay, Mom. I’ll have Dad call you when he gets in.” Her head bobbed up and down. “I know school starts soon. Okay. Love you too.”

  Leslie hung up. Her puppy-dog eyes looked at me sadly. “She wants me to come this week. What am I going to do?”

  I went over and put my arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know, kiddo. Mom seems pretty determined to have you move to California.”

  “I want to stay with you and Daddy,” Leslie said. “I miss Mom, but not enough to move away.”

  I watched Leslie leave the kitchen, her shoulders slumped and her head down. I wished I knew the right magic words to make her feel better. That could only happen if time turned back to the days when Mom, Dad, Leslie and I were a family living together in our house in Springhills. Otherwise, we were stuck just getting by, pretending everything was all right when nothing would ever be all right again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Around three o’clock, Ambie and I met up and walked to Springhills Mall. Since Springhills is a small community just outside of Toronto, most people make the hour-long trek into Toronto to shop along Yonge Street or to go to another mall in one of the burbs. Springhills Mall has a few clothing stores, but it’s not what I’d call a fashion hub or anything. Luckily, I don’t like shopping all that much anyhow, and I’m happy to buy my clothes at the closest sports store. Ambie used to feel the same as me, but lately she had developed a new interest in fashion. I looked over at her green and white striped blouse, flared denim miniskirt and expensive leather sandals and felt a little underdressed in my denim cutoffs and T-shirt. Ambie’d pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail and used a curling iron so that her hair hung in curls down her back. I noticed that a few guys turned and looked at her as we walked by, but she didn’t seem aware of their interest.

  “I like your skirt. Is it new?” I asked, hoping Ambie had forgiven me for neglecting her while Pete was still in town.

  “Oh, this?” She looked down. “I bought it in Toronto last week. Rosemary Sharpe, Cindy Vickers and I caught the bus downtown to go shopping. You were busy with Pete, or I would have asked you along,” she added.

  “Yeah, I guess I got a little preoccupied. I’m really sorry I did that, Ambie.”

  She looked over at me and grinned. “No problem, Jen. Unbridled lust can happen to the best of us.”

  I swatted her on the arm. “I wouldn’t exactly call what Pete and I have going the grand passion.”

  “What would you call it, then? Just two friends spending every spare minute together to the exclusion of everyone else in the world?”

  “Well, if you put it that way . . . it’s just, sometimes I think there’s too big an age gap. Pete’s going to meet lots of girls his own age at university, and I feel like I’m on the same level as a kid sister.” I’d finally put into words how I’d been feeling since Pete had told me he’d be going to McGill. I fully expected him to leave me behind, but I didn’t feel very good about it. “I mean, I have two more years of high school. How lame is that?”

  Ambie linked her arm through mine. “Maybe you’ll both go your separate ways and meet up again when you’re a bit older—you know, like fate or something. Who’s to say what will happen? All I know is that you and Pete seem pretty good together, and I can’t imagine that him going off to university will change that.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve decided not to worry about it because there’s nothing I can do. I’m going to keep up a full and healthy social life and hope Pete doesn’t change too much by the time I see him next.”

  “Sounds like a good plan . . .” Ambie began just as we heard feet running on the pavement and girls calling our names. We turned and watched Rosemary and Cindy race up behind us, their arms waving and big smiles wreathing their mouths. Any chance that Ambie and I had to talk about her secret disappeared with their arrival since we spent the rest of the afternoon together, talking about clothes and what we should wear the first day of school. I pretended to be interested, and I don’t think they knew how little I really cared about what colour nail polish I’d be wearing on Monday morning.

  Uncle Phil came by for supper. He’d spent a week fishing north of Sudbury and had a couple of fresh pickerel to grill on the barbecue. I sliced up some potatoes and wrapped them in foil with onions and butter and a special mix of spices I’d come up with after a bit of experimentation. Then, Leslie and I made a tossed salad with tomatoes and cucumbers from the farmer’s market that is open on weekends through the summer. By the time Dad got home from working in his garage, it was seven thirty and we’d organized our meal on the picnic table in the backyard. Uncle Phil served the pickerel on a platter, and we took our seats. The sun had already started its descent behind the pine trees at the back of our property, and the solar lanterns began sending out a soft blue glow at intervals around the yard. Dad lit the three candles on the table, and a smell of vanilla drifted upwards. Dad, Uncle Phil and I dug into the food as if we hadn’t eaten in a while. I knew Dad would forget to eat all day unless we were there to remind him.

  “Busy today?” Uncle Phil asked at last.

  “Overhauled an engine for Sammy Reynolds. That took most of the afternoon.” Dad ate a forkful of fish. “Great pickerel. Catch anything else?”

  “A few trout and a lot of blackfly bites.”

  Dad laughed. I looked across the table at Leslie. She was poking her fork into a mound of potatoes, her head resting on her other hand. Dad followed the line of my gaze. “Not hungry tonight, Les?” he asked.

  Leslie shook her head. “Can I be excused, Daddy? I’m not feeling very well. My stomach hurts.”

  Uncle Phil reached over and put his hand on her forehead. “Not feverish,” he said.

  Dad looked at Leslie thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, “Sure, honey. You go in and get into your pajamas. I’ll be in soon to see how you’re doing.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.” Leslie slid from the bench and walked back to the house with her shoulders drooping and her head down.

  Dad and Uncle Phil looked at each other across the table. Dad’s jaw was set, and his eyes flashed dark. “This has to be settled soon,” he said.

  Uncle Phil nodded. “Time you had a talk with Alice.”

  Dad stood and swung his leg over the bench. He began collecting our plates. “. . . talk some sense into that woman,” he muttered as he followed Leslie into the house.

  Uncle Phil smiled at me. “Your dad will work this out with your mom, don’t worry, Jen.”

  “Yeah. Just like my parents have worked out everything else in their lives,” I said. Who would have thought two adults could keep getting everything so mucked up?

  Uncle Phil stood and leaned across the table to blow out the candles. “I have a date, so I’ll help you get the dishes into the house and then take off.”

  “A nurse?” I asked.

  “No. I’m seeing an anesthesiologist now. Her name’s Kelly.” Uncle Phil smiled. “She’s a little boring, but so far hasn’t put me to sleep.”

  I laughed. Since Uncle Phil had quit drinking, he’d dated half the single nurses at Springhills Hospital. It looked like he was turning his attention to the doctors. “Well, try not to nod off,” I said. “She might think sh
e’s back at work and start an I.V.”

  Uncle Phil shook his head and grinned at me. “Good advice coming from one so young. You fancy yourself a wit, young Bannon?”

  “Well half, anyway,” I quipped. Some lines are called groaners with good reason.

  The first thing I did when I climbed the stairs to my bedroom was turn on my computer. Mom had bought it for me as a gift for being in her wedding party, and I’d set it up on an old oak desk that Dad had salvaged from the curb where someone had put it out as garbage. He’d stripped the wood down but so far hadn’t gotten around to refinishing it. I didn’t mind the stressed look, which kind of suited the rest of my room. As I waited for my machine to boot up, I looked around, assessing what was left to be done. I’d painted two walls a deep violet and hung a bamboo blind and shear white curtain over the window. I’d bought a cream colour paint for the other two walls, but it was still in the can that had become my footstool. Dad had bought me a new mattress for the twin bed we’d found at a flea market, and I’d covered it with a new white blanket. I’d rescued Grandma Bannon’s hooked rug from my old bedroom and my stuffed bear Benny, but not much else from Mom’s. Dad had promised to build me a bookshelf, but until then, my books were stacked in piles at the foot of my bed. The room was starting to feel like mine but was far from complete. Martha Stewart would have taken one look and rolled up her sleeves. I reminded myself to hang the posters that I’d tucked away in my closet and find a place for the pictures that were packed in a box under my bed.

  The home page sprang up, and I eagerly clicked on my e-mail. I searched for Pete’s name, but besides a few jokes forwarded from Ambie, my inbox was empty. No sign of his promised message. I put the computer to sleep without opening Ambie’s jokes. The day had been pretty much a washout. I wasn’t feeling like doing anything much except climbing into bed and falling asleep as soon as I possibly could.