Trail of Secrets

by Brenda Chapman

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three days after Pete left for university, I got a two-line e-mail from him that told me he’d arrived and was getting oriented, with a promise to write more later. I sent back one almost as short, telling him it was good to hear from him, and I hoped he had more time to write soon. I figured playing it cool was the best way to go. Pete would be in touch when he had time. I just had to have faith.

  On Friday afternoon, Dad came home for lunch and finally got a hold of Mom in L.A. He’d been trying all week, but she had decided at the last minute to fly with Mr. Putterman to Miami after she’d spoken with Leslie. I was sitting on the back steps with the door open, sucking on some ice cubes at the bottom of my glass of iced tea when the phone rang, so I heard most of Dad’s side of the conversation. I could pretty much imagine what Mom’s side must have sounded like.

  “She wants to stay here,” Dad said at one point. “I know you have custody, but we have to go with what’s best for Leslie. She’s not eating or sleeping well . . . no, she keeps saying she wants to stay in Springhills.”

  I could hear the exasperation creeping into his voice. “Why don’t we try it until Christmas? We can reassess then. I know it would be good for her to see more of the world, but she’s had a lot of upheaval this year.” Then his voice dropped, and I had to strain to hear. “They both miss you, Alice, but this is the way it is. You can’t separate them. It would just be too hard.”

  I’d heard as much as I could take, and as quietly as possible, I stood and headed down the steps and out of the backyard by the side gate. I started jogging down Sunnydale then turned onto Pine Glen, detouring onto the bike path at the end of the block, picking up speed until I was running at a good clip. I put my mind into neutral and concentrated on my breathing and the spreading ache in my legs and the fire in my lungs. The first wave of pain passed, and I settled into a comfortable rhythm, passing by stands of pine and spruce trees and smelling the end of summer heat mixed with thick vegetation and the carpet of pine needles and decaying leaves underfoot. After about eight kilometres, the path took an upward climb. I ran another kilometre until my sides ached and I was out of breath, then bent over to grab my knees and catch my breath. I’d stopped in a copse of tall evergreens and could just see patches of blue when I looked up through the branches. The next day would be the first of September, and summer was nearly over. Standing there alone in the middle of the woods, far away from the noise of Springhills, I made a silent vow to try harder in school if Mom let Leslie stay with us instead of forcing her to move away. I’d stop complaining about how wrong everything was and start looking for the good in my life. I’d clean my room and take out the garbage . . . I gave my head a shake and turned to start jogging slowly back towards home. You shouldn’t get too carried away when making vows. In the big scheme of things, promising to work harder at school should be way more than enough to keep Leslie home.

  I found Dad in the backyard, sitting on the steps holding his baseball cap in both hands between his knees. His eyes were fixed on something at the back of the property where the fence tilted on an angle, looking like a good wind would knock it over. I knew he had already calculated how much cedar he needed to rebuild it. He always had lots of construction plans, but being in business for himself, he never had any free time to get things done. Even though Dad was staring in that direction, I knew he wasn’t thinking about the fence. He looked up when I clicked the gate shut and gave me a slow smile.

  “Go for a run?”

  “Yeah. Now I’m ready for a shower.” I climbed up next to him on the steps and sat down. “Did Mom agree to let Leslie stay?”

  Dad began twirling his baseball cap around and around in his hands. When he spoke, his voice was even. “We’re to put Leslie on the plane tomorrow morning. Your mom already made the reservation, and the ticket is waiting at the airport. Do you think you could start getting her things packed? I didn’t get through to . . .” His voice trailed off, and he stood suddenly, jumping off the bottom step. “I should get back to work. I’m late, and I have a brake line to fix by three.”

  “Okay.” Dad didn’t have to spell out the impact this was going to have on our lives. He sure didn’t need me to tell him how bad I felt. Instead, I said, “I’ll make a nice supper. Maybe spaghetti. That’s Leslie’s favourite.”

  “I’ll bring home some ice cream for dessert.” Dad put on his ball cap and bowed his head as he walked away from me. He had his hand on the gate when he turned and looked back. “How am I going to tell her?” he asked, his eyes resting on mine for a moment before he turned and pushed the gate open.

  I tried to think of something halfway comforting to say, but by the time I’d come up with an idea, the gate was swinging shut, and Dad was gone.

  I spent the rest of the day getting Leslie’s clothes washed and packed without her knowing. Luckily, she’d gone to the water park with her friend Molly, so her last day home wasn’t ruined. When I finished, I tucked the suitcases inside my bedroom so she wouldn’t see them until Dad told her she’d be leaving the next morning.

  I clumped downstairs and started preparing my famous spaghetti sauce, which was a concoction of ingredients and spices I’d come up with after doing some research on the web. Dad said more than once that I should bottle the recipe and sell it so he could retire. Dad liked to talk about winning lots of money so we could move into a nicer house and just do things we really wanted to do every day instead of struggling to make a living. He called it the “what if” game. “What if you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go? What if you could buy anything in the world, what would you buy?” I liked playing it with Dad and Leslie when we were lying side by side in our lawn chairs in the backyard, looking up at the stars overhead in the night sky. I think I’d trade all my wishes though, to have Leslie stay with us and for Mom to move back to Springhills. My wishes had been letting me down lately, and I was thinking maybe it was time to stop believing in anything I really wished for coming true.

  We ate supper outside at the picnic table since the warmth of the day still lingered, even though the sun had begun setting. The days were noticeably shorter, with the evenings getting cooler, but it was more pleasant to be outside now than in the full heat of summer. The crickets provided a chirping background music to the meal, as they did every evening, and a light breeze blew over us now and then. Dad and I tried to act like nothing was wrong, and Leslie happily chattered away about her day at the water park. She didn’t appear to notice that Dad and I weren’t talking all that much. As she pushed away her empty plate, she said, “Daddy, I think we need to go shopping so I can get some clothes for school. Molly says they have new jeans in at Pago’s, and I want to look there tomorrow. Jen could come with me if you’re too busy at work.” She looked at Dad and waited for him to answer.

  I glanced at Dad and saw him swallow hard. He couldn’t seem to make eye contact with Leslie and appeared pretty interested in the back of the ketchup bottle. “We’ll see,” he finally said. “No promises.”

  “Why don’t I get us some ice cream?” I asked, standing and gathering the plates. “Dad brought home some Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge brownie.”

  “All my favourites tonight,” Leslie said, clapping her hands.

  When I reached the kitchen, I leaned my head against the freezer door for a minute with my eyes closed. Making like everything was okay was really hard. I forced myself to keep moving and busied myself filling up bowls of ice cream. When I carried the bowls outside on a tray, I found Dad and Leslie sitting on the back steps. Over the summer, it had become our ice cream eating spot. I ate mine quickly, before clinking my spoon into the empty bowl and saying, “Think I’ll just go inside and clean up.” I gave Dad a nod and what I hoped was a smile before I climbed the steps into the kitchen.

  Leslie cried a little bit after Dad told her, but he talked for a long time, and later she seemed okay. I watched from the window until they stood to come indoors. Then, I hugged
Leslie before going upstairs to run her a bubble bath. Afterwards, Dad let us stay up and watch a movie he’d rented on the way home. It took our minds off everything, and Leslie and I headed up to bed together around ten thirty.

  I was just slipping under my covers when I heard footsteps coming into my room. I looked over to see Leslie standing next to my bed. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach like she was cold.

  “Can I sleep with you tonight, Jen?” she asked.

  “Sure can,” I said, pulling back the blankets so she could scramble in next to me. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No, it’s not that.” Leslie fell silent. I reached over and held her hand. We didn’t talk for a minute, then I said, “Maybe Mom needs you with her, Les. This has been hard on her too and we have to accept that, I guess.”

  “That’s what Daddy said too.” Leslie yawned and rolled onto her side so that our faces were almost touching. Her eyes shone, dark pools in the moonlight that was pouring in through my open window. “He said this will be an adventure, and I should enjoy seeing new places and meeting new people. He said I could come for a visit at Christmas. Mom’s already agreed.”

  That was good news. “Time will go fast,” I said.

  Leslie’s breathing slowed, and I started to drift off too. I opened my eyes one last time and looked across at her. I would have thought she was fast asleep if I hadn’t seen the tears sliding down her cheeks and onto the pillow.

  “Sleep tight, Les,” I said. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.

  Leslie nodded then turned over to face the wall. I closed my eyes, but it was a long time before I could shut off all the thoughts buzzing around in my brain and fall asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dad and I drove Leslie to the airport soon after breakfast. We’d all managed to keep it together, even when the flight attendants took Leslie through security to the waiting area where she was to board. The last I saw of her was when she turned to smile and wave goodbye, her other hand wrapped around a stuffed bear Dad and I had given her on her birthday. Dad and I weren’t allowed into the restricted area, but we raced outside and watched the plane taxi down the runway. Bright sunlight reflected off the silver wings as it made a steep turn towards the south.

  “Well, that’s that,” Dad sighed, lowering the hand that he’d been using to shield his eyes from the sun. We walked slowly back towards the car park. “I’ve got to go into the shop for the rest of the afternoon. What do you plan to do with your last few days of summer holiday?”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I groaned. “Two days and I’m back at the mercy of Morton T. High’s diabolical teaching staff.”

  “I have a feeling this is going to be the year it all clicks for you,” Dad said. He looked hopeful.

  “The only clicking going on will be when they turn the key to lock me into that prison,” I grumbled, but I was secretly excited to be starting another year. There was something fresh and new about the first week of school, before the assignments piled up. Kind of like the feeling you get before diving off the dock at the beginning of the summer on your first visit to the cottage. “I could help you in the shop today if you want,” I offered.

  Dad’s mouth turned up in a grin. “You really want to come work with me? I have some bills that need sorting through and then entered into the computer. That would be a big help, but I don’t want to tie up your last days of freedom.”

  “I’ll be happy to help,” I said. Anything beat sitting around missing Pete and Leslie, not to mention Mom.

  “I have a car needs an oil change, and I’ll teach you to do that when I finish working on Frank Bowick’s carburetor.”

  I could see by the sudden rise in Dad’s shoulders and the quickness in his step as he walked ahead of me that he was pleased I’d offered to work in his shop. He’d been trying to get me there for two summers, but I’d always been busy with something or other and hadn’t showed any interest. Today though, I felt like I wanted to stay close by him. Working in his shop would keep my mind off all the things I really didn’t want to think about yet.

  I spent most of Sunday and Labour Day Monday helping Dad in the shop. I learned to do oil changes, which didn’t turn out to be that difficult. I also straightened out the pile of bills he hadn’t gotten around to issuing, and by the end of Monday had a pile of stamped envelopes on his desk ready to be sent out to clients. We drove home around four o’clock, figuring we’d order pizza. Uncle Phil had promised to drop by.

  “Dad!” I exclaimed, pointing towards our front steps as we turned onto Sunnydale. “Isn’t that . . .?”

  “Roxie Firestone!” Dad proclaimed. “Now, what in the world would she be doing here?”

  “We’ll soon find out,” I said. Roxie was a thirteen-year-old kid from Toronto whom I’d met at summer camp and brought home for a week in August because her foster family had been out of town. The family had picked her up on their way home after receiving a call from Roxie’s social worker, Miss Cooke. We hadn’t heard from Roxie since that day a few weeks earlier. As we drew closer, I noticed she’d dyed her short purple hair a soft pink colour with streaks of scarlet laced throughout. Her triple pierced ears glinted in the sun, and big dark sunglasses likely hid eyes circled in eyeliner and mascara. She was slender and short, dressed in faded blue jeans, a red tank top and jean jacket. Her elbows were resting on the top step, and her legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, showing off black leather boots.

  I jumped out of the car as soon as it came to a stop in the driveway. “Roxie! Great to see you,” I said as I raced over to the steps.

  She looked up at me and grinned. “Hey, Jennifer. How’s it going?”

  “Not so bad,” I said, sitting down beside her after she’d moved over to make room.

  “Hello, Mr. Bannon,” Roxie said. “Long time no see.”

  “Roxie Firestone,” Dad said, “to what do we owe this pleasure?” He stood over us, a worried look in his eyes, even though he was smiling. “Everything okay at home?” We both knew Roxie’s foster parents hadn’t been all that eager to keep her, even though they’d looked like nice people the day they’d come to get her from our house. I imagined Roxie would be a challenge for any family. She’d been through a lot of homes and had an exterior as tough and prickly as a porcupine. As Dad said, Roxie was old way beyond her years.

  “Well, as it turns out, I’ve got a new home,” Roxie said.

  “Is that a good thing?” Dad asked.

  “My last family thinks so.” She gave a little laugh. “My social worker started looking seriously at a couple here in Springhills after my visit, and they’ve agreed to give me a shot.”

  “Who, Roxie?” I asked.

  “Marcie and Bert. They’re an old retired couple, and they live on the other side of Springhills, near the train station. It’s kind of like living in the country. Not my first choice of locations, but whatever.” Roxie shrugged.

  Dad and I looked at each other. “That must be the Stoykos,” Dad said, and Roxie and I both nodded. Mr. Stoyko had run a convenience store in town that also sold homemade cabbage rolls, soups and ham or turkey sandwiches on thick crusty bread. We’d been sorry when he’d retired and closed shop a few years back. The Stoykos had emigrated from Poland many years earlier with their baby daughter, who’d become a doctor and moved to Hamilton.

  “Where’s Leslie?” Roxie asked. “She’s not with you?”

  “Leslie’s gone to stay with her mother for a while,” Dad said, stepping past us to unlock the door.

  Roxie looked at me, and I nodded. “Bummer,” she said under her breath. “I was hoping we could hang out.”

  “Probably not, unless we put you on the next flight to L.A.,” I said. “Do the Stoykos know you’re here?”

  “Yeah. They’re cool,” Roxie said. “They actually seem to want me to live with them. I have my own bedroom and my own bathroom. They gave me that bike over there.”

  I looked at where she pointed to a blue mountain b
ike leaning against the side of the house. “Nice.”

  “I’ve never had a bike before,” Roxie said, her eyes lighting up for a second before her face settled back into its normal look of indifference.

  “Everybody loved the Stoykos when they ran the convenience store. I’m glad it’s working out for you, Roxie.”

  “Well, we’ll see.” She stood and smoothed down her jeans. “I was hoping to see Leslie at school. It would’ve been nice to know someone first day, even though she’s a few years behind me.”

  “So you’re starting Grade Eight?”

  “Yup. They’ve let me in on condition.”

  “On condition of what?”

  “On condition that I show up. I missed most of Grade Seven, but they don’t want me kept behind, influencing minds younger and more innocent than my own.” She grinned at me.

  “What did you do when you skipped class?”

  “Explored Toronto on the subway. I found lots of interesting places to hang out.”

  “Nobody missed you?”

  “Oh, Miss Cooke—or Cookie—tried to get me to shape up, but I wasn’t all that interested in school then.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s a condition for me staying with Marcia and Bert. I have to behave, or Cookie’s going to make me move back to Toronto. Actually, she thinks being in a smaller community might help me find my way, as she put it.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Roxie,” I said. “If you put your mind to doing well in school, it’ll be a breeze for you. Unlike me, who has to struggle for every mark I get.”

  Roxie looked at me and cocked her head to one side. “I never would have thought you’d be having trouble in school. Doesn’t add up.”

  I shrugged. My slipping grades were the direct result of an inability to concentrate. Not all that strange, considering. “Want to stay for supper? Dad could barbeque some ribs. I made a sauce last week that’s lip-smacking good.”