Chloe Sparrow

by Lesley Crewe

  I let all that sink in.

  “And you don’t have to ask anyone’s permission for me to do this?”

  “I’m the boss. What I say goes.”

  “Awesome. I want to be a boss some day.”

  “I have every faith you will.”

  To think about an idea is one thing. To bring it to life is another. My scheme is embraced by the people who matter to me, but bureaucrats and their red tape can stop a project in its tracks. The more I run into brick walls, the more I realize that this project isn’t suited for mainstream television. I rethink my strategies and go the social media route, where ideas can become viral in a matter of hours thanks to YouTube and Facebook. I want an underground vibe to appeal to the kids who would never visit a social worker or psychiatrist. The kids who not only fall through the cracks, but break their dead mothers’ backs.

  Brian has offered his camera skills, and I’m using every contact I made at the CBC to align myself with sites to give me maximum exposure on the net. Tinker comes up with a great name for our project—Creature Comfort.

  The difference between us and a structured bereaved group meeting is that there is no expectation for the kids to explain their feelings. My mission is just to make them feel better and get out of their own heads. Tinker can become their friend—and Lord knows she needs as many friends as she can get. The animals will work their magic all by themselves.

  One night at dinner I bring my laptop to the table. I have a plan for a national program and a strategy to set up satellite groups across the country. It will be fantastic, just as soon as I connect all the dots and bring the various factions together. I’ve got the orchestra ready, I just need to start conducting.

  Austin reaches across the table and pushes my computer screen from behind with his finger. I’m still typing as it slowly lowers.

  “Just a sec!” I finish my sentence. “What?”

  “Dudley, Peanut, and Rosie cornered me when I came home tonight and asked me to speak to you. They’re concerned that you don’t love them anymore.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “Their father thinks the same thing.”

  “Even sillier.”

  “Chloe, I’m thrilled that you’re fired up about this project and I want it to succeed, but you need to learn how to balance your life and work. I can see the stressed-out Chloe I knew on the set of The Single Guy. This is the third night in a row you’ve eaten nothing on your plate. You don‘t live alone anymore, remember?”

  “But I have to—”

  “You have to have your first meeting before you create a network across Canada. Just sayin’.”

  “Okay. What do you suggest we do?”

  “Wrestle? Strip poker?”

  “That’s it! We’ll strip wallpaper! Genius idea!”

  The look on his face is priceless. That will teach him.

  Creature Comforts grinds to a halt at Christmas, as do most things, because no one has time to think about anything other than gifts, turkey, and parties. Take Amanda.

  “Jason and I are throwing a Christmas party on Boxing Day, if you and Austin would like to come.”

  “That sounds nice. I suppose I should be doing things like that now.”

  “No offence, Chloe, but your domicile is as bare as Mrs. Hubbard’s cupboard. How do you stand it?”

  “We live in the bedroom.”

  “Braggart.”

  Gramps comes over about a week before Christmas and says he wants a real tree. We’ve never had a real tree. My mom and dad had a tabletop plastic one, and Gramps and Aunt Ollie have never bothered.

  “Why the change?”

  “For one thing we have the room, and for another, I don’t have that many Christmases left.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “This is one of those jobs you said Austin could do for us,” he puffs away. “We’ll go to a tree farm and chop one down.”

  Austin looks at me. “What jobs?”

  “Nothing. Don’t listen to him.”

  Gramps’s car is the only one big enough to hold the five of us (why Agatha needs to come, I have no idea). He drives, with Austin in the front seat and the three females in the back. It’s a good thing I’m small, because I’m suffocating back here as it is. Aunt Ollie’s rolls are like bread dough and Agatha’s old coat smells like mothballs.

  “Are you sure we can tie the tree to the roof of the car?” Aunt Ollie bellows. She seems to think that no one can hear her from the back seat.

  “I brought rope,” Austin assures her.

  “Gramps, I don’t think we can chop down our own tree. You can only pick it out and they do it for you. They wrap it up, too.”

  Gramps looks at me in the rear-view mirror. “You never told me that! I don’t want some jackass cutting it for me.”

  “Sorry. That’s the way it works on tree farms.”

  “Nuts to that,” he says. “We‘ll get one ourselves.”

  “Where?“

  “The side of the road.”

  Oh, brother.

  It’s now getting dark, and we have a small tree that looked perfect when viewed face-on but is a disaster in the back. We’ll put it in a corner and no one will be the wiser. We want to head home, but Agatha is stuck in a ditch. We told her to go around it, but no. She marched into the trench and went up to her knees in oozing sludge and snow. It looks like she will be a permanent fixture unless we come up with a solution. Aunt Ollie holds the tree and yells instructions that none of us listen to.

  “You’ll be all right, dear heart! Should I call 911?”

  “Stop fussing, Aunt Ollie. They’re doing their best.”

  Gramps and Austin are on either side of Agatha with their arms around her armpits.

  “When I say three, give her all ya got!“ Gramps yells. “One, two three.”

  They pull with all their might and we hear a mighty sucking noise. Agatha pops out of her winter boots, which remain buried, never to be seen again.

  Gramps has a fit as she crawls into the backseat with muddy pants, but what can the poor woman do?

  “Turn up the heated seats!” Aunt Ollie orders. “She’s perished.”

  I’ll say this for Aunt Ollie: She dotes on her only friend.

  We are a very sorry lot by the time we make it home. Austin and I are sent back to the store when Gramps realizes he has no Christmas ornaments. There are very few nice ones on the shelves at this time of year, but golden glitter balls are better than nothing.

  “We can make strings of popcorn and cranberries,” I tell Austin as we get out of his car. “I saw that in a magazine once, and it looked so homey.“

  He walks around the Mini and takes me in his arms. “You are so cute.”

  I’m not so cute when I find out Harriet wants Austin to come home for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. I’m invited for Christmas dinner later in the day. For some reason I thought we’d be spending Christmas together with the critters, but I was clearly mistaken.

  Austin tries to explain. “Ever since my dad died, Mom gets very emotional on holidays and she likes having us around. It’s only for one night. I’m sure your relatives want you with them.”

  If only that were true. If I didn’t show up they wouldn’t even notice right away. I offer to make them dinner on Christmas Eve so I can see them.

  Austin leaves for home, hugging me goodbye like he’ll never see me again. I hold up Peanut and Rosie and make a pathetic face. Dudley was born to look sad, so we make a perfect vignette of guilt. He rolls down the car window as he drives off. “Will you knock it off? I’m dying here!”

  I buy big red bows to put on the kids, and one for Bobby as well. My mission is to get them all in the same picture with Gramps, Aunt Ollie, and Agatha. They squeeze together on the hideous living room couch, the elders holding one cat each w
ith Dudley at their feet.

  “Say cheese!”

  “Cheese!“

  When the flash goes off, Peanut freaks out and flies out of Agatha’s arms. Rosie does everything Peanut does, so off she goes. Bobby and Dudley stay put, so I take a few more of them.

  “Agatha, would you mind taking a picture of me with Gramps and Aunt Ollie?“

  She agrees, but has no idea how the camera works. I end up having to get up and down a half a dozen times before she’s confident enough to shoot and click. Against all odds, the picture is rather nice. I’ll print a copy for them.

  They sit around my kitchen table, which looks very festive with a red tablecloth and white and green candles with holly. Gramps rubs his hands together.

  “Turkey. My favourite.”

  I bend down and take the casserole dish out of the oven. “I made cheese-stuffed ravioli.”

  “For Christmas!”

  “I don’t kill turkeys.”

  “You don’t mind melting cheese and boiling pasta alive!”

  “I also have tea biscuits and a salad and a big chocolate cake for dessert.”

  Aunt Ollie digs in. “Stop your bellyaching. If you want turkey, go get one and cook it yourself.”

  “It’s not the same,” he mumbles.

  After dinner we go back to their place and sit around our tree. We decide to be like the French and open our gifts tonight. I bought Gramps a new sweater and slippers, Aunt Ollie a silk nightgown and perfume, Agatha bath gel, soap, and body lotion. Hopefully she’ll take the hint.

  My gifts are a frying pan, a hat, and nail polish.

  After listening to some Christmas music on the radio, Agatha says good night and I’m ready to go too. I kiss my kin and go back to my place. Dudley needs to go out, so I take him for a walk in the crisp, cold air. I’ve always loved Christmas Eve. It’s much better than Christmas Day. There’s still hope and expectation in the air. As I pass my neighbours, I see their windows glowing with the light from within, their Christmas trees twinkling, the front doors decorated with holly, cedar, and red berries.

  Last Christmas I slept through the entire holiday, trying to make myself disappear. Now I have furry babies at home and my Dudley right here, who I want to hug to bits. I think of Austin, making his mom happy tonight. He and his sister will go to church with her, even though it makes him break out in hives when she insists on talking to everyone, showing them off as if they were toddlers. It’s the one thing he and Julia agree on.

  I’m about to turn around when I see a familiar figure walking alone up the sidewalk. It’s Tinker.

  “Fancy seeing you here!”

  Dudley strains at his leash, so I let it go. He runs to her and she greets him with open arms. After a thorough patting, she straightens up and holds out a card. “This is for you.”

  I can’t believe I forgot to get her something. Shit.

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t want you to open it here.”

  “Okay. Do you want to come back to my place?”

  “No. I have to get back.”

  “Let me drive you.”

  “No. I want to be by myself. I’m okay alone.”

  “I have to go to Austin’s for dinner tomorrow and we have a party on Boxing Day, but why don’t you come the day after? We can talk shop and I’ll give you your present.”

  “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  I didn’t…shit, shit, shit.

  She stands there and looks at me for a moment. I’m not sure if she wants to hug me.

  “See ya.” She turns around and walks away, so I hurry back to the house because I’m dying to see what’s in the card. I go to the kitchen table with the dirty dishes still piled on it and open the envelope. It’s a store-bought card. The cover is a watercolour painting of a sparrow singing in a tree. Inside it says, “Thank you. Tinker.”

  That’s enough. I put it on the fireplace mantel.

  The kids and I go to bed, and when I pull back the covers, I see a wrapped gift tucked up by my pillows.

  “I wonder who this is from.” I smile.

  Peanut and Rosie play with the ribbon and Dudley rips at the giftwrap with his paws. I open the box and there’s a bracelet with The Single Guy charms, plus a heart with our names engraved around a message. It was you all along.

  Aww. I inspect each of the charms one by one, and I notice there are two other extra charms, a cat and a dog. “What a sweetie pie. Right, guys?”

  They agree, and after several kisses each, it’s lights out.

  I’m awakened in the middle of the night by Aunt Ollie looming over my bed and scaring the life out of me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Daddy’s dead.”

  It takes me a moment to realize I’m not dreaming, and even then I’m not clear on what’s happening.

  “What?”

  “Dad doesn’t look like he’s breathing. Bobby woke me up.”

  “Call 911.”

  “I did!”

  I run out the door and don‘t even remember getting to Gramps’s bedroom. Bobby’s on his chest, licking his face. Gramps does look dead, but I refuse to believe it, so I push Bobby off and listen for a breath, then blow in his mouth and start chest compressions.

  “Breathe, Gramps! Don’t leave me!”

  Aunt Ollie is behind me in the doorway. “They’re on their way. What should I do?”

  I keep pumping his chest. “Go to the front door and let them in.”

  This is a battle I’m going to win. “I wish you’d wake up, Gramps.“

  Nothing.

  “Come on, you stubborn old coot! Bobby needs you!”

  There’s a little gasp of air, or at least I think there is. Maybe it’s my wishful thinking. Just as I pushed Bobby away, the paramedics shove me aside. I grab Bobby and we huddle in the corner. I can’t watch anymore, so I close my eyes. The conversation between the medics is calm and reassuring. If they’re not panicked, then I don’t need to panic. Unfortunately Aunt Ollie gets in everyone’s way.

  “What should I do?”

  “Put the kettle on,” I tell her.

  “What for?”

  “He might want a cup of tea.”

  “Right.” Out she goes.

  “He’s coming around,” they say.

  I open my eyes and walk to his bedside. “Gramps? Can you see us?”

  “Bobby,” he whispers.

  “That’s right, Bobby saved you.”

  The rest of the night and Christmas morning are a bit of a blur. Aunt Ollie and I sit in Gramps’s hospital room and wait for some test results. Gramps looks smaller and a bit frightened, so I hold his hand to reassure him he’s not alone.

  The doctor comes in and stands beside the bed. “Mr. Butterworth? You are a lucky man. You had a heart attack, but fortunately help was quick in arriving. You’re going to need surgery to open up your blocked arteries. Do you smoke?”

  “A little,” he whispers.

  “That’s over. And you’ll be changing your diet. You’re not over the hill yet, Mr. Butterworth. With these changes you will add years to your life.”

  “Who says I want to?”

  After the doctor goes, Gramps makes a face. “How old was he? Fifteen?”

  My cellphone goes off. Austin! I totally forgot about him. “Hello?”

  “Merry Christmas! Did you like your gift?”

  “What?”

  “Your bracelet.”

  “Oh, of course. I love it, thank you.”

  ”Is everything all right?”

  “Gramps had a heart attack last night.”

  “Oh no. Where are you? I’ll be right there.”

  I turn my back on Gramps and Aunt Ollie. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather you stayed with your mother.”

  �
�But Chloe…you need me.”

  “Not right now. I’ll call you.” And I hang up on him. Even as I cut him off, I wonder why. When I return to Gramps’s side, he rolls his head to look at me. “Ollie told me what you did last night.”

  I burst into tears. “I didn’t make you a turkey dinner! When I leave here, I’m going right to a farm and cutting the head off the first turkey I see.”

  “Make sure you cook it.”

  Between Christmas and New Year’s I’m so preoccupied with my relatives that I don’t pay enough attention to anyone else. I’m aware of Austin in the background, looking after the critters, and Tinker comes over to walk Dudley and Amanda shows up with a casserole, but it’s like they’re in black and white and only Gramps, Aunt Ollie, and I are in colour.

  Agatha hung around for a while, but Aunt Ollie snapped one day that it was her fault her father almost died.

  “You had to get stuck in that mud, didn’t you? He overexerted himself rescuing you. You never listen to anyone!”

  We haven’t seen Agatha since.

  Gramps has his surgery and everything goes very well, despite his smoking addiction. While he’s in the hospital Aunt Ollie and I overhaul his bedroom. We take everything out, wash the nicotine off the walls, and apply a fresh coat of paint. Then I buy him a new bedroom set and have everything ready when he comes home.

  “Now, why would you go and do that?” he grumbles, but he looks chuffed. Bobby is on the bed waiting for him.

  “There’s my little buddy. Did you miss me?”

  Bobby nods. I swear he does.

  I make menus for Aunt Ollie to follow from recipes the dietician gave me. “You should eat this as well. I don’t want you to get sick.”

  “No one would miss me,” she frowns.

  “I’d miss you.”

  Aunt Ollie sits glumly at the kitchen table. “Agatha wouldn’t.”

  “Call her. Tell her you’re sorry.”

  “But I meant it. Dad’s always getting hot and bothered when she’s around. He hates her.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. I think Gramps is like that kid in the park, always picking on the girl he likes.”