Lucy Unstrung

by Carole Lazar

  “I really should be going anyway,” Amy says. She stands up and starts toward the door. She’s wearing a camel-colored suit with a short slim skirt and really high-heeled shoes. She has very nice legs. She stops for a minute right next to Mom. Mom is wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with a stretched-out neck. Her hair is in a ponytail. She has no makeup on. Her face is shiny, and the freckles across her nose really show.

  Amy looks down at her. “We haven’t had an offer yet, but I was telling Harold, a couple has asked to come back for a second look this afternoon. That’s always promising.”

  She wiggles her fingers good-bye at Mom. Then Dad walks her to the door.

  Mom drops the vacuum hose and attachment with a thud and stomps off to get a bucket and rag from the laundry room.

  “Why don’t you and Lucy go out for awhile?” she says when Dad comes back into the kitchen. “I’ll be through here in about two hours.” She’s already scrubbing away at the smeary ceramic top of the stove.

  “Well, that doesn’t seem right …” Dad starts to say.

  “Look, I’d rather work alone. Do you mind?”

  Dad and I go. We drive down to the beach at White Rock. We hang out there for awhile and do some grocery shopping. By the time we get back, Mom’s left. We barely have time to unload our groceries and make ourselves sandwiches before we have to leave again. Amy’s bringing those people back to look at the house for a second time. She doesn’t like us to be there. She says it works better if the buyers have some privacy. This time, while we’re kicked out, we go to look at some of the places Amy’s given Dad listings for.

  That evening, Dad and I watch Up in the Air. It’s supposed to be a funny movie – and it is, in a way – but then it takes this twist and the ending is kind of sad. I don’t think it cheers Dad up much. It’s over about ten-thirty and we both head upstairs to bed at the same time. I get into my pj’s and am in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, when I hear Dad.

  “What the heck? Gross!” He’s in the en suite bathroom. He’s been brushing his teeth too. Now he’s rinsing his mouth out with water. He spits into the sink and holds his toothbrush out for me to see. It looks normal. “Have you been using this toothbrush to clean things?”

  “Of course not. I never clean anything.”

  “It tastes like that cleanser stuff.”

  “Sometimes Mom uses an old toothbrush to clean around the taps or to do the hinges on the toilet seat lid.”

  “Yuck!” he screams. He grabs the mouthwash and chugs it straight from the bottle. “But it was in the holder where I always keep it. It’s in perfectly good shape. There’s no way she could have thought …”

  “Well, maybe it fell in the toilet or something, so she thought she might as well use it to clean.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Well, no, but you were wondering.”

  “And if it fell in the toilet and she used it to clean around the hinges of the seat, why would she put it back in the holder where I always keep it?”

  I shrug.

  “A person would have to be crazy to do something like that,” he says.

  “Or mad.” Mom’s not crazy, but it’s pretty easy to imagine her being mad.

  “She seemed funny from the minute she walked in today. Did she say anything? Why would she be mad at me?”

  “Maybe about the coffee,” I answer. “What do you mean, ‘about the coffee’? She didn’t even have any coffee.”

  “But you and Amy were drinking Starbucks.”

  “So?”

  “Well, you said so yourself, it’s more expensive.”

  “I didn’t buy it. Amy brought it with her.”

  “I know, but did you tell Amy that she should have bought it at McDonald’s?”

  “No, I guess not,” he says. “Do you think she’s jealous?”

  “Amy?”

  “No, your mom.”

  “I don’t know. I think if she’s mad, it’s probably about the coffee.”

  “I bet she’s jealous.” He’s starting to smile. I can tell he likes the idea.

  He searches in the back of one of the vanity drawers and finds a new toothbrush that’s still in its packaging.

  I leave him brushing his teeth. He’s in a much better mood.

  When Dad drops me off at home on Sunday night, Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, doing the crossword puzzle. She’s nowhere near finished, but when I come in, she pushes it to one side. I pick it up and have a look. I don’t really expect to be able to help. She and Dad are the ones who like doing these things.

  “Five across is adagio,” I say. The clue says, “Slow time in music.”

  She looks surprised. She checks the puzzle. It fits. “Since when did you know about music?” she asks.

  “I only know that because Dad was doing the same puzzle at his house. He had me look the answer up on the Internet.”

  They always used to do The New York Times crossword together on Sundays.

  Mom fills in the word and puts the puzzle away half-done. Dad didn’t finish it either.

  I tell Mom about the houses we saw. They were older than our house, and the neighborhoods weren’t so upscale, but some were nice enough. Sort of like the street Siobhan lives on. “When our house sells and you’re looking for another place to buy, maybe we could drive around Siobhan’s subdivision,” I tell Mom. I figure, if we are going to be a bit poor, it would be nice if I lived near Siobhan and we could be poor together.

  “I’m not sure that I’m going to be buying another house right away,” Mom says.

  “Why not?” I ask. “Like you said yourself, this place is kind of depressing.”

  “Well, it’s not my dream home, but it will do for awhile.”

  “But once you get your share of the money from the house, why would you want to stay here?”

  “I might go back to school. If I do that, it will mean quitting my job.”

  I just about fall off my chair. “But why?” I ask. “You already have your grade twelve. You even took those extra bookkeeping courses. You have the perfect job!”

  “Do you know that I’ve worked at that convent for almost half my life?”

  She’s exaggerating. It can’t be any more than ten years. And the way she always calls it “the convent” makes it sound like it’s just her and a bunch of nuns. It’s not that way at all. The sisters at Cenacle Heights run a retreat center. They have workshops and days of reflection. Lots of church groups meet there. They even have school classes visit sometimes, like mine did when we were getting ready for confirmation.

  Grandma and Sister Margaret Mary are friends, so sometimes we just go up there for tea. It’s a really nice place: quiet and holy. The gardens are very peaceful. And it’s not like Mom is making up beds and washing toilets anymore. That was her first job there, but after she and Dad got married, she took some bookkeeping courses, so now she works in the office. Most people would kill for a job like hers.

  “Does Grandma know about this idea of yours?”

  “I’m not telling her till I know for sure that I’m going,” she says. “I might not even get in.”

  “Get in where?” I cannot see my mother going to university. What kind of a job would she get when she graduated? I can just imagine someone with her temper being a teacher or a nurse.

  “I’ve applied to BCIT,” she says.

  That’s the B.C. Institute of Technology. I think they offer computer courses there. She’s never shown much interest in the computer. It’s Dad and I who hog it most of the time.

  “I’ve applied for their course in interior design.”

  “To be like an interior decorator?”

  She nods.

  “You don’t need to take a course. You know how to do that already.”

  “But if I could take that course, I’d end up with the credentials that I need to do that for a job. I’d be a professional.”

  “Like the ones you see on the decorating channel?”
<
br />   “Yeah, sort of like them.”

  It doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. “You’d be good at that.”

  She gives a happy smile like I’ve said something wonderful. “I’m so glad you think so. I haven’t told anyone because I thought you’d all laugh at me.”

  “Who did you think would laugh?”

  “Well, not laugh exactly, but think I was stupid and try to talk me out of it.”

  “Who’d do that?”

  “I thought you would, and Grandma and your dad.”

  “You never even told Dad?”

  “No. Can’t you just imagine the state it would send him into? It would totally destroy his precious budget.”

  “He’s good at budgets,” I say. “Maybe he could have done a new one.”

  She just shrugs.

  What I don’t understand is, what all this has to do with us having to stay here. I know right now it’s all we can afford, but I was counting on moving back to Surrey once our big house sold. I can’t stand this place much longer. The trailer I’m getting used to; it’s the school scene that sucks. The work is easy and there are a couple of teachers I really like, but I always have Brandy, that weird girl with the blue and black hair, “accidentally” bumping me or making snotty comments. Harbie and Kuldeep are nice, but we aren’t really friends. It’s more like they’re just being polite.

  “But we’ll be getting thousands of dollars when the house sale goes through. Going to school won’t cost that much, will it?” I ask.

  “It’s not cheap. The fees are about four thousand dollars a year, but the big thing is that I’ll have to quit my job. I won’t be able to get a mortgage if I’m not working.”

  “How long is the course?”

  “Two years. Can’t you just see your dad going for that? He’d want me to wait till you finished college.”

  Waiting doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Better for me than trying to stay clear of Brandy for two years. In the meantime, we could buy a new house and Mom could practice being an interior decorator by designing another really sensational bedroom for me. If we got one of those older houses, she could do up the rec room in the basement so I’d have someplace super fancy to entertain Siobhan and my other friends, if I had any. I might even get to be popular. I don’t tell her what I’m thinking. Like she says, maybe she won’t even get in to BCIT.

  eleven

  I phone Siobhan after school on Monday, but she can’t talk for long. Her mother wants her to help one of her brothers, so she has to hang up. I wonder how we’re going to stay friends if I never get to see her. Mom doesn’t have problems like that. Gina’s got nothing better to do than drive miles to drop in for a coffee. Mom and I are just finishing up the dinner dishes when we hear a car pull up next to the trailer. Mom looks out the window to see who it is.

  “Hey, it’s Gina.” She dries her hands and heads for the door.

  “Shouldn’t you be at pilates?” I ask as soon as Gina steps inside.

  It’s six-thirty and she and Mom always went to a seven o’clock class on Mondays and Fridays.

  “I’m playing hooky. It’s just not the same without you,” she says, talking to my mom, not me. She plops herself down at the table, sitting on one chair and putting her feet up on another. “You got anything to drink?”

  “Just cola,” says Mom.

  Gina shrugs. “Guess that’ll do.”

  Mom was figuring out our budget this morning, and she’s left the paper she was scribbling on, along with a couple of bills, in a slot of the napkin holder, which is sitting in the center of the table. While Mom’s getting the colas and putting ice into the glasses, nosy Gina helps herself to a look at our finances.

  “What’s this?” she asks.

  “Just a list to show what I’ve spent this month,” Mom says.

  “Hmm, movie rentals $7.00, stamps $5.45. This is so sad! Well, at least you’re not writing down what you pay for every cup of coffee.”

  “That’s because I haven’t been able to afford to go out for coffee.”

  “It can’t be that bad. Why are you fussing so much about it? I thought Harold was the one who was totally anal about money. When did you start writing down everything you spend?”

  Mom looks embarrassed. She skids a pop across the table to Gina. “I guess as soon as Harold wasn’t here to do it.”

  Since no one’s paying any attention to either me or the dog, we go to my room. I leave the door open so I can still hear Gina and Mom talking.

  “So how long has it been? Three weeks, right?”

  “Since I moved in here? Yeah, three weeks this Sunday.”

  “Okay already, then that’s quite enough of the hermit act. It’s time you got out and about.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m so broke, and there’s Lucy to think of.”

  “She’ll be with Harold on the weekend anyway. Ian and I’ve been talking. We’re taking you clubbing. Our treat.”

  “I couldn’t …”

  They talk for a good half hour. Mom keeps making excuses, but Gina is very pushy. She just won’t take no for an answer. By the time she leaves, Mom has agreed that Ian and Gina can pick her up at nine on Friday night. What time is that to be going out? It’s almost bedtime!

  I’m so upset, I’m almost speechless. As soon as Gina leaves, I confront Mom. “You’re going to a nightclub?”

  “So it seems.”

  “That’s disgusting. I suppose you’ll wear an indecent dress like that one Gina was wearing in the picture she showed us that time.”

  “Don’t I wish! I’ll just wear jeans and my lime floral top. It’s all I have.”

  I can imagine what Grandma and Dad will have to say about this. I head for the phone.

  “Lucy!”

  She doesn’t actually yell, but she says it so sharply I stop like I’ve been slapped.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  I leave the phone alone and stomp back to my bedroom. The dog is sleeping on my bed. She could use a walk. I wake her up, go get her leash, and we walk out the door without even looking back at Mom.

  Maybe Mom can make me too uncomfortable to use the phone in front of her, but she can’t stop me from talking to Dad when she drops me off at his place on Friday. He’s managed to get home at a decent time, but there’s nothing to eat in the house, so we have to go grocery shopping before we can make dinner.

  We’re driving to the store, but my mind is a thousand miles away.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he says. “Is something bothering you?”

  “It’s that Gina again. She and Ian are taking Mom out to a nightclub.”

  “She’s going to a nightclub? She never told me she’d like to go to a nightclub. Did she ever mention it to you?”

  “No, and it wasn’t her who suggested it on Monday either. It’s all Gina’s idea. Mom even argued about it at first, but you know what it’s like. Gina seems to be able to brainwash her.”

  The traffic is heavy, like it always is on Friday nights. Dad changes lanes.

  “By the time Gina left, all Mom was worrying about was that she didn’t have a really sexy dress to wear.”

  “No, I guess she wouldn’t.”

  “She’s going to wear jeans and her new lime top.”

  I imagine he’ll feel better knowing this. At least she’ll be dressed decently. He knows which top it is; she doesn’t have a lot of clothes.

  “She looks cute in that,” he says.

  “But do most people go clubbing in ordinary clothes like that?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You’ve never been?”

  “No.” He pulls the van into the Save-On-Foods parking lot. Once he’s parked, we get out and he pulls out one of the carts from the stand. He wheels it toward the store.

  “When you and Mom were dating, what sorts of things did you do?” I ask.

  “We went out for dinner or to a movie sometimes.”

  The way he says that, it doesn’t s
ound like they did that very often. “What else did you do?”

  “Other times, we’d just stay home and play cards with your grandma and granddad. On the weekends, we’d take you to the park.”

  It doesn’t sound that romantic. We’re in the pasta and sauce aisle. Dad’s pitching boxes of Kraft Dinner into the shopping cart while he’s talking.

  “Dad!”

  “What?”

  I can’t believe he hasn’t noticed. “Look, the store brand is four cents less a box.”

  “So it is.”

  He starts putting the Kraft Dinner back on the shelf. I gather up half a dozen boxes of the store brand macaroni dinner and put them in the cart. This breakup is really affecting him. I wonder if he’s losing it. He’s probably worried too, because he says we need to concentrate more on the shopping.

  We’re in the car driving home when he picks up the conversation we were having before.

  “We went to a lot of garage sales. Some people would think that was dull, but your mom always liked doing that, and I sort of got in to it. I was living in this dingy bachelor pad, and she was determined to make it into a real home.”

  I nod. That sounds like Mom.

  “She did too, with bits and pieces we picked up for almost nothing.” He’s smiling a bit as he says this, but by the time we get home, he looks sad again.

  He must be brooding about it, because it’s got to be an hour later when, out of the blue, he says, “No wonder she left me.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Probably not. It’s just who I am. That’s the worst of it. It’s not something I can change.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about. There’s nothing wrong with who he is. He’s not movie-star handsome, but he’s nice-looking enough. He’s quite tall and he’s not fat. He has short brown hair and eyes that squint at the corners in a friendly way when he smiles. He only wears his glasses when he’s working or when he’s tired.

  “I think you’re very nice looking,” I say.

  “Thanks, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m so dull and boring. I’m just not a fun kind of person.”