Or dies trying.
Chapter 32
Maggie
Mrs. Weston holds the sign-up sheet in her hands. She looks around at the girls at their desks, with their disinterested faces. Another class and another group of blank stares.
“So, no one wants to enter this contest?” Hope leaks out of Mrs. Weston’s voice and Maggie cringes for her.
The sign-up sheet is for a historical essay contest. Mrs. Weston has explained that every year, the call goes out for submissions and that there is a prize. Not only does the winner receive a $100 gift card to a bookstore, but their paper is published in the Historical Society’s magazine.
“And, of course, you’ll have bragging rights,” Mrs. Weston says grinning.
Maggie is doing her best to keep her eyes on her desk. As soon as Mrs. Weston mentioned the contest, an idea popped into her head. It might be crazy to even pursue it, so she keeps quiet. At least, until lunch hour.
Maggie is sitting with Lexi and Brianne at their usual table in the cafeteria. It has been a week since the Student Leadership Committee meeting and there is an uneasy truce between them. Maggie picks her words carefully, and does more sitting and listening than usual. Lexi was elected as seventh-grade rep, so Maggie’s failure to vote has been forgiven.
Lexi and Brianne are discussing a new series released on Netflix which they both binge-watched on the weekend. Maggie hasn’t seen it yet and zones out. “What did you do on the weekend?” Brianne asks Maggie. “If you weren’t watching Netflix.”
“More volunteer hours?” Lexi asks. The barbed comment is not lost on Maggie.
“I did other stuff too,” Maggie says a little defensively. But then struggles with what that other stuff was. Brianne and Lexi wait expectantly. “I took Harvey for a walk,” she says quietly, realizing how pathetic it sounds.
“Oh, Mags!” Brianne says, shaking her head. Maggie grits her teeth at her friend’s condescending tone.
“I know you think Brayside sounds boring, but it really isn’t.” She’d like to add that she thinks staying inside all weekend to watch TV sounds boring too, but she doesn’t.
The girls wrinkle their noses and Maggie feels like she’s been left out of a conversation. Her last shift at Brayside was spent in the library, which now looks more like a library. Maggie was asked to play piano before lunch again and Austin taught Harvey a new trick. All in all, it was an enjoyable afternoon.
Lexi ducks her head like she’s trying to hide. “Oh no! Mrs. Weston is here.”
“Why is that bad?” Maggie whispers. She thought they liked Mrs. Weston.
“She’s super-intense about this essay contest. She caught me in the hallway and wants me to ‘think seriously about entering.’”
“As if we have time!” Brianne moans. “We get so much homework!”
“You had time to watch a whole series on Netflix,” Maggie points out, but regrets the comment when she gets the stare from her friends.
“That’s different. That’s downtime. And when did you become my mom?”
“You’re turning into an old person! From spending so much time at Brayside!” Brianne snickers.
Maggie smiles at the comment and tries not to take it personally. She’s just teasing, she reminds herself. But it also makes her wary about admitting she has an essay idea, or that she’s considering entering. It will give them another reason to mock her.
Despite Lexi’s attempt to hide, Mrs. Weston sees them and walks over. She still has the sign-up sheet in her hand and it is still blank. “Hi girls!” she says. “I know I talked about the contest in class, but I wanted to double-check that none of you wanted to enter. The deadline is pretty soon, so if you’re interested…” She lets her voice trail off.
“Sorry.” Brianne shakes her head.
Mrs. Weston turns to Lexi. “Lexi?” she says hopefully. “I know you said no earlier…”
“It’s not really my thing,” Lexi says with a shrug.
Mrs. Weston turns to Maggie.
Maggie’s idea has been percolating all morning. But with her friends watching her, she can’t admit that she’d like to enter. So, instead, she shakes her head regretfully. “All right, well, if you change your mind”—Mrs. Weston holds up the sheet—“you know where to find me.”
The girls watch as Mrs. Weston moves on to the next table of seventh graders. “I wouldn’t even know what to write about, anyway,” Brianne says. “History’s pretty boring. It all happened so long ago. Like, who cares?”
The answer to Brianne’s question burns on Maggie’s tongue. History is not boring and there are plenty of reasons to care. But their friendship is already on shaky ground. She doesn’t want to look like a keener, so she bites back her words and tries to look interested as the conversation returns to Netflix.
Chapter 33
Austin
I bump into Charlie. I’m arriving as he’s leaving. The thing about Charlie is he’s really cheap. He’s happy to have me around as long as he doesn’t have to pay me. He’s also a perfectionist and wants everything at Brayside to look top-notch all the time, which is why it’s such a classy place. “The planters out front need to be watered,” he says to me. “And the laundry room door is squeaking. Maybe you could oil it.”
Charlie is short and has thinning brown hair. He wears a suit every day and moves like he’s always in a rush. Personally, I think he should stop and talk to the old people more often. But Grandpa says he’s an administrator, not a caregiver and there’s a big difference. “Charlie has to drive the bus. It’s Mary Rose’s job to look after the passengers.”
“What’s your job?” I asked, grinning.
“I keep the engine running,” he said, and winked at me. Lately, Charlie’s always rushing off to meetings, so I’m surprised when he stops in the hallway and looks me in the eye. “Your grandpa was telling me what an independent worker you are. He says the residents are just as happy to see you with a tool kit as him. It’s nice to see a young person eager to learn.”
Charlie hardly ever talks to me. It makes me worried he’s buttering me up before he fires Grandpa. “Grandpa’s just being nice. He’s the one with all the skill.”
“No doubt there,” Charlie says. “You’ll always be welcome here, Austin, whether your grandpa’s here or not.”
I stare at him as he waves goodbye to me and to Louise, who’s at reception. A sick feeling churns in my gut. It’s the same feeling I had earlier today when I looked at the science test I barely studied for. “Did you hear what he said?” I ask Louise.
“Charlie?” she asks, flipping through pages on a clipboard. “I don’t listen to half of what he says.”
“He’s going to fire him.”
“Fire who?” She puts the clipboard down and gives me her full attention. “Austin, are you okay?”
“He’s going to fire Grandpa.”
Louise’s eyes double in size. “He’s gonna what?”
“I found the job posting on his desk,” I say miserably. I wish I’d never found it. Knowing and not being able to tell Grandpa is like not being able to spit a bad taste out of my mouth.
“Why would he fire Phillip?”
“Because he’s old. He could probably hire someone younger for half the money.”
Louise pulls up a stool to the reception and plunks down on it. I rest my head in my hands. “Did you say anything to Phillip?” she asks me.
“No.”
“Good. You leave this with me. I’ll get to the bottom of it. No one’s getting rid of your grandpa without my say-so. You got that?” She fixes me with one of her no-nonsense looks, the kind that the residents know not to mess with.
All I can do is give a weak nod.
“Austin!” Mr. Santos bursts out of his room waving a newspaper.
“He’s been waiting for you all afternoon,” Loui
se whispers. “Won’t even tell me the clue. Said you’re the only one he asks for help.”
“Apple with buds. Four letters. Ends with a D. I think.”
I don’t have to think very long before I say, “iPod?” He stands at the desk and writes in the letters.
“I could have got that one,” Louise mutters to me under her breath. “Crossword genius, my heinie.”
Chapter 34
Maggie
“What a nice surprise,” Mrs. O’Brien says when Maggie shows up after school. “But no Harvey today?” With her white hair and rosy cheeks, Mrs. O’Brien looks like one of the ladies who dress up as Mrs. Claus at the mall, minus the tacky red dress.
Maggie shakes her head. “He’s at home. I’ll bring him on the weekend though.”
“He was funny the other day. Full of beans! Come by my room on your way out. I have some muffins with your name on them.” Maggie promises she will, and heads over to Mrs. Fradette’s suite.
Last night, Maggie gave more thought to the essay contest. The topic is Hidden History. She is sure that Mrs. Fradette’s stories about leaving Winnipeg during the flood would make a great essay topic. She just has to figure out an angle. What made Mrs. Fradette’s experiences unusual?
She knows it’s a long shot, but she can’t help thinking how exciting it would be to win. Wouldn’t Mrs. Fradette love to see her story in print? Mrs. Fradette answers the door as if she’d been waiting on the other side of it.
“Margaret! Come and see what I finally finished.” Mrs. Fradette opens the door to her suite wider so Maggie can join her. The mess of photos on the kitchen table is gone and Mrs. Fradette has completed not one but three frames of photos from her life. “The problem was trying to choose photos for just one frame,” she explained. “So I said to heck with it and made three.”
Maggie grins at her. “Good thinking.”
The photos are arranged chronologically, Maggie notices. The ones at the top of the first frame are from when Mrs. Fradette was young. The photo of her family at the train station is there. Halfway down Mrs. Fradette has included a photo of her in a pale dress standing beside a man in a suit. “Is that your wedding day?” Maggie asks.
“Yes. That was Bert. He’s been gone a long time now,” Mrs. Fradette says wistfully. Maggie scans to the bottom and there is a recent photo of Mrs. Fradette sitting in a chair at what must have been her old home, surrounded by her son and his children. But in between are a multitude of memories.
Maggie sits down in the kitchen chair and Mrs. Fradette pulls up a chair beside her. Maggie feels a bit like an archaeologist, but instead of digging for artifacts (and with the essay contest on her mind), she is searching for stories. Mrs. Fradette grins eagerly as her eyes run over the pictures she’s spent the last few days agonizing over. “That’s Pépère and Henri, his tomcat.”
Maggie looks at the black cat. Part of one ear is missing. “I don’t know who adopted who, but Henri came home with Pépère one day and that was it. He wasn’t like most cats: he never left Pépère’s side. He even slept under Pépère’s bed. Mémère tolerated him because he caught mice in the house.”
Maggie smiles, thinking that Henri sounds more like a dog than a cat.
“Henri went to the garage every day with Pépère. There was an old chair out front of the garage that Henri slept on. When a customer pulled up, he’d meow loudly. Pépère used to call him his doorbell.”
Mrs. Fradette tilts her head, looking at the photo. “He didn’t let anyone but Pépère and me pat him,” she says proudly. “He’d hiss at everyone else.”
“Why?” Maggie asks.
Mrs. Fradette leans back in her chair and Maggie can tell she’s in for a story. “The Lacroix family, who lived near my grandparents, had a son about my age. Norm was his name.” Mrs. Fradette says the name with disdain. “He’d pass the garage on his way home from school and toss stones at Henri. Henri would hiss, or howl if Norm actually hit him, but by the time Pépère got out there, Norm would either have run off, or would have his hands in his pockets, whistling as he walked by like he’d done nothing wrong. It used to drive Pépère crazy!
“One day, I was out front and saw Norm coming before he saw me. I picked up some rocks from the ground and crouched behind the corner, waiting. He took a look around and pulled a stone from his pocket. He didn’t have a chance to let it fly though.” Even though it was seventy years ago, Mrs. Fradette still has a look of glee on her face. “I let one of my rocks fly and nailed him right in the gut!”
“Oh no!” Maggie laughs. She can imagine the mischievous dark-haired girl from the photos chucking the rock and smirking when it hit its mark.
“Norm clutched his stomach. ‘I’ve been shot!’ he cried, and fell to the ground. Pépère and Alphonse came racing out of the garage.
“‘What happened?’ Pépère said, looking around.
“‘Am I bleeding? Is it bad? Am I gonna die?’ Norm was screaming, more with the shock of it than from actually being hurt.” Mrs. Fradette isn’t just telling the story anymore, she’s animated, using different voices for each of the people, including a light French accent for Pépère.
“‘Alphonse, take him home, will you?’ Pépère said.
“Alphonse rolled his eyes at Norm’s theatrics. He wasn’t too happy about helping Norm home, but he hauled the boy up and let him lean on his shoulder. The Lacroix family was well-off and their first son was older than Alphonse. He made a big show of driving his new car up and down the main street. I’d caught my cousin staring at him enviously more than once.
“As Norm limped away with Alphonse, I figured I was in the clear until Pépère rounded on me. ‘Do you know what happened to that boy?’
“I still had a rock in my hand and let it drop to the ground at my feet. ‘You can’t throw rocks at people,’ Pépère said, bending over so we were eye to eye. ‘Even when they deserve it. Mean can’t be solved with more mean. Okay?’ I hung my head. I didn’t like disappointing him.
“Pépère didn’t mention anything about it to Mom, which was a good thing. She might not have let me go with him to the garage anymore if she knew I was throwing rocks at boys. Although she was so worried about the flood, I’m not sure she would have paid much attention. The radio was always on and as soon as the news broadcast started, Mom turned it up to listen. She and my dad agreed to a daily six o’clock phone call. If the call didn’t come, she’d fly into a panic and call Uncle Wilfred’s house, assuming the worst.
“It might have been the same day I threw the rock at Norm Lacroix that we heard on the radio that the dike along Wellington Crescent had broken.”
Maggie has been listening intently and raises her eyebrows. “When Dad called that night he told us that there was water right up to the front doors of St. Ambrose. I did my best to hide my excitement, but thought my prayers had been answered. Maybe the school would be shut down permanently! No more nuns! No more disapproving looks! Of course, my prayers weren’t answered. The school only suffered minimal damage. We saw a photograph in the newspaper a few days later of two nuns paddling in a canoe past the school gates! In their habits!” She laughs at the memory.
“What about your house?”
“It was still safe. The Lyndale dike was holding, but the water was lapping at the top. All it would take was another inch or two and we’d be done for. All of this sailed over my head, to be honest. I was so caught up in working at the garage. Without the constraints of school, the layers peeled off me. I was a grease rat.” And then she cackles, slapping her hand on her thigh. “Truly, I was. With each passing day, I was becoming more and more at home in that garage.”
Mrs. Fradette is interrupted by a knock on the door. One of the nurse’s aides is there. “Blood pressure check,” she says brightly. Maggie catches the flash of irritation on Mrs. Fradette’s face.
“I guess I should get going,” Maggie
says reluctantly. She still has a lot of work to get done in the library and less and less time to do it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mrs. Fradette says, as if her return is a given.
Chapter 35
Harvey
Maggie’s fingers are tapping on the keyboard when Harvey goes to her and stretches so his front paws are on her leg. “Not now, Harvs,” Maggie says. “I’m researching.” Harvey, of course, doesn’t know what “researching” is, but she does rub her hand over his head and scratch under his collar in a most pleasing way before she turns back to her computer. “Or trying to,” she mumbles.
Harvey sits for a few minutes at her feet, hoping for some attention. When none comes, Harvey wanders downstairs, where he paws at the sliding door until Maggie’s mom lets him out.
As soon as Harvey steps into the backyard, his black nose quivers. Just as Maggie might take in all the colors of a painting at once with her eyes, Harvey’s nose is attuned to every scent the air holds. Harvey raises his head. There is one that stands out.
Curious, Harvey cases the perimeter, trying to locate its source. He weaves in and out of plants in the garden and circles trees. He sprinkles his scent in key locations. With his curiosity piqued, Harvey is reluctant to head indoors. But as it grows late, the promise of warmth inside and food in his bowl lures him back to the sliding door. A breeze blows over Harvey’s white coat, ruffling his fur. It carries the scent of leaf mold and fallen apples, of goose feathers and pinecones.
And something else.
Downwind the creature is stirring, emerging from under a rotten log.
Like Harvey, she has instincts too, and they are telling her that her current home will not do for the coming winter. She’s on the hunt for something better. More comfortable and better protected.
Perhaps a hollowed-out space where she can curl up and sleep for a few weeks when it gets cold. A gap beneath a shed will do nicely.
Harvey Holds His Own Page 7
