A Hole in My Heart (12 page)

Lizzie comes home three weeks to the day — November 29 — after her operation. The Sunday before, I put up a welcome home sign for her, of course. I make my bed up fresh and put the other mattress on the floor for me. I clear the desk of all my books so she has a place to study and bring up an old table from the basement for me to work on. Aunt Mary hangs Lizzie's clothes in my closet and I stuff my underwear, socks, and pyjamas into two drawers so Lizzie can have the two other drawers of my bureau. It's a squeeze but should be fun.

I wait until now to ask Dad if we can have Juniper. A little late because I wasn't sure he'd let me. I have lots of arguments figured out in my head — like I work so hard in the house I deserve to have something I want; like I babysit and save my own money; like cats are good mousers and we don't want mice in our basement; like Mrs. Taylor needs a home for her; and the clincher, I figure, Lizzie will have company when she moves home. And lo and behold without me saying any of that he says, “Great idea.”

When I tell him Mrs. Taylor says we can have her on Tuesday, Dad says, “I'll get some canned food on my way home tomorrow.” It bowls me over.

The kitten will live in a basket in Lizzie's and my bedroom. She's still young — Juniper, I mean. I cross my fingers she won't cry for her mother.

Like me.

• • •

Aunt Mary takes the bus back to Penticton a few days after Lizzie gets settled in here. I take over more of the running of the house, but she has put loads of cooked meals in the freezer for us. Lizzie and I do homework together every day and play with each other's hair most nights. Hers is growing longer. From time to time I put it up in a curly ponytail but it looks better down. Of course she does mine in a French braid, sometimes even before school. As she gets stronger, she makes muffins or cookies during the day and helps me with meals when I get home. And plays with Juniper, of course.

Dolores and Stella drop by a lot, once more at night, but mostly together on their way to or from the Taylors' and the kittens. They say they're coming to see Juniper but, if you ask me, I think they like it here. Dolores is not so snippy any more, even at school. The day before yesterday, Stella asked if I would come over some time to her place. I really didn't want to, because of what Trudy said before, so I told Lizzie about it. We decided we'd go together.

Their mother works at Safeway, and the house is pretty ratty and run down. It smells stale. Stella says their dad has left them. Apparently their aunt and uncle — the Taylors, next door, of course — told him to go and never come back. And he did. I guess that's why the girls are both over at the Taylors' more. Anyway, it's Stella's birthday next week, on December the seventeenth. Dolores invited us for a surprise party and a sleepover. I think she has invited another little girl and maybe Trudy. Dad says we can go to the party but, because of Lizzie's health, not the sleepover. We told Dolores we would make the birthday cake, so Stella won't see it. It's been a long time since I've been to a party.

• • •

Two days later, when I come home from school, Lizzie has written on my chalkboard.

The hole in my

heart is almost

better. How

about yours?

What do I say? Instead I hand her the Autograph book I was going to give her at Christmas. I write on the first page:

Dear Lizzie (my favourite cousin and best friend),

First in your Album

First in your thoughts

First to be remembered—

Last to be forgot.

Love and hugs, Nora

• • •

“Dad?” My dad's kneeling in the snow-spotted vegetable garden pulling the last of the carrots. He has turned leaves into the rest of the soil, leaving the parsnips to sweeten over the winter. “Dad,” I say again. He seems off in the distance, away with the fairies as my grandmother says.

“Hmmm? What is it dear?” He pauses in his pulling.

“I want to take piano lessons from Betsy Betuzzi.” I rush on before he can interrupt. “I advertised at the library and two teachers answered. One lives in Lynn Valley. That's too far away. But Betsy Betuzzi lives on 16th Street. I went to see her. I like her.”

“Whoa, girl. What's all this about?”

“Remember I said I wanted piano lessons? And you said, ‘We'll see.' Well I figured unless I did something about it,
we'll see
meant
no
. So I advertised. She's not much older than Dot.” I race on, afraid Dad will stop me or won't listen. “She's been playing piano since she was little and has taught for three years from her parents' house. She lives on 16th. Oh, I already said that. That's close to school so I can take lessons on my way home.”

Dad sits back on his heels, slaps his muddy garden gloves together, a thoughtful expression on his face. “If you really want to, of course you can take lessons from this Betsy person. But I have another idea for you.” My beginning smile fades. I can feel me crumple up waiting for the worst. I pull my stocking cap further down over my ears and shiver.

“But —”

“Now, hold on. Just hear me out.” He sighs, pushes himself up and grabs the bucket of carrots. “Let's go in. I'm getting cold.” We climb the stairs. “Ten days ago I received a letter from my old clinic in Penticton. They still haven't found anyone to replace me.” I breathe in. I can guess what's coming. “They want me back. My residency here is going fine. I do like it. But I've been mulling their offer over since the day it came. I talked to Jan and Dorothy.” As I open the kitchen door and kick off my muddy shoes, I take an even deeper breath. A part of me gets angry. Yet again, he talks to my sisters before me. “They are okay with it. So we can go back to Penticton, if you really want to. And you can take piano lessons there, of course.”

My head whirls. The wind catches the door. It slams behind us. I have exactly what I've been longing for, wanting desperately, for months. And despite my anger at Dad — maybe frustration is a better word — I know my answer immediately.

“You can take your time to think about it,” he says.

I shake my head and smile. I don't have to think about it or even weigh the sides. How can I not know? “Thanks for asking, Dad. I'd love to move back to Penticton. Let's do it.” I pause for the drama of it. I can see his face fall, his body sink. “But only after you finish your surgery training. Right now it's important that all of us, Jan and Dorothy, you and me, are together.” I pause again, search for a smile on his face. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

My dad has that queer look again, like he doesn't know who I am. “Are you sure?”

I nod. His face crumples. Tears well up in his eyes. “It's okay to cry, you know, Dad.”

First and most importantly I wish to thank Bette Cannings, who was the inspiration for a part of this story and who let me use examples from her Autograph book. Thanks also to Dr. Neil Guenther, who generously reviewed the medical details for accuracy.

Various people read drafts of this manuscript: Bette Cannings, Linda Holman, Pat Boyd, and Rick Gray. Michelle Turner gave me i
nvaluable editorial suggestions and Lorna Klohn helped me with historical details. They all have my gratitude.

Thanks also to Dundurn, specifically Sylvia McConnell, for believing in me.

No More Dragons

by Rie Charles

9781926607122

$9.95

How do you turn an upside-down life right-side up? Thirteen-year-old Alex is afraid. Afraid of his dad, afraid of kids at school, worried about his sick brother and, most of all, angry at himself for being a wuss. How can he make his life different, become a new person that people like?

“I'm writing because its starting to get to me. Plus I need to tell someone,” begins Alex. Through letters to his only friend, Alex breaks his solitude and confronts the truth.

As courage and wisdom gradually build, he gains the confidence to confront his own dragons.

Available at your favourite bookseller

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Copyright © Rie Charles, 2014

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, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Editor: Carrie Gleason

Design: Courtney Horner

Epub Design: Carmen Giraudy

Cover design by Laura Boyle

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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Charles, Rie, 1946-, author

A hole in my heart / Rie Charles.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-4597-1052-8

I. Title.

PS8605.H36917H65 2014 jC813'.6 C2013-908355-3

C2013-908356-1

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