If Only (12 page)

Pam

I get a one-ring phone call from Billie just before midnight on Sunday night.

“I saw my cousin Paul,” she whispers. “On the ferry.”

“Oh, Billie,” I say. “What happened?”

“We had supper in the cafeteria. Then Mom went to find us some seats, and I went to the gift shop to buy a magazine. When I found Mom, Paul was standing there, talking to her.”

It's freezing in the kitchen because Dad turns the heat down at night to save money. I pull my quilt around my shoulders. “What did you do?”

“I went to the washroom. I actually thought I was going to puke. I stayed there until they announced it was time to go to the cars. Mom was furious. She said she thought I'd fallen off the ferry!”

“Are you okay now?”

“Sort of. I don't know. I'm so scared of him. And then all the way home Mom was going on and on about how Paul was always such a problem, and how he doesn't seem to be looking for a job, and I almost told her then, but I couldn't.”

There's a sudden catch in Billie's voice, like she's trying not to cry. “I'm afraid she'll say it was Nancy's fault. Maybe it was. Maybe it was something she did.”

“No!” I say.

You look like a slut.
Dad's words slam into me with a sickening jolt. I should have never worn those clothes. I should have run faster. I should have fought harder.

“Are you still there?” Billie says.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I'm here.”

And then I tell Billie everything. It's the first time I've really talked about it. How when I close my eyes I can feel his breath and smell his sweat and see the gleam of the knife. How a sudden noise, even Dad slamming the door or a car backfiring, makes me jump. How I want to barf when I see the pale yellow smudge that is all that's left of the bruise on my arm.

Billie listens and I talk, and I don't cry. At the end I feel a little bit lighter, as if something heavy has not gone away but has moved ever so slightly.

Monday. it's raining buckets. At lunchtime Billie says, “Let's go bug Danny.”

Danny is in the library. He works there every day, helping Mrs. Callaghan. I have no idea why. Maybe it's just Danny being weird. And I'm pretty sure he'll want to be left alone.

We go anyway, me, Billie, Daphne and Celia. Danny is in the back room, sorting boxes of donated used books into two piles: keepers and throw-outs. Hugh is there too, leaning against the wall reading a
Superman
comic. “Someone donated a whole box of comics,” he says.

“Definitely not keepers,” Mrs. Callaghan says.

There's not space in the little room for everyone, and Danny is ignoring us and Hugh is buried in his comic. Mrs. Callaghan is the only one who seems glad to see us. “I could use four creative girls,” she says.

She puts us to work setting up a bulletin-board display. The theme is
SPRING INTO BOOKS
. Mrs. Callaghan has a fat portfolio full of magazine pictures of cherry blossoms and baby birds and fuzzy lambs. She brings out poster board and colored paper and felt markers.

“If you have some yellow crepe paper, I know how to make daffodils,” Daphne says. Daphne is artistic—Celia showed me some of her paintings in the art room, and they are amazing.

Mrs. Callaghan produces the crepe paper and the lunch hour flies by as we cut and glue and laugh. It's fun, like we're back in grade four.

Billie talks about Victoria, how they went to The Empress Hotel for tea and to the wax museum and the Parliament Buildings and a place called the Crystal Gardens for swimming. She sounds fine today.

Daphne asks if anyone has seen Stacey. We all say no. I know what it's like to hide out at home, and maybe I'm starting to feel a little bit sorry for Stacey, but mostly I don't think about her.

Celia goes to the bathroom, and when she returns, she says, “There're two cops in the school. They're just leaving.”

A few minutes later, the principal comes on the
PA
speaker and announces that there will be an assembly in the gym as soon as the bell rings.

“Something must have happened,” Daphne says.

“It could be anything,” Celia says. “It doesn't have to be because of the cops.” But she doesn't sound like she means it.

Billie doesn't say anything.

I'm quiet too, concentrating on cutting out the giant
G
for the word
SPRING
.

My hands start to shake. Cops in our school. What do they want?

It takes Mr. Allen a few minutes to settle everyone down. There are no chairs set up, which means the assembly wasn't planned. The floor fills up with rows of kids. Some kids rush right to the bleachers at the back of the gymnasium.

Billie and Daphne and Celia and I sit on the floor, near the door. I can see Danny a few rows ahead, hunched over and not talking to anyone. Rainy days
make students go crazy. Kids are running around and eating chips. A boy tosses a basketball to someone five rows back, and kids leap up in the air to try to intercept it. The noise is deafening.

Mr. Allen stands at the front and raises his hand in the air. You're supposed to put up your hand, too, to show that you're listening, but that's what you do in elementary school, so most of the kids don't. But the noise slowly dies down.

“I have some disturbing news,” Mr. Allen says.

It's quiet now. Why does my heart feel like it's going to jump out of my chest?

“There was another…incident last night.” Mr. Allen clears his throat. “A grade-eleven girl was assaulted on the railroad trail. She doesn't go to our school. She's a Poplar Heights student.”

My stomach lurches into my throat.

I don't want to hear this. I bend over, biting down on my lip so hard I can taste blood. I catch pieces of what he's saying. “Not a lot of details yet…police are warning girls again to stay off the trail…please walk in pairs when you're going to and from school…I'm writing up another letter to send home to your parents.”

Everyone must be staring at me. Heat rushes up my neck.

Billie touches my arm.

When the assembly is over, kids mill around. There's a buzz of talking. Danny disappears in the crowd.

I finally find him, leaving the gym, his head ducked.

“You have to take me home,” I say.

Danny

There's a cop car in front of their house
.
Two policemen are in the living room with Dad. Danny has never seen them before.
He wonders what happened to Constable Diggins.

“You're home,” Dad says. It's only one thirty, but he doesn't say anything about skipping school. His face looks caved in, and it's the color of cement.

“Pam and Danny?” guesses one of the cops. He's a big burly guy with a red face and kind eyes. “I'm Corporal Stoneridge. We were going to come back tonight. We want to talk to you.”

“Pam's not feeling well,” Danny says. “But you can talk to me.”

“Both of you,” the other cop says. He doesn't give his name. “It won't take long. Just a few questions. Last night—”

“We know what happened,” Danny cuts in.

“It was several miles from here,” Corporal Stoneridge says quietly. “But we're sure it's the same guy. There were similarities.”

He talks for a minute about the black balaclava and the knife. “Has anything come back to you? Anything you've remembered that you didn't tell us? It might seem like nothing to you, but it could be important. Pam?”

Pam shakes her head. She is shivering.

“Danny?”

Danny licks his lips. He knows he has to tell. “The guy's army jacket? I saw one that looked like it. It belongs to a guy who was working at the Bluebird Market
.
His name is Raymond. But he's gone. He doesn't work there anymore.”

“When was this?” the other cop says.

Danny shrugs. “A week and a half ago. I forget what day exactly.”

The cop frowns. “I wish you'd come to us sooner. I know the store. We'll take a run by there now. Anything else?”

“No.”

“You're sure?”

This cop has cold eyes, chips of green ice.

Danny swallows. “I'm sure.”

“You've been helpful, Danny,” Corporal Stoneridge says. He turns to Dad. “I've got kids too. We'll catch this bastard.”

“The girl…is she all right?” Pam says. Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

Corporal Stoneridge hesitates. “She's in the hospital. She was hurt pretty bad.”

“I think it's time for you to leave,” Dad says.

Pam

I try listening to the seashell, but it doesn't work.

I curl up under my quilt, hugging myself. The phone has rung five times since supper. Danny came to my door the first two times and said it was Billie. He didn't come back again.

I can't even talk to Billie right now.

The girl in the hospital. That could have been me.

Please please please
.

I'm so tired of being scared
.

Danny

Danny walks to school by himself. Pam refuses to go. He goes early because he wants to avoid Hugh
.

If only they had stayed on the farm.

If only.

If only.

It's like a mantra to Danny.

Last night, in between the calls from Billie, a woman phoned and asked to speak to Dad. Danny overheard Dad's side of the conversation, and he figured out this much: The woman is a real-estate agent, and she already has an interested buyer for the farm. Dad has been planning this for a while. It's too late to stop him.

At school, the library is Danny's refuge. It's a place to get away from the gossip that is swirling around the halls. Hugh says the story was on the news last night, and, for the first time, Danny is glad their
TV
is broken. He doesn't want to know.

Hugh has to spend the lunch hour doing extra math because he failed a test. The girls aren't around. Danny can lose himself in the boxes of musty donated books and not talk to anyone. Mrs. Callaghan doesn't count because she does all the talking, mostly about her five granddaughters, as she makes tea and shares her cookies with Danny.

Danny would stay in the library forever if he could.

Pam

“Your homework,” Danny says, dropping a math textbook and some loose papers on the kitchen counter. He reaches for a glass, opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of milk.

I'm making toast with peanut butter. I haven't eaten all day, and I'm suddenly starving. I lean against the sink and watch Danny pour his milk and then walk over to the kitchen table.

“Where'd this come from?” he says sharply.

He means the jigsaw puzzle—pieces are scattered across the table, and the lid, with a scene of a sailing ship, is propped up against a mug.

“I'm working on it,” I say.

Not entirely true. I've only spent about an hour total on the puzzle. Most of the day, I've drifted around the house, staying out of Dad's way, trying to read, washing some clothes, cleaning out my bedroom closet.

“You?” Danny says.

It was always him and Nana who did the puzzles. They had stacks of them. They had worked a whole day sometimes, bent over a card table in the living room. I was never able to sit still long enough, and besides, I didn't see the point.

When we packed up to move, Danny wouldn't even look at the puzzles, but I kept this one and stuffed it into the back of my closet because it reminded me of Nana. Danny frowns, and I know it's because I'm doing it wrong. Half the pieces are turned upside down, and I've only fitted together a tiny piece of sky with a seagull in it. I've heard Nana and Danny talk about puzzles long enough to know that I should have done some sorting first. Sky pieces here, ocean pieces here, ship pieces here. I should have started with the straight pieces that go around the edge. I should have at least turned all the pieces over.

Danny leans over the table and picks up a piece that is solid blue and snaps it into place beside my seagull.

“You can help me,” I say.

Danny grunts. His fingers start sliding pieces across the table. Straight edges. I knew it.

Dad comes into the kitchen, his coat on and a brown envelope in his hands. “I'm going over to see Pop,” he says. “I'll be a couple of hours. I've got some papers for him to sign.”

Danny stares at Dad.

Then Danny leaves the kitchen. His bedroom door slams shut.

I can't find any more pieces that fit and I've pretty well decided to sweep the whole thing back into the box when Billie phones. I can barely hear her.

“Talk louder,” I say.

“I can't,” Billie whispers.

“What? Where are you?” I ask.

“In the kitchen. Paul's here.”

Her cousin. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“He's in the living room,” Billie says. “He won't leave. He wants to borrow some money.”

Silence. My heart beats faster.

“Billie, are you still there? Where's your mom?”

“Out. I'm babysitting Mary. He says he won't go until Mom gets home. I can't talk any more. Please, Pam, ask Danny to come over.”

She sounds freaked out.

Billie is my best friend.

“We'll both come,” I say.

Danny

Danny and Pam run.

Pam has given Danny a scrambled story. There are parts missing. Parts she won't tell him. But he knows this much: Billie is scared stiff of her cousin Paul.

It's a mile to Billie's house. After five minutes Pam doubles over and moans, “I have a cramp. I can't run anymore.”

They walk a block and then run some more. Walk. Run. Danny is panting hard too, like Pam.

It takes them fifteen minutes to get to Billie's house. A red station wagon is parked on the street, in front of a small, brown, rust-speckled car.

“Her mom's back,” Pam says. She puts her hands on her knees and sucks in air.

Does that mean everything is okay? Danny's heart slows down.

The front door of the house bursts open. A man comes out and slams the door shut. He has a blond crew cut and a purple birthmark on one side of his face.

He's wearing a green jacket, four pockets on the front, two yellow stripes on the sleeves.

He lunges down the steps and then turns to face the house.

“Screw you!” he shouts.

He spins around and barrels into Danny, who has started up the front walk. Danny sprawls on his knees, his hands scraping the concrete.

“Outta my way!”

As Danny slowly stands up, he hears the screech of tires, and the rust-speckled car speeds down the street.

Danny saw the jacket. Army surplus. His head reels.

“Danny?” Pam says. “Are you okay?”

Danny nods. He's cold with shock.

“You're bleeding.”

Danny looks at the palm of his right hand. He wipes it on his jeans.

“Billie's cousin?” Pam says. “Paul? I've seen him before.”

She hesitates. “Only I thought his name was Matt. He lives in the duplex beside Carol. He's her neighbor.”