The Thirteen (8 page)

let’s go change tops I wanna get some money from my mom

As the car drove slowly by, the female driver leaned slightly forward, grinning madly at them.

Paula stared. “Oh yes,” she said to her daughter, “Marla and I were inseparable.”

They crossed the road and walked towards the park. Paula thought she could hear the gurgling of the river. More than any other sound

(except maybe the
whoosh
and whistle of something sharp flying through the air)

the sound of the river evoked memories. They’d spent so much of their time there. In the park. All of them, hanging out, sitting at the picnic tables.

(They would sit inside the culvert when it was dry and talk for hours. David did most of the talking—he was one of those people who could find something to say about anything, and sometimes they would hold hands while he talked …

He’d grin

I love you Pauls

and later, when they’d already spent too much of their time together, he would reach out, put his hand on her neck and trace it down to her breasts

I love you Pauls

They found everything together.)

“Why did you even leave here, then?”

“Why did I leave Haven Woods?”

“Yeah,” Rowan said. “If it was so great and you had friends and everything, why did you go?”

Paula shrugged. “Everyone leaves home sometime.”

“Your friend didn’t. Grandma didn’t.”

“Honey, we’re here now. Let’s just enjoy this. Except for Grandma being sick and the part where you got kicked out of school, we could have a nice time.” She grinned at her daughter, wryly, she hoped.

Rowan groaned. “It should have been Nicki who got kicked out.”

“Let’s just talk about something else and be nice.” Paula pointed to the trees ahead of them. “You know, there’s a river down there. We used to come here all the time when I was a kid.”

Old Tex recognized the park and stopped. He raised his nose and sniffed the air. Rowan squatted and undid the clip on his collar, but Old Tex stayed put. She gave him a little push. “Go!”

The dog looked at her and panted, took a few steps onto the grass and sat down.

“Go play—”

“He’s old, Ro. Give him a minute.”

The park was empty over to where the river was bordered by tall elms and firs. Play equipment lay abandoned and lonely in the afternoon sun of a work/school day. There were the usual things: monkey bars, two sets of swings, a slide and a broad sandbox that looked untouched. Too big for the slide, Rowan slowly walked over to the big-kid swings. She backed into one and let the wooden plank seat hit her mid-thigh. She backed up until all that was touching the ground were her toes and all she had to do to fly was lift her feet, poetry in motion.

Paula watched. A wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm her. The naturalness of Rowan in this wholesome setting was such a contrast to the places she’d dragged the girl through, each new address a little worse than the last, even though she tried to convince herself that she was improving their lot.

They should have been here all along. With her family.

With
his
family. How different their lives would have been. And across her mind it all flew, like the girl on the swing: If she’d stayed and explained and been able to give all this to her daughter. If her mother had let her stay. She’d been so confused and griefstricken, and then when she found out she was pregnant, her mother thought it best if she stayed away. Paula figured she’d been ashamed of her, though her mother didn’t say so, and Paula had felt so ashamed she never pushed.

Somewhere farther away, a dog barked happily.

Rowan kept her eyes closed as long as she could, opening them only when she started to feel sick. When the vertigo passed, she closed them again—fiercely, her teeth gritted—stuck her legs straight out in front of her on the upswing and threw them underneath her on the way back. Back and forth, like that. She knew her mom was watching her. She deliberately didn’t look over at her. She had just decided: except for Tex, she did not like Haven Woods.

On the backswing, leaning way forward, she heard a dog barking, high-pitched and antic.

–

Gusto sprinted out of the trees as soon as he caught the scent of another dog. He ran full bore, small beagle body arcing midair about every twelve steps, the only thing that prevented him from tumbling head over tail across the grass towards Old Tex.

“Gusto!” Sanderson Keyes yelled after him as he beelined for the other dog.

Startled, Paula turned to see the beagle leap through the air at Tex.

“It’s okay,” the man chasing after him yelled. “It’s okay, he’s friendly—just a bit starved for company. Gusto!” Gusto was jumping all around and underneath the substantially larger Tex, who for his part was tolerating the younger dog’s interest.

Rowan flew off the swing and ran towards the animals, delighted. “Hey, another dog!” She’d seen lots of cats, but until now the only dog had been Tex. She and Paula crouched down and petted the new one. Diplomatically, Gusto divided his time among them all, but he showed a definite preference for Tex.

Sanderson caught up, then bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. “Whew, can’t do that like I used to,” he said. “Sorry about this. He’s been pretty cooped up and he thinks this is a dog park.”

“I
love
him!” Rowan buried her face in Gusto’s smooth scruff.

Paula laughed and scratched the top of the beagle’s head once more, then stood up.

“Paula Wittmore?”

She met the man’s eyes, then laughed in recognition. “Sandy Keyes. Oh my god! How are you?”

He took her hand and gave it a half-shake. “You’re still here?” he said. “I just moved back.”

“Well, welcome home. And no, I don’t live here anymore. My daughter and I are home visiting my mom. Sandy, this my daughter, Rowan.”

Rowan looked up from the dogs and nodded shyly. She had one hand on Old Tex’s head and the other wrapped around Gusto’s neck. Dog heaven. “Hi,” she said. “I like your dog.”

“Nice to meet you, Rowan. It looks as if he likes you too. He’s Gusto, for obvious reasons.”

“You’re the second person from the old days I’ve run into today,” Paula said. “I saw Marla Riley earlier. She looks great.” She pointed to the bow attached to his shirt. “You come gift-wrapped?”

He looked down. “My mom. She brought me a housewarming present.” He pulled the bow off and then didn’t know what to do with it. “It’s good to see you. I don’t see anybody from the old days, though if Marla still lives here, I’m bound to run into her sometime.”

“It’s good to see you too, Sandy.”

“Sandy? Ha! No one’s called me that for awhile. I’m Sanderson now. Running my own construction company and all that.” He grinned to show he wasn’t full of himself. “What about you? What are you doing these days?”

She thought about lying, then laughed and confessed. “Nothing right now. I’m … in transition.”

Rowan rolled her eyes discreetly, then got up and ruffled the fur around Old Tex’s neck. “C’mon, boy, let’s go.” She turned to Gusto. “You wanna run? Wanna run?” She galloped backwards. The dogs followed her, Old Tex more out of loyalty than a desire to actually run.

“That your same dog? I remember that dog. He used to come down to the ball field. We used to try to get him to play base.” Sanderson laughed. “Riley used to toss him the ball. Long time ago.” He looked quickly at Paula. “Sorry. Bad thing to mention. You were an item, you two.”

“Long time ago,” she said.

Sanderson said, “So, is Rowan your only one?”

She nodded. “And no, to get it over with, I’m not married. You?”

“Was. Just divorced.”

“I’m sorry. Kids?”

“No. But don’t be sorry—it’s all good. Hey, I just had a crazy idea. Why don’t you and Rowan come for dinner? My mother dropped off some steaks and stocked my fridge with enough food for an army.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “She worries about me.”

“I don’t know, Sandy,” she said. “My mom’s not well. She’s actually in the hospital here. It’s why we came home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Paula. Can I ask what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, actually. I’ve had some trouble getting in touch with the doctor. She’s not saying either. Izzy Riley was the one who called and told me. I’m sure I’ll know soon enough.”

“Do you want to make it another night?”

Paula stared at the ground a moment, considering. “No, we’d like to come.” She met his eye and smiled. “Rowan’s been a little bored. I think she’ll love the idea of hanging with two dogs.”

“Great, we can catch up. You remember Winnie Casper’s old house?”

“The one that looks like the Brady Bunch live there?”

“Yes! I bought it and I’m going to restore it. It’s great example of early seventies architecture and I’m in love with it. I’ll give you a tour of its finer points when you come. About seven o’clock?”

“Sure, we’ll be there.”

“Bring Old Tex too, okay?”

“Sure.”

As Sanderson walked away he whistled for his dog, and Gusto ran to him, chased by Rowan and Tex. Sanderson leaned towards her daughter, saying something she couldn’t catch, but from the way Rowan jumped up and down, clapping her hands, she guessed she wouldn’t have to talk her into dinner at his place. Their conversation ended with Sandy-Sanderson putting the gift bow on top of Rowan’s head.

He turned and gave her a wave, then he and the dog jogged away in the direction of Proctor Street.

SEVEN

W
HEN THEY GOT BACK
from the park, Paula told Rowan to entertain herself while she made a couple of calls. Rowan fiddled with the TV, but all that was on was that Joanna Shaw show; her mom had said she was a friend of Mrs. Riley-Moore’s. She watched without much interest as Joanna Shaw got the audience to yell at a man who didn’t pay his child support. Then an ad came on reminding viewers to tune in next week, when the show went national. Rowan clicked it off.

She could hear her mom on the phone in the kitchen. Tex was collapsed on the floor beside her and she reached over and gave him a scratch on his belly. That was when she remembered about the new collar.

Tex followed her to Grandma’s bedroom. Her mom’s clothes were still in her bag, but she’d put her makeup stuff on the giant bureau against the wall. Rowan got down on all fours and lifted the bedskirt. Under the bed, right in the middle, was a small box. She reached for it and it slid easily towards her on the wood floor. Even though her grandmother had told her to take it, it still felt like sneaking, and she kept one ear on the sound of her mother talking at the other end of the house.

The box had an inlaid decoration on the top. She took the key from her blazer pocket, slipped it into the lock and turned, then lifted the lid. A strong smell hit her and she wrinkled her nose. An old-people smell, like the stuff they put in their drawers and medicine cabinets. Medicine-y.

Tex sniffed the air, then sat on his bum beside her. He whined sadly.

“Do you miss Grandma, Tex? Do you?”

Inside the box were pieces of broken jewellery, a copper penny, a nickel. A teeny-tiny pincushion in the shape of a little pig caught her eye; it had room for only four pins. There were also three small Ziploc bags. One held a sponge, another some powder. The third was empty. Underneath them she found what she assumed was the collar. She lifted it out and held it at eye level. It smelled too.

Her grandmother had wound the whole length of it with red ribbon and had added decorative dots along the ribbon. There were tiny marks that looked like exotic tattoos, circles and stars. Four puffy bits of cotton, evenly spaced, completed the decoration. It was weird, but Rowan liked it.

The dog looked at it and at her.

“You have to wear it. Grandma said,” she told him. She put it around his neck and carefully did up the buckle, loosely so it wouldn’t hurt him. Then she tilted her head and studied him. “Very handsome for an old bugger.”

She undid the old collar and dropped it into the box. Then she closed the lid and slid it back under the bed. Just as her mother came into the room.

“Is that what you’re wearing to Sanderson’s house?” She pointed at Rowan’s school blazer.

Rowan frowned. “Is that what
you’re
wearing?” She pointed at the rock T-shirt her mother wore. U2.

“I’m changing, Miss Behaviour.”

Rowan got up and patted her leg for the dog to follow her. “Don’t change too much or I won’t recognize you.”

Paula was frustrated. She’d called the hospital and asked Tula for the name of the doctor treating her mother. Tula had stalled, said she wasn’t at the desk that had the directory, that he was new to the hospital. She thought his name was Tuck or Tubb or Tucker.

something like that dear—I’ll find out and let you know tomorrow

There was no Tuck or Tubb or Tucker in the phone book. So she called every doctor in the area to find the one who was treating her mother. She had to argue with each receptionist even to get them to check

we don’t usually give out that information dear

but from what she could figure out, no one in Haven Woods was treating her mother.

So she’d called the hospital and gotten (half-wit) Tula again. Did the woman never go off shift? When Paula explained what she’d done, all Tula could say was,
Well, many of our doctors come from other places. I told you I’d check and let you know tomorrow
. Paula demanded that a doctor
—any
doctor—call her in the morning before she went by to see her mother.

She was still pissed off, and slightly worried, when she pulled off the U2 T-shirt and tossed it on the bed. She caught a look at herself in her mom’s dresser mirror. For a moment she panicked. What would she wear?

just a barbecue

She pulled her good blouse from her bag and shook it out. Then she rummaged through her mother’s closet and came up with a green jacket to go with the blouse. She put both on and was pleased that the jacket fit her. Then she grabbed her brush and gave her hair a few strokes. It was thick, a striking chestnut, and she was glad that Rowan had inherited it, colour and texture both. Today, however, it was not cooperating. Paula sighed and pulled it smoothly back, fastening it with a large hairclip. She studied herself again. She looked kind of good.

The TV sounded from the living room again and Paula recognized the music from
The Joanna Shaw Show
—not exactly kid-friendly viewing. Shaw favoured the style of commando journalism in which everything is a moral emergency. The issues were usually black-and-white—child abuse bad, long-suffering woman good—and relied on screams of outrage from her audience and Twitter rants delivered in real time that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. It was … unwholesome.

On her mother’s dresser was a bottle of perfume. With a wry smile and a roll of her eyes she sprayed it into the air and walked through the mist. Just enough. She’d read that in a magazine.

Rowan was sitting in Paula’s dad’s recliner, which her mother had re-covered in a pattern that matched the sofa. She dangled a foot over the armrest and bounced it, remote in hand, as she stared blankly at the set.

Paula took the remote and shut off the TV. Her daughter, lost in either thought or the program, jerked in surprise. Checking her mother out, she gave her a thumbs-up. “You look like Julia Roberts.”

Paula blushed happily.

ha ha

“Get Tex’s leash, okay, honey?”

Rowan slid off the chair and held up the leash. She’d been sitting on it.

“Are you really going to wear your school blazer?”

The girl stuck a self-conscious hand into a pocket, looking defensive. “I like my blazer, okay?”

Paula took the leash and hooked it onto Old Tex’s collar. Was the collar new? She tugged it away from Tex’s neck to see better, and a sudden memory hit her, prompted by the scent of

this smells like mints

tuck it in your pocket, Paula, it’s pretty

There were little white cotton pouches stuffed with what felt like straw or herbs

peppermint?

and a red ribbon decorated within an inch of its life.

“What’s this?” she said.

“It’s Tex’s new collar. Grandma told me to put it on him.”

“Hmmm,” Paula said. “Your grandma has always liked making things. Do you like it? What about the smell?”

“It’s okay. I like the smell of dog better,” Rowan said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Especially the smell of Old Tex.”

On their way out the door, Paula said, “Do I really look like Julia Roberts?”

This was usually Marla’s favourite time of day. The sun was dropping below the horizon and she was finished the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning. She was anticipating baths, books and pyjamas, knowing that in an hour or so the kids would be sound asleep and her time would be all her own.

But tonight there was Coach Crawford.

It had taken her nearly an hour to calm Tim down after practice. He’d
huff-huff-huffed
, unable to speak, only to be overtaken by more sobs. She got him to bend over and breathe, her hand on the back of his head, then held a cool cloth to his forehead and cheeks.
Breathe, honey
, and she’d waited for him to do it. When he still wasn’t able to calm down, she had him lie on the sofa with his head in her lap while she rubbed his back.

But he was still upset. It had taken her ages to get him into pyjamas and then into bed, while her poor little Amy stood in the doorway, utterly uncertain about the order of things and needing her order, because Amy was a somewhat unimaginative child.

Is Timmy going to die? she’d asked
.

No, honey, of course not. He’s just upset is all. It will be okay. You go climb in your bed, doll
.

And she had, of course. She always did what she was told. She was the easy one. She was … malleable. Her little doll.

Marla could still hear the occasional sob coming from Tim’s room. He was crying in his sleep, and she was livid.

Tim hadn’t made the baseball team. He had handed her the note, struggling to get the words out: “Mister … Crawf—Crawf—Crawford …”

She’d read the note while Tim buried his head in her stomach and cried.

Dear Mrs. Riley-Moore:

Tim’s skills are exceptional, but unfortunately he will not be invited to play on the baseball team this year, since he is still too young. We hope that next year he will try out again, when he has reached ten years old. His skills are top-notch and we’ll be glad to see him at that time
.

Yours truly
,
B. Crawford, Phys. Ed
.
Haven Woods Elementary

Asshole.

Marla peeked in on her daughter. Amy was on her back looking like a sleeping princess, her hair spread out over the pillow. Her tiny, perfect face was smooth and serene. She would lie like that all night, never moving. Marla knew this because it was always so.

Amy was only six, but so beautiful people stopped them on their rare ventures out of Haven Woods.

oh my god what a beautiful child

Men, women, other children … it didn’t matter—the girl stopped traffic.

(she was
a doll

—but that was no fault of hers)

She closed the door and peeked in again on Timmy. He lay curled on his side, his cheeks still stained with tears, his little nose red. His nightlight was shaped like a baseball, and just seeing it inflamed Marla again.

how dare he Crawford the little prick little bastard prick

She’d met the coach on one of her many trips to the school. She volunteered a lot. It was what a mother did, if she could—and Marla could.

Crawford was a stereotype: short but built, with huge biceps and overworked shoulders. His leg muscles were equally defined (she would suspect implants, except she didn’t think the little troll made enough money). Marla figured such a man taught grade three because he needed to feel superior, and the best way to do that was to boss around the only people he was certain to be both taller and smarter than (although that was only a matter of time). He was probably jealous of Tim, a natural athlete. That was it.

Marla paced her slowly darkening house, undoing the damage of a day with young children, picking up jackets and shoes, carrying dishes back to the sink. She picked up toys. Barbie, pretty in a party dress, shoes missing; a stuffed dog that had no name that Marla knew; a miniature bow and arrow. And—

And a plastic man who was supposed to be on safari. Jungle Jim was his name. He wore a plastic vest with accessories that attached and detached: a canteen, a net and a tiny toy gun. A little jungle truck, like an SUV, came with him.

Hello
.

The truck and Jungle Jim went into Marla’s sweater pocket. She started a load of laundry. She turned the lights off in the laundry room, leaving the washer to
whoosh
and purr.

The kitchen, illuminated by the light over the stove, was dim and tidy. And quiet—the dishwasher cycle was complete. Marla would unload it soon.

She stood the toy safari man at the end of the counter. His feet were broad and flat so that he could pose in his safari village with the little plastic cages for a lion, a zebra and a hippo.

Hippos are dangerous animals. More dangerous than sharks, crocodiles or dogs. She and Tim had looked it up on the Internet. More people are killed every year by hippos than by any other animal on earth. Of course the deadliest animal was still the

cougar

She set the truck at the other end of the counter. She bent to eye level and lined it up with the little toy man. The over-muscled, self-important little man.

With an elegant flick of her finger, the car rolled across the counter until it ran full tilt into Jungle Jim. He toppled over, bounced and fell to the floor. If he’d been flesh and blood, there would have been a satisfying
splat
.

Marla stared at the little man, and from her other pocket she pulled the note from school. She opened it and scanned it again.
Won’t be invited … top-notch skills …
Then she dropped it. It floated to the floor, landing on the toy man, covering him completely.

She felt herself relax.

After a moment she looked at her watch. It was just about eight thirty. Doug wouldn’t be home for another two hours. He worked so hard.

She picked up the phone and dialled the Wittmores’ number, something she had not done in

(how many years had her brother been dead?)

years. Why would she? Audra was her mother’s friend. Not so much anymore, of course.

Marla’s expression was hopeful and a little yearning. She wanted to talk, to say

Paula ohmigawd I had such a time with my boy tonight I’m so glad you’re there I have to say—

She wanted it to be like before.

Paula, Danny Sparks said he liked me but I think he just wants to be—

On the other end the phone rang and rang and rang and rang. No machine picked up. Marla hung up after fourteen rings. Even if she’d dozed off in front of the TV, Paula would have heard fourteen rings. Or her daughter would. Rowan. She wondered where they could be.