Trail of Secrets (10 page)

“ ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water',” Roxie said as she took the microphone from Billy.

She closed her eyes for a moment then began the first line. “When you're down and out. Feeling sad . . .” I felt my jaw drop. As Roxie's pure, achingly haunting voice wrapped
itself around the words of the Simon and Garfunkel classic, those who'd been on their way out the door stopped and listened. The rest of us sat mesmerized. Roxie's voice grew in strength and richness along with the song, sweeping us along to the end that came way too soon. It was all the more amazing because she didn't have any musical accompaniment. Her voice had a husky quality that made us feel the sadness along with her, and tears began gathering in the corners of my eyes. I was so amazed and so proud of her that I couldn't speak when the last notes died away. After a stunned kind of silence, we all started clapping wildly, and several people got to their feet.

Roxie gave a little bow, quickly jumped down the steps and came back to our table. She was wearing her usual lopsided grin. We gathered around her and couldn't stop telling her how wonderful she'd been. She nodded a few times before reaching down to grab her jacket. “Let's go,” she said. “I could use some air.” She pushed between Rosemary and Cindy and started for the exit. Ambie, Cindy, Rosemary and I all stood looking at each other for a second before grabbing our jackets and scrambling to catch up with her.

I sat with Dad at the kitchen table after Roxie had gone to bed. I'd just finished telling him about Roxie's surprise performance at the Raven. I wrapped up by saying excitedly, “I can't believe how much talent she has. Someone should seriously think about booking her professionally.”

Dad was silent for a second. He rubbed his hand
across the stubble on his chin and said, “We have to go slow here, Jen. Roxie has lots of things to sort out in her head, and we don't want to do anything that will add to her confusion.”

“I know, Dad, but this talent gives her something that will make her feel special and good about herself.”

“Maybe. That's the goal all right, but how that goal is realized is another story. I don't want to see her exploited. It would be too easy.”

“How do you mean, exploited?”

“Think of all those child stars who end up famous then have adult lives from hell. People never look beyond their talent and money for what's inside. Not to mention, too much money too young can be a bad thing.”

“I know what you're saying, Dad,” I said, “but Roxie has a gift that shouldn't be hidden. Just think about all the doors this could open for her.”

“Well, I'll think about it,” Dad said, not sounding all that convinced. “Now you get yourself to bed while I lock up. I won't be far behind you.”

I said a silent prayer and clicked open my e-mail. I scanned the list of names in my unopened mail. No message from Pete. My heart dropped back into place, and I suddenly felt very tired. I turned off the computer and crossed the floor to my bed, slipping under the covers and reaching for my old stuffed bear Benny. I had to try not to let Pete's poor correspondence skills get me down. I had to accept that he was busy with schoolwork, and talking to me wasn't a priority any more. The sooner I got used to the way things were, the better my life would be.

The third week of school was one of those weeks that seem to slide by without anything really exciting happening. Every morning, I woke up early to run with the cross country team before class. As luck would have it, Mr. Jacks was sick for the whole week, so Miss Po led us through a workout routine before she let us loose on the trails.

“You're all winners,” she'd say as we lined up. “Enjoy the morning, and feel the wind on your faces. Be one with the running gods.” Then she'd raise an arm for us to begin and smile at us, her face beaming like sunshine. Mr. Jacks would have told us to get the lead out and move our sorry butts around the course. As I'd learned in French class,
Vive la différence
.

I was always a little late getting to first period and didn't get a chance to talk to Evan Quinn. He'd nod as I'd settle into my seat but never hang around to walk with me after class as he had before. Wednesday, I saw my chance and said goodbye to Ambie before hurrying to catch up with Evan, who was heading for the side entrance into the schoolyard. He was walking fast with his head down, and I didn't reach him until he'd started across the parking lot.

“Evan,” I said as I drew alongside him. “How's it going?”

Evan stopped and smiled at me, but his face quickly settled back into a scowl. “You probably shouldn't be seen
talking with me, Jennifer,” he said.

“Why, that's silly. Whatever would make you say that?”

Evan looked past me. Whatever he saw made him turn back towards the road and start walking. “No reason. See you around.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

I stood in place for a few moments and watched his jean jacket disappearing in the direction of my house. I spun around and scanned the school grounds. A group of Grade Twelve guys were standing near the entrance to the school. They were talking and laughing and didn't seem in any hurry to go anywhere. Just then, Ambie appeared on the front steps. I took one final look towards Evan then started back across the parking lot to walk home with Ambie.

Roxie and I started hanging out after school. I suppose it was natural since I was missing Leslie, and Roxie was lonely too, even though she'd never admit it. I'd make hot chocolate, and we'd do our homework together in the kitchen. Roxie'd skipped a lot of school and was behind in math and reading. Math wasn't my most brilliant subject, but I knew enough to help her with her assignments. We'd also read her language arts questions together, and I'd check over whatever she wrote. I knew it was slow going for her, but I pretended not to notice too much. It wasn't that she couldn't do the work. It was just that she'd never learned the skills.

“If Miss Greenwood could see me now, she'd think she was dreaming,” Roxie said one afternoon after struggling with a difficult math problem. She flicked the end of her
pencil against her lips.

“Who's Miss Greenwood?” I asked.

“My last math teacher in Toronto. She used to go this peculiar shade of purple whenever she'd yell at me, which was just about every time I showed up for class. Her name should have been Miss Purplewood.” Roxie giggled.

“Poor you,” I said.

“You mean poor Miss Greenwood.” Roxie grinned wider.

Mrs. Stoyko phoned on Tuesday night and spoke with Dad. Mr. Stoyko had had his surgery that morning, and he was doing as well as could be expected. Roxie shrugged when Dad told her but didn't say anything. I guess she didn't want to let on how attached she'd gotten to Mr. Stoyko. It was almost as if she'd given up believing she'd ever belong anywhere.

One really good thing happened that week. Leslie finally called me Thursday after dinner. I was upstairs lying on my bed, trying to memorize the network of a frog's internal organs for a biology test on Monday when the phone rang. I almost let the answering machine pick up but grudgingly reached for the receiver at the last second.

“Jennifer?”

“Is that you, Leslie?” I asked, pulling myself up into a sitting position. I leaned back against the headboard. “Where are you?”

“Los Angeles, sitting by the pool. It's about ninety degrees in the shade.” Leslie's voice travelled across the miles. “I hate this place,” she added, sounding like she meant it.

“How can you hate eternal summer?”

“I'd rather have a good snowstorm any day. Mr. Putterman's never around, so I don't know why we have to live here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, alarms starting in my head. “Is Mom okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. It's just Mr. Putterman is always working. I hear them fighting about it sometimes.”

“Well, newlyweds sometimes have to work things out,” I said. Since when had I become the expert on relationships? The girl who didn't even know if she had a boyfriend. “How's school?”

“They don't use the metric system down here. Did you know that? What is the logic behind a yard and a mile anyway? These people are crazy.”

“Different doesn't mean crazy, Les,” I laughed. “We used to use the Imperial system too.”

“I guess. How's Daddy? And Uncle Phil?”

“They're good. Daddy's working a lot too. Roxie's living in Springhills now with the Stoykos but is staying with us for a few days while they're in Toronto.” I didn't want to trouble Leslie with the details of Mr. Stoyko's heart attack or tell her that Roxie'd taken over her bedroom. “Say, did you know Roxie can really sing?”

“Sure. She told me in the summer that she was friends with some singer who used to give her lessons for free. Roxie'd tell her foster mom she was going to school but go hang out at the music studio instead. Roxie's friend figured Roxie was better there than roaming the streets like she'd been doing.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Roxie said her friend let her tag along to gigs and stuff until their band moved away. I think her friend moved to New York.”

“Wow. Roxie's life has sure been interesting.” I wrapped the phone cord around my fingers. “So, how are you really doing, Les?”

“I don't know. I wish Mom and I could come home.” Her voice had dropped. I could hear someone talking to her. “Mom wants to say hello. I'll phone you again soon, okay?”

“Okay. Bye, Leslie.”

“Hello, Jennifer?” Mom said. Boy, it had been a long time since I'd heard her voice.

“Hi, Mom. How do you like living in L.A.?”

“Well, it's hot, I'll say that,” Mom laughed. She talked for a bit about their new home and some of the people they'd met. I could tell by the funny catch in her voice that she was pretending to be happy. She was never very good at hiding how she was feeling. Then she asked, “Are you keeping well? Making it to class all right?”

“Sure, Mom. I'm fine,” I said. “School's keeping me out of trouble. I might even get good grades this term. How's Mr. Putterman?”

“He's very busy but loves his work.” Mom paused. “I miss you, Jennifer. I wish you could come live with us too.”

And leave Dad all alone?
“That'll never happen, Mom,” I said. “I'm staying in Springhills.

“I know,” she answered. “I was just wishing. Well, take good care of yourself and say hi to Dad and Uncle Phil for me.”

“Okay, Mom,”

“I love you, Jen.”

I closed my eyes and pictured her standing in front of me. “I love you too, Mom,” I said.

Best friends can tell when something isn't right. I began to get a bad feeling about Ambie that Friday when we walked to her house after school. It wasn't anything she said exactly. It was more what she didn't say. Ambie listened to me gripe about Pete and the absence of e-mails or phone calls for a few blocks and never said a word. As we started up her driveway, I turned my head to see if she was even paying attention. She had such a closed-off look on her face that I broke off what I was saying and asked, “Anything wrong, Ambie?”

She bit her lip and wrapped her arms more tightly around the books she was carrying. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

“I don't know. You just seem . . . preoccupied.”

“I just have a lot of homework to do.” She started walking faster. She tossed over her shoulder, “Mom is talking about getting a part-time job. Erica's Bakery has offered her three days a week, from Thursday to Saturday, starting next week.”

I increased my pace. “Wow. Your mom working outside the house. I thought she said she'd never even consider it while you were still home.”

“I know, but Mom seems restless lately. Dad's encouraging
her to accept.” Ambie started walking up her driveway. “It'll be weird, but I think she should do it too. Besides, I won't be home all that much longer. Hey, Madonna,” she called, spotting her cat stretched out on the sidewalk. Ambie leaped across the short distance and dropped to her knees to stroke Madonna's fur. The cat promptly rolled onto her back and writhed happily on the pavement, her paws wrapping around Ambie's arm.