Trail of Secrets (15 page)

“I knew you could do it.” Pete reached over and held my hand. “So, why haven't you been in touch?”

I was suddenly shy. I didn't want to say that I thought he'd found somebody new. “Oh, you know. There's been a lot going on.”

“I guess neither of us is the best at corresponding, but I'm going to be better. It's just I've been working such long hours—I didn't tell you, I'm got a part time job in the university pub.”

“No, you didn't tell me.”

“Mom's had to quit work because she's developed arthritis in her hands. It means there isn't much money.”

“I'm sorry, Pete. Is she feeling okay?”

“Not bad. She's starting to find other things to do with her time. She'd planned to retire in a few years anyway. Any word from Leslie?”

“She phoned a few nights ago. She'll be home for Christmas.”

“I'll see her then. I'll be home right after exams for almost two weeks.”

For the first time in a long time, I felt happiness welling up inside me. Pete hadn't gone away and forgotten me. He was just like I remembered him. There was a chance this part of my life might have a happy ending after all.

After supper, Dad drove Pete, Roxie and me to the Raven. We wanted to arrive early to get good seats, because Billy had been advertising a surprise band for both adults and teenagers, calling it the night of the year in Springhills. It didn't sound like something we wanted to miss.

Uncle Phil met us at the door as we were paying the cover charge. “Good thing I came early. The place is really filling up. I've got us a table as close to the stage as I could get. The Guidos are here already.”

The Guidos?

“And I thought
we
came early,” Dad said.

“The whole town must be here,” said Uncle Phil. “Billy sure knows how to get the word out.”

We followed Uncle Phil past tables with people crowded around, laughing and talking. The noise level was high and charged with excitement. A U2 song was blaring from the speakers. I sure hoped Billy was going to deliver on his promise of something special.

Ambie was sitting beside her mom and dad, and they were all laughing at something with their heads close together. Mrs. Guido put her hand on Ambie's arm as she leaned forward and spoke into Ambie's ear. Ambie looked happier than she had for some time. I wondered if she'd
told her parents about the missing money.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Guido. How's it going, Ambie?” Roxie asked, her eyes curious.

Ambie looked at me and said, “Everything's good. Nice to see you guys. Hey, Pete. How's school?”

Pete dropped into the seat between me and Ambie, and they began a conversation about university life. For someone who'd just lost all her university savings, she didn't seem too concerned as they discussed living in residence versus living off campus. Happily, we still had another year and a half before I'd have to make that decision.

Uncle Phil was sitting on my other side. “Have you heard what band is playing?” he asked.

“Nope. Billy has kept this a big secret. Say, where's your anesthesiologist girlfriend?”

Uncle Phil grinned sheepishly. “We're taking a break.”

“No! You're never going to get married at this rate, Uncle Phil.”

“Probably not. But that doesn't mean I'll ever give up looking.”

I punched him lightly on the arm. “Well, there's always commuting to Toronto. That's an untapped source of dating material.”

“Spread my net wider—you may be on to something, young Bannon.” Uncle Phil's eyes twinkled.

At that moment, the lights went down, and Billy hopped onto the stage into a circle of spotlight. Tonight he was wearing what looked like a tan buckskin jacket over a black T-shirt and blue jeans. He'd pulled his shoulder length black hair back into a ponytail. His black
eyes surveyed the crowd while he waited for us to stop talking.

“A few surprises tonight,” he began. “Just before the main event, it's my great pleasure to introduce an up and coming young talent. She's one of the freshest young voices I've had the pleasure to hear in some time, and she'll be accompanied by a few of our local lads on guitar and piano.”

I looked across at Dad and the seat next to him where Roxie'd been sitting. He looked back over at me and smiled. Roxie was climbing the steps and walking over to the microphone.

Somewhere between a Sheryl Crow song and a Kelly Clarkson hit, I knew Roxie's talent was bigger than the Raven's stage and couldn't be contained in Springhills. She owned the audience, as her voice carried us places from every end of the emotional scale. Her final haunting rendition of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” brought the crowd to its feet. After a bow and wave, Roxie stepped out of the circle of the spotlight and went over to thank the guitar player. The stream of light followed her, and I did a double take when Evan Quinn stood and lowered his guitar to give Roxie a high-five. Was the world going crazy? Why didn't I know that Evan could play the guitar . . . and so well?

They both disappeared behind the curtain, which had been closed the whole time. Billy came out from behind it and stepped up to the microphone.

“We'll have a twenty minute break, and then the main event,” he announced.

I leaned closer to Dad. “You knew Roxie was going to sing?”

“Sure. She asked me if I thought it would be okay when she called me at the shop last night. I drove her to a practice this morning while you were sleeping in.”

“I thought you didn't want her to perform.”

“It's not that I don't want her to perform. I just don't want someone to take advantage of her.”

I wasn't sure what Dad meant, but I was glad he was going to look out for Roxie, and that she'd asked for his advice. I was starting to think of her as part of our family, even though I knew she'd be returning to the Stoykos in a few days. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Washroom?” Ambie asked.

“Sure.”

We stopped in the corridor near the exit. “Did you tell your parents?” I asked.

Ambie nodded. “Mom was shocked at first. She said she had no idea I had questions about my real dad. She said she feels responsible for keeping their history such a secret. To her, he was just someone in her past she wanted to forget.”

“And . . .?”

“Mom was pregnant with me before she married Martin Donaldson. She was only seventeen, and he was twenty-six. She said her parents were really angry at first, but Martin finally won them over. My grandparents are quite wealthy, and they finally gave some money to Mom and Martin to get started. But when that ran out, so did he. After Martin left before I was three, Mom found out he'd stolen some money from old people who trusted him to invest their savings. He did a few years in jail, and she
divorced him pretty quickly. She never talked about him with me when he left because I wasn't old enough to understand. Then, when I was eight, she remarried and hoped I would think of Mr. Guido as my real dad. They'd been friends for years before they married. Mom said she hadn't thought about Martin Donaldson for ages.”

“Wow. But I thought you said your mom got mad whenever you brought up the subject of your real dad?”

“Well, thinking back, I hadn't talked about him for a really long time, because I
thought
it made her mad. Now I know it just made her uncomfortable. I guess when you're little, you get people's reactions all wrong. Mom said she just didn't know what to tell me about him, and it was easier to brush aside my questions until I seemed to forget him. She said it was a sad time for her, and she struggled for quite a few years. It was humiliating too, because her parents didn't believe in divorce and told her she'd made her own bed, so she'd have to lie in it. They were even more upset when she remarried. Grandma even told me once that Mom had left Martin for my step-dad. Hard to believe she'd tell me something like that.”

“Why would she have made up a story?”

“Dad's Italian. I guess you already guessed with a last name like Guido.” Ambie grinned. “Anyhow, my grandparents had a problem with that. They were very angry at Mom for all the bad decisions she'd made—or at least what they considered bad decisions.”

“That's awful. What did your mom say about your missing money?”

“She was mad at first, but Dad said if that was the
price we had to pay to have me safe, we shouldn't obsess about it. He thinks I'll get enough in scholarships to make up for it. Boy, I sure was stupid.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “You just have a trusting heart, Amb.” I felt her shudder.

“It still hurts, but I'll recover. I have a new appreciation for Mom and Dad. The grass isn't always greener, you know, Jen?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” I just had to look at my dad and mom. I'd bet Dad would give anything to turn back time. I hesitated to express the idea that had crossed my mind, but it was a possibility. “Maybe . . . maybe, something came up, and Martin Donaldson really meant to come see you.”

Ambie's eyes flashed. “I thought of that too. I checked my e-mails, and he never sent anything. He didn't even pretend to come up with an excuse.”

“I'm sorry, Amb.”

“Yeah, me too.”

If I told you the name of the band that rocked the Raven for the next two hours, you wouldn't believe it. Those of us lucky enough to be there were pinching ourselves for weeks afterwards. Billy delivered big time. But that wasn't the biggest surprise.

Sunday afternoon, after Pete left to go back to McGill, Evan Quinn, or Evan Myers, which I found out was his real name, stopped by our house. I was kind of moping around because I knew I wouldn't see Pete again until Christmas when I heard a knock at the back door. Evan was standing on the back stoop. He was wearing a new leather jacket. When a gust of wind blew back his hair, I saw what looked like a real diamond stud in his ear.

“Hi, Jennifer. I just came to say goodbye before we leave for the airport.”

“You're flying to London?” I asked. “I thought you'd be driving.”

Evan stepped into the house and grinned. “Hard to drive across the ocean.”

“The other London,” I said, connections crackling like firecrackers in my brain. “You're moving to London, England. So it's no coincidence Billy got the best British band the same week your dad came to take you home. Your dad is lead singer . . .?”

Evan cut in, “Yeah. Dad's band begins a European tour just after Christmas. We have a house outside the city, so we'll be there for a rest until just after Christmas. My step-mom is meeting us there.”

I'd be lying if I didn't say I was suddenly awe-struck being so close to someone famous. For a second, I didn't trust myself to say anything.

Evan shrugged. “We'd been on tour in the States for the better part of a year when I got sick. I'd been touring with him for most of this year, helping with the set-up and getting to play now and then. It turned out I had
juvenile diabetes, and my system was all out of control. The best doctor's in Toronto, so Dad set me up here for the semester while I got treatment. My step-mom was on location with a movie she's producing, so my older sister came with me. Our nanny came too. Well, she used to be our nanny, but now she's like a member of the family.”

“I've heard of diabetes, but what does it do to you exactly?” I motioned him to sit down. “Come sit, if you have time.”

“Sure, I have a few minutes.”

We sat down at the kitchen table. He unzipped his jacket. “Basically, your pancreas stops producing insulin, which you can't survive long without. I have to take a needle of insulin every day. The doctor in Toronto took a few stabs at getting the dose right . . . Sorry. Hospital humour.”

“What happens if the dose is wrong?”

“I get disoriented and can go unconscious. Luckily, it never got to that point.”