Trail of Secrets (2 page)

I watched Leslie leave the kitchen, her shoulders slumped and her head down. I wished I knew the right magic words to make her feel better. That could only happen if time turned back to the days when Mom, Dad, Leslie and I were a family living together in our house in Springhills. Otherwise, we were stuck just getting by, pretending everything was all right when nothing would ever be all right again.

Around three o'clock, Ambie and I met up and walked to Springhills Mall. Since Springhills is a small community just outside of Toronto, most people make the hour-long trek into Toronto to shop along Yonge Street or to go to another mall in one of the burbs. Springhills Mall has a few clothing stores, but it's not what I'd call a fashion hub or anything. Luckily, I don't like shopping all that much anyhow, and I'm happy to buy my clothes at the closest sports store. Ambie used to feel the same as me, but lately she had developed a new interest in fashion. I looked over at her green and white striped blouse, flared denim miniskirt and expensive leather sandals and felt a little underdressed in my denim cutoffs and T-shirt. Ambie'd pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail and used a curling iron so that her hair hung in curls down her back. I noticed that a few guys turned and looked at her as we walked by, but she didn't seem aware of their interest.

“I like your skirt. Is it new?” I asked, hoping Ambie had forgiven me for neglecting her while Pete was still in town.

“Oh, this?” She looked down. “I bought it in Toronto last week. Rosemary Sharpe, Cindy Vickers and I caught the bus downtown to go shopping. You were busy with Pete, or I would have asked you along,” she added.

“Yeah, I guess I got a little preoccupied. I'm really sorry I did that, Ambie.”

She looked over at me and grinned. “No problem, Jen. Unbridled lust can happen to the best of us.”

I swatted her on the arm. “I wouldn't exactly call what Pete and I have going the grand passion.”

“What would you call it, then? Just two friends spending every spare minute together to the exclusion of everyone else in the world?”

“Well, if you put it that way . . . it's just, sometimes I think there's too big an age gap. Pete's going to meet lots of girls his own age at university, and I feel like I'm on the same level as a kid sister.” I'd finally put into words how I'd been feeling since Pete had told me he'd be going to McGill. I fully expected him to leave me behind, but I didn't feel very good about it. “I mean, I have two more years of
high school
. How lame is that?”

Ambie linked her arm through mine. “Maybe you'll both go your separate ways and meet up again when you're a bit older—you know, like fate or something. Who's to say what will happen? All I know is that you and Pete seem pretty good together, and I can't imagine that him going off to university will change that.”

“I hope you're right,” I said. “Anyway, I've decided not to worry about it because there's nothing I can do. I'm going to keep up a full and healthy social life and hope Pete doesn't change too much by the time I see him next.”

“Sounds like a good plan . . .” Ambie began just as we heard feet running on the pavement and girls calling our names. We turned and watched Rosemary and Cindy
race up behind us, their arms waving and big smiles wreathing their mouths. Any chance that Ambie and I had to talk about her secret disappeared with their arrival since we spent the rest of the afternoon together, talking about clothes and what we should wear the first day of school. I pretended to be interested, and I don't think they knew how little I really cared about what colour nail polish I'd be wearing on Monday morning.

Uncle Phil came by for supper. He'd spent a week fishing north of Sudbury and had a couple of fresh pickerel to grill on the barbecue. I sliced up some potatoes and wrapped them in foil with onions and butter and a special mix of spices I'd come up with after a bit of experimentation. Then, Leslie and I made a tossed salad with tomatoes and cucumbers from the farmer's market that is open on weekends through the summer. By the time Dad got home from working in his garage, it was seven thirty and we'd organized our meal on the picnic table in the backyard. Uncle Phil served the pickerel on a platter, and we took our seats. The sun had already started its descent behind the pine trees at the back of our property, and the solar lanterns began sending out a soft blue glow at intervals around the yard. Dad lit the three candles on the table, and a smell of vanilla drifted upwards. Dad, Uncle Phil and I dug into the food as if we hadn't eaten in a while. I knew Dad would forget to eat all day unless we were there to remind him.

“Busy today?” Uncle Phil asked at last.

“Overhauled an engine for Sammy Reynolds. That took most of the afternoon.” Dad ate a forkful of fish. “Great pickerel. Catch anything else?”

“A few trout and a lot of blackfly bites.”

Dad laughed. I looked across the table at Leslie. She was poking her fork into a mound of potatoes, her head resting on her other hand. Dad followed the line of my gaze. “Not hungry tonight, Les?” he asked.

Leslie shook her head. “Can I be excused, Daddy? I'm not feeling very well. My stomach hurts.”

Uncle Phil reached over and put his hand on her forehead. “Not feverish,” he said.

Dad looked at Leslie thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, “Sure, honey. You go in and get into your pajamas. I'll be in soon to see how you're doing.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Leslie slid from the bench and walked back to the house with her shoulders drooping and her head down.

Dad and Uncle Phil looked at each other across the table. Dad's jaw was set, and his eyes flashed dark. “This has to be settled soon,” he said.

Uncle Phil nodded. “Time you had a talk with Alice.”

Dad stood and swung his leg over the bench. He began collecting our plates. “. . . talk some sense into that woman,” he muttered as he followed Leslie into the house.

Uncle Phil smiled at me. “Your dad will work this out with your mom, don't worry, Jen.”

“Yeah. Just like my parents have worked out everything else in their lives,” I said. Who would have thought two adults could keep getting everything so mucked up?

Uncle Phil stood and leaned across the table to blow out the candles. “I have a date, so I'll help you get the dishes into the house and then take off.”

“A nurse?” I asked.

“No. I'm seeing an anesthesiologist now. Her name's Kelly.” Uncle Phil smiled. “She's a little boring, but so far hasn't put me to sleep.”

I laughed. Since Uncle Phil had quit drinking, he'd dated half the single nurses at Springhills Hospital. It looked like he was turning his attention to the doctors. “Well, try not to nod off,” I said. “She might think she's back at work and start an I.V.”

Uncle Phil shook his head and grinned at me. “Good advice coming from one so young. You fancy yourself a wit, young Bannon?”

“Well half, anyway,” I quipped. Some lines are called groaners with good reason.

The first thing I did when I climbed the stairs to my bedroom was turn on my computer. Mom had bought it for me as a gift for being in her wedding party, and I'd set it up on an old oak desk that Dad had salvaged from the curb where someone had put it out as garbage. He'd stripped the wood down but so far hadn't gotten around to refinishing it. I didn't mind the stressed look, which kind of suited the rest of my room. As I waited for my machine to boot up, I looked around, assessing what was left to be done. I'd painted two walls a deep violet and hung a bamboo blind and shear white curtain over the window. I'd bought a cream colour paint for the other two walls, but it was still in the can that had become my
footstool. Dad had bought me a new mattress for the twin bed we'd found at a flea market, and I'd covered it with a new white blanket. I'd rescued Grandma Bannon's hooked rug from my old bedroom and my stuffed bear Benny, but not much else from Mom's. Dad had promised to build me a bookshelf, but until then, my books were stacked in piles at the foot of my bed. The room was starting to feel like mine but was far from complete. Martha Stewart would have taken one look and rolled up her sleeves. I reminded myself to hang the posters that I'd tucked away in my closet and find a place for the pictures that were packed in a box under my bed.

The home page sprang up, and I eagerly clicked on my e-mail. I searched for Pete's name, but besides a few jokes forwarded from Ambie, my inbox was empty. No sign of his promised message. I put the computer to sleep without opening Ambie's jokes. The day had been pretty much a washout. I wasn't feeling like doing anything much except climbing into bed and falling asleep as soon as I possibly could.

Three days after Pete left for university, I got a two-line e-mail from him that told me he'd arrived and was getting oriented, with a promise to write more later. I sent back one almost as short, telling him it was good to hear from him, and I hoped he had more time to write soon. I figured playing it cool was the best way to go. Pete would be in touch when he had time. I just had to have faith.

On Friday afternoon, Dad came home for lunch and finally got a hold of Mom in L.A. He'd been trying all week, but she had decided at the last minute to fly with Mr. Putterman to Miami after she'd spoken with Leslie. I was sitting on the back steps with the door open, sucking on some ice cubes at the bottom of my glass of iced tea when the phone rang, so I heard most of Dad's side of the conversation. I could pretty much imagine what Mom's side must have sounded like.

“She wants to stay here,” Dad said at one point. “I know you have custody, but we have to go with what's best for Leslie. She's not eating or sleeping well . . . no, she keeps saying she wants to stay in Springhills.”

I could hear the exasperation creeping into his voice. “Why don't we try it until Christmas? We can reassess then. I know it would be good for her to see more of the
world, but she's had a lot of upheaval this year.” Then his voice dropped, and I had to strain to hear. “They both miss you, Alice, but this is the way it is. You can't separate them. It would just be too hard.”

I'd heard as much as I could take, and as quietly as possible, I stood and headed down the steps and out of the backyard by the side gate. I started jogging down Sunnydale then turned onto Pine Glen, detouring onto the bike path at the end of the block, picking up speed until I was running at a good clip. I put my mind into neutral and concentrated on my breathing and the spreading ache in my legs and the fire in my lungs. The first wave of pain passed, and I settled into a comfortable rhythm, passing by stands of pine and spruce trees and smelling the end of summer heat mixed with thick vegetation and the carpet of pine needles and decaying leaves underfoot. After about eight kilometres, the path took an upward climb. I ran another kilometre until my sides ached and I was out of breath, then bent over to grab my knees and catch my breath. I'd stopped in a copse of tall evergreens and could just see patches of blue when I looked up through the branches. The next day would be the first of September, and summer was nearly over. Standing there alone in the middle of the woods, far away from the noise of Springhills, I made a silent vow to try harder in school if Mom let Leslie stay with us instead of forcing her to move away. I'd stop complaining about how wrong everything was and start looking for the good in my life. I'd clean my room and take out the garbage . . . I gave my head a shake and turned to start jogging slowly back towards home. You shouldn't get too
carried away when making vows. In the big scheme of things, promising to work harder at school should be way more than enough to keep Leslie home.

I found Dad in the backyard, sitting on the steps holding his baseball cap in both hands between his knees. His eyes were fixed on something at the back of the property where the fence tilted on an angle, looking like a good wind would knock it over. I knew he had already calculated how much cedar he needed to rebuild it. He always had lots of construction plans, but being in business for himself, he never had any free time to get things done. Even though Dad was staring in that direction, I knew he wasn't thinking about the fence. He looked up when I clicked the gate shut and gave me a slow smile.

“Go for a run?”

“Yeah. Now I'm ready for a shower.” I climbed up next to him on the steps and sat down. “Did Mom agree to let Leslie stay?”

Dad began twirling his baseball cap around and around in his hands. When he spoke, his voice was even. “We're to put Leslie on the plane tomorrow morning. Your mom already made the reservation, and the ticket is waiting at the airport. Do you think you could start getting her things packed? I didn't get through to . . .” His voice trailed off, and he stood suddenly, jumping off the bottom step. “I should get back to work. I'm late, and I have a brake line to fix by three.”