Betsy Wickwire's Dirty Secret (14 page)

“Hmm. Yeah. Trying not to care is the worst.”

“Tell me about it …” This was surprisingly easy. I turned just enough to get a glimpse of him. His shyness was rubbing off on me. “You get dumped too?”

“Uh. No.”

“Great. So I'm the only loser here.” “I didn't mean that.”

“Just kidding. Sorta, anyway … What happened to you?”

“Well, uh, my dad.”

“Oh. Ick. My turn to say sorry.”

“Nah.”

I wanted to ask him what happened but I couldn't make myself do it. We looked at the lake some more.

After a while Murdoch said, “My father's bipolar. You know, manic-depressive.”

Then after a little while more he said, “It makes things kind of difficult. He's up. He's down. He does crazy things.
He's not a bad guy—I mean, I love him and everything— but you have to sort of learn not to care, otherwise he'd drive you crazy too. Mom finally had to just let him go. He turns up every so often and it's good for a while and then it isn't and we have to clean up his mess and start all over again. It's hard on Mom. I know she's worried Natalie's got a bit of that in her too—but, hey, not much you can do about it. Just the way things are. Kind of another reason I decided to take a year off school. I needed some time to, you know, clear my head, be there if Mom needed me, whatever.”

I would have loved to say
I know what you mean
but I had nothing to add. Nothing in my life compared to that at all. I'd been dumped by a boyfriend. Big deal. Happens every day. I felt ridiculous nodding, but it was the only thing I could think to do.

The silence was agonizing.

“Now you're scared of me,” Murdoch said.

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. You're scared my father's nuts and you think I might be too.”

He lunged at me with his hands out and his teeth bared. I screamed and flew back.

“See?” he said. “Told you so.”

I laughed and pushed him away like we were old friends.

“What are you guys laughing about without me?” I'd almost forgotten about Dolores. “Come up here immediately and explain.”

Murdoch looked at me and made a
we're in trouble
face.

“I said immediately!”

W
e climbed up the rock and found Dolores lying with her hands crossed over her chest, her eyes closed, her face blank.

“You look like a corpse,” I said.

“You should be so lucky.” She opened one eye, stared up at me like an angry crow, then closed it again. “Though, come to think of it, this wouldn't be a bad way to go. Lying in a fetching little outfit on an isolated outcropping, one's nose sprinkled with freckles, one's skin scented with pine …”

Murdoch and I started spreading our towels out on the rock.

Dolores sat up. “You're not listening. This is important, people. If anything ever happens to me …”

I shifted a few centimetres to the left so the sun hit me directly. “What do you mean ‘if anything ever happens to me'? Nothing's going to happen to you.”

“You don't know that. I could be in a car accident or eat a poisonous mushroom or just simply give in to despair and decide to off myself—who knows? In any event you're going to have to know what to do.”

Murdoch nodded in a fake-serious kind of way.

I twisted my hair up, then put my arms straight at my sides. The sun felt like a spa treatment. Let Dolores talk. Why fight it? “Fine. What do you need us to do?”

“You'll have to sneak into the ICU—I suggest you dress in scrubs so as not to arouse suspicion—then you're to bring me here, to this exact place, at which point I want you to toss the hideous Johnny shirt they'll no doubt have stuffed me into and lay me out in …”

She looked down at her bathing suit. “Not this. It's cute but not right. I have a black Marilyn Monroe-esque halter dress with not-so-subtle pink polka dots that's more the vibe I'm looking for. BTW, it's in my closet, next to my Ugandan Girl Guide uniform. Anyhoo, put me in that, being extra careful not to break my gnarled and atrophied limbs …”

“Your limbs wouldn't atrophy that fast if you just ate a poison mushroom.”

Dolores ignored me.

“Whatever. Lay me out on this rock, like some glorious sacrifice to the Mother Goddess. Stay with me. Stay with me right to the end.” She reached over and touched
my knee. “And then, my darlings, I shall die happy.”

I made an okay sign with my fingers.

“Perfect. So that's settled. We have a few minutes left before I nod off to sleep again so I'll do my best to sound interested and turn the floor over to you … How would you like to die?”

When neither of us answered, Dolores said, “Murdoch. You first.”

The girl would make a great dictator and/or teacher someday.

“Murdoch?”

“I don't know. On stage, I guess.”

I opened my eyes. Murdoch pulled his hair back off his face and sort of smirked. He had a very straight nose.

“On stage?” I said. It was the last place I'd imagine a guy like him.

“Yeah. I'd like to die on stage.” He lifted a shoulder like
what's the matter with that?
“I'd actually like to be jumping up to strike one final chord and die just as my fingers hit the strings. The last thing I hear is the crowd of 200,000 rabid fans chanting
Mur-doch, Mur-doch, Mur-doch.”

Dolores said, “Excellent.”

I said, “I didn't know you play guitar.”

“I don't—but I'd also like to die when I'm 100, so I got time to learn.”

“This is why I like you, Murdoch. You think big.
Okay, Betsy. What about you?”

It felt like a challenge. I wanted to come up with a funny answer or at least a clever one. I said, “I'd …” I looked around. I looked at Murdoch and Dolores and the lake. I racked my brain. I could hear the clock ticking, everyone waiting.

All I could think of was this:
I don't want to die
.

G
od, I was happy. Like, stupid happy, I mean. By Thursday afternoon—five days later — I knew I'd remember this week for the rest of my life. It was like the goal I'd accidentally kicked in at my very first soccer game when I was four-and-a-half. It was like the day I realized I had hips. It was—in a weird way—like the moment I knew Nick was going to kiss Carly. It was a turning point in my life. I didn't know why my life was turning or where it was going, but that didn't matter. It felt good just hitting the gas.

The camera guy had just told me to slip the microphone cord up under my T-shirt and clip the mike to my collar. Frank was making rude remarks about how that Mike was a lucky guy. Dolores was telling him old farts should keep their mouths shut when it comes to stuff like that. I was laughing. I adjusted the tiny black mike
and wondered if it would pick up the buzz I had running through me.

It wasn't the TV interview winding me up, despite the big deal Dolores was making out of it. Unbeknownst to me, she'd sent a blurb about our so-called business to a local TV station and we'd been chosen for a feature on “student entrepreneurs.” A week earlier even appearing in public would have killed me, let alone being on TV in all my janitorial glory, but things were different now.

Heidi Wamboldt, the reporter, smiled and asked if I'd mind cleaning Frank's toilet for the opening shot.

I said, “No, not at all.”

Weird thing was, I meant it.

I squeezed some cleanser in the bowl and swished it around.

Heidi said, “Wonderful!” then asked me to do it again — only this time would I try kneeling on the floor?

The toilet was already clean and there was no way I'd normally kneel on Frank's bathroom floor no matter how many times I'd disinfected it, but sure. Why not?

Why not? That was like my new motto or something.

My alarm would go off now in the morning and I'd still groan but I'd put my feet on the floor and throw myself into the shower and by the time I made it to Frank's or Amy's or Mrs. Burton's or the Arsenaults', I was excited about what the day had coming. I liked washing windows
and polishing silver. I looked forward to finding out what Dolores would be wearing that day, and to breaking in a new mop. Even the gross stuff had a sort of sick appeal now. (I'm thinking specifically about those big Kleenex snot-chrysanthemums Frank planted around his La-Z-Boy.) I knew they would at least be good for a story.

Dolores yelled, “Cut!” and hustled in front of the camera to adjust my T-shirt. “Would you mind shooting it from a slightly lower angle?” she said. “I'd like to get more of our logo in.”

The camera guy gave this long drawn-out “Ahhhh …” and looked at Heidi.

Dolores said, “Thanks ever so much!” and I found myself laughing again.

Dolores made me laugh, and pissed me off too, of course, but she was always interesting. That struck me as a reasonable trade-off. My old life suddenly seemed so boring to me. Even fun used to be predictable.

You could tell the camera guy wanted to kill Dolores but he crouched down to get the shot she asked for anyway. I had to smile.

Heidi said, “Oh, sorry. Would you mind not smiling? In fact … Why don't you clean the bowl again but this time, wipe your forehead with the back of your hand when you're finished.” She demonstrated. “I want this to look like it's a really tough job.”

It was so corny you'd think she'd be embarrassed even suggesting it. I could hardly wait to tell Murdoch about it.

The camera guy was having some problem with his equipment so I leaned back on my heels and waited for him to get ready. I thought about embarrassment. It struck me as a weird concept.

M-Bare-Ass-Ment
. That just came into my head. From the Latin, meaning
to inadvertently expose your hind quarters
. Funny.

I thought of Murdoch again in the shower that day. I thought of Dolores and her general bare-assed approach to life. Then I thought of something that had happened a couple nights before.

We'd gone to Quarry Lake after helping Amy get ready for a dinner party. We hung out on the rocks, just chilling, talking, eating some of the leftovers she'd given us.

Dolores licked the olive oil off each of her fingers and said, “Let's play Truth or Dare.”

Murdoch and I both voted for Truth. (We knew her too well to choose Dare.)

She said, “Excellent. What's something you've never told anyone before?”

Neither of us answered.

Dolores said, “Oh, come on. You've already disclosed all your sordid little secrets, all your filthy personal habits? I don't believe you.”

I was lying on my stomach. My heart was beating fast, like an ADHD kid with a paddleball. I was sort of terrified and sort of—what? Excited? No. It was more like the feeling I had when I found Amy's Prozac, only sped up.

“Okay,” Murdoch said. “You asked.”

I rolled over and looked at him. He was sitting cross-legged, shaking his head, biting his lip.

“I …” he said, then squished his eyes closed.

Dolores went, “Woo-hoo! This is going to be good.”

My heart beat even faster. I couldn't tell if I was nervous for him or for me.

He opened his eyes and sat up straight. He cleared his throat. He said, “I was the one who e-mailed you about cleaning the house.”

“So?” I didn't get it.

“Like, I mean, the second time,” he said. “From Mom's e-mail. You know.”

Dolores laughed. “Why? Just couldn't stand the dust a second more? What?”

He mouthed
ha-ha
and bounced some tiny pebbles off the rock.

“Come on,” she said. “Why'd you do it?” He flicked one out over the lake. “You know why,” he said. You old dog, I thought. Murdoch was full of surprises. Some spider.

Dolores wiggled her bare toes on his knee. “Yeah. I do. You weren't man enough to call yourself.”

“Nice,” he said. “I thought you'd be flattered I wanted to see you again, but no. It's just another occasion to heap abuse on me.”

“We are flattered.” Dolores batted her eyelashes. “Doesn't mean we still can't make the most of the situation.”

He picked her foot up as if it were a dirty sock and dropped it on the ground.

She turned to me. “Next! Your turn, Wickwire. Spill.”

I tightened the towel around my shoulders. “I'm scared.” I tried to sound like I was exaggerating for comic effect. I wanted to say something but I didn't want to say something too.

Dolores fluffed up the frill on her bathing suit. “So? Scared is what makes it fun.”

My brain had gone all staticky, useless. Too much to compute. Too much to expect. It dawned on me that giving someone your secret was like trading spit with them. You're making a lifelong bond.

“I wet my bed until I was ten.” I was actually twelve and I'd already told a bunch of my friends about that— but I couldn't make myself go any further. People can hate you for secrets too.

Dolores faked a yawn.

“Oh yeah?” I said. I sounded okay but I was still a little shaky inside. “And you can do better?”

She lifted her chin. “I don't know how to swim.”

Murdoch and I were both stunned into silence. How had Dolores hidden that from us? How had we never noticed her not going into the lake?

She stood up and put on her bathing cap. “Time I learned.”

She crossed herself, then jumped into the water. She clung to Murdoch. She clung to me. She sank. She gasped for air. She looked ridiculous. But she never looked embarrassed.

The camera guy signalled to Heidi that he was ready. I got up off my heels and back into position. I cleaned the toilet bowl for the third time, then wiped my poor furrowed brow. As I performed for the camera, I was fully aware that tons of people I knew were going to see me down on my knees, a cleaning lady scrubbing some old guy's grotty toilet. That image hovered in the back of my head. I pictured Nick and Carly curled up together on the red leather couch in the Jamiesons' family room, watching me in high-def, and I realized I wasn't embarrassed either.

And I hadn't even done anything about my eyebrows yet.