Days That End in Y (10 page)

I’m not sure I like the idea of my mom being a flirt, even if it was part of her beauty queen persona.

I continue to flip through the album while Denise half-heartedly cleans up around me, occasionally peeking over my shoulder to comment on so-and-so’s dress or sigh about how skinny she used to be.

And then I come to a photo of my parents. It was taken on the steps of the school. Mom is sitting a few stairs below Bill, leaning her cheek into his knee. He has his hand in her hair, mussing it up a bit, but from the way she’s smiling, she doesn’t seem to mind. Bill looks right at the camera and smiles, no mugging, no jokes, just pure happiness. Even though it’s a nice picture, it makes my heart ache. Why do some people stay in love and others fall out of it? Most kids have tons of pictures of their parents — on their wedding day, or on vacation, or cuddling them as babies — but other than that grainy yearbook photo, this might be the only picture in the whole wide world of my parents together and happy.

“Take it,” Denise says.

I have to swallow the lump in my throat before answering. “Are you sure?”

“Why not? He’s your dad, even if he is a lost cause.” Denise looks at me sternly. “And believe me, he is a lost cause. Don’t waste your time and energy on him, Clarissa. It’s not worth it.”

I hope my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.

“It is a nice picture, though. One of my best.”

“Thanks.”

I peel back the laminate and gently work the photo off the page. The back is gummy from years of being sandwiched
between the sticky photo page and the cracked plastic, but otherwise it’s in good shape.

“You’re welcome. Keep it in a safe place, and don’t tell your mother I gave it to you.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. It’ll be our secret.”

Denise and I have a lot of little secrets, things we tell each other that we can’t share with my mother. We smile at each other, co-conspirators.

“Now what was I supposed to give you again?” she asks.

“The punch bowl and leftover plastic champagne glasses.”

“Ah, yes.”

Denise retrieves the punch bowl from the top of the fridge. It’s so dusty, it looks like it has a fine layer of fur. I wait a few more minutes for her to rinse it out, trying not to gag when she pulls the dishcloth away all slimy and disgusting.

“There you go, glasses and a bowl for the world’s most understated wedding,” Denise says.

“It’s not a wedding; it’s a party,” I say, doing a dead-on impression of my mother.

Denise throws her head back and hoots with laughter. It’s good to see her back to her loud, honking self. I’m in no hurry to see the frantic, smoking Denise again anytime soon.

“That’s perfect!” she cries. “You are something else. Have a good night, kiddo, I’ll see you soon. And don’t go worrying about sad, old Denise. The world hasn’t beaten me yet. You caught me at a bad moment. I’ve got something up my sleeve.”

That night I do something I thought only people in movies did; I put the photo of my parents under my pillow.
I’m not a complete idiot, I put it in an old plastic frame from the dollar store first. But it’s the only place I know my mother will never look. Also, a very tiny part of me, probably the same part of me that used to believe in the tooth fairy, hopes that somehow sleeping with it so close by will bring me luck.

Mattie’s letter is exactly the kind of motivation I need. First, I bring out the yearbooks. It turns out that TJ and Tyler are the same person — Tyler (James) Kellerman — and Stookey is probably James Stookey’s nickname. Both of them were in the same grade as my parents. I cross Alison, Krista and Tara B. off my list, since it didn’t sound like they were in town. Plus, it seems more likely that Bill would have kept in touch with the guys in his circle, not the girls.

“Clarissa?”

I snap the yearbook shut, even though Mom is calling to me from down the hall and she can’t possibly see through my door. “Yes?”

“I’m going to the gym, and then Doug and I will pick up some groceries on the way back. Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine!”

“I’ll be back in less than two hours. Don’t forget to let the dog out.”

“I won’t!”

Perfect. With Mom and Doug out of the house, I can make my phone calls without either of them walking in on a conversation. That would not be a phone call I’d be eager to explain.

I wait for the sound of the car starting before really getting ready.

Suzy sits in my doorway with a stuffing-less toy monkey in her mouth, ready to play.

“Look, Suzy, I’m sorry that you want to play and everyone left, but I can’t deal with you right now.” I feel bad, but I
shut the door in her face.

I don’t know why I bother talking to her. It’s not like she understands me.

I decide my name will be Sarah, and that I am a summer student gathering information for a reunion. I jot down a few questions to ask, just to make my cover story sound legitimate.

After pacing in my room and doing a few jumping jacks to get rid of my nervous energy, I’m ready. I tell myself this is just like a play; I am preparing just like Benji or Charity would before a show. First up, Tyler “TJ” Kellerman. As luck would have it, there is only one
Kellerman, T
. in town. The phone rings and rings, making me more anxious each time. Finally, just when I think the voicemail will pick up, a woman answers.

“Hello?”

“Can I speak to a Tyler Kellerman?”

“Who’s this?”

“I’m calling from the Sir John A. Macdonald reunion committee and I was wondering—”

“Sorry, we’re not interested.”

“But—”

Too late. The surly woman hung up on me.

I guess I didn’t think this through. I’m going to have to find a way to immediately let people know I’m not looking for money, or else they are all likely to hang up on me. And now I’ve wasted a perfectly good opportunity. I can’t call back and pretend to be a different person looking for Tyler, or that woman will get suspicious. I cross Tyler Kellerman off my list.

In the hallway, Suzy starts barking.

“Shush, Suzy!” I say sharply. I can’t have her making noise in the background. What kind of office has a dog?
She’s totally going to blow my cover.

I decide to try Matt Van de Graff next. The Van de Graffs have two meat markets, one in town and the other in Hickson. This makes them pretty easy to track down, as long as you stick to the business numbers. There are about a million Van de Graffs listed in the residential numbers, so I start with the market in town.

“Van de Graff Meats, how can I help you?”

“Hi, is Matt Van de Graff working today?”

“No, sorry. Can I take a message?”

“No, thanks, I’ll call back.”

Shoot. I have no luck with the first five Van de Graff residential numbers listed. But by now I’m not even a little bit nervous. I guess all it takes is a few phone calls and you get used to it.

“Hello, could I speak with Matt Van de Graff, please?”

“Speaking.”

“Hello, Mr. Van de Graff, my name is Sarah, and I am a summer student on the Sir John A. Macdonald reunion committee. Can I talk to you for a few minutes? It won’t take very long, and I’m not asking for money.”

Matt laughs. “I can tell by your spiel people have been hanging up on you before you can get to the point.”

“Yes,” I admit.

“Well, I’ve got a minute or two. Go ahead.”

“Great! First, would you be interested in attending a high school reunion?”

“Well, sure. It would be nice to catch up with some of the old gang.”

“Would you rather attend a reunion in the fall, spring or summer?”

“Summer is probably best.”

“Do you know a William Davies?”

“Bill? Of course, I do. I’ve known him for years.”

Finally, a lead! I will myself to stay calm and ask, “Do you have his current address and contact number? It’s not in the system. I only ask because I’d love to invite him as well.”

“I know it’s here somewhere, but my wife keeps all that information in a little address book. I can’t say where it is exactly, but I’m sure I could track it down and call you back.”

“So would you say you’re in regular contact with Mr. Davies?”

“I wouldn’t say regular, no.”

“And he lives with his family …?”

“It’s probably best you get all the nitty-gritty details from him. I can’t say that I know what his current situation is, for sure.”

I can tell I won’t get anywhere else with Matt Van de Graff. I need to end the conversation before it gets suspicious. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Van de Graff. I will update our files, and someone will be in touch with you if we get enough interest in a reunion.”

“No problem. I think it’s a great idea. If you still need Bill Davies’s info, give me a call back in a few days, and I’ll have it for you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Van de Graff. Have a great day!”

I hang up feeling strangely elated, even though I didn’t get any useful information. Just talking to someone who knows Bill now, in the present, makes him even more real to me.

Next is James Stookey.

“Hello, can I speak with a Mr. James Stookey?” I am really getting into the swing of things as Sarah, summer student extraordinaire. I pretend to be as perky as Mattie and as polite as Benji, but with my own Clarissa flair.

“That’s me.”

“Hello, Mr. Stookey. My name is Sarah, and I’m a summer student working on the Sir John A. Macdonald reunion committee. Can I talk to you for a few minutes? It’s only a few questions, and I’m not calling to collect donations.”

“I guess so. What do you want to know?”

I go through my dummy questions, establishing myself as a legitimate committee member, before launching into the good stuff.

“Thank you for your answers, Mr. Stookey—”

“You can call me Stookey; Mr. Stookey is my father.” Stookey laughs, so “Sarah” laughs along with him.

“Okay, um, Stookey. I’m having a bit of trouble tracking down a classmate of yours by the name of William Davies. Do you know him?”

“Billy boy! Of course I do! What do you need to know?”

“I don’t seem to have updated contact information. Do you know how I can reach him?”

“Sure I do. I’m happy to give you his number, but it won’t do you any good calling him up in B.C.”

“Why not?”

“Well, as luck would have it, he’s in town! I had dinner with him just the other day.”

Even though I already suspected this, having seen him with my own two eyes, the confirmation still makes my fingers tingle. “What a coincidence.”

“He doesn’t get back here much, but he turned up a few weeks ago, looking to see his kid.”

If my heart was an elevator, it would have dropped twenty storeys, all the way to the bottom of my toes. After a moment, I manage to say, “His what?”

“Yeah, he’s been out of the picture for a while, but he
figured he’d show up and put in some face-time. I think he’s at the Lilac Motel if you want to try him there.”

I don’t hear anything else Stookey has to say; I couldn’t possibly hear anything over the sound of the blood pounding in my head. I know he’s still talking, because there is a buzzing in my ears, but I forget all about polite Sarah, the summer student, and hang up the phone. I’m feeling excited and sick and completely out of sorts. Not only is my dad in town, but he’s here to see me.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I mutter, but to no avail. The phone keeps ringing on Benji’s end. He’s not there. As usual. For a moment I consider calling Mattie at camp. Surely they let campers take emergency phone calls. I imagine a counsellor taking her out of dinner and walking her up to the office for her phone call. Knowing Mattie, she’d probably imagine the worst: car accident, fire, kidnapping. But once I got the chance to explain everything to her, I know she’d see my side. I need her right now. Especially with Benji distracted and on a no-phone diet.

I’m so desperate to talk to someone, I almost call Michael. But I’m not sure he’d be very good in this situation. I feel like I’m still just getting to know him. What I do know is that he’s only just started looking at me when I talk to him, and I don’t want to jinx anything. Not that there is anything to jinx.

Why is no one around when I have important things to discuss?

I hear the car pull in, then Mom and Doug laughing as they make their way up the front steps and into the kitchen. The laughter stops abruptly, and I hear my name being called — and not in a happy dinner’s-here-come-and-get-it kind of way.

“Clarissa, get out here.”

I shake out my excitement, put on the most normal face possible and meet Mom and Doug in the kitchen. They’re
standing at the counter, both looking grim for people who are getting married in a few days.

“What’s up?” I ask.