If Only (7 page)

Pam

“Stay away from me,” I say.

Mrs. Glassen gives me the evil eye.

“I mean it. I don't want you vacuuming in my room.”

I don't want her anywhere
near
me.

Mrs. Glassen doesn't usually come on Fridays, but she's
had a bad cold and this is the first time she's been able to come since last week. I don't need her poking around for more gory details to tell her bigmouth daughter.

Carol saves me. She's taking Prince to the vet for his yearly shots, and she calls to ask me to go with her.

“Are you going anywhere else?” I say.

“Just the vet.”

“Then I'll come.”

Prince is in the front seat of her red Volkswagen, and Carol struggles to force him into the back. He's more interested in licking my face than listening to Carol. She finally shoves him back, butt first, and I slide in.

“As soon as he figures out where we're going, that'll be the end of his good mood,” Carol says. “He hates going to the vet. He's just a big baby.”

When we get there, I see what she means. Carol snaps Prince's leash on and has to drag him through the front door. His back legs are shaking like crazy, and his eyes are glazed. A big orange cat is lying on the counter, and Prince doesn't even see it; that's how freaked out he is.

A girl wearing a smock covered with pictures of puppies looks up and says, “Hi, Carol. Hi, Prince. It'll be a few minutes.”

“I've brought my helper,” Carol says. “Jane, this is Pam.”

Prince dives under a seat. I get down on the floor beside him. “It's okay. Nothing bad's going to happen. You're okay.”

Carol glances at a cat-shaped clock on the wall. “Can you stay here with Prince if I pop into the pet shop next door? I want to pick up a new rope toy.”

“Sure,” I say.

I sit there on the floor beside Prince, rubbing his head between his ears and telling him what a good boy he is. A woman comes in with a cat in a crate and plunks down opposite us. She eyes Prince suspiciously and then picks up a magazine.

Jane takes a file folder down from the shelf behind her and says, “Bring Prince over here, Pam, and we'll weigh him.”

I have to slide Prince across the floor to the scale. Jane smiles. “It's weird how the biggest dogs are the biggest sissies.”

Prince looks offended. Between us, we manage to heave Prince onto the scale. Jane records his weight and says, “There, was that so bad, Prince?” She points to an open doorway. “You can take him in there. Dr. Merriam will be with you in a minute.”

Jane shuts the door behind me and I'm in a little room with two doors, both closed, and a counter and a bench. Prince squeezes under the bench and presses himself against the wall. I sit down and read a poster on the wall about dental problems in cats and dogs. There's a disgusting picture of a dog with brown stains on his teeth and red, swollen gums.

The door behind the counter opens and Dr. Merriam comes in. Her brown hair is in two braids and she looks like she could be in grade twelve. She introduces herself and shakes my hand.

She's super with Prince, coaxing him out of his hiding place and giving him a shot before he evens knows what's hit him. She checks his teeth (which are gleaming white) and his ears and listens to his heart. “You can tell Carol he has a clean bill of health,” she says. “We'll see you next year, Prince.”

When we get back to the waiting room, Carol is just coming in from outside. Prince lunges on his leash when he sees her, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket. “I'm sorry I was so long,” Carol says. “I ran into an old friend and couldn't escape. Did you manage okay?”

“Great.”

I mean it. I love being in charge of Prince. “Prince is fine. He's really healthy.”

“Wonderful. Why don't you take him out to the car while I pay?” Carol says. “He might need to pee before you put him in.”

I'd rather stay in here where there are people.

But I bite my lip and lead Prince outside to a strip of grass across from the line of parked cars. He sniffs a paper bag with fries spilling out of it and then lifts his leg. I'm walking back to Carol's Volkswagen when a blue car pulls into a slot and stops. The front passenger door opens and a white poodle on a leash leaps out. He's followed by a girl with long blond hair swinging over her face, a black miniskirt and white fishnet stockings.

Stacey.

A wave of heat rushes up my neck.

She hasn't seen me yet.
She bends over and
says something to a woman in the driver's seat; then the car spurts away with a little beep of the horn.

I want to escape into Carol's car. Or, better yet, seep into the sidewalk and disappear. Then Prince spots the poodle and lunges toward it, tail wagging.

“Pam,” Stacey says. She smooths back her hair. Her green eyes penetrate every inch of me—my freaky hair, which is sticking out in clumps, my baggy pullover sweater, my oldest jeans.

I swear I see her nose wrinkle.

Prince is fascinated by the poodle's perky butt, and I yank him back, mortified.

“I didn't know you had a dog,” Stacey says.

“I don't. This is my neighbor's dog, Prince.” I tug harder at Prince, who is circling the poodle. “Leave him alone, Prince.”

“Actually, she's a she,” Stacey says. She bends down and scoops the wriggling poodle up into her arms. She glances toward the vet's door.

“What's your dog's name?” Prince has decided to behave now, standing patiently beside me. I'm suddenly desperate to keep Stacey here, talking to me.

“Sassy.”

“She's cute.”

“Look, Mom let me take the afternoon off school so I could help with Sassy, so I better…”

My heart races. I have no idea what the rules are. A few weeks ago, I started eating lunch with Stacey's friends. Before
it
happened, Stacey phoned my house a total of three times just to talk. And then last week she offered to lend me the miniskirt and the blouse to go to the movie. I don't know if I'm in the group or not. Everything is still kind of new. And she hasn't phoned me once since it happened.

I take a big breath—and an even bigger chance. “I'll call
you. Tonight.”

“What?” Stacey frowns. “Tonight? I'm going to be out, and I'm probably going to be pretty late…” She shifts Sassy to her other arm. “I really have to go. I'll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Say hi to everybody.”

But Stacey doesn't hear me. She is already gone, swinging through the door into the vet's office. I lean over and bury my face in Prince's neck. I breathe in his doggy smell.

I don't care.

I don't care.

I don't care
.

Carol gives Prince his new rope toy in the car, and he holds it in his mouth the whole way back to my house. I thank Carol and run inside.

Mrs. Glassen has gone. Dad calls from the living room. “If you can go out with Carol, you can go to school.'

I suck in my breath.

“Monday,” he says. “That's final.”

Danny

By the last period of the day, Danny has made up his mind.

It's English, with Mrs. Adamson, and she's reading the class a chapter from
The Hobbit.
She always reads to them at the end of the afternoon on Fridays, which is something Danny's not used to in high school. Usually he lays his head down on his desk and slides into the story. But today he is restless, his legs vibrating as he watches the minutes drag by on the clock above the blackboard.

This is his plan. He's going to go back to the
Bluebird Market. He's going to have one more look at the guy with the red ponytail who works there. It's all he can think about as Mrs. Adamson's voice drones on. He's thought about it most of the day. A green army jacket. He can't get it out of his head.

He daydreams for a few seconds—he sees himself going to that cop with proof. An arrest. Pride in Dad's eyes. Pam feeling safe again.

Proof.

Was there some other clue, something he noticed in the store without realizing what it meant? The guy's voice? Danny frowns as he tries to remember, but he doesn't think the guy said anything. Mostly he was staring at a magazine. He hadn't even looked up when he took Danny's money. Was he avoiding Danny?

Proof.

Danny needs the balaclava, but finding it is something he can't even imagine.

The balaclava with two dark holes for eyes and one for a gaping mouth. The man could see out, but Danny couldn't see in. Danny shivers. Had the clerk in the store recognized him? Danny remembers feeling the guy's eyes boring into his back when he was getting his Coke out of the cooler.

He glances at the clock. Five more minutes.

The bell finally rings, and Danny leaves the school by a side door. There's nothing he needs in his locker. He walks quickly, and he's at the Bluebird Market in eight minutes.

The sun is reflecting off the store window and Danny can't see inside. He almost changes his mind. His plan is weak; it's not even really a plan, and if it
is
the guy (doubts are crowding into Danny's head now), he might recognize Danny this time and be suspicious.

A woman with a paper bag comes out of the store, the bell jingling. Danny takes a big breath and slips inside. It seems dark after coming in from the bright sun, and he blinks.

Mr. Townley is arranging cans on a shelf. He looks up and smiles at Danny. “Hi there, Danny. Haven't seen you for a long time.”

“Hi,” Danny says. His eyes flick back and forth. There is no one at the till. It's just a small store, and he can see right away that the aisles are empty.

Mr. Townley is watching him.

“Milk,” Danny says. “Um, I need some milk.”

He walks to the back of the store. An open door beside the coolers leads into a storage room. Danny glances at Mr. Townley, who is stacking the last pile of cans, and then peers into the room. It's full of cardboard boxes and crates of empty pop bottles; no one is there.

Danny takes the milk to the counter. Mr. Townley straightens up and comes around to the till. “How's your sister?”

The heat rises in Danny's face. Then his shoulders relax. Mr. Townley doesn't know. How could he know? “Uh…good.”

Mr. Townley rings in the milk and sticks the carton in a paper bag. “School goin' okay?”

“Yeah.” Danny digs some coins out of his pocket. He counts out the correct amount and slides the coins across the counter.

“See you, then.”

“Yeah, see you,” Danny says, but he doesn't move. He's thinking desperately. “Uh, I was wondering…”

He hesitates, then blurts out, “There was a guy working here yesterday? He had a ponytail?”

“Raymond,” Mr. Townley says.

“I've never seen him here before,” Danny says.

“He's only been working for me for a couple of weeks. My wife's in the hospital, and I need someone to take over here so I can get away.” Mr. Townley peers at Danny sharply. “Was there a problem yesterday?”

“No,” Danny says. “No, it was fine.”

“Raymond's all right,” Mr. Townley says. “He seems okay with the customers. But I don't know what's happened to him today. He never showed up—supposed to have been here at nine.”

“So he works for you every day?” Danny says. He needs
to keep the conversation going.

“He
did
. I can't keep someone who's unreliable.” Mr. Townley gives Danny a direct look. “Why the interest, son?”

Danny's heart beats faster. He tries to make his voice sound casual. “It's just…um…we were talking yesterday…” He flounders for a second, and then the right words come. “He said he has piles of old car magazines I could have. Said I should come by his place and pick them up. But I lost the paper with his address.”

It's a lie, and Danny is terrible at lying. His face is on fire.

“He lives on Borden Street, I think,” Mr. Townley says. “I've got it written down somewhere.” He opens a drawer and digs through a mound of papers. He pulls out a thin black book and flips to the first page. “Here it is. I got it wrong. Five forty-one Basken Street. No phone, or I'd give him a call and ask him where the heck he is.”

Mr. Townley gives Danny a scrap of paper and a pen, and Danny carefully copies the address.

“If you see him, tell him he better get down here if he wants to keep his job,” Mr. Townley says.

“I will.” Danny crams the paper into his pocket and picks up the bag with the milk. “Thanks, Mr. Townley.”

“No problem.”

Danny walks home slowly.

Raymond
. He has a name now.

And Danny knows where he lives.

Pam

“I don't get it,” I say. “Why is Billie giving me a present? I don't even like her.”

Danny is acting all jittery. This is the first time he's been in my room since it happened. My floor is a mess of clothes. He steps around everything and drops some more homework on my desk. The paper bag from Billie is on top.

“You shouldn't say that,” he says. He won't meet my eyes. “You don't even know her.”

Where did that come from? I stare at Danny like he has just stepped off another planet, and then he is gone.

That's how Danny is now—he's always disappearing. Usually he goes to his room, and I don't know what he does in there. Works on that model, I guess. I don't know how long it takes to put a model together, but I know that Danny will do it slowly, not making any mistakes. He hates making mistakes.

I roll off my bed. I ignore the pile of school books. It's only Friday, and I've got all weekend. I don't even know if I'm going to do the homework. I can't think about Monday morning and school right now.

I pick up the bag from Billie. There's something inside wrapped in newspaper. I take it out and pull off the paper.

It's a shell. The outside is brown and white, spiraling to a point at one end. The inside is a creamy swirl of pale pink and deeper pink, and it gleams as though it has been polished.

It's really beautiful. It's perfect. Is Billie giving it to me to keep? It's so weird. Danny's right. I don't even know her.

I put the shell down beside the crumpled newspaper and go back to my bed and try to read my
Seventeen
magazine. I've been poring over it, searching for models with short hair that looks okay. I flip a few pages, but now I feel bored.

I get up again and reach for the shell. I touch the inside, and it feels as soft as satin. I hold the shell up to my ear. You're supposed to hear the ocean when you do that, but I don't hear anything.

It's almost midnight when I make up my mind to phone Billie. I'm not planning a big conversation. I just want to ask her why.

It doesn't take me long to find her number in the phone book. She has a foreign-sounding last name, Vanderhorst, and there're only three listed. I take a chance on the first one.

Dad and Danny have gone to bed, and the house is quiet. I shut the kitchen door before I dial.

What am I doing? It's way too late to phone someone, and I suddenly worry that I'm going to wake up Billie's parents. I've brought the shell with me, and I stare at it, my heart thudding, as I listen to the phone ring.

I haven't a clue what I'm going to say.

The phone rings ten times.

I hang up. I dial again. This time, on the third ring, Billie picks up. Her voice is breathless. “Hello?” A baby is crying in the background.

“It's Pam.”

Billie doesn't sound surprised. “Did you phone a second ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good. I thought it was Mom, and she'd be freaking out because I didn't answer. I ran but I missed it.” The baby is howling now, and Billie says, “I'm babysitting my little sister. She's teething, I'm pretty sure.”

“What?”

“Her teeth are coming in. She's been doing this all night. Wait a sec.”

I wait. The crying stops and Billie says hi again, her voice calm.

“What did you do?” I ask.

“I got her soother. And I'm holding her. She screams if I put her down.”

“Oh.”

I have never even been near a baby. I can't imagine being responsible for such a fragile person. Billie's life must be totally different than mine.

I pull my scrambled thoughts together. “Um, thank you for the shell.”

“Do you like it?” Billie says.

“Yeah, I do but…” I take a big breath. “I don't get why you gave it to me.”

“Have you tried putting it up to your ear and listening to the ocean?” she says.

“No,” I lie.

“Try it. It works. It's like you can hear waves or something. I do that when I'm feeling bad about stuff. It calms me down. I pretend I'm on this beautiful sandy beach with palm trees and I'm wading in the water and nobody can get me. It makes me feel safe. I know that sounds dumb, but it helps me.”

It makes me feel safe.
I swallow. I don't say anything.

“Have you got the shell there?” Billie says.

“Yes.”

“Try it.”

It should feel weird, talking about stuff like this with Billie, but it doesn't. Maybe it's because it's almost the middle of the night and it feels like we are the only two people in the world who are awake. “Well, okay. Just a minute.”

I put the phone down and pick up the shell. I press it against my ear. I close my eyes. I'm not totally sure, but this time I think I hear something. I really do. It could be waves.

“I sort of heard something,” I say to Billie.

“Good.” Billie's voice is soft. “You can keep it. I've got other shells. I have a collection. My aunt gets them for me.”

The floor is cold and I'm shivering. I want to go back to bed. But there is something I need to know. It's hard to ask. “Why don't you feel safe?”

I look at the shell and the pink and purple streaks blur together as stupid tears fill my eyes.

Silence for a heartbeat.

Then Billie says, “Because what happened to you…”

She pauses, but I can hear her steady breath.

“It happened to my sister Nancy. And I'm scared he could do it to me too.”