In Too Deep (8 page)

“Amber,” I ventured just before we would be parting company, “I want you to know that I'll respect your privacy. You can trust me.”

I was hoping to alleviate any worry she had that I might blab her story all over the place. The way she looked relieved at my words, I knew I'd been right. “Thanks. I wasn't going to tell anyone,” she said quietly,
“but it was building up and I really needed to talk about it.”

“I'm glad you did.”

“And to
you
!” she smiled wryly. “I'd never have guessed that was going to happen.”

“Me neither.” I was glad now that I'd left Greg's place early. Who knows if things would ever have changed between us if I hadn't? “I'm really sorry about, well, everything.”

“Thanks. Well, I'd better get to work.”

“Amber, before you go, there's something I want to say. Please don't take it the wrong way, but I think you're taking the wrong approach to living here. If you could just relax a bit and get to know people, make some friends, I'm sure things would be easier for you.”

“I know you're right, and I'll try, but it's so hard to trust anyone after what happened.”

I watched her walk away, thinking how small her shoulders were to be carrying such a heavy load. When she'd disappeared inside the gas station I turned and continued home.

Mom was there, and she was surprised to see me back so early.

“I thought you had plans with Greg this evening. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, there's no problem or anything. I just wasn't feeling good.”

She looked alarmed right away, and I knew what she was about to say as she hurried toward me. Mom is pretty predictable at times.

“Let me feel your forehead.”

I rolled my eyes, the way I always do when Mom makes a big fuss for no reason. Sometimes it seems that she's hovering over me, just waiting for a chance to do motherly stuff like that.

“Well, you're not running a temperature. Does anything hurt?”

“No, Mom. I think I'm just overtired and out of sorts. I'll be fine.”

“You're sure you don't have a headache or tummy ache or anything?”

“I'm sure.” I was already planning my escape to avoid any more of her quizzing. Then I remembered what Amber had just told me. It really hit me just what it means to have a mother who cares enough to fuss.

“Thanks though, Mom.” I gave her a quick hug. “I'm going to lay down for a bit, but I'll let you know if I need you.”

She looked pleased and a little surprised. Usually I'm pretty resistant to her fretting and worrying, so I guess my appreciation was kind of unexpected. Thinking about that on the way to my bedroom I realized that I don't often show a lot of gratitude for the way my parents take care of me. Of course, they're old and all, and
they can get on my nerves at times with their old folks' ways and ideas, but maybe that's not so bad after all.

There are certainly worse things! I lay on my bed and thought about Amber's situation, and it nearly made me cry. It's no wonder that she came to Little River determined to keep to herself. I'd probably do the same thing if something like that had ever happened to me.

Amber grew up in Alberta and had lived with her parents until she was ten. Then her folks got a divorce, which happens to lots of kids. But what happened after that is really sad.

At first she and her older brother lived with their mom, and when it was just the three of them everything seemed to be okay. She was used to not having her dad around anyway, because of his work.

Amber's father works for a big company that has offices all over the world, and he's always being sent to live in other countries. She only sees him a couple of times a year, when he's in Canada on leaves from his job. I'd hate that, but I guess if that's what a person is used to it would seem normal.

Anyway, there were no big problems until a couple of years ago, when everything changed. Amber's mom started dating another man, and at first it seemed that he was a pretty good guy. He'd take them all to the movies or out to dinner, and he was friendly and nice to her and her brother.

“My mom was just gone on him,” Amber had told me. “She started changing when Pete came into our lives. At the start it was little things, like the way she wore her hair. It used to be long and full, but Pete likes women with short hair, so she got it cut. It didn't stop with that, though, because they got married and before I knew it we were doing everything the way Pete wanted it. It was ‘Pete doesn't like your music, so wear earphones when you're listening to your CDs.' Or ‘Pete thinks five minutes is long enough to talk on the phone at one time.' And it just went on and on, until our whole house was like Pete's prison.”

I'd listened as she continued, wondering what it would be like to have a stranger come into your house and start telling you what to do about every little thing.

“It went on and on, like some nightmare that just kept getting worse, except you didn't wake up from it. Pete's favourite expression was ‘it's not suitable.' My friends couldn't come over to the house anymore because Pete didn't think they were suitable. I told Mom it wasn't fair, they were my friends, and she just took his side and said he was doing it for my own good. My own good! Nothing was for my good, it was all for Pete. What he wanted was the way it was going to be.

“Pete was the
man
of the house, he was in
control
. It wasn't suitable for me to wear makeup. It wasn't suitable
for me to put posters up in my room. My clothes weren't suitable for a young lady; they embarrassed him. I've been dressing like this since I was about twelve. I like coming up with my own look, something that's unique. I'm going to be a fashion designer when I finish college, though Pete probably wouldn't think that was suitable either. There were constant wars in the house, and Mom would never open her mouth to stand up for me. She just agreed with everything he said. I think she was terrified he'd leave her if she didn't.

“Then Pete decided that he and Mom needed more time for themselves. He makes this big announcement at the table one night, and Mom actually sat there and smiled as if it was a wonderful idea. He tells me that I have to give them more privacy and that from now on I'm not to disturb them three evenings during the school week or anytime on Saturday. So I ask him how I'm supposed to give them all this privacy and he says I can just stay in my room!

“Well, I was furious and told him there was
no way
I was going to be sent to my room like a little kid, that it was my house too and I had rights. And he says I'm spoiled rotten and I have no consideration for anyone else and if I don't like it I can get out.”

She'd been crying hard by this point in her story and had to stop and get herself pulled together before she could go on.

“Just like that — if I don't like it I can leave. My way or the highway, he says. So I turned to Mom and asked her if she was going to let him talk to me like that, but she had her head down and wouldn't look at me. Then after a few minutes she says that since I'm always causing trouble with Pete and won't listen to him, maybe it would be better for everyone if I lived somewhere else. Better for everyone all right. It sure didn't sound like it would be better for me.

“I couldn't believe what I'd just heard! My
mother
, telling me
I
was the one creating all the problems. The worst part was that she seemed perfectly willing to throw me out of my own house just to make him happy.”

It was impossible for me to imagine what it would be like to have my mom choose some man over me.

“Well, the three of us had the biggest fight ever, and at the end of it they tell me I'm going to be sent here. Just think of it! They'd already arranged the whole thing and were just waiting for some big blow-up so they'd have an excuse.”

“That's horrible, Amber,” was all I could think to say.

“I hope they're happy now, with all that privacy and doing everything that Pete thinks is suitable.” There was bitterness in her voice, and I couldn't blame her a bit. “When I was leaving Mom started crying and saying she was sorry it had to be that way. I didn't even
bother pointing out that it didn't
have
to be that way at all, there had been a choice and she'd made it. I just walked away from her and got on the plane and never looked back.”

“Does your mom phone or write or anything?”

“She called a couple of times, but I wouldn't talk to her. The Brodericks were pretty understanding about that, too, and didn't try to persuade me to take her calls. They're nice people, but even though they're relatives and all I barely know them. I only met them a couple of times before all this happened. She hasn't written, but if she did I'd just send the letters back.”

“What about your dad?”

“He phones and sends me things, and he's coming to see me before the end of the school year, but it will only be for a couple of weeks. I guess his job is more important to him than me.”

It was no wonder that Amber had come to Little River with the attitude she had. I don't think I'd want to trust anyone or get close to people if something like that had happened to me.

And now she had to deal with the kids at school thinking she was a thief on top of everything else. I felt so ashamed when I thought of what I'd done and how I'd been so willing to think the worst of her.

Now the most important thing I could do was to help clear her name. I was determined to do just that.

Greg was working on Saturday, which was probably just as well since when I got up that morning there was a zit growing right in the middle of my nose. It was bright red and sore to touch, like some angry volcano that couldn't quite decide to erupt. I didn't care that it hurt, but I sure cared that it was there.

When I went down to breakfast Mom and Dad were in the kitchen talking about what colour to paint the living room. Mom was discussing it as if Dad actually had a vote, which was pretty silly. Dad can't even put together a pair of pants and shirt without asking if the colours match. I've seen him looking really perplexed when Mom tries to explain that something clashes. It amazes me that he can't just see it himself. I have two theories on the subject. I think that most men are either missing the part of the brain
that understands colour combinations, or they just don't care.

Betts once broke up with a guy because it seemed every time they went somewhere he had the same shirt on.

“I just couldn't take it anymore,” she'd told me. “He wore it everywhere we went. Can you imagine? Every time we went out! I was starting to fantasize about ways to ruin it. Like spilling mustard on it or something.”

“Why didn't you just tell him? He probably didn't even notice. You know how guys are — they couldn't tell you what they wore yesterday! Or maybe it was his favourite shirt and he wanted to look good for you.”

“Yeah, well he can just look good for someone else.”

And that was that. I felt kind of sorry for him because he really liked Betts a lot and he went around school looking sad for weeks after she ditched him. I bet he'd never have guessed that he'd been dumped because of a shirt!

I got thinking about that and decided to test Dad on the subject.

“Dad, what did you wear last weekend when you and Mom went to visit the Parkers?”

“What did I wear? Now that's a strange question.”

“I'm just curious to see if you remember. It was only a week ago.”

“Checking for signs of early Alzheimer's are you?”

“No, I just have this theory.”

“Well, let's see. I think it might have been, uh, maybe it was, you know I'm just not sure.”

“You're not
sure
? You mean you have no idea whatsoever.”

“No, I guess I don't.” He laughed, admitting this.

“What about you, Mom?”

“I wore my black skirt and ecru blouse. Your father had on his pale blue shirt and dark gray pants.”

She didn't even have to think about it; she just knew. Dad shrugged helplessly and glanced back and forth between us, as if we were ganging up on him and his only chance to escape ridicule was to elicit our sympathy.

“It's okay, Dad,” I patted his arm. “You can't help it. That's just the way male brains work.”

“Well, we men have other things,
important
things, on our minds,” he insisted.

“Like who's the best pound-for-pound boxer in the world at the moment?” I asked cheekily.

“Heck, nothing to wonder about there. It's Roy Jones Junior, no matter what some of these upstart sports commentators may think. Jones has dominated every weight division he's gone through. Why, his speed, power, and agility make him one of the best boxers of all time, right up there with Ali and Robinson…!”

Dad trailed off sheepishly while Mom gave me a look that said “see what you've started?” When Dad
gets talking about boxing he can go on for any length of time!

“That's much more important than clothes,” I said deadpan.

“Shelby, I almost forgot to tell you that you had a letter yesterday.” Mom spoke up quickly. I could see she was glad to have a chance to change the subject as she passed me an envelope. Her words had the desired effect of sending me off to another room where I wouldn't be getting Dad all wound up over something she didn't want to listen to.

The letter was from my friend Jane, who'd moved away from Little River a month ago. I tore it open, eager for news of how she was doing, and was happy to read that they were settled and that she liked her new school.

I miss my friends, but things aren't so bad. Mom and I are spending a lot of time talking and sorting out what happened. She blames herself for a lot of it, and I guess I blame her too, in a way. But things are getting better, and I think we're going to be all right.