Memories of You (18 page)

“Jon…”

Camilla knew how fragile she was now. A word from him would break her resolve and send her flying into his arms, clutching him frantically. But he turned without speaking and started to walk away, his thick
hair lifting and stirring in the cold north wind that blew across the campus.

“Goodbye, Jon,” she whispered.

T
HAT EVENING
Camilla arrived early at the hostel and started asking questions about Zeke and Speedball. But all she got in reply were blank looks and denials.

There was also no sign of Marty or little Tracy— the child who’d arrived earlier in the week. Finally Camilla left the young people in the shabby common room and settled in her office.

In the midst of her own problems, she’d also spent quite a lot of time worrying about Tracy. The girl was so young. Camilla wondered if she should have deviated from policy and reported Tracy to childwelfare authorities.

The hostel staff always tried to stay nonpartisan. They provided shelter without questions, and apart from a few- basic rules, let the kids come and go as they pleased. The policy seemed rather heartless, but it was the only way they could maintain trust and credibility on the streets. If runaways knew they were at risk of being reported to the authorities, they’d stay away from the shelter and try to survive some other way, possibly putting themselves in danger.

Still, in a case like Tracy’s, it was hard to think about a twelve-year-old child wandering around by herself.

Before long, Camilla realized she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on paperwork tonight. Troubling images kept haunting her…the faces of Jon
Campbell and his children, the memories of that longago motel room and of the sunny weekend she’d just spent at his ranch, the feeling of his embrace and his mouth moving on hers…

She pushed the papers aside, got up restlessly and went back to the other room where most of the kids were sleeping by now, curled on old mattresses under mounds of blankets.

Camilla moved quietly among them, bending to pull covers over thin shoulders, straightening a pillow here and there, carrying some extra blankets from the storeroom.

“Hey, Queen,” a voice said softly as she was about to leave.

She paused, trying to see who was speaking.

“Yes?”

It was Zippy, lying still in the darkness as he watched her from the eye that wasn’t bruised and swollen.

“Hello, Zippy.” She moved toward him. “Is something the matter?”

He rolled his head on the pillow. “I can’t sleep, that’s all.”

“And I can’t work, so I’ll stay here and talk to you for a while.” She settled on the floor next to him, hugging her knees. “Are you still hungry?”

“Not anymore. Thanks for all that fruit.”

“That’s okay, Zippy.”

“I got a real name, you know,” he murmured shyly.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Andrew. They used to call me Andy.”

“Did you run away, Andy?”

“Yeah. I was living with my grandparents. My grandpa kept beating on me when he was drunk, so I took off.”

She reached out and touched the boy’s unkempt hair. “Is it hard for you?”

“It’s pretty hard, living on the street. But I sure can’t go back.”

There was a brief silence while she sat near him. Rain began to fall outside, silvery and dense in the glow of the streetlamps, drumming against the windows and splattering onto the dirty sidewalk.

“I was real good in school before I ran away,” the boy whispered. “I liked math and science.”

“We can help you get back to school, Andy. Would you like that?”

“Maybe,” he said cautiously. “If I could do it without going home.”

“Why don’t you stop by the office tomorrow and talk to me about it?”

“Are you coming in tomorrow?”

Camilla nodded. “I’ll be in the office all afternoon.”

“Okay. Hey, Queen…”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a family and all that? Do you have any kids?”

“No.” Camilla stared into the darkness, listening to the soft breathing of sleeping children all around
her and the distant rustle of the rain. “No, I’m just like you, Andy. I’m all alone.”

S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON,
Camilla parked downtown near the hostel and sprinted along wet streets, lowering her head into the wind, a woollen scarf drawn up around her collar. Inside the office she shook moisture from her coat, hung it on a shabby metal rack in the corner and wiped her briefcase, then settled at the desk to work throughout the afternoon.

Just after darkness began to fall, she was eating a sandwich at her desk when Marty came into the office. “Hey, Queen.”

“Hi, Marty.” Camilla put the sandwich down. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Nasty weather, isn’t it? The kids will be piling in here tonight. You’d better make sure you’ve got lots of blankets.”

Camilla looked at the girl thoughtfully. Marty’s manner seemed deliberately casual but there was something different about her today, a tension and excitement that she couldn’t hide.

“I have somebody who wants to say hello,” Marty whispered, then went to the door and gestured.

A young man came in, looking shy and awkward. Camilla got up with a cry of delight and hurried around the desk to hug him.

“Chase!” she said. “How are you?”

He smiled ruefully and sprawled in one of the chairs. Marty sat next to him, reaching over to touch his arm protectively.

“Well, I’m a whole lot better than I was last week,” he said. “Marty and I want to thank you for everything you did.”

Camilla waved her hand in dismissal, examining him closely. Chase had a thin, sensitive face, a shock of ragged brown hair and an air of self-deprecating humor. His hands were beautiful, thin and finely shaped. They were also a lot steadier than they used to be, she realized.

“I’m staying sober, Queen,” he assured her in response to her scrutiny. “I’m going to make it.
We’re
going to make it,” he corrected himself, glancing at Marty.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Camilla said quietly, returning to her own chair. “Have you started looking for a job?”

“The pizza restaurant hired me to wash dishes four hours a day,” he said. “And I have a little gig at a club downtown, playing guitar in the evening. It’s not much, but it’s a lot better than being on the street.”

“It’s terrific,” Camilla said warmly. “I’m so happy for you, Chase.”

“I had my interview for the job at the grocery store,” Marty said, her face shining. “I can start at the end of the month. Chase and I are renting a little basement suite a couple of blocks over. We moved in two days ago. And you know what, Queen? We even have our own bathroom,” she added with touching pride.

Chase smiled at the girl tenderly and put his arm around her.

Camilla reminded herself that for each success story like this, there were a hundred disappointments. But on the rare occasions when a couple of them managed to beat the odds, it was worth every sacrifice she ever had to make.

“Marty,” she said, “have you seen that little girl who came here the other night? I’ve been worried about her.”

“Tracy? She’s fine,” Marty said cheerfully.

Camilla looked at the girl in confusion. “Where is she?”

“At her aunt’s place in Banff.”

“How did you find out about her aunt?” Camilla asked.

“We took Tracy home with us, bought her some clothes and got her talking yesterday,” Marty said. “She told us about this nice Auntie Jean she hasn’t seen for years. I called up there and the lady dropped everything and came right down to pick Tracy up.”

“And you think they’re going to be all right?”

“The aunt’s a teacher, all on her own, says she’d love to have Tracy living with her. We’re going up on the bus next weekend to visit,” Chase said. “But we think it looks good.”

“That’s so nice of you,” Camilla said warmly. “Both of you.”

Chase smiled. “It’s no trouble. She’s a sweet little kid. And Marty told me…”

“I told Chase how you helped us,” Marty said when he paused. “And how you said somebody helped
you
a long time ago. Chase and I decided we
should pass it along. If everybody did that, there’d be no problems in the world, right?”

Camilla nodded through the tears that blurred her eyes. “You’re exactly right,” she murmured.

The two young people got up to leave. When they were almost at the door, Marty stopped and turned. “I almost forgot, Queen. You remember when we were talking about Zeke and Speedball?”

“Yes?” Camilla was suddenly tense.

“Well, Chase talked to Zeke yesterday.”

“What did he say?” Camilla looked at the young musician.

“He was all hyped up,” Chase said with a troubled frown. “He’s got something planned, Queen.”

“Is there any chance it’s all just talk?”

“Not this time. I think he’s going through with it. Howie got them a couple of guns and they’re taking down a liquor store. Zeke says the bad weather’s a big advantage for them, because they’ll be able to get away easier. But he’s crazy. Somebody’s going to get hurt.”

“The bad weather?” Camilla whispered in horror. “You mean, they’re doing it right away?”

“Tonight,” Chase said. “Zeke told me their hit was going down tonight, and by tomorrow he was going to be rich.”

“Oh, God.” She began gathering her papers, jamming them hastily into her briefcase.

“Queen?” Marty asked. “What’s the matter?”

But Camilla was already shrugging into her coat. She ran out of the hostel and into the icy darkness where the rain was turning to wet snow.

S
LEET POUNDED
on the sides of the old stone barn and hissed around the open door, piling in slushy mounds at the end of the driveway. The sky was black, and the farmyard lay silent and deserted on this Saturday evening.

Steven sat in the darkened barn behind the wheel of his car, staring at the rough-hewn walls that enclosed him. He felt like a rat in a trap, even though the door stood open behind him and he was free to drive out of here whenever he wanted.

Too bad the sliding door wouldn’t malfunction, he thought. The control button was on the outside of the building, so he’d be genuinely trapped until somebody came and found him. And by that time, it would be too late for what he was planning tonight.

Horrified at his own cowardice, he got out restlessly and prowled around his car, checking the tires, opening the hood to have another look at the engine. For at least the tenth time, he ventured toward the barn door, huddling in the chill, hands jammed deep into his pockets as he gazed at the storm.

With an anxious twinge of hope, he squinted up at the light in the sodden yard, trying to assess the
strength of the wind and the amount of sleet that was falling. He wasn’t scheduled to leave for half an hour yet. Maybe by then the weather would be so bad that he wouldn’t be able to get into the city.

But that wasn’t likely, and he knew it. Beyond their graveled farm approach, the roads into town were all hard-surfaced. And the storm, though windy and blustery, was hardly something you could call a blizzard. Steven had lived through enough real blizzards on their ranch in Saskatchewan to recognize that this was merely an autumn squall.

He stood in the entry to the barn and narrowed his eyes, watching the lights of the house as they glimmered through veils of sleet. Nobody was home but Margaret, and she was busy.

Eddie had left the day before, heading back to the oil rigs, and the housekeeper was drowning her sorrow in a great flurry of baking. At last count there’d been eleven pies lined up on the kitchen counter, along with masses of cookies and buns.

The rest of the family were in the city. Vanessa and Enrique were studying at the downtown library, while Jon had taken the twins to a musical at a local theater. They’d all planned to meet for dinner at a burger place.

Again Steven suffered that stab of wistfulness, the longing to be with his family again. He pictured them laughing together in the bright coziness of the restaurant, and felt lonely and excluded.

Even Vanessa, who’d always been so annoyingly
superior, was becoming a much nicer person these days. His father, though, seemed a lot quieter since their move to the city.

Something was making him unhappy….

This thought made Steven realize just how much he loved his father, which was absolutely the worst thing to be thinking right now.

Because after tonight, he and his father would never be able to have a warm relationship again. Jon Campbell would certainly despise his son for what he was about to do.

Steven’s mouth settled into a desperate, stubborn line.

I don’t care if he hates me. He doesn’t understand anything. I’m doing this for the street kids, because somebody’s got to start redistributing the wealth. And if my father can’t understand that, I don’t need him in my life.

Off in the distance a car came winding down the approach road to the farm, its headlights glistening faintly through the storm.

Steven ducked back inside the stone barn, rubbing his hands together to warm them. He ran another brief check on the car, then glanced at his watch again.

Time crawled by so slowly tonight that he felt like screaming.

He didn’t want to leave too early and have to cruise the streets, since that would increase the opportunity for the car to be seen and remembered. But if he had
to hang around the farm much longer, waiting and doing nothing, he was going to go out of his mind.

He took a cloth and rubbed the car furiously, polishing it to a high gloss. On a sudden inspiration he rushed outside, gathered a handful of mud from the damp ground and smeared it across the license plate, standing back to study the effect.

The mud obscured the letters and numbers quite effectively. He added another handful just to be sure, wiped and dried his chilled hands and checked his watch one more time.

Still fifteen minutes to go, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d leave now and drive slowly, taking the long way around to his designated parking spot near the liquor store.

If he was this scared, how must Zeke and Speedball be feeling? They were the ones who actually had to do the holdup. But at least there’d be no guns or knives involved, and no possibility of anybody getting hurt. Zeke had given his word to Steven that they’d do the heist without weapons of any kind.

He took a deep breath, opened the car door and began to slide behind the wheel.

“Steven?” a voice called from the doorway. “Are you in here?”

He stiffened and looked around, then climbed reluctantly from the car, trying to figure out who was standing there. It appeared to be a woman, darkly silhouetted against the faint light in the yard, wearing a long hooded coat and boots.

The person stepped inside, dropping the hood and shaking moisture from it. Steven gaped in surprise when he saw a flash of blond hair and recognized Dr. Pritchard.

“Margaret told me you were over here working on your car,” she said as casually as if they’d just met in the hallway at school. “It’s a pretty terrible night, isn’t it?”

“I…uh…If you came to see Dad and the kids,” Steven floundered awkwardly, “they’re all in town. They should be home soon.”

“I know. Margaret told me.” She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her woollen coat and took a few steps toward him, “Actually, you’re the one I wanted to talk with, Steven.”

He had a wild urge to escape. It was so scary being alone with her in this isolated building.

“Sorry, I don’t have much time right now,” he muttered, reaching for the door handle. “I need to meet some friends in town. Would you like a ride back to the house, Dr. Pritchard?”

She was close to him now. In the glimmer of the outside light, he could see her halo of soft golden hair, the fine bone structure of her face.

“I don’t think you should go to town tonight, Steven,” she said.

He gripped the door handle and stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you know that Zeke and Speedball have
guns? Are you aware of what might happen if you get any more deeply involved in this?”

He swayed on his feet, thunderstruck, while his mind groped to understand.

Maybe this was a nightmare and he’d wake up soon and be safe in his bed.

“How do you—”

“Howie got a couple of guns for them. He’s very good at that sort of thing. Steven, could we sit down, do you think?”

She gestured at a bench along the wall. He shook his head and refused to move, still gaping at the woman in stunned astonishment. Finally she sat down alone, gripping her hands tightly in her lap.

“They’re vicious boys, and totally without conscience. But I don’t believe you’re like that,” she said. “I suppose they’ve told you all kinds of stories about how they’ll use the money for a good purpose and how there’ll be no violence under any circumstances. Is that right?”

He nodded, his mind still whirling crazily.

“But that’s all it is, Steven. The things they’re telling you are lies. These boys are using you. They want your car so they can get away safely, and apart from that, they don’t care about you at all.”

“That’s not true! They’re my friends,” he argued, afraid that he might be going to cry.

What she was saying was so awful, so unthinkable….

“No, Steven,” she said sadly. “There’s no honor
among this particular pack of thieves. If they can find a way for you to take all the blame or lighten their own punishment, they’ll betray you in an instant.”

“Who are you?” he whispered, moving closer so he could see her face in the dim light. “Are you… like, a cop or something?”

“Me?” She glanced up at him, startled. “I’m an English professor.”

“I thought…” He looked away, kicking nervously at the floor. “I thought you might be working undercover or something, to know all this stuff. You must be spying on me.”

“No, I’m not spying on you. But you’re partly right. I do have some reliable sources of information, just like an undercover police officer.”

There was a long silence while Steven tried to figure out his next move. She wasn’t strong enough to hold him here. He could still get in his car and drive away to keep his appointment, and there’d be nothing she could do about it.

With sudden inspiration, he realized he could even close the door as he left, and lock Dr. Pritchard inside so she couldn’t stop the robbery. She’d be trapped in the barn, helpless to get out.

But the damn woman knew everything. Somebody would find her eventually, and then she’d go to the cops and give all their names.

While he was debating, she watched him quietly, her beautiful face looking sad and drawn.

“Why are you involved in something like this, Steven?” she asked. “What’s your motivation?”

He turned away, refusing to answer.

“You might as well tell me,” she said. “I already know everything else. I just want to understand why you’d choose to involve yourself in an armed robbery when you have every privilege a boy could dream of.”

“It’s not an armed robbery!” he said. “There won’t be any weapons involved. Zeke gave me his word, and I trust him.”

“I see. But whether or not that’s true, it will still be a holdup of a liquor store by two boys with long criminal records, and you’ll be driving the getaway car for them. Why would you do that?”

“I want to share the money,” he said after a long silence. “We’re giving it to the street kids so they can buy food, coats and warm blankets before winter comes.”

“You want to help the street kids?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do.” He looked up bitterly. “Is that so hard to believe? There’s a hell of a lot of homeless kids out there, you know, if you ever went downtown to see for yourself.”

“I’m sure you’re right. But there are other ways to help them.”

“How? They don’t need love and tenderness, or lectures about disease, or tickets to a free circus performance, if that’s what you mean. They need
money.
” He slammed the car door shut and leaned against it. “They need a share of what we’ve got, people like you and me. My damn family spends enough during one week to keep one of those kids in comfort for a year.”

“So you’ve decided you’re going to help redistribute the wealth.”

“Yes.” Steven set his jaw and stared at the wall above her head. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

“And you have no other motivation at all?” she asked gently.

“Like what?”

“Perhaps you’re angry at the way life’s treated you, and you need to lash out and hurt somebody in return. Maybe you want your mother to—”

“Don’t talk about my mother!” he shouted. “What do you know about it, anyway? I’m sure
your
mother was a saint, and you grew up in luxury and never knew a minute of loneliness or worry about what was going to happen to you. That’s why it’s so disgusting when you go around judging other people!”

By now he was so furious that he didn’t even know what he was saying. His hands shook and his whole body was gripped by chills, though anger burned hot and strong at the center of him. He wanted to choke the woman, kick her, do anything to shake her from the cold, superior way she analyzed and passed judgment on others.

Steven actually took a couple of steps toward her, his hands raised as if to strike her.

When she lifted her head and looked at him, he
stopped short in confusion. There were tears in her eyes. But the woman wasn’t afraid of Steven. She seemed to be far away—scarcely aware of his presence.

She clenched her hands together and reached up with a tense motion to brush one of her coat sleeves across her eyes.

“My mother wasn’t a saint,” Dr. Pritchard said at last, her voice low and halting. “She was a drunk.”

He paused in shock.

“My mother was a drunk,” the professor said again. “She drank every night until she passed out. There was…usually a boyfriend with her, and I lived in fear of those men. When I was your age, my existence was squalid beyond anything you could possibly imagine.”

“But I thought…” He watched her cautiously. “Everybody always says…”

“Nobody knows.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “I’ve never talked about this, Steven. For the past twenty years I’ve kept it a secret”

There was something so wretched about her face and voice that Steven’s fury ebbed rapidly. He sank onto the bench next to her, wondering if he should touch her hand or put his arm around her.

“We lived in a small prairie town,” she said, “in a horrible old house trailer. It was so dirty and awful, I could never have any friends. Other parents didn’t want their daughters associating with me, and I could hardly blame them. When I was a year or two
younger than you,” she went on in a flat, toneless voice, “one of my mother’s boyfriends raped me while my mother was unconscious in the other room.”

“My God,” he whispered. It was so fantastic, listening to her. Could this possibly be his elegant, dignified professor? “What did you do?”

“I stabbed him in the chest with a hunting knife, took some of his money and ran away. I knew I could never go back so I wandered around for a couple of weeks, looking for a way to support myself and survive in the world.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Where did you go?”

“I was heading for the city, planning to become a prostitute. I felt it didn’t matter what I did, and I was terribly angry. I wanted to punish the whole world for what happened to me.”

She looked up at him with a direct, searching gaze that made him flinch. But he couldn’t turn away. Instead, he found himself being drawn into the depths of her eyes, mesmerized by the story she was telling.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“I was still on my way to the city, starving and sick because I hadn’t eaten for several days. One morning I ran into a young man who was on a motorcycle trip. He’d camped in the ditch near me, sleeping in his little tent.”