Searching for Yesterday (9 page)

“Wow!” I said. “How do you do that — so fast?”

“It's easier than it looks,” she said, giving me a smile for the first time. “Most things are, once you get onto them.”

She turned to Annie. “So, you had some more questions?”

Annie had just opened her mouth to answer when the door opened and in came Madison, returning from her break. Almost right behind her was a tall man who was jangling a set of keys. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him.

“What have you got for me today?” he asked Kayla.

“Hey, Brandon. Just some deliveries to the hospital. They're ready to go out back.”

“That's
it
?” He sounded surprised. “No wakes or “sorry I forgot our anniversary' deliveries today?”

Kayla smiled. “Nope. Oh, Brandon, you remember Gina Berkley, don't you?”

“What about her?”

“This is her daughter, Annie, and Annie's friend, Shelby Belgarden.” Kayla turned to us. “And this is Brandon Fulton — my twin brother.”

No wonder he'd looked familiar. They weren't identical, of course, but there was a strong resemblance.

“Hey girls. Nice to meet you.” Brandon offered a hand, which we each shook, and then turned back to Kayla. “I'd better get going. Jayzelle told me not to be late for dinner tonight. I think she said we were having company or some such thing. Come to think of it, there was something I was supposed to pick up. Wish I remembered what.”

“Call her!” Kayla said, but Brandon had disappeared into the back to pick up the box of deliveries.

“I'll probably think of it on the way,” he said.

“You
won't
think of it,” Kayla called out as he tugged the door open with his foot. “And if it's something she needs for dinner, Jayzelle is
not
going to be happy.”

Kayla was still shaking her head in exasperation when she turned back to Annie and I. “He won't remember,”
she said with a sigh. “He never does. Too much on his mind, really, what with teaching school all day and then doing my deliveries afterward and working on his Master's degree in his spare time. Not that he has a lot of spare time, with two kids.”

“Where does he teach school?” Annie asked. “At Ballanstone,” Kayla said.

“Grade Two. Wouldn't be for me, that's for sure. Anyway, sorry about the constant interruptions! It gets a lot worse than that around here some days, believe me.”

“It's okay,” Annie said. “It was fun watching you do the flowers up and stuff. I'd love to be able to do something like that.”

“Oh yeah? Would you be interested in a part-time job?”

“Are you
serious
?”

“Yeah, sure. My mother has been coming in, mostly on Saturdays, but some evenings too, when it's really busy and we have to stay late. She missed working after she closed the craft store, but now she's getting tired of it and she just told me a few days ago to go ahead and hire someone to take her place.”

“That would be awesome!” Annie said. “But what if I'm no good at it?”

“You'll learn,” Kayla said. She waved her hand as if she was shooing away Annie's objection. “All it takes is practice. Come in this Saturday and we'll get you started.”

Annie thanked her and then seemed about to leave. I actually had to remind her about why we were there.

“Oh!” she said, blushing. “I got so excited about the job that I forgot everything else. What I was wondering was, did my mom stop working here because you two weren't getting along?”

“You mean because of Lenny?” Kayla paused to think. “No, that wasn't actually the reason, though I have to admit I was glad not to have him coming around to pick her up after work.”

“Was there another reason then?” I asked.

“Yeah, actually. Gina used to talk about becoming a pastry chef. It was something she'd always been interested in — making fancy desserts or whatever it is a pastry chef does.

“Apparently, you need some background first before you can get into a course. Her mom — your grandmother — used to make amazing desserts, but she was having problems — she couldn't remember things, and she got confused a lot, so Gina couldn't learn the basics from her. Anyway, when the job came up at the bakery, she decided to apply. She figured it would give her a taste of what it would be like, so she could decide whether or not to go to pastry chef school or wherever it is you learn that kind of thing.”

“The last time we were here you mentioned that my mom was talking about going back to school,” Annie said. “Was that what she was going to take?”

“That ... or some kind of business course. She was hoping to open up her own place at some point in time. I can't quite remember which course she was planning to take first.”

“And then she left,” Annie said flatly.

“Then she left,” Gina agreed. “And I guess that all went down the drain. But you never know. She might have pursued it somewhere else. I don't know how you'd find out, though. I'm sure you've tried internet searches with your mom's name.”

“Lots of times,” Annie said. “But I was never looking specifically for anything to do with a bakery or whatever. It's worth a try.”

“Well, I don't know what to say to you, exactly. Good luck, that's for sure. I wish I could help somehow.”

“You've helped a lot,” Annie said. She sounded sincere, and I know she meant it, but it really didn't seem that Kayla had been much help. I thought that, aside from a few background details about Gina's life, she hadn't been able to tell us much.

Later, when the significance of something she'd told us hit me, I felt more than a little foolish.

“I saw Betts earlier this evening.”

Greg was at my place. He'd come over after work and we were enjoying the fact that, with school still out for a few more days, we could stay up as late as we wanted on a weeknight. He'd brought a movie along, an old one called
Dead Poets Society
, which his father had loaned us from his personal collection.

“Oh, yeah? Where'd you see her?” I asked, looking up at his face from where my head was resting against his chest.

“At work.”

I pulled away a little, enough that I could look straight into his eyes. “At the gas bar?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“What, did she stop by on her way somewhere or what?” I couldn't picture where she'd have been going to be walking by Broderick's, the gas station where Greg
worked part-time.

“You could say that,” he answered. “She wasn't on foot.”

“Oh. Was she with her folks?”

“No. She was with some guy.”

“Kruel!” I said, sitting straight up.

“
Who
?”

I told him about the conversation I'd had with Betts that morning. I don't suppose I should have — I'm sure she wouldn't have wanted me to tell anyone, not even Greg, but with an opening like that, and the way it was weighing on me, I just couldn't help it.

Greg looked pretty grim when I'd finished. “This isn't good,” he said.

“I know that,” I told him. “But I can't stop her if she's determined to go out with this guy.”

“No, there's more than that to it,” he said. “I could smell booze on him when he paid for his gas.”

My stomach clenched into a hard, cold knot as I thought of Betts driving around with someone who'd been drinking.

“Are you sure?” I asked, but I knew Greg would never say something like that unless he was certain.

He nodded and reached for the clickers, shutting off the TV and DVD player. “How old did you say you thought he was?”

“Around twenty-four is my best guess. He could be a year or two either way.”

“That's bad enough by itself,” Greg said. “But no matter how old he is, Betts knows better than to be in a dangerous situation like that.”

My throat was tight and I knew I was on the verge of tears. Not wanting to look pathetic in front of Greg, I turned away. Thoughts of a program they'd run at school back when we were in the middle grades came to me, complete with images of kids in wheelchairs and long-term care beds — kids who had taken the same kind of chance Betts was taking right then. And then there were the anguished faces of the family members of kids who had been killed — and for what? Because they thought it couldn't happen to them? Because they were drinking or high themselves, or because they felt invincible?

I remembered Betts and I talking about it afterward. We'd signed pledges like a lot of kids had back then — pledges that we'd stay clean. I knew a lot of kids who had broken their pledges, who laughed about them later on, but I had made up my mind that I was going to honour the promises I'd made. After all, they were promises to
me
as much as to anyone else.

“What can we
do
?” I said. “There's nothing, is there?”

“There is one thing, but you won't like it.”

“What?”

“You can go to her parents.”

“I
can't
,” I said. “Betts would never speak to me again.”

“Maybe you could do it in some way that she wouldn't find out.”

I was silent, thinking about that. Greg was probably right. I knew Mrs. Thompson quite well, and if I went and talked to her about what was going on and asked her not to let Betts know how she'd found out, I was pretty sure she'd do as I asked. On the other hand,
I'd
know what I'd done.

“I'd feel so guilty,” I said. “I'm sure I'd give myself away at some point. It could destroy our friendship.”

Greg said nothing. “I know what you're thinking!” I told him, jumping to my feet. “You're thinking it would be better to have her mad at me, maybe never speak to me again, if it meant saving her life.”

“Actually, I was thinking how cute you are when you look worried,” Greg said. “Sorry. Don't get me wrong, though. I don't mean to sound uncaring about Betts. I know she's been your best friend for years and I'd hate to see anything bad happen to her. But I'm not about to judge you for whatever decision you make. It's not an easy call. I know that.”

I slumped back onto the couch. “I guess
I
was the one thinking all that other stuff then,” I said. “Oh, Greg, what do I do?”

“I wish I could help, but it's your call, Shelby,” he said.

“I wonder what adults do if they see a friend doing
something that could cause them serious harm,” I said, thinking out loud.

“Talk to them, I imagine,” Greg said. “Tell them they're worried and try to get them to see that what they're doing might be self-destructive.”

“That's it!” I said. I jumped up again. “I'll go to Betts's house and talk to her face-to-face. I'll stomp and yell and plead — I'll
cry
if I have to.”

“If you have to?” Greg repeated. He was looking at me questioningly.

“Yeah, you know, if she won't budge without tears, then I'll just have to produce some.”

“
Produce
some?” Greg echoed. His expression had turned from puzzled to incredulous.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Are you saying that you can just make yourself cry if you
decide
to?”

Oops! Now, that's not something we generally want guys to know, now, is it?

“Oh, Greg, you get the strangest ideas,” I said. I hardly took time to breathe before continuing. “Now, about this problem with Betts!”

“I thought you already decided what to do — just a second ago. Remember? When you were talking about
producing
tears?”

“You know what?” I asked, searching for a way to change the subject. “I don't think I've seen Ernie
since I came in! I'd better make sure he's not outside in the cold.”

“Want me to help you look, or can you produce cats at will, too?”

“Don't be a wise guy. I'm worried about the little fellow. I know he spends most of his time sleeping and the rest of it doing something wrong, but that doesn't mean we don't love him.”

As I rounded the corner into the kitchen I saw that Greg was behind me, a grin on his face. When I turned to ask him what he found so amusing, I saw that he had something in his arms. It was Ernie.

Betts was still in bed the next morning when I arrived at her house. I hadn't called ahead — I didn't want to give her time to think about why I was coming at that time of the morning.

Her mom let me in. Then the two of us went through the usual questions like how were my folks and had I had a nice Christmas and was I looking forward to school going back in.

“Well, I imagine you're here to see Betts,” she said after we'd talked for a few minutes. I have a special relationship with Mrs. Thompson, ever since I worked at the company she manages last summer, but I was still glad to head down the hallway to Betts's room. There aren't too many adults I feel totally comfortable talking with for more than a few minutes.

I tapped hard on Betts's door and was rewarded with a groan and the welcoming words: “Go away!”

“Hey, Betts, it's me,” I said, opening her door just enough to stick my head in.

“Come back later,” she moaned. A hand snaked its way out from under the thick comforter that covered her completely. She made a shooing motion.

“Aw, come on, it's not that early,” I said. I knew full well that, to Betts, anything before eleven was obscenely early. It wasn't quite nine o'clock.

“Wha-timizit?” she mumbled.

“Time to get up.”

“Noooo.”

“C'mon, Betts. I need to talk to you about ... something secret.”