Second Chances (12 page)

She'd been seven when she'd drowned. If she'd lived, she'd be turning seventeen on Monday. We'd be celebrating her birthday with a big cake and presents and a family dinner. I wiped my hair out of my eyes and focused on the far shore.

I remembered snippets of Annie, frames frozen in time that would come back to me sometimes. Sitting next to her in the hammock, our legs and arms pressed warm against each other, looking at my favourite picture book,
Pokey the Flying Rabbit
; watching out the front window for her to come home from school so we could play; sitting between Annie and William in the back seat of our car on the way to Sunday school singing “Jesus Loves Me.” Annie had been tiny for her age, with brown hair and eyes like my mom. She always wore her hair in pigtails and had black patent leather shoes that I envied with all my heart. I don't know if these memories of how she looked were first-hand or formed from the snapshots in our photograph album. I remembered the shoes, though. Annie used to wear them skipping on the driveway, and I was jealous of those shoes. I never knew what happened to them after.

My last memory of Annie was of her wearing a red and gold striped bathing suit when Dad carried her out of the lake. Her arms and legs had swung like a rag doll's, and her hair was all tangled with a trail of something green and slimy across her cheek. I don't know why I have this image locked in my head — Dad crying, great heaving sobs with his mouth wide open and his eyes shut, walking towards us with Annie in his arms — but it is always with me, just beneath the surface, waiting until I am overtired or feeling low. It appears as I am drifting off to sleep or when the first fingers of sun are sliding across the ceiling. Some nights, I wake up calling out for Annie, panicked that I won't be able to find her. I've never told anybody about the dream. They all think I've forgotten. I want it that way.

William told me that I'd taken one look at Dad holding Annie's body and started running the other way. It took them an hour to find me. I don't remember. I didn't remember anything before or after that day or for a long time afterwards. They tell me I was the reason Dad wasn't watching her, the reason he was distracted. I was throwing a tantrum and he was trying to get me to stop screaming. I might have been, but to me, it's just a story.

The wind had come up, and my hair was blowing around my face. A cloud blew in front of the sun and the beach was suddenly in shadow. I closed my eyes and lay back on my big flat rock and stared up into the sky. I lay like that for a while, and when the sun came out again I stood up and spread my arms wide, holding my face upwards to look above the lake and the long dark line of spruce trees. I yelled at the top of my lungs into the sky and let the wind whip away my words. “Happy Birthday, Annie. I hope you're doing okay wherever you are. I hope you've forgiven me.”

T
he
next day, I helped Mom in the store. I kept looking out the window, hoping to see Candy, but there was no sign of her. Mom finally let me go after lunch. On my way to Gideon's, I biked over to the Davidsons' to find Candy. I knew Gideon would be pacing his office waiting impatiently for me to bring some news for his story.

Bobby opened the door. He was scratching his bare chest and looked like he'd just woken up, even though it was after lunch. His Afro was wild and matted on one side. An unlit cigarette hung from the side of his mouth.

“You looking for Candy? She's gone to Toronto for a couple of days. I'm watching the kid until Johnny gets back from the store. You wanna come in and hang with me?”

Toronto?
“No, that's okay. Who did she go to Toronto with?”

“She took the bus, I think.”

I was backing away without realizing it until I stumbled on the bottom step. Bobby laughed. “Sure you don't want to come in and keep me company, baby? I don't bite. I'm a friendly kind of guy.”

“No, I have to go.”

I turned and started running toward my bike leaning against the rain barrel. Bobby's laughter chased me down the driveway.

That afternoon, Gideon moved from tea to whiskey as the hour hand passed two. He'd made me an iced tea from shiny crystals he kept in a round green tin in the cupboard over the stove. The mixture was root beer brown and rolled sickly sweet on my tongue.

“Why would she go to Toronto now?” I asked for about the tenth time since I'd gotten there.

Gideon took a long swallow before setting the tumbler next to his typewriter. He'd been ignoring me while he typed out an article for his column, but now he was done.

“No idea. She must have changed her mind about telling that story.”

“Maybe she won't be coming back,” I said. “She told me she would probably just up and leave one day.”

“Well, so much for my Pulitzer.” Gideon held up a hand. “Listen,” he said. He leaned over and turned up the volume on the radio beside his desk.

“… found dead in a bathtub in Paris, France. Cause of death unknown at this point. A great loss to the world of music.”

“Who, Gideon? Who died?”

“Jim Morrison of the Doors. You know, ‘Light My Fire.' I remember seeing him perform that song on the Ed Sullivan show. He was supposed to change the lyric from ‘Girl, we couldn't get much higher' to ‘Girl, we couldn't get much better.' Anyhow, Morrison stuck with the original lyric and Sullivan was so mad he wouldn't even shake Morrison's hand.” Gideon chuckled before his face turned serious. “He was too young by half. Joplin, Hendrix, now Morrison. The drug culture keeps taking the most talented. Remember this date, kid. July third, 1971. It'll be famous for all the wrong reasons.”

“Candy said she knew him.”

“Really? I guess it's possible.”

“Anything's possible,” I said.

“If Candy's gone for a while, or maybe for good, we need to come up with a new plan of attack,” wheezed Gideon before he bent over coughing. It took him a while to catch his breath. His face had turned a light shade of plum before he finally started talking again. He held the glass to his lips and took another deep swallow. He turned away from me as he set the glass on the desk. He wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt before he faced me again. “I'm still shaking this round of bronchitis and I need you to be my eyes and ears. Johnny's in the thick of this story. I want you to go over and interview him.”

“He's not going to share anything with me. I can tell you that right now.”

“He will after I call him.”

“What will you say?”

“Just leave it to me. He'll talk.”

“Should I take notes?”

“Yeah. This can be part of your article on people at the lake. Find out some of the background stuff and anything personal he can tell you. I want your impressions. See if you can get him talking about Vietnam. Don't push too hard, but lead him there whenever you get the chance. I also want you to take a look around. Try to find those papers Candy was talking about.”

“That sounds … illegal.”

“Well, she did offer them, so it's not like you'd be stealing anything.”

“How will I know what papers I'm looking for?”

“They'll have to do with the Vietnam War. They'll probably look official, maybe even military documents.”

“I don't know, Gideon.”

“It'll be fine. Trust me. Finish your drink and by the time you get to Johnny's, he'll be ready to give an interview. You'll have to come up with a reason to look around. Use your imagination.”

I watched Gideon over the rim of my glass as I took another swallow of iced tea. He was smiling and rubbed his beard up and down like he did when something made him happy. “Nothing like a good story to get the blood up,” he said before emptying the last of his glass. The colour was gone from his face and his skin looked greyish in the light from his desk lamp.

“Are you feeling okay, Gideon? Maybe you need a different medicine.”

“Don't worry about me, Little Fin. I'm getting along just fine. Everything is unfolding as it should.”

When I left Gideon's, the landscape had darkened under the belly of swollen clouds, and rumbles of thunder were growing louder until they seemed to be just overhead. I hadn't brought a jacket and by the time I reached Johnny's driveway the rain was falling in wind-whipped sheets. My hair was dripping and my shirt and shorts felt cold and clammy against my skin. I was happy to see Johnny's van in the driveway and pedalled faster through the rain toward the cottage. A green car with Pennsylvania plates was in front of the van. I'd never seen the car before and biked up close to it to look inside. I rubbed moisture from the window with the palm of my hand. The back seat was littered with styrofoam cups and food wrappers, but nothing that let me know who owned it.

I left my bike leaning against a tree and stood shivering on the back stoop as I waited for Johnny to answer the door. A jagged shaft of lightning flashed above the tree line followed by a crash of thunder, making me jump. I raised my hand again to pound on the door when it suddenly swung open beneath my fist.

“Come in then,” said Johnny. His black eyes drilled into mine as if he was trying to glare me off the top step. He was wiping his hands on a tea towel, and I could smell bread baking in the oven. He turned back toward the counter while I followed, surveying the kitchen as I went. I blinked a few times. The mess from my last visit had been cleared away, except for the dishes he'd used to make the bread dough. Even the garbage had been removed, and the kitchen table was empty of dishes.

I sat down in a chair at the end of the table where I could watch Johnny filling the sink with soapy water. He was dressed in torn jeans and a white cotton shirt with red flowers woven into the collar. His feet were bare. The yellow light from the swag lamp with pink tassels above the sink pooled around his dark hair like a halo.

“Is Sean sleeping?” I asked.

“He's been down awhile. He should be waking soon.” Johnny started putting the dishes into the sink and turned his back on me. “Bobby told me you were by earlier.”

“Yeah. I see his car's gone.”

“He and Kirk drove into Campbellford.”

I pulled my notebook from my soggy knapsack. The cover was stained brown and damp, but it had protected the pages inside. “I'm helping Gideon. He was supposed to call to arrange an interview for an article and …” I couldn't finish my thought. I felt awkward being there, knowing Johnny was interested in my mom.

“Like I told Gideon, I'll answer a few questions for your article since Candy's in Toronto. I have to say that I was a little surprised to hear she'd promised Gideon an interview.”

So that's how Gideon got Johnny to talk to me. Candy really must know something that Johnny didn't want me to find out. I lowered my head so he wouldn't see my face turn red. I asked, “How long have you known Candy?”

“A long time. We grew up together and were going to get married.”

“You were going to marry Frances, right?” I scratched a few words on the pad.

“I've never heard of any Frances.”

I lifted my head and stared at him. “Candy told me Frances was her sister.”
And Sean's mother.

Johnny laughed. “What else did she tell you?”

“That she knew Jim Morrison. He died yesterday.”

“Yeah, I just heard on the radio that he OD'd. It's hard to believe. It's even harder to believe Candy knew him.”

“She also said you were a pilot in Vietnam.”
Shut up
I told myself,
or Johnny's going to figure out that you've already interviewed Candy.

He dropped his head until his hair covered his face. When he looked at me again, he was smiling. It didn't reach his eyes. “I was, but Gideon told me your article was about newcomers to the lake and our impressions. I'd rather you not mention my name. I don't need that kind of ego shit.”

“I'll just have you as an unnamed source.”

“As long as we're clear on that.” He stood and headed over to the sink. His hands rested on the counter when he looked out the window. “Looks like the rain is letting up.”

“What do you think of Cedar Lake?”

“It's cool. I like being away from the city. Life is simple here. Waking up to the water and clean air is a bonus.”

“You met my mother before you came to Cedar Lake.” I trained my eyes on his back and waited.

Johnny kept resting his weight on the counter. He turned his head to look at me. “My parents owned a cottage here years ago. Your mother was a few years older than me, but I remember her. I met your brother in a Toronto restaurant. We just struck up a conversation and realized we had a connection. I thought Candy and Sean might like to spend the summer here.”

“Where in Toronto?”

“Yorkville.”

William had told me he liked to hang out in Yorkville. Maybe Johnny was telling the truth. “So you lived in Toronto before you came to Cedar Lake for the summer.”

“Yeah.”

“But you come from the States —” I let the sentence hang unfinished.

“I decided to move to Canada after I left the air force. I just wanted a change of scene. Cedar Lake is as far from the rat race as you can get. We love it here.”

“What was it like in Vietnam?”

“It was what it was. Just a memory now. Something I'm not too eager to talk about.”

Sorry, Gideon.
I put my book and pen back in my knapsack. “Do you mind if I use your washroom?” I asked as I straightened up. Gideon's iced tea was pressing on my bladder, and I was out of questions. I probably hadn't asked any of the right ones.

“Go ahead. It's upstairs at the end of the hall.”

“I know. We used to come for supper when the Davidsons were here other summers.”

I climbed the stairs and started down the dark corridor. The carpet was gritty with beach sand. Dust swirled in the greyish light, reminding me of Candy and how she hadn't cared what the house looked like. Johnny hadn't made it this far in cleaning up the mess that she'd let accumulate, although the hose of a Hoover vacuum rested against the wall at the end of the hallway. I passed a closed door where Sean must be sleeping and reached the second bedroom. The door was partially closed, but I pushed it open and looked inside. I could hear Johnny in the kitchen. I figured I had a few seconds to look for documents before he got suspicious.

Light filtered through the slats of a blind and layered the room in shades of grey. Rain had splashed onto the floor through the open window, and gusts of wind made the metal blind rattle against the glass. The bed wasn't made — the covers pushed aside and draped half on the floor, a wet towel tossed on the pillow. A stack of Johnny's clothes was on a chair beside the dresser. The dresser top was littered in silver and gold bracelets, brightly coloured scarves, bottles of face cream, perfume and make up, some of which was spilled across the oak surface. The scent of Tabu was all around me, as if Candy were hiding behind the door, ready to jump into the room at any moment with her happy smile and arms wide to hug me. I stepped closer and skirted around the bed. A large black suitcase stood open on the floor, its back resting against the bed frame, half-filled with Johnny's T-shirts and jeans. Next to it was his shaving kit and a box of clean towels and Sean's clothes. It looked like Johnny wasn't planning to hang around much longer. I wondered if he planned to wait for Candy. She'd left too many of her things not to be coming back.

I quickly backed out of the room and pulled the door back the way I'd found it. I didn't think it would be a good idea to let Johnny know I'd figured out he was going somewhere. A happy thought flashed in my mind. If he left, he'd be leaving my mother alone. She might be sad for a while, but she'd be okay. She'd get over him. She had to.

I tried to walk quietly down the hall to the bathroom, but the wooden floor under the carpet creaked with each footstep. Every noise made me cringe. I reached the bathroom at last and had my hand on the doorknob when I heard a noise behind me. It was coming from the spare bedroom across the hall. I froze and looked over my shoulder in time to see the door slide shut and the doorknob rotate slowly into place. Somebody was inside the bedroom — somebody who'd been watching me. I remembered the green car in the driveway. Did Johnny have somebody in there he didn't want anybody to see?

It would have been easy for me to cross the hall and pull the door wide open, but I wasn't that brave. In fact, I was as scared as I got watching horror movies, sitting in a darkened theatre. I didn't need to go to the bathroom that bad. I turned and jogged toward the stairs, not caring about the noise or the cloud of dust that swirled around my feet.