Second Chances (8 page)

“I'll get you some good information. You can count on it, Gideon.”

“Good girl. Why don't you go get the camera and I'll show you how to use it properly. I also have a notepad you can take as my official sidekick in training.”

I saluted and grinned. “Darlene Findley, a.k.a. Little Fin, at your service.”

Gideon grunted and his smile came and went. “Pull up a chair and after I talk about the finer points of this camera, we'll go over the steps to writing a good article. You have lots to learn if I'm going to make a journalist out of you.”

I couldn't meet Gideon's eyes. I would never be a journalist. It wasn't in my future no matter how much I wanted it. My dad would never stand for me having a career that would take me that far from home. He'd already told me not to plan on going to university like William. Secretaries didn't need a higher education.

Elizabeth and I sat on the front steps of the store after supper a few days later. She'd tuned her little pocket radio to CHUM FM in Toronto and we were listening to Casey Kasem's top forty of the week. It was a hot evening and we decided to put up with the blackflies and mosquitoes instead of being shut up indoors where the air was stifling. At least on the front steps, there was a whisper of a breeze. Elizabeth fanned herself with a page from the newspaper that she'd taken from the store.

“In Toronto, we have air conditioning,” she said, “and no damn blackflies.”

“Can't you go back if you want to?”

“My parents said if I lasted here, they'd buy me a car in the fall. I've already picked it out — a shiny silver Mustang.” She laughed. “My father promised it'll be sitting in the driveway Labour Day weekend on condition I don't arrive home before then.”

“They must really hate Michael if they're willing to bribe you with a car so you stay away from him.”

“Well, they sent me to live with your dad, so what does that tell you?”

The meanness of her words cut. “My dad's not so bad.”

“He's low class, Dar. He can't keep a decent job and he … well, he doesn't even read books.”

“He may not have had all the chances your dad had, but my dad's not low class. He works hard for our family. Why do you pretend you like him when he's around if you think he's so bad?”

Elizabeth laughed, like she was humouring me. “I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean low class. I just meant he has rigid ideas and he's got to have everything just so or he goes crazy, that's all. You're so quick to take things the wrong way.”

“Maybe he has to have things organized all the time, but that's not a crime.” I couldn't let it go. “My dad thinks you like him.”

Elizabeth put the newspaper she'd been waving back and forth onto the step next to her. “Lots of people think I like them. That's not a crime either.”

“Like Michael?”

“Yeah, like him.”

“I don't want you to talk about my dad any more. I don't want you saying anything to me or to my friends about my family.”

Elizabeth held up her hands, pretending to surrender. “I won't say anything bad about your dad ever again. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Sheesh. Who knew you were so sensitive?”

“I wouldn't call me sensitive. I call what you said insensitive.”

“Yeah, it probably was.” She bumped me gently with her hip. “Most people wouldn't have cared. It's not everyone who would defend their crazy father.” She laughed and held up her hands again. “Just kidding, I swear.”

“Quit while you're ahead,” I said. “Or I might have to deck you one.” I said it tough, but we both knew I wouldn't.

“God knows I'd deserve it.”

I was quiet for a bit. “Will you keep dating Michael when you're back home?”

Elizabeth smiled and shrugged. “His letters were starting to bore me, you know, wanting me to be his all his, he couldn't live without me … so I wrote him and told him it was over. Now, he writes that he wants to come to Cedar Lake to see me this week.”

“What will you tell him?”

“Not to bother. It's over.”

She looked at me with probing grey eyes. Her voice got solemn. “And I know your dad was responsible for Annie drowning, and he had a breakdown that took a few years coming and he's never been right since.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Nobody does. Maybe that's the big fat problem. The whole damn family pretends like nothing ever happened.”

I heard a noise behind me and looked up at the same time as Elizabeth.

“Do you need something, Mom?” I asked. I could feel my heart thudding inside my chest. How long had she been standing there?

Her eyes darted between me and Elizabeth. “I thought I might go for a walk. Do you girls think you could watch the store for an hour or so?”

I tried to read my mom's face through the black mesh of the screen. She didn't look like she'd heard what we'd been talking about and I relaxed a bit. I glanced at Elizabeth. I could tell she was watching too and sizing up our words and body language. I needed to keep her from reading something into my mother's outing. I wondered where she'd be meeting up with Johnny.

“No problem, Mom.”

“Yes, Aunt Jan. Darlene and I can watch the store for you.”

Mom pushed the screen door open and stepped outside. She was wearing a purple tank top and white denim shorts. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail and looked closer to twenty than forty. She wiped a hand across the beads of sweat on her forehead and said, “I just need a break. You girls can have an ice cream if you like. Whew, it sure is hot.”

Elizabeth and I watched Mom go down the path, walking through the ribbons of shadow until she disappeared behind the thicket of evergreen trees that led to the lake. Elizabeth reached down and turned off her radio. She picked it up and pushed herself to her feet. “I need to go upstairs and get something,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

After she'd been gone ten minutes and I knew she wouldn't be returning, I went inside the store and took out the notebook Gideon had given me from its hiding place under the counter. I didn't want Elizabeth to know I was working on this project, so I was keeping the notebook in a place she'd never look. I'd jotted down some notes and ideas on two pages as well as possible people to interview. I'd also started writing an opening for the story. I knew Gideon would be writing the version for the magazine, but I wanted to try my hand at a finished story too. I was ready to begin interviewing my first candidate. Tomorrow would be my first official day as a magazine writer. I could hardly wait to get started. It gave me something to hold on to.

I
rolled over and opened my eyes. The sun was streaming through the open curtains onto the floor and the hands of the clock read six thirty. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use — too many things on my mind. I wanted to get started on my writing assignment and William and Dad should be at the lake early in the afternoon. I had a lot to do before they showed up and Dad started finding chores for me around the house.

I slipped out from under the covers and stretched. By the stifling air in the bedroom, I could tell it was going to be another hot day. Elizabeth didn't stir as I slid open my dresser drawer and took out my favourite denim shorts and white cotton peasant top. I took them into the bathroom and changed, then washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs. Mom wasn't up yet, so I tried to move around quietly as I searched the cupboards for something to eat. A package of unopened bran muffins was at the back of the bread cupboard. I checked for green mold then ate one with a glass of orange juice before collecting my notebook and pen and heading out the back door.

The heat hit me like a wall when I stepped outside, even though the sun was barely up above the pine trees. Sweat was running down my forehead and cheeks by the time I'd left our backyard and started down the path to the road. My shirt was sticky against my skin, as if someone had dribbled warm water down my back. I looked up and down the empty road and started walking in the direction of Tyler's house. He might not want to help me with my article for Gideon, but I hoped he would. He was the perfect person to talk about growing up at the lake and what it meant now we were older.

I didn't meet him on the way as I'd hoped I would. I started walking slower. I rounded the bend and spotted his cottage, which was set in a stand of alders on a bluff a fair distance from the water. As I got closer, I started to rethink my plan. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. Tyler might think I was chasing him and I'd look pathetic. I hesitated at the bottom of his driveway. I began turning to retrace my steps when the back door of the cottage opened. Tyler had chosen that exact moment to come outside holding a big orange tabby cat. He set it down on the steps and gave the back of its neck a scratch before he raised his head to survey the yard. That's when he saw me. There was nowhere to hide. I waved and started up the driveway as if I was happy to see him.

“You're up early,” he said. “Give me a sec and I'll walk with you.”

He went back inside, giving me time to think about what I would say. A few minutes later, he opened the back door and leapt down the stairs, carrying his lunch pail and drinking from a bottle of orange juice. His hair was damp and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Too hot to run today,” he said. “I have time to sit by the lake for a bit till my ride comes, if you want to.”

We walked back toward my cottage and the path to the beach.

“Were you looking for me?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Just like old times.” He grinned and bumped me with his lunch pail. “Remember the time I dared you to climb that huge pine tree on Old Bear Road and the wind came up and you were swaying up there holding on for dear life?”

“As I recall, you didn't tell me the tree leaked sap. It took me two days to get my hands clean. I had some explaining to do when I got home and my clothes were ruined. That scared me more than falling out of the tree.”

Tyler laughed. “I sure liked watching you climb. You were like a squirrel hopping up those branches. You could outclimb all the guys.”

“With my hands tied,” I said. “But I've outgrown climbing trees.”

In case you hadn't noticed.

We walked silently down the path through the trees and across the sand until we reached my rock overlooking the water. This morning the lake was velvety blue and still as glass. Tyler leaned back and stretched his legs while he drank his orange juice. He sighed like he was happy to be sitting on my rock, and I pretended for a few seconds that I was the reason.

“I'm helping Gideon with a story he's working on for a magazine and wonder if I could get your opinion on summers at the lake,” I said.

“Gideon, that old man who delivers the mail?”

“He's actually a journalist. He has a column in a Toronto paper.”

“Really? I thought he was a retired guy from Toronto who just enjoys living like a hermit.”

“Yeah well, looks can be deceiving. So, will you do it? Answer a few questions for my article?”

Tyler lowered the bottle. “Okay, I guess. Sure, ask away.”

“Great.”

I opened my notebook to a clean page and uncapped my pen. “So what do you remember about summers at the lake when you were young?”

Tyler looked out over the lake and squinted into the sun. “I remember I could hardly wait to leave Peterborough to come here when school got out. There always seemed to be lots of kids around and no end of things to do — swimming, touring around in the rowboat, camping under the stars, bonfires. It was a free time. No worries except remembering to show up home for supper. There was a certain girl I used to like to hang out with.” He turned sideways and grinned at me. “Seems I still do.”

I ducked my head so he wouldn't see my face change colour. I'd forgotten how much he liked to tease me.

“How has it changed, coming up to the lake?”

This time, Tyler was quiet for a long time. When he started talking, his voice had lost its lightness. “It's like all the fun has gone out of being here. I don't know when it changed, but it did. I'd rather be in Toronto or Ottawa or anywhere else where there's something going on. It's like I'm just putting in time. Waiting for my life to begin and doing everything possible not to end up working a nine to five job like my dad.”

“Would you really rather be in the city?”

“Sometimes. Maybe not.” Tyler focused his eyes on the horizon. “I thought about signing up for Nam over the winter. I wanted to get out there and see the world and do something different. Get away for a while.”

My heart jumped. “It's not our war. It's the Americans' war.”

“They take Canadian recruits. We're still part of it whether we want to be or not. Anyhow, I decided I couldn't stand killing anyone, so that ended that daydream.”

“Being shot at wouldn't be much fun either.”

“I ask myself why I should lead this safe life while people are being killed.” Tyler's voice had dropped.

“We can't be responsible for the terrible things going on in the world,” I said. “You aren't the one who decided to send troops into Vietnam.”

“But I'm watching from the sidelines. Who said that evil is sitting back doing nothing while people are dying?”

“Edmund Burke in the 1700s. He said that all it takes for evil to triumph is good men to do nothing.”

Tyler shot me an admiring look. “How do you know this stuff?”

“History class. It's a pretty famous quote.”

“Yeah, but how many people remember who said it? Anyhow, that's what we're doing, in my opinion.”

“But how could you want to fight in a war after what happened to those women and children in My Lai? How many was it the Americans slaughtered? Five hundred? They herded them up like animals and shot them. Look at the Kent State massacre last year. The Ohio National Guard fired on students. They killed four of them and wounded nine more just because they were protesting going into Cambodia. They weren't much older than you or me. How can they rationalize doing that? It's wrong what Nixon's doing. What their government is making their soldiers do. The Americans aren't blameless.” I was out of breath.

“Yeah, but sometimes you have to take a stand even if it doesn't all go perfectly.”

“I don't know if we do in Vietnam,” I said. “How can we know what's really behind a country going to war when politicians will say anything to get what they want?”

“You've got me there. I just think there's more reason to go to Vietnam than not. I guess we can agree to disagree.” Tyler looked at his watch. “Hey, gotta go. My ride will be here soon.” He stood and looked down at me. “You coming to the beach party tonight? You can ask me more questions, then, for your lake article if you want. We seem to have a lot to talk about.” He grinned.

“I'm not sure. William will be visiting for the weekend.” The sudden change in topic left me wanting to hear more of Tyler's opinions about Vietnam. Tyler was smarter than he let on most of the time. We used to discuss things going on in the world before he found Jane Ratherford and turned cool.

“Bring him too. I haven't seen your brother all year.”

“Maybe.”

“See you then.”

I watched Tyler walk across the beach before I returned to my notebook. He hadn't told me much that I could use in my article, but a new idea was beginning to take shape. This could be a coming of age story — the childhood security of Cedar Lake and the war raging across the ocean. I knew Canada wasn't officially in the war, but we were too closely connected to the States to believe that it wasn't our war too. Gideon had said that enough times to make me a believer. This could be the angle that would transform my story into something brilliant.

I jotted down notes for well over an hour. When I finally put away my pen, I was ready to interview more people. I thought again about Tyler and wondered if it meant anything that he hadn't asked about Elizabeth. I ran that idea around in my mind like a warm beach stone, trying to read something into his omission, but in the end, I couldn't convince myself that what he'd failed to ask meant anything at all.

I waited another hour before going to Candy Parsens'. I'd picked her as my token newcomer at the lake, figuring she'd give my article an exotic flavour. If I was lucky, she'd name more of her famous friends.

I pedalled my bike up their driveway and surveyed their property. The grass hadn't been mowed in a while and the shrubs that used to be trimmed obsessively by Mr. Davidson were starting to grow in haphazard shapes. Bags of garbage were stacked near the back door and empty wine bottles spilled out of one. Flies circled just above and wasps buzzed from the pile. The visitor's car was still in the driveway behind Johnny's flower power van.

I got halfway up the driveway before I stopped and thought about leaving and coming back another time. I didn't want to walk in on Candy and Johnny and those two men staying with them. Another few seconds and I would have been gone, but just like at Tyler's, the back door opened before I'd taken a step away from the house. Candy must have seen me through the kitchen window. She started running toward me. Her flowing caftan, the colour of rubies, was shimmering in the sunlight with each step. As she got closer, I could see that the scooped neckline was rimmed in gold and silver threads. Under the hem of the caftan, her toenails were painted bubble gum pink. Candy waved a cigarette in the air as she reached around me with her other arm to give me a hug. She reeked of nicotine and Tabu, the heaviest drugstore perfume going.

“Darlene, did we make plans for today? I was hoping you'd come by. We can go down to the beach for a swim. Johnny's looking after the baby.”

I stared at her. Hadn't she remembered begging me to come visit?

She took me by the hand and tugged me toward the cottage, giggling as if we were two teenage girlfriends. I let myself be propelled along until I found myself in the kitchen. Johnny looked up from where he was spooning food into Sean's open mouth. Sean was seated in a high chair, banging a lettered block on the plastic tray in between mouthfuls. The kitchen was even messier than the last time I'd been in it, with boxes of food and food-encrusted dishes spread about the surfaces along with overflowing ashtrays. If I lived to be ninety, I'd never be able to stomach the smell of rotting food. Johnny looked down at the bowl of oatmeal he was holding as Candy spoke to him.

“We're going to the beach for a bit. You'll be okay here?”

“I thought you were going to clean up the place today.”

Candy shrugged. “It'll still be here in an hour. Surely you can live with the way things are until then.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“We always have a choice,” said Candy. She spun around to face me. “Wait here and I'll just go get my bag and stuff.”

She crossed the kitchen and disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with Johnny and Sean. I felt awkward standing in the entranceway. I couldn't think of anything to say. Johnny kept feeding Sean as if I wasn't there. I cleared my throat.

“Those two guys are still visiting,” I said. “Bobby and Kirk.” Their names had popped into my head. Not that it was any of my business, but it was the only conversation opener I could come up with.

Johnny straightened up in the chair. He stopped the spoonful of oatmeal in mid-air. “I didn't realize you'd met them.” He turned to look at me. Every time I saw his black eyes, they made me lose my train of thought. He waited while I got my mouth to work.

“I just ran into them the other afternoon. They were in the backyard with Candy and Sean.”

“Ahh.” Johnny turned back around and attempted to put the spoon into Sean's mouth. Sean held his lips tightly closed and shook his head back and forth, all the while banging the block on the tray. Oatmeal flew from the spoon when the block smacked Johnny's hand. “Had enough then, little man?” Johnny picked up the bottom of Sean's bib and wiped away the oatmeal clinging to his face with gentle strokes. “Time to play then.” He looked at me. “They're leaving soon. Bobby and Kirk. Just friends passing through.” He waited again for me to say something.

“Oh.” I said.
Could I get any more brilliant?
“Did you know them when you lived in the States?”

“We met Johnny a few years ago when we were involved in the same business venture, isn't that right, old friend?” I turned. Bobby had walked into the kitchen and joined into the conversation. A cigarette hung out of his mouth and bobbed up and down as he talked. He grabbed a chair on the other side of the table and straddled it so his arms were folded on the back. His afro surrounded his head like a beach ball.