The Second Trial (19 page)

He plucked a blade of grass and began shredding it with his fingernails.
So, did he do it?
Since yesterday, the question had slowly seeped into his brain like slow rain.
Mom said he'd burned her. Jen
said he'd kicked Buddy. Mom said he'd threatened to hurt Grandma
and Grandpa. Grandma and Grandpa…

Where was the stone? Had he lost it? His breath caught. The last time he'd had it was in the shorts he'd been wearing when they left Edmonton, the same ones he was still wearing when they got to Winnipeg. He'd shoved his clothes under the bed and later had dumped them all in the basement.

He jumped up. “Come on, Buddy, we've gotta go.”

Jennifer sat with her legs tucked under the coffee table, her new pencil crayons arranged in a rainbow. One hand was up at her face twirling her hair around and around, while she colored a picture with the other, the pencil gliding back and forth across the page in a rhythmical arc, always carefully staying in the lines.

“Where's Mom?” Danny demanded.

“She took the laundry to the laundry room.”

“What laundry room?”

“Out back across the common area – at the end, where the door is different than the others.”

His heart drummed. Mom always checked pockets. Had she found the stone?

The air in the laundry room was muggy and warm, a tangled mix of smells: detergent, fabric softeners, and unwashed clothes. His mom leaned across a dryer, fumbling with change. She looked up.

“Hi. I thought we'd all feel better if we had some clean clothes.”

His voice was urgent. “Did you find a stone in one of my pockets?”

“No,” she answered, her eyebrows raised.

“Well, did you check
all
my pockets? Did you?”

She paused. “I always check the pockets.”

Under the bed,
he thought.
I had the clothes under the bed.

Danny spun about and rushed to his room. Buddy followed closely and crouched beside him as he dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. He thrust his arm underneath and swept his hand back and forth.

Nothing. Danny's heart pounded.
Where was it? Did I lose it?
How could I have lost it?
He continued swinging his arm back and forth like a windshield wiper but felt nothing but dust balls. He turned and sat heavily on the floor. He stared straight ahead at the open closet. There were his blue shorts, draped across his catcher's mitt and tennis racket. He scrambled over and pulled them out, and shook them frantically upside down.

Nothing. He flung the glove and racket behind him. Then he saw it. There it was, white on the brown carpet. He picked it up, locked it in his fist, and closed his eyes.

“Found it, Buddy. I found it.”

Buddy wagged his tail.

Catherine spent the rest of the day cleaning house. She dragged the old kettle-shaped vacuum across the scratchy carpet. She aired out the place, changed the beds, and cleaned the bathroom. She washed the kitchen floor and swept the front steps. She didn't ask Jennifer or Danny for help, not even to take out the garbage. By supper, the laundry was neatly folded and back in the drawers.

“I've been wondering about the flower bed in the front,” she said matter-of-factly. “We could borrow some garden tools and clean it up. It's late in the season, but there are probably still some flowers on sale. What do you think?”

He didn't know what to say. He was grateful his mom seemed to have returned to normal. She was taking care of things. She was taking care of him.

He didn't know why he watched the news that night, but he did.

There it was. Black smoke boiled out of the hole where the roof used to be. Crimson flames licked up the outside walls and pushed the foul smoke higher and higher, warping the night sky. The windows blew out in a volcanic blast of glass and debris. A man stood silhouetted against the flames, a microphone at his lips, shouting words that couldn't be heard above the roaring fire. Firefighters in sooty yellow gear hauled hoses from fire trucks pulsing with red and blue lights. Then, the camera panned across a group of people huddled on the streets. Danny recognized Mr. and Mrs. Butler, their faces showing fear and horror in the firelight, and the Hoopers' children, their arms around their mother's legs and their faces buried in her housecoat. The neighbors watched the shingles on their own houses blister and curl. Danny saw the remaining walls of his house collapse in on themselves as the fire plowed through the backyard trees to the fence and garage.

He knew the greasy black smoke smelled of burning rubber and hot tar. And it didn't stop until it was all gone.

Chapter 8

“I've called the realtor again,” Catherine announced Monday at breakfast. “She's coming later. We'll go look at some houses.”

When the door bell rang, Catherine made the introductions and they headed for the agent's car. Alice Wu drove a sleek, black Mercedes. Danny slid into the cool leather seats and breathed in the new car smell.

Catherine and Alice chatted back and forth about location, price, and features. Catherine said it had to be by Westlawn School because she'd already registered the children there.

“What was your house in Saskatoon like?”

“Oh…smallish, older.”

“Are you looking for the same type of thing?”

“No…a little newer, a little bigger.”

They drove up and down the streets to get a feel for the area. “A nice choice of neighborhoods,” Alice remarked, “and a good high school, too.”

The car swung to the curb and Alice consulted her papers. She checked addresses and showed them some houses. The first ones were roomy, but too expensive, and Alice asked if they'd consider a condo.

“We
need
a big yard for our dog,” Danny answered non-nego-tiably from the back seat.

“Yes, we do,” agreed Catherine.

“All right, let's go this way,” Alice said, swinging the car south.

The new district was called Forest Lawn. The houses had more variety, some smaller ones tucked in amongst larger neighbors. “Let's start looking inside, shall we?” Alice asked brightly.

Danny shuffled through the tour. He wouldn't have wanted anyone poking through his bedroom at home, looking at
his
things, opening
his
closet doors.

After a few hours, everyone was tired. They hadn't seen anything suitable. Alice suggested they get together again together on Friday. “That's when the new listings come out,” she said.

One day trailed into the next. Everyone pretended life was normal and no more complicated than usual. They lugged groceries, and Jen played with the other kids. Catherine made small talk with some of the neighbors. Danny took Buddy for long walks, kept his distance, and watched a lot of TV.

Alice called on Friday. “Looks like we might have a match. The area you wanted, the right size, in your price range – possession October first.”

Catherine's smile spread from her lips to her eyes.

The house was more humble than the others on the block, but the grass was a fresh green and a red honeysuckle bloomed around the window.

The inside was clean and orderly and the kitchen had been renovated.

“There's a washer and dryer in the basement,” Alice said, “and there's a one-car garage.”

“I want to see the back yard,” said Danny.

“Right this way,” Alice replied.

Six bird feeders hung from the box elder tree.
Those'll have to
go
, thought Danny, picturing Buddy frantically trying to bark the birds off their perches. But a chin-high fence completely enclosed the yard. Patio bricks circled a cinder-block fire pit and a stack of split birch rested against the garage wall. It looked okay to Danny. He and Jennifer continued to poke around as Alice and Catherine talked price.

“I'll be paying cash,” said Catherine. “I won't need a mortgage.”

“That's great, because it means we can move on it quickly, and this house isn't going to last on the market for long.”

Alice directed them to her car. Catherine's eyes swept across the yard. “Yes,” she said, “we could be comfortable here for a long time. I'll call my lawyer as soon as I get home, to find out how soon I'll get my inheritance.”

Alice smiled. “It sounds promising, Susan.”

Catherine telephoned Scott right away. Danny heard her ask about the insurance money and the talk went back and forth. After a long silence, she said, “I understand. I'll wait for your call. Good-bye, Scott.”

Catherine joined her children in the living room where they were playing another game of Snakes and Ladders. “Scott will try to find out about our insurance claim,” she said, “but the office might be closed for the weekend and he probably won't get through 'till Monday. So, we'll just have to be patient and keep our fingers crossed.” The corners of her mouth turned up and made little crow's feet around her eyes.

It was good to see Mom smile again.

Danny hadn't paid much attention to the old man who lived alone at the far end of the complex. The stairs had been converted to a wheelchair ramp. Danny saw him occasionally while walking Buddy. The old man took short, careful steps, and leaned heavily on two canes. Danny usually saw only the top of his head as the man concentrated on his feet. No matter how warm it was, he always wore his beret and a long-sleeved shirt tucked into trousers held up by a leather belt.

“Nice dog yuh got there,” he'd remarked as Danny walked Buddy past him one day.

“Thanks,” Danny replied quickly, unwilling to pause and be drawn into conversation. After that, he'd gone out of his way to avoid him.

But Danny and Buddy were out early one Sunday, before the neighborhood kids took over. The old man seemed stronger, his steps more sure, his chin up, looking ahead instead of down. This time, he caught Danny's eye.

“Sure is a nice dog yuh got there. What's his name?”

“Buddy.”

The old man braced himself on one cane and dropped his liver-spotted hand to the dog's twitching nose. He stroked Buddy's head. “Hello, Buddy. I used to have a dog,” he said. “A black lab. Called him Ranger. Best dog a man could want.”

Danny watched Buddy lean into the old man's hand.

“But he got old, 'n' so did I, 'n' now I'm here 'n' he's gone. I sure do miss that dog.” He straightened. “I'd like another one, but I got these brand-new hips 'n' those doctors have me in 'n' out of hospital more often than a man can sneeze. I just couldn't manage to take care of one.” The old man now leaned both hands on the cane.

“What's your name, son?”

Danny paused. A choice.

No, not a choice. A dilemma.

Danny or David?

The house burned down. Nothing left of Danny.

No proof it was arson.

The old man cocked his head to the side, waiting for an answer
.

No future for David, though. David was just a stopgap in Danny
McMillan's life.

Birth certificates. School records.

Mom or Dad.

“David,” Danny replied. “But we're moving next month,” he added quickly, hoping the old man wouldn't bother remembering his name if he wasn't going to be there long.

“David.” He nodded, but his face tensed. “I had a son named David –”

Danny's fist clenched Buddy's leash.

“But he's gone too…” His face crumbled like sandstone. “Gone a long time now, since that senseless war, sent by a president who thought it was fine for other people's sons to die for his ideas. But it was a long time ago, and you can't cry forever.”

The old man straightened. “The kids here call me Papa Joe.”

“Papa Joe,” Danny repeated flatly.

“Well, see yuh 'round, David,” Papa Joe said, lifting his cane in front of him. “You take good care of that dog.” Papa Joe stepped away.

The realtor rang again on Monday morning. “No, I haven't heard yet,” Catherine said. “It's a bit out of my hands. We have to wait for the lawyers to finish, and you know how lawyers are…Yes, lots of paperwork. I'll call you as soon as I know.”

Catherine dialed Scott's number. Had he been in touch with Phil? What had her parents said? Was the claim in? Why was the investigation taking so long? Sorry, sorry, it's so hard to wait.

Danny didn't want to hear any more sorries. He didn't want to wait. He wanted to know. Either Mom was right, or Dad didn't do it. Would it change anything if he knew?

Of course it would. Either Mom's right or Dad's right.

But maybe Mom could be right 'till Christmas, and then Dad could be right for the rest of their lives.

He rubbed the worry stone, which he'd kept with him like a secret since the fire. He'd call his grandparents. They were making the insurance claim and were in touch with the police. They'd know. He'd memorized their number last Christmas when he had started seeing them again. He'd take some change and use the mall pay phone. He'd never called long distance from a pay phone, but it couldn't be that hard, could it?

He scooped some coins from his mother's wallet, put Buddy on the leash, and made a beeline for the mall. He left the dog tied to the bicycle rack and shouldered through the revolving doors. A bank of phones hung just inside.

His fingers trembled so much he nearly dropped the coins. He didn't know much it cost, so he just kept jamming money into the slot until his palm was empty. He listened for the dial tone and then pressed the numbers.

One ring. Two rings.

I am sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service.
Please consult your directory.

Danny hung up.

His grandparents had lived in that house for forty years and always had the same phone number. Why would they change it? Had they done it before or after the fire? Maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe it was something the NIVA people routinely recommended.