The Second Trial (32 page)

Nixxie hadn't said much. They strolled along the water's edge, heads down, nudging the stones with their toes. Nixxie spoke first. “Sometimes my mom – Denise, I mean – used to come here to be with me. She always told me how we'd do the same things she did when she was growing up –learning to swim, canoeing, ice fishing. About fifty times she told the story how one winter they caught so many perch it seemed like they were jumping out of the hole.”

She stopped, bent, and chose an oval stone. She used a slow, underhanded toss and watched it plop softly through the water's surface. “But she never did.”

“And this is still your home-away-from-home?” he asked.

“If I store the sad memories here at the lake forever, I'll
never
have a home-away-from-home. That's why Mom put a dream catcher in my window.”

“Dream catcher?”

“Yeah. The circular web that hangs there. Natives have a legend that a little boy once threatened to kill a spider while she was making her web. An old woman saved the spider, and the spider thanked her by giving her a gift. The spider wove a web where moonlight would glisten on the magical silvery threads. The web snared bad dreams. Only good dreams could pass through the small middle hole. Mom says it will help me remember only the good things about Denise and leave the bad ones caught in the web.”

He reached into his pocket for the two stones. As he touched the white one, he remembered Grandma's words:
Live the best life
you can live, Danny-boy.

“Do you mean in your culture the spider can give you good dreams?”

“Of course. Everything can have a good and a bad side.”

He clutched the worry stone. “I used to do a lot with my grandma and grandpa. They were always taking me outside and it seemed like Grandma never stopped talking. When she showed me things – the edible parts of a thistle, the way fish breathe in water, and why sunflowers turn their heads to the sun – I thought I was going to be a biologist just like her.”

“Do you think about your grandparents very much?”

“I – I try not to. I miss them.”

He kicked at a piece of driftwood while she threw another stone. “Whenever I was with Grandpa, he'd look at every rock as if it held a secret and he wanted to pry it loose and share it with me. He always looked at the whole world and how it worked. For him, petrified wood was more interesting than a live tree because it had been there longer and had more stories to tell. He taught me what the moon was made of, and the planets, and we'd look at the stars….” He paused a while, then sat on the beach. “So I wanted to be just like him.

“And then we stopped seeing my grandparents so much, and I spent more and more time with Dad. He taught me soccer and hockey and how to shoot a gun.” He grabbed a handful of rocks and tossed them into the water. “And then I wanted to be just like my dad.”

Nixxie tilted her chin to her chest. “I don't know if I ever really wanted to be like Denise,” she said, raking her fingers through the pebbles at her side. “I guess what I wanted was for her to be more like Mom – my grandma – and take care of me, and love me, and be with me.” She turned to Danny. “Do you think your father loved you?”

He thought a while. “I guess so. At first,” he finally answered.

“I was never sure about Denise,” she replied. “I think she
wanted
to love me, but she didn't know how, and so all sorts of other things got in the way.”

Danny considered this. “I guess it's kinda the same for my dad. What he did to my mom got in the way – and in the end he couldn't love me anymore.”

They sat in silence, watching the seagulls wheel lazily through the sky.

Nixxie spoke. “You'll need a dream catcher,” she said. “You can keep the good memories and leave the other ones in the web.” She smiled. “I brought one for you.”

“You did?”

“It was Mr. Ishii's idea.” She jumped up. “Let's go see the town.”

The ‘town' was a small grocery store, a gas station, and a cube van selling hot dogs and ice cream from a roll-up side. As they walked along the dusty road, Danny shifted a couple of steps toward Nixxie and intertwined his fingers with hers.

The roasted turkey smelled and tasted wonderful, and by the end of the meal Danny felt himself relax.

“Margaret?” said Mr. Solem. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Solem,” Danny said. “It was the best meal I've had…in a long time.”

“Glad you enjoyed it. When we're here at the lake, we focus on the simple moments. Later, they're the memories that keep you strong through the bad times. They're the stories you'll tell your family and friends. They'll stay with you for life.” She lifted a bag from the counter. She reached in and pulled out the dream catcher. “This is for you. We hope your time here is the start of many happy memories.”

He accepted the gift with a smile. “Thank you.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Mrs. Solem said, “I think Dad and I can handle the clean up.”

Mr. Solem started piling dishes and rose. “I've stacked wood and kindling outside by the fire pit, Nixxie. You and David start up a bonfire, and as soon as you have good roasting coals, we'll bring the hot chocolate and marshmallows.”

Nixxie crumpled a yellowed newspaper. She pushed a few sheets of curled birch bark over the newspaper and then methodically arranged a loose layer of twigs across the top. Danny sat on an upturned log with rings worn smooth by time. He clasped his hands. Unconsciously, he rubbed one palm across the top of his other hand and moved it in a circle, as if washing under an invisible stream of water. Nixxie tended the fire until the small, tipi-like structure started to burn from within. The birch bark sparked with a violence that seemed out of place amongst the languid flames pulsing out slowly from the fire's heart. In time, the larger branches fed the flames, and then the entire fire settled down on itself.

Nixxie sat on a log to Danny's left. They both stared at the fire, the sparks dancing up and disappearing, some of them seeming to go high enough to join the stars. He looked out to the dark water. Beneath the sound of the fire's erratic crackle he could hear the waves stroking the shore, as regular as a clock counting out eternity. The fire was remarkably smokeless, burning clean and hot. The heat shimmer made the stars dance. The Milky Way showed itself, dressing the black velvet sky with a soft, white scarf stitched of stars, its pattern unchanged in a billion years. His grandfather's words echoed soft and clear:
It's time, Danny. It's time to go.

He rose, stepped around the fire, and began moving toward the lake. He reached the boat ramp, and jumped on the cedar planks.

Now the stars shone more brightly than ever. He moved to the end of the dock, and his feet were sure on the weathered grain of the old wood. He felt lighter now, like the times he woke up in the morning and the answer to a problem had come to him overnight.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the two stones. He looked at them both and then slipped the Buddy stone back into his pocket.

He swept his thumb back and forth across the worry stone.
Take this with you, Danny-boy. Keep it with you, and hold it when
you need help. Stones are strong, and they can help you be strong too.
Use it when you need to, and when you're ready, you can let it go
.

Danny straightened and squared his shoulders. He threw back his right arm and flung the worry stone far into the lake where it dropped from the darkness of the sky into the darkness of the water.

Grandpa would approve.

Chapter 27

Two months before, Mom had planted bare-looking sticks at both ends of the tiny flower bed under their front window. “Do you expect those pathetic things to grow?” Danny had asked at the time.

“Just watch them, Davey-boy,” she'd replied. “By summer, they'll be the most beautiful flowers in the world.”

And they were. Danny bent to smell the roses, and a ladybug flew onto his hand. It tickled up his arm and flew away. Grandma had told him an old French saying – if a ladybug lands on you while you're sick, when it flies away it will take the sickness with it. He tugged out tendrils of chickweed that had started creeping around the corners of the bed, and smoothed the soil with his hand.

They'd just finished a long session with the Frisbee, and Buddy lay panting on the grass. “Let's get you some water, Bud,” Danny said.

His mom had already set the table for their holiday dinner – early, just like Grandma used to. He went to his room and the dream catcher caught his eye. When he'd explained it to his mom, she'd listened eagerly and insisted on hanging it right away. They put it in the window, where the beads would catch the moonlight.

He looked through the window onto the common area. Mom was sunning herself in a lawn chair out back. Buddy had dropped into the chair's shadow. Julia was kicking around a soccer ball. The outdoor season started in two days.

Danny retrieved a second lawn chair from the basement. He unfolded it beside his mother's. They watched Jewel dribble the ball around the common area. “She's pretty good,” he said.

His mom looked at him and nodded. “She's come a long way,” she replied. “So have you.”

He observed his sister's footwork. “Maybe I could teach her a few moves.” He swallowed. “Do you think she'd let me?” His knee jiggled up and down.

“I know there's a lot you could teach her,” his mom replied. “She just might need a little time…to trust you to follow through.” She reached out and put her hand over his knee. “You'll need some cleats.”

He willed his leg to stay still. “Do you think I can still get a paper route? It'd get me back into shape, and taking Buddy would make it fun.” The dog's tail thumped. “I could make a little extra money.”

His mom smiled. “We could phone tomorrow and see.”

He nodded.

They watched Julia kick the ball towards them, and Danny didn't try to move his mom's hand from his knee. Julia was sweaty when she stopped in front of them.

“When's dinner?” she asked as she tossed her head and pushed her bangs away from her forehead. “I need to jump in the shower first.”

“You have at least an hour,” Mom replied. “Your brother has offered to help you practice some moves.”

Julia narrowed her eyes. “You?” she asked.

His Adam's apple moved up and down. “Sometimes your stance could be better,” he said. “You can react faster if you keep your weight on the balls of your feet.”

She pursed her lips and then relaxed her shoulders. “Show me,” she said.

He stood and planted his feet shoulder width apart and parallel. He bent his knees and drew his shoulders over his knees. He kept his head up, and his mind automatically shifted to the next move. “You have to ‘think yourself tall.' When your mind is ready, your body will be too.” He smiled. “It just takes practice.”

He turned to his mom. “We'll need about half an hour, 'kay?” he asked.

She smiled with her mouth and her eyes. “No problem. Take your time.”

“Grab that ball,” he said to his sister. “And by the way, you can call me David.”

It takes only one abuser to endanger a whole family. In some cases, conventional laws (restraining orders, criminal proceedings) cannot keep victims safe. In 1997, the Alberta Government began a program of last resort. It was called NIVA – New Identities for Victims of Abuse. The program operated for ten years, assisting about five hundred people, some of whom received complete identity changes. Canada's federal government then took over the program, which is now called the Confidential Service for Victims of Abuse (CSVA). Other countries have similar programs for victims and their families.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rosemarie Boll has been practicing family law for more than twenty years. She has written extensively on how the legal system affects families. She is committed to educating the public about the complex network of laws that govern our everyday lives, and explaining what the justice system can and cannot do. Rosemarie lives in Edmonton, Alberta and currently practices with the Family Law Office of Legal Aid Alberta. This is her first book.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I'm grateful to Marsha Mildon, who urged me to write this book all those years ago and helped me with an early draft. I'm indebted to editor Carolyn Jackson and Doris Rawson for gently nudging my manuscript into a novel. Thank you to publisher Margie Wolfe and the Second Story Press staff for the opportunity to tell this story in the hope that society progresses past the need for a program like NIVA.