On the Way to a Wedding (22 page)

“I’m glad you can help us. This is Mr. Ryder. He’ll show you what to do.”

After she introduced them, she left. Ryder wanted her to stay, and he almost said so. But the rest of the students needed her.

The boy stared at the frame of the waterfall, studying it.

“What did she mean, time off?” Ryder asked.

“I’m in the Apprenticeship Program,” David said, turning away from the structure. “But Miss Toria thought I’d like to work in the gym for a day.”

“Apprenticeship program?”

“I get to work as an apprentice auto service technician in between semesters. So when I graduate I have some hours toward a trade.” David looked around the gym. “And I make some money at the same time as I learn.” He waved to the group of boys testing the rigging for the balloon drop. Then he turned back to Ryder. “Besides, Mrs. Sidorsky didn’t want me in her English class.”

Good ol’ Mrs. Sid. Inspiring students again. “Done any woodworking?”

“Some. Helped my dad build a gazebo.”

“How’s it going?” said a familiar voice.

Ryder turned around. “Pro?”

Pro stood there, dressed in his lawyer uniform. Navy suit, white shirt, red tie with thin blue diagonals. Odd, Ryder thought, seeing the man here, in a high school gymnasium. Especially one full of activity like this one.

“This is David,” Ryder said. And, “This is Pro.”

Pro shook hands with David. David eyed the suit.

“He’s in the Apprenticeship Program,” Ryder said.

“I’ve heard of that,” Pro answered. “You collect hours toward a journeyman ticket and go to school at the same time.”

“That’s right,” David said.

“What are you working on here?” Pro studied the framing.

“I’m helping Mr. Ryder build a waterfall.”

“Call me Ryder.”

“A waterfall?”

“They want to build a waterfall,” Ryder said.

“Of course.”

“It’s a Tropical Paradise,” David explained.

Pro glanced around the gym, which overflowed with plants, paving stones and garlands of fabric flowers.

“Want to meet me for a beer after work?” Pro asked him.

“Don’t know,” Ryder answered. “We have to get the foam applied before we leave tonight.”

“Of course,” Pro said. “The foam.”

“And then Isabelle has me taking some stuff to Toria’s apartment.” He motioned for David to pick up the other side of a sheet of plywood.

“I still have to go over that prenup with her. We can meet there.”

“We can?” They were lifting the plywood into place, lining it up.

Pro walked around the frame of the waterfall and stood near the end of the pool they’d built this morning. He nodded, considering the structure. “My Aunt Tizzy wants me to help make these flower things.”

“Leis.”

“That’s it.”

“Isabelle knows your Aunt Tizzy?”

“Yes,” Pro said. “As a matter of fact, they know each other quite well.”

Typical of Isabelle—to recruit volunteers for her project. Funny that she knew Pro’s Aunt Tizzy.

At any rate, it sounded like a good plan and he didn’t have anything else to do. Except get that stupid tux fitting over with. But that could wait until Monday. Today he needed to get the waterfall to the painting stage.

“Where are you doing your apprenticeship?” Pro asked David.

David was eyeing the suit again. “At Carron Motors. Right now, I’m a garage serviceman. I do mostly oil changes.”

“How do you like that?”

“It’s easy,” David said, with a touch of attitude. “Drain out the old. Put in the new. Change the filter. Anything with a grease fitting gets lubricated. Drive shaft U-joints, tie rod ends, ball joints, other steering components.”

Pro nodded. He stood at ease with his hands behind his back. “And you enjoy doing that?”

“Oh, I like it,” David said, not quite sounding that way.

Pro was nodding again, encouraging the boy to talk more.

“When I take out the drain plug, depending on how quick I am, I get hot oil all over my hand. Sometimes, when I’m not careful, hot oil splashes in my face. When I remove the filter, hot oil usually runs down my arm. Oil changes are fun.”

“So you’re not finding it a challenge right now.”

The boy smiled. “The challenge is dealing with the customers.” He whacked some nails into place.

Pro changed his stance, slipped his hands in his pockets, and waited for the boy to continue.

“The ones who want you to tell them why their engine is leaking oil and to check their tire pressures and their brakes
while you’re at it.
They pay for an oil change but they want a complete vehicle inspection.” He reached for another handful of nails.

“Mmm hmm,” Pro nodded. “I see.”

“Even if there’s nothing wrong with their car and all they really need is an oil change, they still manage to dream up more things for you to do.”

“Such as?”

“Adjust their seat.” Whack. “Polish their steering wheel.” Another whack. “Empty their ash tray.” David was turning out to be talkative. “One guy had me program his radio.”

Pro nodded. “I’d say you’re being underutilized.”

· · · · ·

David turned out to be a natural. He needed little instruction and hardly any supervision.

“What do you think?” Ryder asked, looking back at the waterfall frame.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” Toria said.

He watched those strange green eyes and thought of Kananaskis lakes again. “You don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you?”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, blushing for some reason. “I knew you could build a waterfall. I just didn’t know you could . . .”

He waited. What was going through that un-bimbo head of hers?

She watched as David showed one of the other students how to square the plywood. “I didn’t know you could work so well with the students. Bring out their initiative.”

Initiative?
He
was bringing out initiative?

“Some of these students have never been enthusiastic about school.”

He shrugged. “Never thought of that.”

Isabelle appeared next to Toria. She did that a lot—turning up out of the blue.

“Pro is coming over tonight,” Isabelle told them.

Ryder noticed the confusion flicker across Toria’s expression. Like him, she probably hadn’t realized that Isabelle knew Pro and his Aunt Tizzy.

“To your apartment,” Isabelle continued.

Toria frowned. Obviously, Isabelle hadn’t filled her in.

“It’s Friday night,” Isabelle said. “No one has to be at work tomorrow. I thought we could get a lot done.”

“I suppose,” Toria answered, sounding bewildered.

“I’m bringing the pizza,” Ryder added. He didn’t want her to nix the idea. “You’ve got to eat.”

She looked like she was coming up with an objection, but Isabelle was talking again, distracting her.

“Are you worried about them missing school?” Isabelle asked.

“They’re not missing school.” Toria turned around on her crutches, and scanned the room. “They’re all here, aren’t they?”

“You know what I mean,” Isabelle said. “Mrs. Sidorsky keeps saying they’re missing classes.”

“Oh, they may be missing classes, but this is school. Look around you,” Toria said. “What do you see?”

Isabelle surveyed the gym. “I see them creating a Tropical Paradise?”

“And, you see teamwork, cooperation, problem solving. What more could you want them to learn?”

· · · · ·

Toria collapsed in the passenger seat, exhausted after the long day. Ryder eased through the traffic, not looking tired at all. Friday night had arrived and the stretched-out school day had ended.

In two and a half days, the Tropical Paradise had evolved faster than she’d imagined. But then, the students always amazed her with their energy.

Ryder pulled up to a stop light. They waited in an easy silence, comfortable in their own thoughts.

The four boys in charge of the water pumps had sketched out the plans for the water flow and assembled the pool at the base of the waterfall. They’d needed some help from the caretakers and a lot of advice from Ryder but they’d done it.

Then they’d created the Rock Committee. Two dozen students each brought in their rock—their large borrowed rock from the Bow River. Today the group had begun painting the rocks bright colors for the rainbow waterfall.

The waterfall foam would set over the weekend. On Monday they would finish shaping it, and then waterproof and paint it.

They had two weeks until the Grad Dance. Two weeks of before school time and noon hour time and after school time. And borrowed time from missed classes.

Ryder drove into the entrance at Dalhousie Towers and parked. Then he walked around to the passenger door. “How’s your ankle,” he asked as he held out her crutches.

“Doesn’t hurt a bit. I think I could put weight on it now.”

“Dr. Delanghe said Monday at the earliest. Better wait till Tuesday.”

He was worried about her ankle? She accepted the crutches.

He leaned into the backseat and came out holding two large Pop’s Pizzas and a six pack of beer. Tall-necked brown bottles—something from a local brewery with a picture of two pine trees and a mountain peak on the label.

“I wonder how Isabelle got Pro to volunteer?” he said, reaching back for the three bags of plumeria.

Like he was mulling it over in his mind, Toria thought. “She probably wanted to make sure you would come.”

Oops
.

“I would have come anyway.”

They took the elevator and it delivered them to the third floor without incident.

Chapter Fourteen

Three teacups and saucers sat stacked next to the sink in the kitchen. Toast crumbs dusted the counter. A tub of margarine sat on top of the crumbs, opened, with a knife placed crossways on the container as though Toria had left in a hurry this morning.

Ryder looped the three new bags of plumeria over the chair backs in the dining area. The table already overflowed with the imitation flowers. Then he made space for the pizzas on the counter and put the beer in the fridge.

He found her in the living room, staring at the flashing light on her answering machine.

All of the wedding gifts—the shower gifts—had been moved off the makeshift bookshelves and piled in the center of the living room floor. On the garage-sale-style coffee table, a pad of paper and a pen waited.

She was inventorying the gifts.

As usual, a sense of scattered bedlam pervaded the apartment. But there was a pattern here that seemed to work for her.

“Are you going to check your messages?”

“It’ll just be my mother.”

She said it like that explained everything. He was going to say something, but he didn’t have anything nice to say about her mother so he didn’t. And then, looking around at the jumble of confusion, “You’re competent, you know. In your own way.”

She smiled, that slow smile of hers. “And you’re encouraging,” she answered. “In your own way.”

Touché, he thought. And then he wondered, “But not competent?”

“Your competence has never been in question. But yes, you are very competent.”

That made him feel good. He wasn’t sure why.

“Has your competence ever been in question?” He knew it had been. By him. And he bet Mrs. Sidorsky always questioned Toria’s competence. Budge seemed happy with what she did though.

With both crutches in one hand, she leaned down and picked up the package of beige and navy sheets, still partially wrapped in the striped yellow wrapping paper. “My father never agreed with the way I run my classroom.”

Her father. She hadn’t said much about her father since she’d told him the guy was waiting for her in Kalispell. “What is it with your father?”

Her hand jerked as she placed the sheets on top of the pile. Several of the gifts wobbled, spilling to the floor.

“I―”

He waited.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“I wonder where Isabelle is. She should be here by now.”

Toria looked pale. She was doing it again, the way she had when they’d had breakfast at the cabin. And when he’d first come to her apartment on Tuesday night. She was avoiding the topic of her father. She gave up trying to stack the packages and tried to get her crutches lined up again.

There was something bothering her, about her father. And Ryder wanted to know what it was. “What’s he doing in Kalispell? Is he coming to your wedding?”

She dropped one of the crutches. It fell against the stack of presents sending more of them toppling. “Who said he’s in Kalispell?”

“You did. When I found you on the side of the road.”

“I―I just said that.”

“So? Where is he?”

She let go of her other crutch, letting it fall with a bang on the floor and she covered her eyes with her hands. “He’s dead.” Her voice sounded small and her shoulders were shaking. “I killed him.”

And then she started to cry.

· · · · ·

His reaction had been automatic. He’d gathered her up in his arms and taken her to the couch. The little love seat. Now he sat there, holding her and rocking her while she cried.

She told him the story . . . of the argument with her father, a simple argument about classroom styles, where she’d refused to back down. Of his anger . . . and the anger turning into a heart attack. Of the ambulance coming to her parents’ house in Varsity, and her father not surviving the trip to the hospital.

And of her mother—her
goddamn
mother—blaming her.

“I’ve cried all over your shirt.”

“I’m glad.” She felt so small in his arms, so defenseless. He knew she wasn’t defenseless, but right now she needed someone. And he was glad he was here.

“You are?”

“You haven’t cried about this before, have you?”

“No. I guess I haven’t.”

He knew she’d been holding those feelings inside and he gently tightened his arms around her. “It’s not your fault. The heart attack.”

“The argument was my fault.”

“So you had an argument,” he said. “People argue. It’s not going to kill them.”

“It did this time.”

He sighed, a quick release of air. That hadn’t come out right. “Sorry,” he said. “But it still wasn’t your fault.”