Scare the Light Away (13 page)

Chapter 24

The Diary of Janet McKenzie, who wishes she was still Janet Green. April 14, 1947

I won’t be posting my letter to Dad and Aunt Betty. I have it all written. Days of thought and effort. I decided to tell them straight that my marriage isn’t working. That Bob seems to care only for his mother, a bottle of beer, Shirley. In that order. That his father is a lout and I haven’t seen another woman to speak to for months. And if we move into our own home in the next year, I’ll eat my hat.

Thank God I haven’t posted the letter yet. Because I got one from them first. Dad is getting married! I can’t believe it. Mum hasn’t been heard of in more than seven years, so Dad has taken steps to declare her dead. And he is marrying an aunt of Albert Grady. Maureen is her name. She is a widow, of course. Lost her husband during the blitz. She came to Woking to visit Albert and his mother, met Dad and they fell madly in love (he didn’t say that, but I read between the lines), and are about to get married. And to top it all, Aunt Betty (no longer needed and probably not wanted) and Aunt Joan are pooling their substantial savings and purchasing holiday accommodations in Brighton where they plan to cater to war-and-rationing-weary families seeking, in Aunt Betty’s words, ‘peaceful respite by the sea’.

Dad writes that he is broken-hearted that I won’t be at his wedding and won’t get the chance to meet Maureen. He knows that we would get on famously, he says. Aunt Betty enclosed a letter of her own, saying that perhaps one day Bob and I and our family will be able to take a holiday in Brighton. She also mentioned, in a roundabout way, that she is perfectly happy to be free from the duty of caring for my father and willingly hands that task on to someone else.

I am happy for them both. But it would seem that there is now no place for me.

April 17, 1947

Bob has lost his job. And I have lost all hope. The plant closed, all of a sudden, and all the men were let go. He came home in the middle of the day, looking all downcast. His mother wept and carried on as if he had died. Fortunately it is a bit milder today and most of the snow is gone, so I scooped the baby up, put on her coat and took her out for a walk. We couldn’t go far, because of all the mud.But I had to get out of there. There aren’t many jobs around here. Most of the young men go to North Bay or Toronto to get work. That’s an idea! Maybe things will work out for the better—at last Bob will realize that we can’t stay here. He might have to go to the city to get a job. Wouldn’t that be a wonder!

Of course Mr. McKenzie didn’t help matters any when he came home. I don’t even know what he does all day. I suppose he has a job. He goes out every morning, and comes home for supper sometimes, but some days he doesn’t come home until after we have all gone to bed and I hear him slamming doors and then Mrs. M. tiptoes down the hall to make his dinner. You would think that he would be kind to his son who has lost his job. But not him.He said mean things to Bob. So mean that I left the room without even finishing my dinner. But Bob just sat there eating his beef stew and potatoes. And his mother got up and poured him another beer.

Chapter 25

Jimmy climbed out of the truck, and two police officers got out of their car. One was in uniform, and one in plainclothes but still managing to look every inch a cop. Jimmy waited by his truck as they walked toward him. Aileen flew up, apparently heedless of the gravel of the road under her bare feet.

“This is completely out of line, Sergeant.” Aileen spoke as I arrived, silently gesturing for Sampson to come away. The dog ignored me. The long hairs on the ridge of her back stood at attention and her tail flicked slowly back and forth, full of warning. Something unpleasant was happening and she stood at the ready.

The plainclothes officer looked at her. “Please control that dog, Ms. O’Connor. We don’t want any unpleasantness, now do we?”

“Not at all,” I said as I grabbed Sampson’s collar.

His stare shifted to me. “Heard you were back in town, Becky. Nice to see you.”

I had no absolutely idea who he might be. “Nice to, uh, see you too.”

The uniformed officer was young and handsome, tall and well built, looking quite splendid in his crisp black uniform and wide-brimmed hat, his hand casually resting on the gun at his side. He glanced at Sampson out of the corner of his eye. “Why don’t you put that dog in the house, Miss? We need to talk to Mr. McKenzie.”

“Never mind the dog,” Aileen snapped. “She’s harmless. We have nothing more to say to you. We told you everything we know the last time you were here. Which is precisely nothing.”

“It’s okay, Aileen.” Jimmy placed one hand lightly on his wife’s arm. “We all want Jennifer to be found. Sergeant Reynolds is only doing his job.”

Reynolds. Now I placed him. Bob Reynolds. His sister, Ruth, same age as me, had been one of the in crowd in school. But he was much, much older than we were. He’d gone away to Police College when we were still in junior high. Ruth had scarcely been able to bear the shame.

“Well, he’s done quite enough of his job on our property. I’m sure there are clues to be found elsewhere, if he would only take the time to look.”

“You’re not helping, Ms. O’Connor. Becky, perhaps you could take your sister-in-law and that dog up to the house.”

“My name’s Rebecca, Bob. And Aileen doesn’t need me to take her anywhere.” I neglected to mention Sampson, brimming with hostility, convinced that her new friend was under some sort of threat.

“Please, Aileen,” Jimmy said, his eyes on his wife’s face. “Go with Rebecca up to the house. You haven’t finished discussing Dad.”

I expected Aileen to stand her ground, but instead she sighed. “If you insist. But much more of this,
Sergeant
Reynolds, and you’ll be looking at a harassment suit.”

She stomped off toward the house, as furiously as one can stomp in bare feet on spring grass. I followed her, and Sampson followed me. Aileen plunked down on the chair Jimmy had recently vacated, the one facing the road. The look on her face would freeze water.

“Are you okay?” Stupid question. I sat down as well.

“They won’t leave him alone. They keep coming around asking us the same questions. I do have a mind to call a lawyer, get some advice.”

I looked toward the road. The men were still talking. Jimmy’s hands were clenched but hanging loose at his sides. They were too far away for us to hear what was being said. The lake shone behind them, dazzling in the sunlight. Small clusters of white clouds gathered together on the horizon, like old friends meeting for a tea party around a table draped in an antique cloth of heavenly blue.

The tableau broke up without warning. The police climbed back into their car and disappeared down the hill. Jimmy didn’t stand watching them leave; he turned to us with a wave and a smile and climbed into his truck. The wheels kicked up a cloud of dust on the dry roadbed and he was gone, following in the dust the police had stirred up.

“I’ll be on my way if you have to get to work.” I got to my feet. “I’m glad we had this talk. Call me when you have some time and we can decide on our plan of action. About the housekeeper, I mean.”

“They think he’s responsible for Jennifer Taylor’s disappearance.” Aileen’s voice broke. “Half the people in town are ready to convict Jim, and Bob Reynolds is happy to go along with them. Saves any actual thinking on his part.”

I sat down again. Sampson spied a squirrel crossing the lawn and set off in hot pursuit. She didn’t even come close, and the black squirrel sat at the top of a juvenile pine tree, laughing. “Small town people have long memories,” I said.

She looked at me sharply. “Memories of what!” she snapped. “Jim wasn’t a saint.”

To put it mildly.

She read my mind. “I know he caused a lot of trouble. I know he spent some time in jail. I met him in prison. Did you know that? He has no secrets from me. But you tell me, did he ever have any trouble—legal trouble—with girls? Did he, ever?”

“No.”

“Right. So he spent time in jail for what, drunk driving and assaulting the arresting officer? I know that. Robbery? I know that, too. But some of the narrow-minded people in this town, Staff Sergeant Reynolds foremost amongst them, won’t forget for a second. As if a conviction for a fucked-up robbery attempt automatically makes a man a child-rapist and murderer. This is the very reason why a lot of men can’t go straight once they get out of prison, did you know that? The so-called law-abiding, tough-on-crime, hang-em-high crowd simply won’t let them.” She brought her hand down on the table with enough force to bounce the crockery and distract Sampson from the treed squirrel. She trotted back to sit under the table.

“You said some pretty mean things yourself the other night, Rebecca. Can’t you believe that Jim has changed?”

“I’m prepared to let go of the past. I told him so, while you were in the kitchen.”

“I guess that’s all we can ask.” Her shoulders sank, and she rested one elbow on the table, closed her eyes, and rubbed at her forehead. Thick strands of black and gray hair escaped from the bun to fall in loose curls around her hand.

“Look, I have to get to work. Why don’t you drop by again later, after dinner, and we can draw up a list of places to advertise and women who might be looking for that sort of work. And don’t worry about the money. Bob can afford to crack open that wallet of his. She tried to smile. “I’ll bet moths will fly out when he does. It’s not as if he needs to save any longer for his old age.” The smile faded, and her eyes welled up and threatened to overflow.

She seemed like… she was… a nice woman. But she was Jimmy’s wife. I had always thought that tears went with the job description. There was little or no comfort I could offer her. I excused myself and called for Sampson, who had disappeared once again.

We left Aileen gathering up the remains of breakfast with one hand, while trying to wipe away the tears with the other.

Instead of taking the straight way back and walking down the dirt road, we cut through the woods. Aileen’s words echoed through my head and I paid scant attention to the trilliums, the new grass underfoot, or the budding leaves on the old trees.

You tell me, did he ever have any trouble—legal trouble—with girls? Did he, ever?

Legal trouble, no. Jimmy had never needed to force any girl, and he had a sufficient sense of self-preservation to stay away from the too-young ones. But trouble. Yes, there was always lots of trouble.

***

I was seventeen years old in 1972, when Jimmy came back to Hope River. I don’t remember if it had been when his first marriage broke up, or the time he lost his job in North Bay for punching his supervisor, or if he was just out of jail. He was 25 and my mom had been pleased, although she tried to hide it, that he hadn’t wanted to move back into our house. Instead, like a rat returning to the nest, he settled in with Grandpa and Grandma. By this time my mother hardly ever walked up the dirt road to the big house. Thanksgiving and Christmas Day she would make the effort, but that was about all. She cooked sometimes, when Grandma felt under the weather, but Shirley, now married with two children, or I was called upon to carry the heavy dishes up the hill. We were always told to return immediately, not to dawdle. Like we would want to. And Dad had fallen so far into the bottle that he was just about useless.

My best friend had been a girl named Linda Richards. I didn’t have many friends; I guess Linda was my only friend. She and her family had arrived in Hope River less than a year before, straight from England. My mother absolutely adored her. Linda’s father was a doctor, and she was a real beauty with masses of red hair and the most amazing green eyes. Like the very fields and hedgerows of Surrey, my mother exclaimed in one of her rare flights of imagination. I was surprised that our friendship lasted more than a few weeks. With a doctor for a father, an exotic accent, and being a beauty, the in crowd tried to swallow Linda up. But she liked me, and I liked her: She was a genuinely wonderful person.

The day after Jimmy moved into the big house, Linda and I were in the kitchen eating thin sandwiches and cookies—
biscuits
as Linda and Mom corrected me, collapsing together into giggles—and drinking tea out of the best china cups.

Jimmy walked into the kitchen as if he’d never been away, pecked Mom on the cheek, patted me on the head as he would the family dog, and turned the force of his full-watt smile onto Linda.

Walking through the spring forest these many years later, I wondered if I had imagined it. Did she really fall head over heels at that instant? Did I actually feel my world grind to a halt beneath me? Or do I remember it that way only in retrospect, when we see everything so much more clearly?

Regardless, nothing would ever be the same again. Linda still came over, but her green eyes darted around the house like a bee in search of pollen, across the yard, up the dirt road to the big house. She had no further interest in breathless discussions about the boys at school, or about whether we still liked John Lennon
,
or in exchanging the latest thrilling gossip about girls from town. For a while, Jimmy would be at our house when I got home from school, and Linda walked with me every day. But I knew it wasn’t because she wanted my friendship. Mom, who never appeared to have had any illusions about her son, seemed to have gone blind and happily set a place for him at tea.

Of course, Linda was seventeen years old, and as unable to keep a secret about herself as to stop dreaming of romance. One day after lunch when we were in the girls’ washroom she confessed to me breathlessly that she was “madly in love” with Jimmy. News flash! Like it wasn’t written all over her lovely, open face.

I told her all about him, in the utilitarian girls’ bathroom, at the district high school. The white tiles on the walls had been scrubbed until they gleamed, and the smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air. I watched her reflection in the large mirrors, all red hair and innocent green eyes. And I told her about the other girls. About the phone calls that disturbed our house until my dad shouted at the poor girl on the other end, about the irate fathers banging at our door. I told her about the failed marriage and the stint in jail resulting from a bust-up in a bar that put the bouncer in the hospital.

She brushed her red hair until it shone, called me a fat, jealous bitch, and walked out the door.

Three months passed before she next came to my house. It was late at night and her frantic pounding at the kitchen door dragged us all out of bed. That time she wasn’t so pretty. Her eyes were as red as her hair and snot flowed freely from her swollen nose. She begged my mom to tell her where Jimmy had gone. As if Mom would have the slightest idea. Mom gathered Linda into the kitchen and made tea—the solution to every crisis—but they didn’t laugh over the cookies. I stood in the shadows and watched.

She had been to the big house, she told us, trying to find Jimmy. She hadn’t seen him for almost a month. He’d said he’d call, but he hadn’t. Grandpa laughed at her and told her to stop bothering them and shut the door in her face. Grandma crept out the back door and stopped her in the road. She told Linda that Jimmy left for Toronto, where a friend had found him a job. Grandma told her to forget Jimmy. But Linda swore at the old woman and called her a liar and ran down the dirt road to our house. To Jimmy’s mother.

Mom and Dad insisted that they didn’t have an address for Jimmy, that they didn’t know where he’d gone, but if they heard from him they would let him know that Linda was looking for him.

She screamed at them. As in a fairytale, but not the part she had dreamed of living, Linda truly turned ugly before my eyes. Understandably she thought they were lying to her: A family in which parents didn’t know where their son lived was well outside the experience of her tidy world. But they were telling the truth. Even before he turned sixteen, Jimmy would disappear for months at a time and then walk through the door one day expecting that a place would be set for him at supper.

Dad offered to drive her home, but she shoved him aside and bolted into the night.

“Oh, dear,” my mother said.

Linda hung around school for another couple of months, her previously shiny hair, the envy of us all, hanging lank about her shoulders, her eyes heavy and swollen with tears. And that wasn’t all that was swollen. The girls began nudging each other and giggling when she passed, wrapped in a heavy sweater although it was warm for May that year.

At least once a week, usually more, she would stop me in the hall and ask if I’d heard from Jimmy. My own pain at her quick abandonment of our friendship was as sharp as that of any woman rejected by her lover. The last time she asked, I laughed in her face and aimed to wound. “Like he would ever call me. He didn’t even tell my parents when he got married. I’m sure he’s found a new girlfriend by now and they are very happy together.” It gave me a perfectly wonderful glow of well-deserved revenge to say the words, and I laughed at the look on her face, but the laughter died soon enough, leaving nothing but an empty hole in my belly as I watched Linda flee down the hall, drowning in her own sobs as everyone stood aside to watch her go.

She stopped coming to school and missed the last few weeks before the end of the year. The girls whispered behind their hands and nodded to each other in wide-eyed satisfaction.