Second Chances (2 page)

“We'll see you all later then. Peace, girls,” she said.

“See you later,” we echoed. Elizabeth made a waist-high peace sign.

Sean's face had gone plum red and he was still screeching a little bit, angry gurgles that kept getting louder. Candy had to haul him up the stairs, his feet banging against each step. The screen door snapped shut behind them and his shrieks faded away.

Elizabeth turned to me. Her grey eyes had lightened a shade. “They seem interesting. You should really enjoy babysitting that kid.”

“He looks wild. I'd rather work in the store … or shoot myself in the foot.”

“I don't think he'd be so bad. Besides, aren't you curious about where they come from?”

“I'd guess from somewhere in Georgia or Texas maybe.”

Elizabeth looked back up the road. “I'd like to go to the Southern States. When I finish high school, I'm going to hitchhike all over Canada and the U.S. Maybe I'll live on a commune in California and grow my own food.”

“My dad will never let me go travelling around the world. He's dreaming of the day I start working full-time and bring in some money. He puts communes right up there with love-ins and Communist plots.”

“Uncle George is such a Neanderthal. If he was my dad, I'd have run away by now.”

“He's not that bad,” I said, but I was thinking
he's way worse than bad, but I'll never tell you.

Elizabeth wasn't listening. She'd turned on her blue pocket radio and had started singing along to Santana's “Black Magic Woman.”

I pushed myself off the steps and started down the path toward the river. I grabbed a stick from the path and began beating the tall grass with one end as I walked.
Thwack. Thwack.
It felt good to hit something that wouldn't hit me back.

My life was complete torment. I wasn't allowed to do anything dangerous or exciting. My father worried every time I stepped out the door. Why couldn't I have freedom like Elizabeth? Why couldn't I live on a commune or go see the world when I turned eighteen? And more than anything, why didn't I have long blonde hair that hung straight and heavy to my waist?

I sat on my flat grey rock overlooking our little stretch of beach. I'd brought along my diary and my favourite yellow Bic fine-tipped pen. The diary was a Christmas present from Mom when I turned fourteen. Before that, I used to write in a notebook I had left over from grade six. Writing was something I needed to do, like waking up or breathing or eating Oh Henrys — I'd have to scratch words in the dirt if I didn't have paper and a pen. The cover was bubble gum pink with interlacing red hearts in the upper right-hand corner. It had a little brass key with a tarnished clasp to keep people out. I always locked my diary and kept the key hidden in my jewellery box.

My grade ten teacher had taught a lot of poetry. I liked to read it in my room on winter nights before I turned off my lamp to go to sleep. I'd written my favourite F.R. Scott line on the first page of my diary: “Ripple for a moment, the smooth surface of time”. To me, the words gave voice to what I already knew. There was only a short time on Earth to do something worthwhile, but it meant breaking through the safe and the expected. I ached to do something with my life: not to look back at the end and think all I'd been was ordinary.

I'd started thinking about being a writer when I grew up. I was lousy at everything except English, plus Gideon had said the summer before that I had a knack for writing stories and essays. So far, I'd kept the writer idea to myself. Dad's big dream for me was to become a secretary when I finished grade twelve. I didn't know if I'd ever have the stomach to stand up to him. How would I tell him that I didn't want to spend my life doing something I hated that would lead nowhere — as if he wouldn't know I was talking about his life.

I wrote a few paragraphs before shutting the book. No big thoughts tonight. Even my fingers were tired.

I watched the sun sink lower into the treeline on the opposite shore. It was like looking at a painting the way the sky was layered in pinks and Creamsicle orange, and I sat there until bands of darkness rose up from the treeline and overtook the light, all the while feeling this big weight in my chest like I'd swallowed something big that was stuck halfway down and wouldn't go the rest of the way.

Elizabeth was gone from the front steps when I finally wandered up the path in the gathering darkness. There was a light on over the sign that read Findley's Store and moths fluttered around it, bumping softly against the glass. My mother would still be inside, keeping longer store hours as people trickled in for the weekend. She'd be tired but would take the time to talk to everyone and ask them how their winter had gone. I climbed the steps and pushed open the screen door. The bell tinkled, and my mother and her customers looked my way.

I didn't recognize Tyler Livingstone at first. When I did, my heart started thudding hard. I looked at him for a few seconds before I stepped closer to the magazine rack, picked up a
Mad
magazine, and pretended to read. I snuck a glance toward the counter. Tyler was paying for a couple of Cokes and bags of barbeque chips.

Jane Ratherford had one arm draped around his neck and was giggling into his ear. Jane with the long sun-bleached hair just like my cousin Elizabeth. Long, straight blonde hair — the ticket into the popular club. It didn't hurt that her father owned a Chrysler dealership in Ottawa and they lived in New Edinburgh, the subdivision bordering on Rockcliffe where all the rich stiffs lived. My family lived in Mechanicsville next to a laundromat, Freida's Suds and Soap. Freida had moved away a long time ago and left it to her son, but the name must have been too good to change. All that assonance.

I put down the magazine and looked out the front window of the shop, waiting for Jane and Tyler to leave.

“Hey, Darlene.”

Crap.
I turned around slowly.

“I heard you were back. Someone said your cousin's here for the summer too?” Tyler had come up behind me. His sandy-coloured hair was lightened from the sun and was longer than he used to wear it. He looked sure of himself. I might have bought his act if it hadn't been for his left eye jumping like it did when he was nervous. “I don't get you, Darlene,” he'd said last time I'd met him at Minnow Beach. “I don't get why you're mad.” As if it never crossed his mind that I'd be upset when he started dating somebody else.

I cleared my throat. “Yup.”

“Great. It looks like it should be a fun summer. Did you have a good year?”

“Stellar. You?”

“I made the Junior A hockey team and passed grade eleven, so I guess it was good enough.”

“Coming, Tyler?” Jane asked from the doorway.

“In a sec.” Tyler smiled his lopsided grin. He took a few steps away but stopped and took one back. “Your old man get much work over the winter?”

“Enough. Why?”

“I just wondered how things were going.”

“Things are going great. No problem.”

“Just wondered 'cause a lot of guys were laid off from the mill, like my uncle. It's been rough on his family, that's for sure.”

“Dad has seniority. He'll be one of the last to go.”

Tyler looked puzzled. “I thought … well, my dad must have got it wrong. Good for your family anyhow. Guess I'll see you around sometime.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. I wasn't going to plan my summer around it.

I watched Tyler leave with Jane, the two of them bumping against each other and laughing as they walked toward the door. They made it hurt to breathe. I walked over to my mom and leaned against the counter. She was busy putting postcards in the wire rack standing next to the chip display. She smiled at me as her hands reached into the box of cards.

“Elizabeth went upstairs to read her book. Were you down by the lake?”

“Yeah. Just clearing my head.”

“Did you talk to Tyler?”

“Not much.”

“You two used to be such good friends. It's too bad you drifted apart.”

“He could drift all the way to Hong Kong and I couldn't care less.”

Mom looked at me and then away. “I see we have a new family at the Davidson cottage for the season.”

“Elizabeth and I met them outside.”

“They're a bit … different from the usual cottagers. I was sad that the Davidsons couldn't come this year, but Mrs. Davidson wrote me a few months ago that she had a mild heart attack and they're staying in the city.” Mom handed me a bag of salt and vinegar chips. “Here. You must be hungry.” She kept her eyes lowered away from mine. “The man — Johnny Lewis — used to come here when we were kids. I knew his older brother but barely remember Johnny.”

It was weird she was going into such detail about Johnny Lewis, because she hated gossip. I asked, “Where were they from?”

Mom paused as if she was thinking back. “New York. They owned the Bennett cottage around the point. It seems so long ago now.”

Her cheeks turned a soft pink before she lowered her head, her brown arms pulling the last of the cards from the box. A lock of hair fell across her face and she didn't brush it away. Her voice was a bit odd, like it got when she was keeping something from my dad so he wouldn't get mad. I was too worked up at running into Tyler to give it much thought then. I just wanted to get away and be by myself.

“I'm heading to bed,” I said.

“I'll be up soon. Just a few more things to put away.”
I was almost in the kitchen when she called out, “Your father will be here tomorrow. Make sure you tidy up and try not to get on his bad side.”

She'd told me that so many times, it was like she said it without thinking. It worked, though. I checked the counter for crumbs and straightened the chairs on my way to the stairs by the back door.

I
opened my eyes just wide enough to squint. Elizabeth was propped up against her headboard, reading by the sunlight that streamed in through the bedroom window. It was the same book she'd been reading at the beach, but now I could make out the title on the cover:
Love Story
.

“Have you seen the movie?” I asked as I sat up.

“Only five times. I'm going to marry Ryan O'Neal, or live with him anyway. Maybe we'll have a loft with a king-size waterbed in Greenwich Village. We'll live in glorious sin.”

“That should help him get over his dead wife,” I said. I'd seen the movie once and thought it sappy. I guessed I was in the minority. “You can start your own love story.”

Elizabeth ignored me. “I keep hoping Ali McGraw is going to pull through but she never does. It's so sad, but that's what makes it good.” Her bottom lip actually trembled. My cousin could put on an act; there was no doubt about that.

“Sad is overrated,” I said.

I pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, stretching my arms toward the ceiling. Saturday morning at Cedar Lake. My head hurt thinking about my father's pending arrival. At least the weather was going to be good. I searched through my drawers for my favourite cut-off blue jeans and a black T-shirt, then brushed my hair and let it wave around my face, knowing the more I tried to straightened it, the wilder it would go. My freckles weren't even worth bothering about. Covering them with foundation just made me look like a clown. I turned from the mirror. Elizabeth was watching me from where she rested her back against the headboard. Her staring was making me uncomfortable.

“You getting up or what?” I asked.

“I just want to finish this. I'll catch you later.”

Not if I keep moving you won't
. “Sure, no rush.”

Mom had left a package of lemon Danishes on the counter and I grabbed one along with a glass of milk as I made my way to the store. I could hear Mom talking to somebody toward the front of the shop. I finished eating and went to see her, licking my fingers as I walked, hoping the calories would go straight to my chest.

Dad turned when I walked in, nodding once in my direction. He was still wearing his work clothes and boots and held a ball cap in his hands. His hollow cheeks worked in and out as he chewed on a toothpick. He was the reason I had my hateful red hair. His had darkened over the years into a duller auburn colour, and if there was a god, mine would too. Luckily, that was all we had in common, because he was short and broad-shouldered with pale blue eyes that couldn't hold a smile. Sometimes I pretended we weren't related and might have convinced myself it if it wasn't for the hair.

“You slept late,” he said. He was straightening the gum display on the counter, aligning the packages so none was out of place. He'd be moving onto straightening the aisle of chips next.

I took a few steps closer. The smell of pulp from the mill hit my nose — a stench that his clothes held onto no matter how often my mom washed them. I imagined his skin was covered in a film of chemicals, toxic particles that sweated out of him in a thin vapour.

“Do you need me today, Mom?” I asked.

“You can go meet up with your friends. I'm okay here. I was just telling your father how much help you were the last few days.”

I squinted as the sunlight caught her face. It made her brown hair golden. She was smiling at me and motioning toward the door with her eyes.

“Okay. Thanks.”

I reached the magazine rack and stopped when my father asked, “Where's your cousin Elizabeth?”

“Reading in our room.” I waited a few seconds, but he didn't have a follow-up question. I pushed open the screen door.

“I hope we haven't got another lazy one,” I heard my father say as I started down the steps. He didn't care whether I heard him or not and that hurt more than his words. I couldn't hear my mother's reply.

I started running down the path toward the lake, trying to outrun the toxic cloud that was my father. I'd try to shake off the sick feeling I got when he was around, but it would linger like the smell of his clothes in my nostrils. I knew there was no escaping my father once he seeped under my skin.

I felt better as soon as I saw the waves rolling in ribbons onto the shore. The water was still too cold for swimming, but I took off my sandals and waded along the shoreline around the point where the community beach nestled in the bay. The frigid water felt good, like penance for my uncharitable thoughts.

Most of the cottages along the lake had their own private beaches, but everyone under the age of twenty liked to gather at Minnow Beach. I was hoping my summer friends would appear before long, and I was in luck. Danny Saunders and Michelle Cheung were sitting in the sand in our usual meeting place as if we hadn't spent a winter apart.

I dropped my sandals onto the sand and plopped down beside Danny. “Great to see you guys,” I said.

“Back at you,” said Danny. “We were just talking about going to find you at the store.”

“Did you have a good winter?” Michelle asked after she stood up and hugged me.

“Not bad,” I said. “Passed my year. Made the volleyball and basketball teams. Managed to stay out of jail … just.” Spicing up my straight and narrow life with hints of walking on the wild side was better than letting on how many Saturday nights I stayed in watching
Hawaii Five-O
and
Gunsmoke
.

Michelle sat back down on the other side of Danny and grabbed his hand. He said, “Ours was much the same except for the volleyball and basketball part. We came by the store last night but you'd gone somewhere. I met your cousin Elizabeth. She's very pretty.”

Michelle frowned at him. “You told me you hadn't noticed.”

“I'm not blind.”

“Did she say anything worth repeating?” I asked. They'd figure out soon enough that Elizabeth was only pretty on the outside.

“Just that she hates it here,” said Michelle.

“What a surprise.”

“She didn't strike me as someone into the nature scene,” said Danny.

“She's not. I don't really know her, though. I've only spent a few nights at their house in Toronto. They visited us twice that I can remember. The last time, I was twelve and she was fourteen and all she wanted to do was chase boys at the mall.”

“No malls here,” said Danny. “What's she doing in Cedar Lake?”

“Her rich parents are freaking out because she has a black boyfriend who plays in a band. We're her punishment.”

“Her parents are rich?”

“Stinking. Her dad is vice president of a little company that builds airplanes.”

“Must be nice. Guess you're going to show her how the other half lives.” Danny punched me lightly on the arm.

“Yeah, she's already let me know how much she enjoys my company.”

“Did you see the family that moved into the Davidson cottage?” asked Michelle.

I stared at her. “Do you guys know everything that goes on around here?”

“What else is there to do?” Danny asked. “And you know how my mother is an expert on other people's business.”

“The man is cu-uuute,” said Michelle. “I heard his family used to come here for the summer when he was a kid. They lived in the States somewhere.”

“That's what my mom said too. His name's Johnny Lewis and the woman is called Candy,” I said.

“Candy? What kind of a name is that?” asked Michelle.

“A pretty sweet one,” said Danny, rubbing his hands together.

I gave him a shove. “That was bad, Saunders.”

“Yeah, but you've missed me, right?”

“I'm starting to rethink it.”

“He grows on you,” said Michelle, putting her arm around his shoulders. Danny gave her a kiss on the mouth before looking at me and grinning.

A dog barked from somewhere down the beach and I turned to see a man throw a stick in a high arc into the water. The dog leapt in after it and I watched for a while. I'd had a cocker spaniel puppy for a whole week once. The dog had liked to chew on things and the mess had driven my father wild, so he'd made me give it back.

“Do you want to drive into Campbellford for coffee?” asked Danny. “I got a car over the summer.”

“I should let my mom know.”

“We won't be that long.”

“Okay.”

We got up and started walking toward the road. Michelle linked her arms through mine and Danny's. “We're heading back to Kingston early tomorrow to start jobs at the Dairy Queen. My dad got us in with his friend who manages the one on Princess Street.”

My shoulders drooped. “You aren't going to be here for the summer?”

“We'll be at our cottages most weekends,” she promised. “We'll come back to the lake to relieve the boredom, never fear.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

The heaviness in my chest had returned. This summer was going to be even worse than I'd first imagined. Danny and Michelle weren't going to be around, Tyler was off with his new crowd, and I was going be stuck with my nasty cousin. It was also the first summer my older brother William wouldn't be at the lake. I didn't know how things could get any worse, but I was beginning to think they'd find a way.

I pushed open the store door, not feeling too good about disappearing for the whole day. The bell jangled as I stepped inside. Mom looked up and the creases I saw in her forehead and around her mouth relaxed. She jumped off her stool and skirted around the counter.

“I was starting to worry. It's not like you to go off without telling me. I need you to watch the store while I cook supper. Your father's gone upstairs to have a nap and Elizabeth is lying in the backyard hammock reading. You know how your father is if he doesn't get his supper on time.”

“Sorry, Mom.” I searched her face for signs of the mother who disappeared whenever my father showed up.

“I'll call you when supper is ready.”

“Okay.”

After she'd gone, I looked around the store and took inventory in my head so I wouldn't have to think about my life too much. Mom sold the staples that all cottagers needed and my eyes took stock — milk, butter, cheddar cheese, Velveeta in bright yellow boxes, Wonder bread, luncheon meats, toiletries, bug spray, popsicles, chips, gum, and chocolate bars. A rack of magazines and another of best sellers, usually Harlequin romances or mysteries, stood next to a display of fishing gear, pink and blue flip-flops, and straw sunhats. I looked down. The plank floors were coated in beach sand, and I guessed Mom had had a busy day. She could have used me but hadn't let on.

I waited on a steady stream of kids who came through the store in search of popsicles or soft drinks. There were a lot of familiar faces but some new families too. Renters were taking over the south end of the lake and the long-timers weren't pleased. They'd tried to pass a bylaw to restrict rentals the summer before, but it got nowhere. Cedar Lake proper had about three hundred people, but cottagers came to our store from adjoining lakes in more remote settings. The Findley Store was a fixture in cottageland.

At six thirty, I put the
Closed for an Hour
sign on the door and went to join my family in the little dining room off the kitchen. Elizabeth was already sitting at the table and Mom was pouring pink lemonade into plastic blue glasses at the counter. I picked up two full ones and brought them to the table before sliding into the seat across from Elizabeth.

“Did you finish reading
Love Story
?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. I need to find something else to read.”

Mom set a plate of fried chicken on the table. “Why don't you girls go into Campbellford on Monday and pick up some books at the library? Elizabeth can drive my car.”

“Thanks, Aunt Jan.” Elizabeth made a face at the chicken when Mom turned her back, then put her hands around her throat and pretended to gag. She quickly dropped her hands and smiled at my father when he came into the kitchen and took his seat at the head of the table. Spidery red lines zig-zagged across the side of his face that he'd pressed into the pillow, and his hair was standing up on the same side. Without being asked, Mom took a cold beer out of the fridge and set it in front of him along with a plate of potatoes and green beans swimming in butter.

Dad lifted the beer to his mouth and took a long swallow. He let the bottle clunk on the table and said, “What have you two girls been up to all day?”

Elizabeth flicked a braid over her shoulder. “Just getting settled. I'm thinking of applying for work somewhere, even volunteer. I like to keep busy doing something worthwhile.

Good God, you're playing my father.
“I've been delivering food to the poor,” I said.

Dad ignored me and smiled at Elizabeth. “Good. Maybe, you can teach my daughter how to be productive.”

Mom's hand landed on my shoulder for a second as she walked by. I closed my mouth on what I was about to say. She'd told me often enough that my smart mouth was the reason I got into trouble with my father. It was as if my vocal cords had a brain of their own.

“How did your school year go? Grade thirteen was it?” Dad asked.

“Fine. No problems, but I plan to take a year to do some volunteer work and decide what I really want to study in university.”

My eyes shot over to Elizabeth.
Not only are you playing my father, but you're lying.
I noticed then that in a white cotton blouse with her hair braided into pigtails, she looked about twelve years old. She turned to my mother.

“Thank you so much for the great meal, Aunt Jan. Fried chicken has to be my favourite.”

“Why, thank you, Elizabeth. I hope you found your bed comfortable last night. It used to be William's before he went off to university. We moved it into Darlene's room because that's the cooler side of the house.”