Shadow Girl (11 page)

Candy department first. No candy canes, Christmas candies, chocolate Santas – except for some stuff on a table shoved to the side. Half price. Discarded.

Then the toy department. Mrs. Adamson was at the cash register. Jules wandered toward the dolls and stuffed animals. Mrs. Adamson spotted her and rushed over. She looked as if she wanted to grab Jules. Jules moved sideways, so that wouldn’t happen.

“It’s so good to see you!” Mrs. Adamson said in a loud shaky voice. “I was so worried! How are you?” Jules did not look up.

“I tried calling Eileen. But with the holidays …”

Shut up about it
.

Jules started to walk away.

“Stay, please. Um … your doll’s been moved. We changed the display. It’s over there.”

“Oh.”

“Did you …? You wanted it for Christmas. Did your dad … did anyone?”

“No.” Jules’s lips trembled.

“Are you going to be in the store for a while?”

“I guess.”

“I’m going on a break at three-fifteen. Would you like to have a drink at the Canadiana?”

“Uh …”

Say yes? Say no?

“I have to be back by four-thirty,” Jules said.

“There’s enough time. It’ll be easier to talk over there. What do you say?”

“All right.”

Jules fooled around the toy department and read books, then she and Mrs. Adamson walked to the restaurant. Mrs. Adamson ordered coffee for herself, a pop for Jules.

“I’m so glad you came in today. I was so worried! I couldn’t reach Eileen at first. Then I called after Christmas and asked what had happened. But there’s only so much she could tell me. It was awful not knowing, particularly … particularly because I felt responsible. And I … I knew what a hard time you were having. I only wanted to help, Jules. I hope you understand that.”

Despite everything, Jules couldn’t bring herself to hate Mrs. Adamson.

She really cares about me for some stupid reason. Not like Eileen. Or Mrs. Chapman
.

“You’re here so often. I thought we’d become friends, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Okay” is a lousy word that hides a lot. I’m not okay
.

“Did you … did your dad …?”

“They found him. He came back.”

“So you’re togeth –”

Jules cut her off fast. “No. I’m in a foster home.”

“And your dad?”

“My dad …” Jules felt tears rising up. She waited until she could talk. “My dad’s staying at a friend’s house. We’re not going to live in the same place we did. We’ll probably move away from here.”

So nobody can poke their noses into our business anymore. I need to protect us. My dad’s a good person, no matter what anybody says or thinks
.

“The social worker told me I have to stay at the foster home, but just until … he’s ready. Settled.”

Mrs. Adamson reached over and touched Jules’s hand. “I’m sorry, Jules.”

Why? Because Jules and Joe Doherty are screwed up?

“How is it? At the foster home?”

What kind of question is that? I don’t even have the words to describe it to myself
.

“It’s okay.”

That stupid word again
.

“It can’t be easy for you.”

If I start to feel sorry for myself or show how sad I am – right here, right now – I’m doomed
.

“No.”

“And Christmas?”

Tears fought their way back up again. “My dad came over in the morning. It was fine.”

She’d never seen Mrs. Adamson act so nervous, look so upset. Maybe she understood how hard it was for Jules to talk about all the bad.

Mrs. Adamson began to ask her about other things, like school and Patsy, and that gave Jules a
chance to relax. She told Mrs. Adamson bits and pieces about the past few weeks, only what she wanted to tell.

“My break’s almost over. Do you want to come back with me to the toy department?”

“No. I’m gonna go ho–. I’m going to go back.”

“You’re welcome to stay and read. And look at the toys. You know that.”

“I know.”

Mrs. Adamson looked as if she wanted to say something more but didn’t know how to begin. She glanced shyly at Jules. “Um … I’ve asked Eileen about this, and maybe – if you like – you could visit us, my family and me, some Saturday. I don’t work every weekend.”

“I visit with my dad on Saturdays.”

“Oh.”

Today is Saturday
.

“Well, maybe on a Sunday then, after church? If it’s okay with your dad, of course. I’ve already mentioned to Eileen that you and I have become friends. So I told her about me and my family and gave her references – that sort of thing. I’d love to have you visit us so we can get to know each other better.”

No! I hate everybody and everything. And why would anyone want to be with me, Jules the nothing?

But Mrs. Adamson isn’t like other people
.

“I guess.”

“Great!” Mrs. Adamson gave her a bright smile. “I’ll get in touch with Eileen, and we can arrange something.”

“Sure.”

When Jules left the restaurant, part of her felt good, but another part was aching.

J
anuary 25.

“Tracie can’t come today. She’s gotta work.”

“That’s okay. We can do something together.” But sitting inside, talking, playing board games –it wasn’t them, wasn’t how Jules and her father were with each other. They decided to go for a walk.

“Dad, why don’t you get a pair of skates? Some skate shops sell them secondhand. We could go to Wedgewood next time. Or the rink on Montgomery.”

“You think I wanna wear somebody else’s castoffs?”

When Jules was eight or nine, her dad used to get together with his work buddies and play hockey on Saturday afternoons. She remembered standing against the boards of the outdoor rinks they went to, watching him.

Most adults looked like strong skaters no matter what – because they were big. But Jules could tell
that her dad stood out from the rest of the men he played with. She’d never seen anyone skate as fast as he did or play hockey so well. He’d been on the hockey team at St. Mike’s in Toronto, with a scholarship when he was a teenager, but his mom pulled him out of school to work.

But, oh, today … he doesn’t look good. And he smells of alcohol. He’s only thirty-five, but he looks like an old man
.

Jules didn’t want him to be around the Chapmans and hated herself for feeling that way.

He was quieter than usual this afternoon.

“So who’s this Mrs. Adamson you want to visit? Is she the one who reported me?”

That’s what’s bugging him
.

Jules was silent.

I wouldn’t tell him the truth in a million years
.

“I don’t like it one bit. I was … I had too much on my mind when you and the social worker phoned me this week, but now that I think about it, I don’t want you hanging around that goddamn store
or
the people who work there. Ever. When I get back to Tracie’s, I’m going to call and get the visit cancelled.”

No!

“It’s Saturday today. You might not be able to reach anybody at Children’s Aid. And the visit’s tomorrow.”

He thought about that for a minute.

He won’t want to make a fuss, get in trouble – especially
with people who’re interfering in his life too much already
.

He wants to make me feel bad, though
.

“Well, it’s creepy, if you ask me. The visit tomorrow with this department store lady will be the first and last. You got it?”

T
he Chapmans were in a hurry. Mr. Chapman honked the car horn.

Mrs. Adamson came outside to greet them at the curb.

“Well, here she is,” Mrs. Chapman said from the passenger seat in the car. “Open the door, Jules. I’ve written down the address and phone number for my sister’s place, and here’s the number of the agency in case there’s a problem.”

Mrs. Adamson said hello to everyone and took the piece of paper from Mrs. Chapman. Jules got out. “And we’ll pick her up at four o’clock?”

Mrs. Adamson nodded.

“Great.”

The Adamsons lived in a yellow brick bungalow on a small corner lot near Patsy’s place. Larger, two-storey homes mixed in with the bungalows all along
the street. Jules’s dad had once told her that the whole neighborhood got built up after the war, when regular people started being able to buy houses. Most of the rickety old farmhouses, like the one Jules lived in, had been torn down.

From the outside, the Adamson home looked bigger than it was because of the small garage attached to it. The front yard was tiny, and there was no grass in the backyard, just exposed dirt. Mrs. Adamson had told Jules once that the vegetable garden out back was Mr. Adamson’s pride and joy. The neighbors called it an eyesore.

“Hang your things on a peg, like we do.”

They’d entered through the side door. Stairs led up to the kitchen and down to the basement.

Jules followed Mrs. Adamson up. A huge, old table lined one wall, with mismatched chairs tucked underneath. The lino floor was a checkerboard pattern of black and white, in contrast to the pale yellow walls. Mrs. Adamson went over to the counter next to the sink. There were kitchen cabinets below the counter space as well as open shelves above that displayed dishes, canisters, ornaments, and plants. The room felt cluttered and cramped, bright and warm.

Feels like a home
.

“Are you hungry? Did you have lunch? I hope not.”

“Uh … no.” Jules’s nerves had made her stomach hurt, so she hadn’t eaten.

“Good. We’ll have some lunch after I introduce you to Katie. The twins are out skating, but they’ll be back soon. That’ll give us some quiet time to ourselves. I thought it’d be good with just the three of us. Frank, Mr. Adamson, worked a night shift, so he’s still sleeping.” She turned to look down the hall. “Katie! Katie!” she called softly.

A little girl about five or six years old came into the kitchen. She had straight dark hair like her mother’s, although it was longer, parted off to one side, and held in place with a blue barrette in the shape of a butterfly. She had a wide face with white, white skin and chubby, apple-red cheeks.

“Jules is here, honey. Say hi.”

“Hi,” Katie said shyly. Her dark blue coveralls fit loosely over a red top that was splotched with snowflakes. She held a small toy dump truck in one of her stubby fists.

“Would it be all right if you and Katie play for a bit while I finish making lunch?”

“Sure.”

“Remember to be quiet, though, Katie. Dad’s still sleeping.”

“Okay.” Katie grabbed Jules’s hand and led her down a short hallway toward the living room. “I’m playing smash-up.”

As she walked behind Katie, Jules tried to get a look at the family pictures plastered on the hallway walls. There wasn’t much furniture in the living room – a TV, a worn sofa with no cushions, and a
lumpy-looking upholstered chair that didn’t match the sofa. An assortment of cars and trucks of all shapes and sizes was strewn about the coffee table in the center of the room.

The sofa cushions were missing because Katie had stacked them on the far side of the coffee table – one on top of the other, like steps. On each step were small cars and trucks that must have tumbled from the coffee table. A toy gas station rested on the floor against the wall with a toy dump truck below the front window. Pieces of a homemade toy racetrack led from the gas station to the tiered mountain of cushions.

Katie grabbed two cars from one of the cushions. They were the kind that wound up if you pressed down on them and pushed forward. Katie wound them up on the coffee table and then watched, grinning from ear to ear, as the cars flew across the table and down the cushion mountain. They crashed on the last cushion.

Katie wound them up again and put them on the track, where they smashed into each other. Then she grabbed the dump truck and carefully used the pulley to load them up and cart them off to the gas station.

Jules picked up a car, revved it on the coffee table, and let go. It flew across the table and into the air, landing on the track.

Katie looked impressed. “It’s my turn, my turn.” She quickly wound up another car, but it flew off in the wrong direction. “Aw. No good.” She looked at Jules shyly. “Can I go again?”

“Sure.”

This time, Katie’s car had a spectacular crash.

“Wow,” Jules said. “That was great!”

Katie giggled and looked very pleased with herself.

Jules got down on the floor and tried to see how far she could make a car go. Katie squatted down beside Jules, copying her, laughing like crazy when their cars collided.

“Lunch is ready!”

Mrs. Adamson had prepared tuna sandwiches and carrot sticks. A large plate in the center of the kitchen table held oranges cut into wedges.

Zombies move their mouths, swallow, drink, but taste nothing. I have to be careful or I’ll choke
.

Mrs. Adamson looked as nervous as Jules felt. And she was an adult. Katie wasn’t nervous at all and babbled nonstop.

“Do you want to see my dolls after lunch?”

“Sure.”

“Remember what I told you, Katie. Only after we clear up,” Mrs. Adamson said. “I’ll get Jules to help with the dishes first.”

“Aw, Mom!”

“And you can clean up the mess in the living room.”

“Aw, Mom!”

“Aw, nothing. Get going.”

Katie reluctantly left the table. Jules helped Mrs. Adamson bring the dishes to the sink.

Now what do I say?

“It’s great to have you here, Jules.”

Warmth crept in, spreading through her.

“It’s easier to talk here than in the store.”

Harder for me
.

“There’s more time to get to know each other, too. I’ve wanted my family to meet you for a long time.”

Can’t believe that
.

“The two girls I saw in the car are the Chapman kids?”

“Yeah. Marilyn and Veronica. They go to St. Joe’s.”

“What are they like?”

Strangers
.

“I don’t know. They’re busy all the time. With studying, friends, clubs.”