Shadow Girl (4 page)

He kept shouting and smashing things, even though she wasn’t downstairs. He did it because they were the only two people left in the world.

When Hank’s car pulled up, Jules heard one final crash. Then the front door slammed, and he was gone.

She’d been too afraid to cry before, but the tears came now, without a sound. She’d learned to cry like that. If her dad suddenly came back, the sound of her could set him off again.

When she tripped or fell or got hurt or was slapped, she felt pain and cried, but the pain she felt now was different.

She’d have to make things right – clean everything up and pretend it hadn’t happened. She’d have to try and watch her dad better. She should have known tonight might be one of his bad nights because of all the drinking. But it was so hard to tell – he sometimes laughed and looked happy just before he exploded.

One good thing was that she didn’t have to do silent crying for long. She heard Hank’s old car drive away. Now she could add sound to the tears, like she needed to. That would help get some of the hurt out of her body.

Jules went downstairs and into the living room. Her dad had thrown one of their old wooden chairs against the wall and a leg had broken off. And he’d kicked the can of orange drink, splattering the liquid onto the sofa and wall behind it. The smelly brown carpet was wet in places, too.

She went into the kitchen. Her father had broken a few glasses and plates. She dreaded cleaning them up. It was hard to get all the pieces because there were so many splinters you couldn’t see.

She got some toilet paper to blow her nose, sat down on the floor in the kitchen doorway, and started rocking herself back and forth. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and from the back of her throat came the hard dry sound of her cries. Her thin body shook as she tried to push the awfulness out.

If she could take her mind away from what had happened, she’d feel better. But it felt as if she were crumbling into a thousand pieces. It was hard to find the part of her that felt normal, breathing-in-and-out normal. The pain inside made it difficult to move.

She forced herself to get up, clean the kitchen, and carry everything from the living room back to the refrigerator and cupboards. It took a long time because she wasn’t Jules the person anymore; she was all used up.

She looked at the brownies and doughnuts. She couldn’t eat them now, even if they were rammed down her throat.

If I get up before my dad tomorrow, if he sleeps late, if he doesn’t come home – if, if, if! – I’ll have time to wash the drink off everything and put the living room back in order
.

She dragged herself upstairs and changed. She couldn’t feel anything, even the iciness of the room or the beauty of the snowy night outside her window. She lay in bed, staring at nothing.

I
t was early morning when Jules woke up and tiptoed into her father’s room. His bed hadn’t been slept in. No surprise there. He often stayed out with his buddies all night on a Friday or Saturday.

Jules breathed a sigh of relief.

At least I won’t be here when he comes home
.

She went downstairs and took another look at the mess. Jules didn’t know how she was going to make the orange drink stains go away, but she filled a bucket with soapy water and scrubbed to make everything less sticky. When she was finished and looked at what she’d done, it seemed as if she’d made an even bigger mess – but that wasn’t really true. Once everything dried, it would look the same as before. That’s what she hoped.

Gotta get back to normal. Gotta make things right
.

Yesterday, she’d looked forward to having milk
with her cereal, but her appetite was gone. She knew she should eat, though, because she intended to stay out all day, until it got dark.

She ate a bit of cereal, cleared up, and got dressed – putting on extra layers. She might have to wander around outside for a long time.

Being Saturday, Patsy would be home and want to play. But Jules couldn’t see her. Not yet.

Jules would go to the plaza. She’d watch people buy Christmas trees or go in and out of the stores, pretending she was like anyone else.

Outside was a winter wonderland. Six inches of new snow. The sun was shining, and the sky was blue. She got to Zellers around noon. Mrs. Adamson was there. Jules kept her head down as she walked into the toy department. She didn’t want Mrs. Adamson to notice she wasn’t herself.

Despite everything that had happened, it felt so good to see the doll. It was strange how something beautiful could make you feel good inside.

Jules played with it as long as she could, but it was still too early to go home. She headed to the storybook section. Mrs. Adamson was watching her again.

Great. Maybe she even thinks I’ll steal something!

But, no. Mrs. Adamson caught Jules’s gaze, smiled, and nodded. There were no customers around.

“Hi there,” she said, coming over to Jules.

“Hi.”

“What happened to your cheek?”

“Snowball.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Adamson looked at her steadily.

Jules had been at the store until dark on Friday, long past the time for snowball fights. If she’d been hit by one Saturday morning, her cheek would be redder, not turning black and blue.

“Um, why don’t you sit down there, Jules, where there’s a clear spot on the lower shelf? It’ll be more comfortable to read.”

Jules was on the verge of crying and couldn’t say thanks. There was a worried look in Mrs. Adamson’s eyes.

Jules grabbed a book quickly so she could put her face down.

A baby’s book! A first reader. Borrring!

When Frances called Mrs. Adamson to help her, Jules pretended to look at the pictures until the urge to cry was over. As she was able to relax, she looked for something better. She’d read most of the fairy tales that were there. Many of the kids’ books were too corny, too cute. Jules loved using her imagination, but stories for kids her age often didn’t have much imagination at all. The best stories make a person feel as if they are part of a completely different world.

Even if it’s a down-on-earth one. That’s what I do when I imagine
.

She picked up another book and another, finally settling on a comic.
Superman
was one of the best. It’d be wonderful to be Superman. She often dreamt about it.

She looked up at the big clock on the wall near the store entrance. Three o’clock.

I’ll just take my time going home. Play outside in the snow first. Dad should be there and feeling okay by then
.

She felt grateful to Mrs. Adamson for the way she’d treated her.

Jules got to her place by going the back way through the park. No lights shone from the windows. It was going to be hard to be in that old house alone. She looked out over the park. In the distance, she could see kids skating on Teresa’s rink.

Funny how hard it is to do anything when you’re feeling sad inside
.

Jules didn’t want anyone to see her, and she didn’t have the heart to make castle rooms in the snow.

Her stomach was growling. Now would be a good time to eat, even if her dad did come home and make dinner – she wouldn’t need much and he wouldn’t get angry.

Jules opened the fridge.

At least there’s food to eat
.

She made herself a bologna and cheese sandwich. No orange drink.

Oh, well. There’s milk
.

She carried her dinner to the living room and turned on the TV. Saturday afternoon at four-thirty had to be the worst possible time for watching television.

Nothing on. Nothing!

So she watched nothing. When she was finished eating, she took her plate to the kitchen, tidied up, and went back to the TV.

Please! Something about Christmas!

“Lawrence Welk.”

Oh, brother!

Her dad hated that show because it was so corny. But
she
watched it. People sang Christmas carols and looked happy.

She managed to forget the time. About ten o’clock, she decided to go to bed.

Tonight I’ll use my imagination. Much better than TV
.

She built her cozy fort in her room and closed her eyes.

S
unday morning.

Dad must’ve come home late, if he came home at all. I was awake for a long time but didn’t hear him come in
.

Jules went to his room.

Still gone
.

She didn’t know the telephone numbers for his friends. Didn’t know what she’d ask them if she could phone.

Dad would get mad at me
.

Her grandma was thousands of miles away in Vancouver, and Jules had met her only twice in her life. That had been enough. And there was no one else.

She started to think back over the last few months. Her dad had been drinking a lot more and was unhappy most of the time. She always tried to push
those thoughts away to another part of her brain and pretend that things were okay. She had to shove the scary thoughts out or she’d explode.

He’s been away before, weeknights or whole weekends. This is no different
.

She went back to her bedroom and looked out the window for a long, long time. Houses ran along either side of the small park. They were all the same size and shape, even though each family tried to make theirs look unique by painting the outside a different color, adding shutters to the windows, or growing unusual plants and shrubs in the small gardens. Each yard was about the same size. In summer, the street became a stamp collection of green lawns. Jules always thought everything looked much more beautiful in winter, even though the snow covered the yards in the same way. It didn’t make sense, but maybe the ugly sameness of everything wasn’t as obvious.

The sky was always changing, though. In winter, the only skies she hated were the gray, gloomy ones, when it didn’t snow and the sun didn’t come out and the whole world looked sad.

She went downstairs to the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, but her dad would probably get mad if the food he’d bought wasn’t being eaten. She just didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

She ate a small bowl of cereal and didn’t bother to clean up.

I’ll have to push myself outside today
.

It seemed to take forever to put on the extra layer of clothes she’d need to keep warm. She kept forgetting something, but finally went outside.

The blast of icy air that hit her was a shock. Jules didn’t think she’d be able to feel anything.

Okay, okay. What’ll I do? Where’ll I go? No stores open. Damn!

She decided to walk up to Wedgewood School. There was an outdoor skating rink beside it, an official one that was looked after by the city. She wouldn’t take her skates, but there’d be skaters and she could watch them. If kids from school were there, they’d be playing hockey, break the whip, or ice tag.

She wanted to stretch out the time it took to get there. She couldn’t go up Martin Grove – it would have gotten her there faster, but she couldn’t risk meeting Patsy or someone from Patsy’s family. She had to walk farther along Bloor and cut across Charleston, the street where Jerry Chambers lived. He was a mean, ugly kid who acted like a big shot. If she bumped into him, he’d make her feel worse than she already did – but that was a chance she’d have to take.

She could hear the sound of skaters’ voices before she got to the rink. It was Sunday, so moms and dads were with their kids. Bullies don’t push, trip, or chase anybody when parents are around. She should’ve remembered that.

Jules stood behind the boards surrounding the rink. She watched as a young couple put skates on
their little boy as fast as they could, to prevent his little feet from freezing.

When his skates were done up, he held on to his parents’ hands and tried to walk on the ice as if he had shoes on, not skates. That was funny. His upper body couldn’t catch up with his feet, and he fell on his behind. He started to cry, but Jules could tell he was just surprised, not hurt.

“It’s okay, honey. You’re all right, sweetheart,” his mom said. “You have to go like this. Here, watch how Mommy’s doing it. Take tiny, tiny steps, let the blade of the skate stay down on the ice, and push a little. It’ll move you ahead.”

He tried over and over again but kept falling – although he expected it now.

Eventually, the mother took one arm, the father the other, and the boy was able to stay upright. Sometimes the parents held him up so high that it looked as if he were flying and dancing in the air. When that happened, he squealed with joy.

Jules tried to remember when she’d learned to skate. Her father used to be a good hockey player, so he must have taught her. But maybe her mother, Celia, was the one. She hadn’t left them until Jules was four.

Jules didn’t have any pictures of her. Her dad had ripped them up and thrown away the pieces. He never wanted to talk about her. But as Jules got older, she wanted, needed, to have an image of her mom in her head.

She’d ask about her only when her dad was in a
good mood. “Did she look like me?”

“Yeah. Your hair exactly. Your nose, mouth.”

“Was she pretty?”

“What a question. Yes, Jules.”

“Where’d she grow up? In Toronto, like us?”

“No. Georgetown.”

“Is that far?”

“Not really.”

“What about her family, her mom and dad? Are they here?”

“Her mom and dad lived on a farm. Don’t know where they are now. Don’t care.”

“How’d you meet my … mom?” The last word was hard to get out.

“At the Palais.”

“What’s the Palais?”

“A dance hall. Celia loved to dance.”

“Was she a good dancer?”

“Good enough. We both were.”

Jules wanted to believe that her mother meant more to her father than the other girlfriends he’d had. Seeing how sore his heart was, maybe she had.

If he stayed in a good mood, he’d usually give her a hug and tell her how much he loved her. “Enough with the questions, kiddo,” he’d say. “We don’t need anybody else hanging around us, do we? We’ve got each other. That’s all that matters.”