Shattered (22 page)

“The way you work you're lucky I don't just fire you!” he yelled back playfully. “Now put the broom down. I need you in the kitchen.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

I leaned the broom against the wall and walked toward the kitchen. We still had thirty minutes until the supper serving started so we had plenty of time to get things ready.

This was my third shift this week. Since school had ended I'd been putting in a lot of time—I had a lot of time to give. It was better to be here than just rattling around the house by myself. The place seemed awfully empty since—

“You coming or what?” Mac yelled through the door.

“I'm coming, I'm coming … keep your shirt on!” I pushed through the swinging door. “So what's the big emergency?”

“No emergency,” Mac said, his smile dissolving into a wrinkly grin. “More like a celebration.”

He stepped aside. There on the counter was a chocolate cake. On the top were two lit candles—a “1” and a “6.”

“Happy birthday!” he yelled.

“You shouldn't have.”

“Of course I should have. Now blow out the candles … and try not to spit on the cake, okay?”

“I'll try my best.” I stood over top of the cake. In white frosting, it read Happy Birthday. I took a deep breath and—

“Wait!” Mac yelled, holding up his hands. “Did you make a wish?”

“No.”

“Then you better.”

“I don't believe in things like that,” I said.

“What you got to lose? If you don't make a wish, you can't make it come true.”

I thought of a half-dozen things I could have wished or wanted, but the only one that was important was Berta. I knew what I wanted. I wanted her to be safe and happy and enjoy her time away … and come back when that time was over … if that's what she wanted.

“Hurry up, kid, before the wax drips all over the cake.” “Oh, sorry.” I took a breath and then blew out all— both—of the candles.

“So what'd you wish for?” Mac asked as he took a knife and started to cut up the cake.

“If I told you it wouldn't come true.”

“Didn't you just say you didn't believe all that stuff?” he asked.

“And didn't you just tell me I had nothing to lose by trying?”

“So I did.” He slipped the first piece onto a plate and passed it, and a fork, to me.

I took a little piece and put it in my mouth. “This is really tasty.”

“Good to hear. I was a little worried.”

“Why would you be worried?”

“Sometimes a cake will turn if it's a few days old,” he explained.

“You bought me an old cake?”

“Didn't buy nothing. Donated. And then I remembered your birthday was coming up and I went out and got you some candles. You're sixteen, right?”

“I will be in three days.”

“Sixteen is a big one. Got something special planned?” “My parents are throwing me a surprise party on Saturday.”

“Doesn't sound like much of a surprise.”

“It isn't, but I won't let them know that I know. I'll act surprised,” I said.

“Just family coming?” Mac asked.

“Mainly my friends. That's how I know there's going to be a party. It's hard to keep a secret.”

“Nearly impossible,” Mac said. “Nice of your parents to try.”

“I guess so.”

“And that was a nice little donation they made to the Club,” he said.

They'd given two thousand dollars. “They can afford it.”

“Lots of people
can
afford it. Most just don't give it. I'm grateful. You thank them for me again, okay?”

I nodded my head. He was right, it had been nice of them. They didn't need to do it, but they did.

“You must be looking forward to the party,” Mac said. “I am, but it's going to be different without Berta there,” I said. “She's been there for all my birthdays.”

“That's right. She's gone down south. Where is it she's from again?”

“Guatemala.”

“How long has she been gone for?” Mac asked. “Almost two weeks. She's going to be gone the whole summer … eight weeks.”

“That's a long time to be gone.”

“As long as it's only eight weeks, I'm okay.”

He gave me a questioning look. “You afraid she won't be coming back?”

I nodded. “I just wonder if once she gets down there she'll ever want to come back.” That was the first time I'd actually said those words. Mac was the only person I
could
say them to.

“Is that her saying something, or just you worrying?” “More me worrying.”

“And if she does decide to stay?” he asked.

“Maybe that's where she needs to be right now.” “And will you be okay with that?” he asked.

I didn't know what to say. I knew that she had to go and maybe she needed to stay but I didn't know how I could get along without her and—

“Well?” Mac asked.

I knew what I was saying was right but I still felt like I was close to crying. I took a deep breath.

“I'll be happy for Berta … I'll be okay.”

“I don't think,” Mac said. “I know you'll be okay.” He smiled.

I wanted to believe him.

“So you gonna be getting some presents at your party?” Mac asked.

“A few.” One was going to be pretty special. I'd passed everything and there was going to be a car. Funny, I'd starting coming down here to get a car. Now that car was going to help me keep coming down here.

“Here's another present.” Mac reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. What was he doing? Was he giving me money or … He pulled out a small plastic chip and put it on the table.

“Take it.”

“Um … thanks,” I said as I picked it up.

“Don't thank me. It's not from me. It's from Jack.” “Jack?” I asked in amazement.

“He gave it to my friend to pass on to me to give to you.” “It's … it's really … really nice,” I said as I turned it around.

“It is nice. Do you know what it is?” Mac asked. “Sure. It's a chip.”

“It's a two-week chip. It's what you get at the treatment centre when you've been dry for two weeks.”

“That's fantastic! I'm so proud!”

“You should be. Jack is doing good … at least he is now.”

“Now … what does that mean?”

“The first few days are always the worst. He only hung in for two days before he took off.”

I felt my heart drop. “He left?”

“Gone for two days, but he came back.”

“Why would he leave?”

“Alcohol's a hard addiction to break. Important thing isn't that he left, but that he came back and has stayed dry for two weeks.”

“Two weeks is good … right?” I asked, looking for reassurance.

“Every day sober is good. The longer the better. He might just make it.”

“I
know
he'll make it.”

“We'll keep our fingers crossed but you gotta remember most people don't make it on the first try, or even the second or the third.”

“How many times did it take you?” I asked.

“More than a few,” he said.

“But some people do make it the first time, right?” “Some people beat the odds. I don't know if Jack is going to make it or not. Even he doesn't know that. What I do know is that he wouldn't have had
any
chance without you. Funny, sometimes those long shots work out. Look at you.”

“Me?”

“When you first came here I wouldn't have bet a plugged nickel on you even showing your face a second time.”

“I guess I surprised you.”

“I think you surprised
yourself
even more,” Mac said firmly.

I nodded my head. I
had
surprised myself.

“Just remember, we can't control the winning and the losing. All we can control is the caring.” He paused. “Enough talking. Let's get ready for the dinner crowd. Get those plates on out there.”

I picked up a big stack of plates and started for the dining room. I stopped.

“Mac,” I called out and he looked up from the big pot he had started stirring. “Thanks for everything.”

“I didn't do nothin'. It was just a cake.”

“I'm not talking about the cake.”

“I know, but I still didn't do nothin'.”

“I couldn't have done it by myself.”

Mac smiled. “Who can?” Mac asked. “Who can?”

Author's Note

I'M OFTEN ASKED
where do ideas for novels come from. I know exactly where this story began. I had just finished giving a presentation about Canadian heroes as part of the launch for my book
Run
. A man came up to me to talk about Terry and he mentioned another of his heroes, Roméo Dallaire. He asked if I had ever considered writing a book about Dallaire. I told him I greatly admired the general but didn't know how I could make it into a story. He then told me how to do it. I want to thank Bart Jackson. Without him this book would never have happened. This book is not about General Dallaire, but his experiences in Rwanda, and his incredible book,
Shake Hands with the Devil,
are the inspiration, the foundation on which this book is constructed. I can only hope that by becoming more aware of the tragedies of the past, we are better able to stop them in the future.

Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.

—
JOHN WESLEY

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.

—
ANNE FRANK