by Jaclyn Dawn
Danika was busy with something on the counter and had twisted to talk to someone I couldn’t see. I took a deep breath, about to enter an abandoned warzone filled with landmines.
CHAPTER 6
THE CHIMES ABOVE THE DOOR MADE DANIKA GASP AND HIDE whatever she was working on.
“Well, alert the paper, it’s Miah! I heard you were back in town, but now I actually believe it,” she said, returning a dinosaur picture book and a roll of Scotch Tape to the counter. She flashed a row of perfectly straight white teeth. Her orthodontist deserved an award. I forced a smile to match hers in size and lack of sincerity. I felt like I had stepped on one of those landmines and was slowly easing my foot off, hoping it wasn’t live.
“Who is it, Mommy?” A voice came from behind the counter and had me curious to see the owner, but he was too short to be seen from the door.
“Back to timeout, Benton. Five minutes, remember? No ripping library books!” She rolled her eyes at me in a conspiratorial way. “You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you were my boss. It’s just not my day. Two books ruined. I spilt breast milk on the other.”
I wasn’t sure she needed to specify the type of milk rippling the pages of the Silly Nursery Rhymes book she held up as proof, but it explained her overly full V-neck.
“If you put the book under something heavy in the freezer, it will smooth out the pages,” I said, pushing down the painful reminder that when Mom had called to lecture me for not telling her Danika was pregnant again—Imagine how silly I felt when Betty brought it up at the diner, she had said—I had to pretend it had merely slipped my mind. Imagine how silly I had felt. The only birth announcement I had received was a public social media post.
“Really?”
“I dropped my anthropology textbook in the bath last semester. The freezer trick worked for me.”
All Danika heard was book and freezer. Or at least that was all she cared about. She quickly disappeared into the back room. I approached the counter, and Benton peeked one chocolatecoloured eye over his shoulder at me. He had a mess of brown curls and was wearing the cutest denim overalls. I wiggled my fingers at him, and he shoved his nose back in the corner. Moments later, Danika reappeared carrying a pink bundle. Benton hadn’t been much older than that when I had left Kingsley.
“She’s so tiny,” I said.
“You’ve obviously never had a baby. Abigail was eight pounds, seven ounces when she was born. You are my chunky monkey, aren’t you?” she cooed.
“My baby,” Benton announced. Abandoning his timeout, he climbed onto a chair so his head was higher than the counter.
I had mixed feelings seeing the happy little family. The plan had always been to be in each other’s weddings, buy our kids matching pink dresses, and live next door to each other in cute little houses surrounded by white picket fences. Now Danika was freezing picture books and I, textbooks.
“I’m here because of Dad’s accident,” I blurted.
“I figured. I called your mom as soon as I heard, but everyone in town has read about it in the paper. Have you seen it yet?”
“The Kingsley Inquirer? Yeah,” I said, quickly adding, “I’ve been reading through some of Mom’s old issues.”
“The Gazette disappeared and—ta-da!—the Inquirer. No one knows where it comes from. Kingsley Grocery is the only store that sells it, though.”
“Sounds convenient.”
“You’re not the first to say so, but I doubt Mr. Wong has a firm enough grasp on the English language to manage the Inquirer’s sarcasm.” Suddenly her face lit up, and it was like she was talking to someone who wasn’t me. “Oh my gosh, did you see the article about Trula and Roland? Her daughter Kenzie babysat Benton once. I heard Roland is sleeping on his mom’s couch. I wonder which website he was on. I bet it was one of those dirty hook-up ones.”
“You always liked a good story.”
Danika shrugged.
“Baba doesn’t allow the Inquirer in the house,” she said, shifting into an impression of her eighty-some-year-old grandmother. “‘You buy that paper and people wonder. They want to know what you’re thinking and what you’re saying. In my day, your business was no one else’s business.’”
I laughed. With a small ache in my chest, I realized again how much I had missed Danika.
“That’s Baba!” Benton said, looking up from the plastic dinosaurs he was lining up on the floor.
“No, no. Mommy is just being silly. Never mind grown-up talk and play with your dinosaurs.” She turned her attention back to me. “Some people refuse to buy the Inquirer, but I think it’s great. When Benton was terrified of monsters under his bed, I wrote to Dear Deirdre. She actually had good advice: Monster Go Away Spray. And, since Benton agrees with Mommy that it’s better to be safe than sorry, RC now deodorizes the entire upstairs every night. Win–win for me.”
The chimes above the door announced a pimply teenager with headphones. He needed to sign in to use one of the public computers. Danika looked around her for a place to set the baby before plunking her in my arms and leading the teenager to the computer stations. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about and couldn’t see what she was typing, but they were taking turns on the keyboard. Abby sucked her bottom lip in her sleep, oblivious to the fact that a complete stranger was holding her. Together, we located the bookshelf deemed the Mystery section and chose three novels, each by a different king of the bestsellers list. Danika was back at the counter when we returned.
“When do you go back? I’m assuming you’re going back,” she said.
“Yeah, I have to get ready for school: sort my classes, do a bunch of readings, check in with my professors.” The last part wasn’t really a thing, but it sounded important and talking to at least a guidance counsellor probably wasn’t a bad idea. “I leave next weekend.”
“That’s too bad. There’s a bonfire at the creek for the Canada Day fireworks. Would have been like the good ol’ days, but you’ll be gone by then,” Danika said as she scanned the books into the library computer, presumably under Mom’s account.
“Yeah, the good ol’ days,” I repeated. The pimply teenager had broken the spell. It was awkward between us again. Abigail started to fuss, and Danika immediately traded her for the novels. “Well, I had better get to the grocery store. Mom has a list of stuff she wants me to pick up.”
“Be a dear and grab me a copy of the Inquirer while you’re there? I need something to read,” Danika said.
With a sweep of my hand, I gestured to the shelves of books around her.
“I’ve read them all.”
“Right,” I said, doubtfully, and she flashed those perfect teeth at me again.
A piece of paper reading Watch Your Step was taped to the front door of Kingsley Grocery. The store was surprisingly busy. I couldn’t help wondering if someone was lurking in the cereal aisle, waiting for a chance to slip a note into the locked contributions box on the counter. The inside page of every issue clearly stated that stories and tips were welcome through either the contributions box at Kingsley Grocery or [email protected].
An Asian man, whom I presumed was Mr. Wong, worked the cash register. The Wongs had bought the store last year. Kingsley Grocery changed hands frequently. Mr. Wong nodded in my direction. I picked up a red plastic basket from the stack beside the door. Then I collected the eggs, chocolate chips, and bananas on Mom’s list.
“Hello,” I said, when it was my turn at the till.
Mr. Wong put the bananas on the scale. They were overripe, but I would be paying full price.
“You must be Mrs. Williams’s daughter. Banana bread every other week. And …” he motioned toward the newspaper stand.
“Thanks for reminding me,” I said, choosing two copies of the Inquirer from the stack and putting four dollars in the contributions box.
“Do you publish the paper?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see what he would say. Did I imagine the ears of the woman beside me per
king?
“No, no. I only put in the coupons to help business. See?” He flipped to the coupons and jabbed the paper a couple times with his finger. “Your mother says she buys the paper for the coupons.”
Spending two dollars on a newspaper for fifty cents off a can of ketchup didn’t add up, but saying so would have felt disloyal. Under Mr. Wong’s watchful eye, I added a can of ketchup to my purchases.
“And you can tell your father there will be no more falls,” Mr. Wong said, pointing through the glass at the shiny new handrail I hadn’t noticed on my way in. See, some good came from the paper. No more falls.
I cut across the street to give Danika her copy of the Inquirer. Then I hopped into my Jeep, put the groceries on the passenger seat, and started for the farm. My visit into Kingsley hadn’t been so bad after all. I had already driven halfway down the block when I glanced over and the smallest headline in the bottom left-hand corner on the cover of the Inquirer caught my eye. ‘I was going to propose’: Heartbroken Mike Hayes Tells All
CHAPTER 7
“WHAT!” I GRABBED FOR THE INQUIRER FROM THE PASSENGER SEAT, causing my Jeep to swerve toward oncoming traffic—the only other moving vehicle on Main Street. The other driver laid on the horn of his black jacked-up truck. Every second vehicle in rural Alberta was black and jacked-up. I dropped the Inquirer and swerved back onto my side of the road. Driving 30 km/h gave the other driver plenty of time to express himself with obscene hand gestures as we passed. Since I had nearly caused a car wreck in downtown Kingsley, I kept my eyes on the road the rest of the way to the farm. By the time I had parked next to Mom’s empty space, I was in dire need of an antacid.
I flipped quickly through the tabloid but missed the article and had to start again. Then there it was, short and far from sweet. I immediately dialled Nathan on my cell phone. Voicemail.
MIKE HAYES'S HEARTBREAK
Miah's back … but not for him
What Mike Hayes thought was forever ended before it started when Miah Williams, live-in girlfriend of four years, ran off in the dark of night without telling anyone!
‘Mike came home from work one day to find half his stuff gone,’ a mutual friend reveals to the Inquirer. ‘Mike was devastated. He was going to propose.’
The breakup initiated a string of bad luck for Mike. Shortly after Miah split, Mike was fired from his job at Trenton Auto Body, his dad suffered a stroke, and his dog Rex was hit by a car. Despite hard times, rumour has it Mike can’t bring himself to sell the engagement ring Miah never knew about.
It was no secret in Kingsley that Miah’s parents, Ray and Judith Williams, weren’t Mike’s biggest fans. But while Miah has been building a new life in the big city of Vancouver, Mike has been mending fences with his former in-laws by mending fences on the Williams farm.
Locals are hopeful Miah’s moral support will encourage her dad to a speedy recovery after his catastrophic fall at Kingsley Grocery, but some can’t help but wonder how long they will be graced with her presence. Is Miah too good for her roots? Or is there more to this tale than meets the eye?
‘The girl next door and the hometown stud, they were an odd match from the start,’ says a teacher from their former high school. ‘I never believed the perfect front, myself.’
“We need to talk,” I said before hanging up.
I needed to calm down. What did the article say exactly? I was home because of Dad’s surgery. True. I had run away from Kingsley. True. Though seeing it in print was uncomfortable. I hadn’t taken half of Mike’s stuff, but Mike had likely said I did. The Inquirer suggested I thought myself too good for the town, but that wasn’t true, was it? It also suggested there may have been more to my leaving. Wasn’t that what I wished my mom and Danika would see? I reminded myself that having these things printed in plain sight was better than having them whispered behind my back. Yet my skin itched with the need to take action.
I glanced at the barn in my side mirror. With my phone and the tabloid clutched in my hand, I got out of the Jeep, slammed the door, and stormed to the barn. I shoved open the man door, which never latched properly. I was met with a familiar, warm, musty smell. The enormous space held the grain truck, the combine, the seeder, and a couple other miscellaneous contraptions. Tools and supplies were hanging on and stacked against the walls and spewing from cupboards and shelves. My dad’s organized chaos. Country music played low on the radio, which hadn’t been turned off since before I was born.
“Hey!” I called, anger driving me to the source of this nonsense about an engagement ring. “Mike! Are you in here?”
The only response was from my echo. My shadow stretched before me on the cement floor. I kicked at some bits of straw and slapped the Inquirer against the dusty red toolbox. The toolbox was as tall as me and twice as wide as the man door; it reminded me of something. The wolf list. The night Dad had fallen off the couch he had babbled something about an all-important list in the toolbox. The radio protested with static as I started opening and closing drawers, interrupting the cowboy’s summer tribute to beer drinking. In the top left drawer was a coil notebook with a picture of a lone wolf on the cover. The cover was stained with oil, but the pages looked fairly new.
Fix fence on southeast section
Fix latch on barn door
Build grain bins
Clear tree line
Repair cattle waters
Service combine
Service grain truck
Resurrect old red?
Research pesticides
Re-side shop
Paint fence, barn, dog house, etc.
The list went on for two and a half pages in Dad’s neat printing. Two and a half pages of things that needed to be done; otherwise … what? The wolf? Desperation would have explained why my parents would resort to hiring Mike Hayes. Dad had been behind before he had even broken his leg. Feeling humbled, I replaced the notebook and retreated from the barn.
Mom and Dad still weren’t home by the time the banana bread was cooling on the counter and I closed the oven on a tuna casserole. By force of habit, my eyes were drawn to the digital clock on the stove. 4:47. That uncomfortable feeling crept over me again. Supper would be on the table by six.
Working as a floor hand on a service rig, Mike got home and sat at the head of the table. The table was set, complete with napkins and a vase of flowers I had snipped from the neighbour’s rose bush that grew into our yard through the slats of the fence. I presented my first ever meatloaf, a treat to celebrate nothing at all.
“It’s nice coming home and having supper on the table by six.”
It was almost six thirty.
“I usually do have supper on the table by six.”
“Usually.” Mike smiled. “Get me a beer while you’re up, will you?”
The sound of car doors interrupted the memory. I hurried to the porch where I watched. I felt useless as Dad slowly made his way on crutches to the house. Usually Duke and Earl were eager to be pet or play fetch, but even they sensed Dad was miserable and let him be.
“There’s my girl,” Dad said as I held the front door open for him. Once he had gone inside, I sat next to Mom on the porch steps.
“He needs another surgery, two weeks from today,” she said. “It’ll be at least another two weeks from there before the doctor will consider a cast. So another month before he can do moderate work.”
We sat for a bit. I was thinking about the wolf howling at Dad’s door and how little work on the farm was ‘moderate.’ Mom was probably thinking that this second surgery wouldn’t have been necessary if I hadn’t fallen asleep the other night. Dad had fallen off the couch because I hadn’t been awake to help him.
With a deep breath that seemed like an effort to pull herself together, Mom straightened. “I best be getting something on for supper.”
“There’s a casserole in the oven.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
At least I had done that right. It was a start.
&nb
sp; CHAPTER 8
“I’VE BEEN EXPECTING TO HEAR YOUR TIRES TEARING UP THE GRAVEL in the driveway for five days now,” Mom said.
“Judith,” Dad said in a warning tone.
“What? We agreed no questions. I didn’t ask a question,” she said. “We’ve all seen the article in the Inquirer. It’s silly that we don’t talk about it.”
We had fallen into a routine since Dad’s last appointment, the one that deemed a second surgery necessary and loomed over us all. Mom did the evening chores while I prepared supper, we all ate together, and then Mom and I cleaned up the kitchen while Dad napped on the couch. On good nights, like tonight, he lingered as long as the conversation interested him.
Dad began manoeuvring his wheelchair toward the living room. Mom set down the dishtowel to help. Pillows didn’t fluff themselves. Dishes wouldn’t wash themselves, either. Nor would food prepare itself, the house straighten itself, the lawn mow itself, or the dogs feed and throw a ball for themselves. These were the simple things I did, that Mom trusted me with so she could take care of Dad. The things on Dad’s wolf list also wouldn’t do themselves, and I wondered if maybe a closer look would reveal a few I could manage over the next few days.
I went to the table for Dad’s coffee cup, but wiped my wet hands on my jeans and picked up the Inquirer instead. I flipped to the article: Mike Hayes’s Heartbreak. I was mesmerized by the picture of the engagement ring, even if the small print below said “representation.” The ring Mike had purchased—if he had actually purchased a ring—probably didn’t look anything like the one in the picture. The one in the picture looked expensive.
I really needed to talk to Nathan. I had left a second, more urgent voicemail, but still hadn’t heard from him. With a sigh, I dropped the Inquirer before Mom could catch me reading it.
“All I was getting at was that it has been nice having you home,” Mom said as she returned. She picked up the conversation where she had left off as if she hadn’t left at all. She lowered her voice. “It’s too bad you’re leaving in a couple days. Your dad needs you. I mean it,” she continued, seeing my doubtful expression. “It’s going to be tough the next couple weeks. Travis and Mike are vaccinating their herd and then hauling to pasture. We won’t have the extra help with morning chores for awhile.”