by Jaclyn Dawn
“We’ll be on our best behaviour. Scout’s honour,” he said. He covered his heart with his right hand. I wasn’t sure what the actual Scout salute looked like, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t it. “The northern lights are visible, and they are one of the things I actually miss about living in the sticks.”
This was different. I pulled on my UBC hoodie and wrote a quick note to leave on my bed. Twenty-five years old or not, I didn’t want to worry Mom more than I already had if she happened to wake up again. I used the front door instead of climbing out the window, too.
Alek waited for me at the bottom of the porch steps. We didn’t go far. We passed his car, which he had parked up the drive and in front of the house like a normal person. In the grass beside where we had painted the fence together, Alek had laid out a blanket and two juice boxes.
“Benton’s grape juice was the closest thing I could find to wine at my sister’s house,” he said. “I forgot that everything in Kingsley is closed by six o’clock.”
“It’s perfect,” I said. “You lucked out. The northern lights are a super-smooth way to pick up a girl. Grandpa Leo would be impressed.”
“Wasn’t luck. There’s a website: one for picking up girls and one following the northern lights. I was keeping my eye on the northern lights one this time. The site tracks them and uses percentages for optimal viewing times based on location. Today’s percentage for the Edmonton area is the highest it has been all summer,” he said.
We lay side by side on our backs. The sky was streaked with wavering green, blue, and white lights, looking like an artist had made enormous, shimmering brushstrokes on a water canvas. I had lived in Kingsley almost my entire life and the only notice I had paid to the northern lights was identifying them on a multiple-choice science test in elementary school. They were beautiful.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since Canada Day,” Alek said. “The northern lights were cutting it a little close since Danika said you’re leaving tomorrow. She also told me which window to knock on. Reluctantly.”
“I’m heading home,” I said.
“Home?”
“Vancouver for now. That’s where all my stuff is anyway. I don’t fit here,” I said. He unlaced his hands on his stomach and rested one in the middle between us. An invitation. I accepted. His fingers were long and warm as they wrapped around mine. “What about you? How long does it take to fumigate an apartment building?”
“Renovate. And not this long, but I had to wait for the northern lights. They aren’t the same in the city. The pollution and lights get in the way.”
“Admit it. Bad Boy Alek would rather hang out with his two-year-old nephew.”
“Him, too,” Nathan said. “As for the ‘Bad Boy’ part, you shouldn’t believe every rumour you hear. Besides, I’m all grown up now.” He squeezed my hand, and we lay there awhile in our comfortable silence.
“Nathan and I were the ones behind the Inquirer,” I said.
“And I’m the one who stole the baby Jesus and the garden gnomes,” Alek said.
“No, you aren’t. Warren Plunket and his punk friends did.” Alek burst out laughing. He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow so that he was hovering over me with the northern lights glimmering behind his head.
“You’re serious? Even the Miah the Man-Eater bits?”
“Well, Nathan started that.”
Alek didn’t back away from me in disgust like in my dream. He laughed. His laugh was infectious, and I found myself laughing, too.
“I thought you didn’t read the Inquirer,” I said.
“There’s nothing else to do in this town. Plus, I was on the cover with a hot girl who has a hot-tempered ex. How could I not read it? I know I’m amazing, but I’m still human,” he said. “So what possessed you to start the Inquirer?”
“Opportunity, money, entertainment … because I’m messed up,” I said, answering as honestly and clearly as I ever had before. It was easier with Alek somehow. Nathan had been wrong when he had said it was because Alek didn’t matter, though. I didn’t feel anxious around him.
“Ever going to tell me what Mike did to you?”
“Maybe one day,” I said. “I dealt with it wrong, though.”
“You don’t say.”
“You’re the first person I’ve told about the Inquirer and probably the last. Dad and Mom found out and Officer Petersen figured it out.”
“And how many months were you two at it?”
“Seven.”
“Make much money?”
“Paid off our student loans and then some.”
“Impressive.”
“Thanks.”
Alek was missing the northern lights and his gaze made my cheeks feel warm, but I didn’t want him to stop looking at me that way.
“If I ever find myself in Vancouver, can I give you a call?” he asked.
“I would like that.”
“In order to do that, you would need to trust me with your number.”
“Give me your phone,” I said.
But he kissed me instead.
CHAPTER 44
I WOKE TO THE SMELL OF BACON, EGGS, HASH BROWNS, AND TOAST wafting into my bedroom. A big breakfast for a big day. I hadn’t meant to sleep in, but I hadn’t meant to stay out until two a.m. either.
After breakfast with my parents, I got dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and didn’t apply a bit of makeup because I just didn’t feel like it. Almost everything was already packed. I stuffed my pajamas and bathroom kit into my biggest suitcase and zipped it up.
“You forgot these,” Mom said from the doorway. She held up my bottle of anxiety pills.
“Flush them down the toilet,” I said.
“It’s not that easy and we both know it,” she said. “Doesn’t hurt to keep them handy.”
She was right. It didn’t take one day, a week, or even a summer to develop the anxiety problem and it would take longer to remedy, if ever. I put the pills in my backpack. I really did travel with a lot of baggage.
“Take this, too,” Mom said. She pulled a cheque from the front pocket of her jeans. Payment for my work that summer. I didn’t want to take the cheque, but Mom would have mailed it if I left it behind. I would need the money until I found another part-time job. I still hadn’t told my parents about being fired from the bistro, but decided enough truths had been revealed for now. My monthly payments for my new student loan—through the bank of Dad the way the first should have been—started next month.
After my third and final trip hauling luggage to my Jeep, I sat on the porch with Mom and Dad. I was sad to say goodbye and yet excited for the next chapter. I wondered if that was how Dad felt while he watched the Hayeses load the herd, so I asked him.
“Something like that,” he said with an amused snort.
We had already discussed everything that needed to be discussed and were waiting for Mike of all people. Even from outside, I thought I could hear Mom’s clocks ticking. Mike had been due to arrive at eleven to pick up his July paycheque, and it was twenty minutes past. Maybe after last night’s visit, he wasn’t going to show up. I was leaving at noon regardless. At last his pickup truck lumbered up the driveway.
“I’ve changed my mind, Judith,” Dad said. “Get my shotgun. I should have shot him years ago when I had the chance.” He smiled at me. Mom rolled her eyes, but her back was so straight that I thought she might get the shotgun.
Mike hopped out of his truck wearing a pair of jeans, a grey t-shirt, and a ball cap. If he was hungover, he didn’t show it. Coca-Cola could have him.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said as he climbed the porch steps.
“G’day,” Dad said. He held up a cheque. Mike took it, folded it in half, and put it in his back pocket.
“I see you’ve got the wolf list out,” Mike said. He was avoiding looking at Mom and me. Did he really think we hadn’t told Dad about the night before, if nothing else? Did he think his be
haviour was acceptable? Then I realized that he probably did. I had doubted myself and said little for years. People in general didn’t like confrontation. Even if they were thinking someone was a jerk, they didn’t usually say as much directly. It wasn’t polite or productive. Maybe Mike was relying on that.
“You can thank Travis for us, but we won’t be needing the extra hand around here anymore,” Dad said.
Maybe some things do happen the way they do in the movies. Mike didn’t seem to know what to say. Mom and Dad didn’t stick around to let him think of something either. They went inside, leaving Mike and me on the porch alone. For the past week, I had imagined our final scene together, but after last night I realized that I had already said everything I had needed to say to Mike two years ago. He was the one who wanted to talk to me.
“Last night I came to see you, not your mother,” he said in lieu of apologizing.
I sighed. Of course, I was at fault. It was a never-ending cycle. I didn’t believe Mike wanted me back. I believed he felt entitled to the choice. He was miserable and wanted me to be miserable. Something had changed over the summer, but it wasn’t Mike. I pitied him. He hadn’t changed and probably never would.
“Are we going to talk about us?” he asked.
“There is no us. And I did nothing wrong legally, but I can’t stop you if you want to raise a fuss about it,” I said. The illusions I had had about him and about us were gone. I wasn’t foolish enough to get too near him, and I watched my words with him, though. “I’m leaving, Mike. Take care of yourself.”
After he left, I said goodbye to Mom and Dad. As I drove away, I glanced at the farm in the rear-view mirror and at the end of the drive stopped to take a long look at the Hayes farm down the road. This time I wasn’t running away. I was moving on.
CHAPTER 45
KIDS ARE HONEST. THEY WILL TELL YOU TO YOUR FACE IF YOU’RE FAT, have something in your teeth, or smell funny. Okay, sometimes too honest. But they are also quick to smile and to forgive. There is nothing better than seeing the joy on their faces when they understand something for the first time.
When I got back to Vancouver, I called about that tutoring job. The position I had applied for was filled, but a new one had opened up for September. My job was helping elementary kids with their homework after school while they waited for their parents to pick them up after work. Best of all, no newspapers!
Nathan still works for the Gazette, though his role is minimal compared to when we published the Inquirer. He also picks up the occasional shift at the Pink Rooster and is a full-time Journalism student at UBC. Joanna Petersen has taken over advertising and publication, while her dad and Nathan share the writing duties. Nathan’s baby is the Lifestyles column. Occasionally Dad and Concerned Citizen get together to watch sports, during which nothing to do with the Inquirer is ever mentioned.
Nathan and I started playing what we call the Inquirer game. We talk to each other in headlines. The headlines are the only part of the Inquirer I miss, and coming up with them is a hard habit to break.
Bye-Bye Debt! Nathan sent Dad a cheque for forty-five hundred dollars. Only three more months sparing every dime I can from my tutoring job and I will have Nathan paid back for my share.
Miah Fights Back! Former Inquirer Lawyer Steps In Although in lawyer-speak you need consensus ad idem—a meeting of the minds—when signing a document, my student loan had been paid off and in Kingsley speak that means no harm, no foul.
Danika Texts Nathan … But Still No Love for Former BFF! I am surprised I haven’t heard much from Danika. Should I be surprised? I shouldn’t be surprised.
Mike Replaced by Finley?! Dad took my advice and called Finley. Finley was jobless, knew how to run a combine, and wasn’t my ex. Perfect.
Alek’s Impending Visit Has Miah Over the Moon Best of all, Alek is flying to Vancouver for five days. Then we are driving back to Alberta together for the Thanksgiving long weekend.
How’s Mike? Mike Who? My therapist says that the average abused woman tries seven times, whether she actually packs her suitcase or simply thinks she has made up her mind, before she successfully leaves her abuser. For a long time, I couldn’t lump myself in with that group of women. Mike had never hit me, after all. If he had, I would have left. I think. I had left Mike for the seventh time this past summer, before I even left Kingsley.
Amiah, AJ, Miss Williams, Miah, Man-Eater, or Girl Next Door. No matter what people choose to call me, I am me. This is me; this is my side of the story. As Dad would say, take it or leave it.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DREAM MADE SWEETER BY DREAM TEAM
Thank you to NeWest Press, especially editor extraordinaire Leslie Vermeer, marketing guru Claire Kelly, and steadfast manager Matt Bowes. Also, to cover designer Kate Hargreaves who has perfectly reflected my vision for this controversial small-town paper.
LIES, SCANDAL, MURDER!
We went through a lot, my fiction workshopping group, supervisor Nicholas Royle, and I. The rigorous program through Manchester Metropolitan University resulted in not only my dissertation (aka The Inquirer), a master’s degree, and an unforgettable graduation trip, but also a push to go public with my creative writing.
MENTOR'S THREAT EXPOSED
Looking to make a career out of my passion for words, I developed my professional writing and communication skills at MacEwan under the expert eyes of Leslie Vermeer and Lucille Mazo. Publishing Prose instructor Curtis Gillespie told me I wasn’t meant to write just instruction manuals. His continued mentorship and confidence ensured I never forgot that.
LOTTERY WINNER!
I hit the jackpot with my ever-supportive and well-humoured parents Jim and Holly and brother Jesse. They’ve been reading my stories since the days they were written in crayon and listening to them even longer. My brother even knew we needed a librarian in the family, my sister-in-law Nikki, who I can always count on to read drafts.
JACLYN SAYS: 'I COULDN'T HAVE WRITTEN A BETTER PARTNER'
Thank you to my husband Logan. On top of everything else he does so well, he ensures that when I am too grounded, I get my head back in the clouds and write. He is the brave one who encourages me to be me and loves me for it.
MY GREATEST ADVENTURE!
I am forever grateful for my son, Seth. I’ve been reading and creating stories with and for him his entire life. My unofficial elementary-aged agent/publicist, he manages to work into a surprising number of conversations that his mom is now an author. Nonetheless, he can’t possibly be as proud of me as I am of him.
IT TAKES A CRAZY VILLAGE
Thank you to my first readers and future readers, and to all those who believed in me along the way.
Jaclyn Dawn grew up in a tabloid-free small town in Alberta. With a communications degree and creative writing Masters, she works as a freelance writer and instructor. She now lives somewhere between city and country outside Edmonton with her husband and son. The Inquirer is her debut novel.