Rattled

by Lisa Harrington

  They were definitely close, way closer than me and Jilly. I had picked up on that the very first time I met them. They seemed to genuinely like each other, and they never fought. God, they probably even cared about each other’s feelings. I concentrated hard on that for a second, trying to imagine what that must be like. I couldn’t quite get there.

  “He’s my best friend, you know,” Megan said quietly, as if she had been reading my thoughts.

  I couldn’t think how to respond so I just fiddled with my earring and nodded.

  “That probably sounds strange to you,” she continued.

  “No,” I lied. It did sound strange, but I sort of understood. They moved so much, spent so much time together, they were pretty much all each other had. “He’s awfully nice to you, for a brother,” I added.

  “He really is,” she nodded.

  “I always wanted an older brother,” I sighed.

  We were soon distracted by a new noise, this time coming from the front of my house. I watched as Dad used the garden hose to fill a bucket. He held out a sponge to Jilly. He was trying to get her to wash the car. Good luck with that. Jilly stood there, arms folded, major frown on. The only thing missing was the defiant foot stomp. Wait for it…and there it is.

  I turned to Megan. “Did I mention how I always wanted an older brother?”

  She laughed and we entertained ourselves for the next little while watching Jilly attempt to wash the car. She kept her body as far away from the car as possible, leaning in and basically patting the car with the soapy sponge as though she was terrified of breaking a nail or something. Dad sat on our stone wall just shaking his head.

  Now I was kind of relieved that Sam wasn’t with us. Had Jilly seen him, she probably would have dumped the bucket over herself, going for the wet T-shirt effect.

  “Okay, Jilly, thanks for your…er…help. You can go now,” I heard Dad announce. I guess he couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Jilly squealed as she dropped the sponge and ran.

  “Can you believe that?” I said to Megan. “I mean, why does he let her get away with crap like that?”

  “That’s what dads do,” she said wistfully.

  I shrugged.

  “You’re so lucky. Your dad seems awesome. I can just tell.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “You know how they say you can’t miss something you never had?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think that’s true about everything, at least about a dad.” There was a sadness in her voice that I could actually feel.

  From what Megan had just said, I concluded she didn’t see her dad much…or maybe ever. “How often do you see yours?” I asked.

  “Never.”

  I swallowed. “Never? Is he…alive?”

  “I don’t know for sure.”

  “You don’t know? How can you not know?” As soon as the words were out I regretted them. They came across harsher than I meant. Plus, I didn’t want her to think I was being nosey. But she had never talked about her dad before, and I wanted to take advantage of the moment.

  “I’ve never seen him. Not even a picture.” She was in a kind of trance, staring off at something far away.

  I hesitated, but only for a second. “You mean you don’t know anything about him? Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But why?” I was now beyond nosey.

  She turned and looked at me. Her eyes were teary. “She won’t tell us anything, she won’t even let us ask.” Her voice became more intense. “I don’t even know his name.”

  Trying to imagine how she felt was impossible—not to know your own dad, anything about him, if he was even alive. I sat quietly trying to think of something helpful to say, something to make her feel better.

  At the same time, I listened to Dad yelp out a string of obscenities after he put his foot in the bucket of soapy water. He wasn’t what I’d call graceful, but at least he was all mine.

  I heard her sniff beside me. I felt bad that she was upset and wished I’d shut my mouth and hadn’t kept asking her questions.

  “Dad’s dropping me and Jilly at the mall later,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood. “Wanna come with us?”

  “Um…well, my mom’s not back yet so…”

  “We’re not going till after lunch. She might be back by then.”

  “I don’t think she’ll let me.” She didn’t bother making an excuse.

  I sighed. “Well, don’t forget to ask about going to the waterfront. She can’t not let you do that, it practically borders on educational.”

  “Maybe.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead like she was in pain.

  “You okay? I’m sorry if I was being pushy.” I decided I’d harassed her enough for one day.

  “No, you’re not being pushy,” she assured me. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping much. My mom—” She stopped.

  “Yeah…your mom…?” For some reason I felt it was very important that she finish that sentence. I noticed she was sliding her ring up and down her finger again. I had seen her do that before, mostly when she seemed nervous.

  She took a deep breath. “My mom says it’s just because I’m not used to the new house yet.”

  “Right, of course,” I nodded, knowing that wasn’t what she had been going to say at all.

  Standing up, I brushed off more crumbs and gathered up my cracker box and peanut butter. “I should really go help Dad. He’s still struggling over there.”

  “Thanks for sharing your breakfast.” She smiled up at me, shielding her eyes from the sun. She seemed to be herself again.

  “Thanks for the company.” I smiled back.

  I slowly walked to my driveway, organizing all the pieces of information I’d learned into categories in my brain. Scrunching up my forehead, I wondered if I was going to need some kind of flow chart or diagram to help me keep all this stuff straight so I could eventually connect the dots.

  I stopped by our car. Dad’s sopping wet sport sock was hanging from the garden trellis. “Want some help, Dad?”

  “Thanks, Pumpkin, but I think I’m almost done here.”

  I turned as the Swickers’ van pulled into their driveway. I wondered if Megan would ask about going to the mall. I saw Megan say something to Mrs. Swicker. Mrs. Swicker waved her hands in the air and continued into the house. Megan’s eyes met mine and she slowly shook her head. I gave her a sympathetic nod. “Maybe next time,” I said, but I don’t think she heard me.

  Chapter 7

  Departure time for the mall was 1:30 PM, not a minute before or a minute after. Being on time was something Dad was very strict about. No wiggle room whatsoever. More than once he’d left me or Jilly standing in the driveway as he pulled away because we weren’t ready. He only drove around the block, he’d always come back to get us, and I know he was just teaching us a lesson, but it’s still kind of traumatic, especially when you’re five! It was pretty funny whenever he did it to Jilly, though.

  Dad was holding open the car door. “Let’s bust a move, as you kids like to say.”

  Jilly and I looked at each other.

  “We don’t say that, Dad,” I said, sliding into the car.

  “Nobody says that,” Jilly added dryly.

  When we arrived at the mall, Jilly and I slowly wove our way in and out of the stores and boutiques. My shopping was totally off. The force just wasn’t with me. I couldn’t concentrate. I was suffering from Swickeritis, it was infecting every part of me. I ended up buying a T-shirt that I didn’t even like from the Gap. Jilly talked me into it, I suspected because she wanted to borrow it.

  We picked through a basket of discounted jewelry.

  “Your new T-shirt would look great with my yoga pants, the Lulu Lemons—you know, because of the yellow around the waist,” Jilly said casually.

  I knew it! “Are you offering to lend me your pants?”

  “Uh…no.” She tilted her head and gave me an apologetic look. “They�
�re kind of my favourite. Vivian and I are going to Nubody’s tonight. I thought maybe I could borrow the shirt…to, you know…wear with the pants.”

  “I don’t think so.” Then it dawned on me, what she’d just said. “Nubody’s!” I laughed. “Since when do you work out?”

  “Hey!” she exclaimed, all offended.

  “I like to stay in shape!”

  I shook my head, still laughing. There had to be a boy, or boys, involved. They either worked there, or worked out there. I’d love to see Jilly attempting some kind of physical activity—she has to take a nap after vacuuming.

  She wound a rainbow-coloured necklace of beads around my neck and stood back to see how they looked. “I’m thinking about asking Sam out,” she announced out of the blue.

  I started to cough, choking on something that had suddenly formed in my throat.

  Jilly slapped me on the back, and not very gently either. “Better?”

  Nodding, I swallowed the mystery glob. “I dunno about Sam, Jilly. I mean, all he does is practice his violin. I don’t think he’s really into all that.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.

  “Oh come on, Lid,” she said, stretching out her arm to critique a bracelet she’d slipped on. “He’s got to wanna have fun sometimes.”

  I stood and watched her try on bracelet after bracelet, necklace after necklace, waiting for the imaginary devil horns that had sprouted on her head to fade away. It took longer than usual this time.

  “And the name is Lydia, not Lid,” I finally said between clenched teeth as she dragged me next door to the Laura Secord ice cream shop. So much for staying in shape.

  She ordered for me—I was too deep in thought trying to come up with a persuasive argument that might keep her away from Sam. She handed me a Supreme something or other. It was just okay. The fact that it cost almost as much as my T-shirt kind of took away from the flavour.

  We met up with Dad at the assigned time. I sat in the back so I could sulk in private. Jilly was going to ask Sam out. And of course he was going to say yes. I closed my eyes, focusing all my energy on Jilly, wondering if maybe I could put a mild curse on her or something. Like if she would come down with a smallish illness, nothing life-threatening, just potent enough to put her out of action for a couple weeks. I opened one eye. She still looked fine to me.

  I sat up a little straighter as we pulled into the driveway. Sam and Megan were leaning on their porch rail. They both looked up when they heard our car doors slam, and began to walk towards the street, motioning for me to come. I met them halfway.

  “We can go,” Megan said.

  “Go?” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

  “Your waterfront tour thing, we can go,” Sam explained.

  “Really?” I didn’t bother to hide my surprise. “That’s great!”

  “Yeah, it is great.” Megan looked kind of surprised herself. “We can work it all out later. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “Sure,” I nodded.

  I watched them go back inside, while I stood in the middle of the street clutching the plastic bag with my gaudy T-shirt inside. I tried to imagine the conversation that must have gone on between them and Mrs. Swicker while I was at the mall. Whatever it was, it worked. If someone had asked me if I thought they’d be allowed to go out for a whole day with me, I’d stake all 307 dollars in my savings account on the answer being no.

  My mouth broke into a satisfied smile. I was glad I was wrong. It gets boring being right all the time.

  Chapter 8

  I couldn’t believe it. Not sure what I couldn’t believe more, the fact that our downtown expedition finally came together, or that their freak show of a mother was coming with us.

  See, when Mrs. Swicker gave them the green light to go on the condition that she take us, I was under the crazy impression that she was offering to drive us down and pick us up. I actually thought, Hey, what a team player, anything’s better than the bus. But noooo, she meant she was staying with us for the whole time, the whole time.

  I almost called it off when Sam and Megan explained it to me. I begged Mom to talk Mrs. Swicker into letting us go on our own. But she said Mrs. Swicker probably wanted to see the sights too. For some reason she just wouldn’t believe me when I told her Mrs. Swicker was some kind of alien being sent to earth to wreak havoc. She had the nerve to say I was overreacting.

  I think Sam and Megan sensed my disappointment. They had looked at me with a kind of pleading expression in their eyes. I couldn’t back out. Secretly I fantasized, hoped they were planning on making a break for it, hiding away on the closest yacht or cruise ship that happened to be tied up, declaring immunity or whatever it was you did when you defected to another country. I wasn’t going to be the one to muck up their escape plans.

  Finally realizing it was Mrs. Swicker’s way or no way, I decided to suck it up and stay positive, even if it killed me.

  I usually worked Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, so I suggested a Tuesday, a weekday, explaining that the weekends were just too crowded. Real reason? Jilly would be babysitting, and I knew Mom would want me to include her if we went on a Saturday or Sunday. Except for the Mrs. Swicker thing, everything was coming together just as I’d planned, me and Sam would walk along the boardwalk, take in the sights, gaze out over the ocean…oh yeah, and Megan too.

  The Swickers’ van came to a stop as we got closer to the downtown core.

  “I thought you said it wouldn’t be that crowded on a weekday,” Mrs. Swicker said, real snarky.

  “Well, I really meant less crowded,” I responded sweetly.

  “Humph.”

  I glanced out the front window. The cars were stopped because the light was red. I had to press my lips together to keep myself from pointing this out. There was just something about this woman that made me want to pick a fight every single time.

  We were moving again. I instructed everyone to keep their eyes open for a parking meter. We had to circle the block a couple times. I could tell Mrs. Swicker was getting crankier with every corner turned. Megan and I erupted into screams when we saw a convertible pull out of a spot.

  “There, Mom, there!” Megan pointed wildly.

  Mrs. Swicker hushed us and parallel parked the van.

  As we made our way down the hill towards the waterfront, I tried to stay upbeat and enthusiastic, pointing out historical buildings and stuff like that. I really felt like we were out on a day pass with our probation officer.

  Sam and Megan seemed to find everything interesting. Mrs. Swicker didn’t comment one way or the other, which was fine by me.

  I pointed out a giant display all about the Bluenose and Sam and Megan pressed their faces to the glass, soaking up every word.

  “Lydia. Where can I get a coffee?” Mrs. Swicker snapped impatiently.

  Wordlessly, I raised my arm and pointed to a nearby coffee stand.

  About to make my way over to Sam and Megan, I stopped. Mrs. Swicker was dumping packets of sugar into her coffee, but that wasn’t all. I watched as she looked around, pulled something silver out of her purse, unscrewed the top, and quickly dumped it in her coffee.

  I pretended I didn’t notice anything unusual, like what was I going to say? So when Mrs. Swicker rejoined us, I continued giving them the grand tour. We started at one end of the boardwalk, stopping to check out various sail boats and even a couple of private yachts. We poked in and out of shops and stopped for ice cream. At the other end of the boardwalk was the museum. I loved going there, especially the section devoted to the Titanic. I had a bit of an obsession with that disaster and I blathered on until I noticed Sam and Megan’s eyes glazing over. Mrs. Swicker looked like she was having a cavity filled.

  I wanted to end at my favourite store. It was a gift shop filled with everything Nova Scotian.

  “Here it is. You’ll love this place,” I said.

  Walking through the door, we were hit in the face with wonderful gift shop smells: soaps, candles, maple fud
ge. It was heavenly. I stood in the centre of the store, taking a moment to just breathe it all in. Sam and Megan immediately gravitated to a table covered with candies, fudge, and anything else that could possibly be made from maple sugar. Even Mrs. Swicker seemed to have found something of interest at a display in a far corner of the store.

  I could never quite figure out what it was about these touristy gift shops that somehow made me have no issue whatsoever with forking over $12.95 plus tax for a bagpiper Christmas ornament that was basically made out of an oldfashioned clothespin, a black pompom, and a scrap of Nova Scotia tartan. They must put something in those scented candles. I wondered if mind control had a smell.

  “Would you like your ornament in a gift box?” the clerk asked me.

  “You bet,” I said, determined to get my money’s worth one way or another.

  Everyone else was still busy looking around, so I wandered over to look at a case of pewter charms.

  There seemed to be a flood of new people into the shop. I knew there was a cruise ship in. We’d seen part of it from the boardwalk. They all looked fresh off the promenade deck. Big floppy hats, big sunglasses, big American accents. I craned my neck to check on Sam and Megan.

  Megan was standing on her tippy toes, waving a giant stuffed lobster at me. I gave her a thumbs up.

  The noise level inside the tiny shop seemed to be increasing. I thought about waiting outside, but a nearby shriek grabbed my attention.

  “Reenie? Reenie Barretto? I can’t believe it!”

  The voice came booming out of a large, sunburnt, bejewelled platinum blonde. The intriguing bit was that she seemed to be directing her outburst towards Mrs. Swicker.

  I repositioned myself, stepping behind a spinning rack of Maritime cookbooks so I could watch the scene unobserved.

  The blonde stepped closer to Mrs. Swicker and tried again. “Reenie! It’s me, Phyllis!”

  My eyes darted to Mrs. Swicker. I saw her back stiffen, and her face turned almost grey. It was just like in a book, when it says, “the colour drained from her face.” It was just like that. She acted as though she couldn’t hear the woman and didn’t look up from the soap display.