by Vicki Grant
There was no way Andy and Biff were back together again. That much I knew for sure. Kendall was wrong.
I shrugged. “Yeah. You could be right,” I said. “Wanna go down to the bowl?”
chapter 10
Non sequitur (Latin)
Literally, “It does not follow.” A statement
that is the result of faulty logic.
Maybe if life had just gone back to the way it always used to be before Biff showed up, I could have stood it. Take-out food wasn’t that bad. The mess in the apartment had never bothered me until he started cleaning it up. Andy’d always been a nutcase, but at least before—when it had just been the two of us—she could occasionally be an amusing nutcase. She could still laugh at stuff and do totally goofy, irresponsible things and say, “Who the beep cares? We’re having fun, aren’t we?” Other kids’ parents didn’t do that. That was at least one good thing about having a former juvenile offender for a mother.
But life didn’t go back to the way it used to be. It was as if the more Andy said, “Forget about Biff!” the harder it was to do. She acted like making a big point of not sitting on the love seat he gave us would be enough to make him disappear. In fact, it only made it worse. Trying to get comfortable in a leaky, secondhand, beanbag chair when there was a perfectly good love seat sitting there empty was proof positive that we’d never be normal, that whenever we got even halfway close, we’d go and do something to totally screw it up, to totally blow our cover.
It was like “Why even bother?” We were doomed.
I didn’t know how long I could stand it. Somehow I had to get Biff back.
In the meantime, I tried to just keep my head down and avoid Andy as much as possible. I didn’t want to do anything to set her off. Why is it that when other mothers get sad, they cry? When Andy gets sad, she gets mad. She was at me all the time about my homework, about hanging out at the bowl, about doing my share of the chores.
My “share” of the chores.
Like, right.
My 114 percent of them, that is.
Andy wasn’t doing anything anymore, at least not around the apartment. She’d get back from work at about seven with some greasy bag of take-out, dump her stuff in the hall and start working on that stupid malicious prosecution case again. The worst part was that she usually had Chuck with her too.
I was supposed to pick up after her, do the laundry, do the dishes, take out the garbage and just generally run around getting her anything her little heart, little belly or little black lungs desired. I didn’t mind the occasional trip to the law library—I was used to that at least. I’d been doing that for her for years. But I swear if I had to run down to Toulany’s once more to buy Chuck a “thoda,” I was going to scream. I mean, let him get his own pop! What was I—his servant or something? For some “timid” guy from backwoods Nova Scotia, he sure took to running the world pretty fast.
I’d kick the lampposts the whole way to the store and back. I couldn’t believe how bad I’d messed things up this time! I’d gone and traded in a nice normal guy who actually cooked and cleaned and looked after us for some slob who treated me like I was his house elf. I mean, come on! I didn’t owe Chuck Dunkirk anything. He never tried to save my life.
I would have loved to say something to him, but I couldn’t. Andy would have totally lost it. All she could think of now was winning that stupid case. She kept on saying, “Just you wait! You’ll see, Cyril. This lawsuit will be worth millions! We’ll win and then we won’t have to worry about money anymore. I’ll buy us a nice little house somewhere in the North End. We’ll take a trip maybe, buy a new TV, a computer, another round of milkshakes—whatever we damn well feel like. The sky’s the limit! I’ll even buy you that stupid long board since you seem to want it so bad...”
She made it sound like this was all about the money, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t about justice either, at least not justice for Chuck. If anything, it was about justice for Andy. I got this weird feeling she was working so hard on the case just to get back at Biff. It was as if she thought winning it was going to make him really sorry for walking away from her, for losing her, for doing whatever it was that he did to her. It didn’t make any sense, but that’s how I knew I was right. Andy never made any sense.
The whole thing was nuts, but what could I do? If she needed me to buy Chuck a “thoda,” I bought him a “thoda.” It wasn’t all bad. For one thing, it got me out of the apartment for a while.
For two, it’s how I caught Biff.
chapter 11
Summons
The document used by the police to compel an accused
to attend court to answer charges against him or her.
I was on my way to Toulany’s for Chuck’s pop. I took the back door. I didn’t usually go that way, but it was the nearest exit, and I had to get out fast. I was desperate for fresh air. These days, Andy was smoking like a wet log at a Boy Scout campfire.
Chuck was producing his share of hot air too. If I had to listen to him say, “Now, I’m juth a thimple boy from back-woodth Nova Thcothia...” once more, I was going to scream. Who did he think he was kidding? The guy was a major Mr. Know-it-all. He’d act all humble and then argue with Andy as if he actually knew more about the law than she did. I don’t know why she took that crap from him.
I had to escape.
I pushed the garbage cans out of the way and stepped into the parking lot. I heard a sound—a crunching sound, as if someone just stomped on a cheap toy or a small chicken or something. It made me jump. I’m not as wimpy as that sounds. You never know what kind of stuff could be going on behind our apartment. You hear something back there, you jump. Even the tough guys jump. I flicked my head around just in time to see a leg disappear down the side of the building.
It was sort of dark and everything, and I only saw it for a second, but it didn’t matter. I knew it was Biff. I distinctly saw the crease in his jeans. I distinctly smelled his cologne.
I didn’t think anything of it. It didn’t seem creepy to me or anything. Like, au contraire. I was happy. I mean, Biff was back!
I started thinking, Here’s my chance. I can talk to him, reason with him, work this thing out.
I ran around to the front of the building to try and catch him. I went, “Hey, Biff!” He was across the road by now, walking away from me down a side street. I screamed, “Biff!” again and ran after him.
I called him three times. I had to grab him by the arm before he finally turned around.
He acted all surprised. He went, “Oh, hey, Sport. What’s up?”
I’m like, “What’s up with me?! What’s up with you? I saw you behind the apartment. I called to you. How come you didn’t answer?”
He went, “Behind your apartment? Nope.” He frowned. “That’s weird. Wasn’t me. I wouldn’t have any reason to be behind your apartment. I’m just down in the neighborhood to...um...issue a, you know, summons.” He couldn’t even look me in the face. He squinted up at the street signs. “I should know this—but how do I get to Gerrish Lane from here?”
I just stood there and stared at him for a while. The guy was lying to me. I knew it. That was absolutely, positively his leg. Nobody around here irons their jeans. Nobody around here wears that much cologne either, unless you’re counting the old lady down the street with the big hair and the souped-up walker, but I somehow doubted that “Grizzly” was her signature fragrance.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to accuse him of anything. I didn’t want to make things any more awkward between us than they already were.
I finally just went, “It’s the next left. There’s the old auto body shop at the corner. You know. Gerrish Auto Body. You used to walk by it every day on your way back from court...”
“Oh, right. Sure. Of course! Don’t know what I was thinking. Thanks,” he said. He nodded and took a couple of steps away. I thought he was leaving—maybe he did too—but then he turned around and put his hand on my shoulder.
> He looked terrible. He had big black circles under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in days. Even the little Velcro pad of hair he had on his head managed to look messy. All he needed was plaid pajamas and fidgety cartoon lines squiggling around his head and he’d look exactly like the “before” picture in a sleeping pill commercial. It made me think this breakup had been as hard on him as it was on us.
He said, “You taking care of yourself, Sport? Your mom okay?”
Here was my big opportunity to make my case, but I didn’t know what to do with it. Should I tell him things had completely fallen apart? That I hadn’t had a vegetable in weeks? That there was mold growing in the laundry hamper?
That Andy was really, really sad?
Should I tell him to call? Drop over some time? Would that just make it worse? Should I beg him to come back and fix this mess?
Or should I just butt out?
It’s not like I knew what was going to work. It’s not like I had any magic formula to deal with Andy either. Who did? The only thing I could think of that might work on her were tranquilizer darts, but I doubted they were legal.
Part of me just wanted to grab Biff and drag him back to the apartment and go, “Okay, you guys. Would you just start acting like grown-ups? Can we all just go back to living like normal human beings? Is that too much to ask?”
Instead I went, “Yeah. Sure. We’re doing okay.”
He nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it. See you soon, Sport.”
That’s what he said. I really, really hoped he meant it.
chapter 12
Loitering
To linger or hang around in a public place or business where
one has no particular or legal purpose. In some jurisdictions,
there are statutes against loitering by which the police can
arrest someone who refuses to “move along.”
I could have sworn I saw Biff the next night too.
I’d talked Kendall into going to the library with me. Because of all the crap going on at home, I was seriously behind at school. Ms. Cavanaugh had assigned a new video project a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t even started it. I needed to come up with an idea for it—like, right away—or I was pooched.
We’d just left the apartment. We were about half a block away when I realized I’d forgotten to bring a book I was supposed to return. I conked myself in the head and swung back around to get it.
I saw something. It was just out of the corner of my eye, but I saw it. A flash, a flicker, someone darting back into the dark. I tried to see who it was. I did this sort of Egyptian dance thing with my neck to get a better look down the street, but I was too late. Biff—if it was Biff—was gone. I might have smelled his cologne again or I might have just imagined it.
It sort of freaked me out. I went, “Did you see that?”
Kendall went, “What?”
I went, “That! Someone just, like, ducked down the street!”
I dragged him over to the side of our building and pointed.
At nothing.
There was no one there, nothing moving, no sound except us breathing. It was like a photograph of an empty street or something. Kendall raised his eyebrows and looked at me. “Okay. Is this a joke?”
“No, I saw something! Really!” I was going to say I saw Biff, but I couldn’t be sure it was Biff, and even if it was, I don’t know, I didn’t want to talk to Kendall about that stuff. I didn’t want to, like, betray Biff if it wasn’t him, and I didn’t want to—this sounds stupid—make it seem like I was all broken up or anything just because Biff wasn’t around anymore. It’s not as if he was my dad. He was just some guy.
Just some guy who actually made my mother happy. Just some guy who almost made us look normal.
Kendall must have noticed something going on behind my face. I could tell he was trying to, I don’t know, reassure me. He didn’t bug me about it or anything. He just said, “Coulda been a cat.”
I went, “Yeah, I guess,” and let it drop. It was kind of a relief. I didn’t want to get sucked back into that Andy and Biff thing right then. I didn’t want to wonder if I should run after him or act like nothing happened. I didn’t want to wonder what Biff was doing hanging around our place again. And I didn’t want to wonder why he’d pretended he wasn’t. There were going to be at least one or two answers to those questions that I didn’t like.
Personally, I’d rather just do my homework. At least when your answers suck there, the worst that can happen is a bad mark.
I went home, got the book and we headed back to the library.
The place was practically empty. We got on a computer right away. That was good. There’s nothing like the Internet to crowd everything else out of your brain. Biff totally disappeared.
Kendall and I began to just sort of randomly Google stuff. I was looking for inspiration. I needed to find something good to do my project on.
It started off serious. We looked up stuff like “the fishing industry,” “mini basketball” and “the Lebanese community in Halifax,” but then it just got stupid. We went from “people who look like their dogs” to “people who look like their ferrets” to “fudge sculptures.” I don’t know where that came from or why fudge sculptures seemed so funny to us, but it did. We were practically peeing ourselves laughing when the librarian went “Shhhhhh!” and did the big “Boys, you know the rules” thing.
I looked up to say sorry. That’s when I saw Shannondoah Boswick-Sanderson.
chapter 13
Arrest
The taking or keeping of a person in custody by legal
authority, especially in response to a criminal charge.
She was standing right beside the librarian, but it took me a second to realize who she was. I mean, who’d have thought Shannondoah Sanderson would still be in Halifax? The trial was over ages ago. Why would she bother sticking around a place like this when she could be home in Los Angeles with her money and all that sun?
She looked good but not as good as she had on TV. She still looked sort of like a Barbie doll—really tall and slim and blond and everything—but now it was sort of Barbie on a bad day. The New Common Cold Barbie or something. She looked really pale and worn out, like she was just dragging herself around. The only reason I recognized her at all was that long yellow hair of hers. It almost didn’t look real. (I don’t think you can even buy hair like that in Halifax.)
As soon as I realized who she was, I dove under the computer desk as if someone had thrown a bomb at me. Kendall was like, “What are you doing? What’s with you?”
I went “shut up!” with my eyes and wheeled his chair in front of me so I was completely hidden.
Kendall made this quiet sigh and looked straight ahead. The way he was acting, you’d swear I was always pulling stuff like this. He mumbled down his sleeve at me. “I don’t get you. We were only laughing. You think the librarian’s going to arrest you or something?”
I whispered, “No, it’s not that! Look. Look who he’s talking to!”
Kendall turned his head around and looked. I dug my nails into his leg.
I went, “Not now! What’s the matter with you! She’ll see.”
Kendall squeezed his foot down on my thigh until I let go.
“Okay. Who is it?” he said without moving his lips.
“Ernest Sanderson’s widow!”
He scrolled down the screen. He talked in a flat, low voice as if he was just trying to figure something out. “The dead rich guy, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“So? Why are you hiding then?”
I hissed up at him, “I don’t want her to recognize me!”
“Why would she recognize you?” Kendall’s not usually that dense. It was annoying me. I would have bitten his ankle only I’d seen what his shoes could do.
I went, “Andy was Chuck’s lawyer!” before I realized that, duh, of course Shannondoah wouldn’t recognize me. I never went to the courthouse.
I’d gotten all worked
up about nothing. I almost laughed. I pushed Kendall away and climbed out from under the computer desk. What a dork. I mean, even if Shannondoah had recognized me, big deal. So she doesn’t like my mother. What was she going to do—attack me? My guess was she’d be too worried about breaking her nails to do something like that.
She was talking to the librarian. “No kidding! Wow. Sea lice aren’t fish? I always thought they were fish. No wonder I couldn’t find anything about them in that big old fish book!”
I rolled my eyes and whispered, “Can you believe her? She doesn’t even know what a sea louse is!”
Kendall went, “Do you?”
I waggled my neck around. “No, but that’s beside the point. I wasn’t married to a sea louse expert. I mean, she sat all through that trial! You’d think she’d at least know what her husband was working on when he died.”
I love scoring points (I’m Andy’s son after all), but that’s not why I suddenly went, “Yes!” It just hit me. Forget about doing a video on the fudge sculpture craze taking over the nation! I should do my project on the life—and, even better, death—of Ernest Sanderson.
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. It was going to be so easy. I had the inside scoop on the trial. I could fluff it up with a big long interview of Andy and Chuck talking about the case. It would be done in no time.
Kendall argued that fudge sculptures were probably more my style, but he agreed that it made sense. The Ernest Sanderson idea would win me way more points with the teacher.
I was starting to get kind of excited about this. I couldn’t help thinking it was going to be good. This story had everything—money, fame, manslaughter, not to mention, of course, Miss Gingivitis USA. You couldn’t make this stuff up.
I waited until Shannondoah left—I didn’t want her knowing what I was up to—then I Googled Ernest Sanderson. There was tons of stuff on the trial I could use. Now all I needed was some footage of the guy while he was alive.