Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9)

by Heather Wardell

  "I am." Her voice shook even on those two short words but she kept going anyhow, an unusual determination glowing in her eyes. "In October, on my birthday, I am going skydiving."

  Mom collapsed back into her chair, so it was left to Dad to say, "Are you sure that's a good idea? Your heart..."

  "It's fine," she said, almost pleaded. "The doctors say this surgery was a complete success."

  "Doctors make mistakes," Mom said.

  Hadn't she, just a second ago, wanted Kim to go to those very doctors to make sure she was all right?

  "But I don't think they did this time." She shook her head. "No, I know they didn't. I feel different, strong inside. My heart feels fine. I can skydive now, I know it."

  "Then why are you waiting until October?" Brandon said.

  Kim turned to him, no doubt glad to stop the 'are you healthy enough to do this?' discussion. "I like the idea of doing it on my birthday, and also the instructor I want to go with is booked until then. He's friends with one of my friends from law school, and I met him before and he seemed nice so I want to jump with him." Her cheeks pinkened as she spoke and I wondered if she was interested in this guy for more than his skydiving skills. With all the surgeries and time at home sick, Kim had never had a serious boyfriend. I hadn't thought about it, but of course she probably wanted one. Well, maybe she'd get one on her birthday.

  Not if Mom had anything to do with it, she wouldn't. "Kim, I can't believe I'm hearing this, I truly can't. It's so dangerous. For anyone but especially for you. What if something went wrong up there? There'd be no way to help you. You'd be dead before you hit the ground."

  With every word Kim's shoulders slumped further and the drive in her eyes faded too. I wished I could side with her against Mom, but I couldn't. I wouldn't have given her the guilt trip Mom was providing but I couldn't say I liked the idea of my sister plummeting to earth either.

  Mom eventually ran down, but Kim sat in silence and nobody else spoke either. Tension built up in the room like stink building up in a gym bag full of used running clothes, and when I couldn't stand the awkwardness any more I said, "Could you do something milder? You've never even ridden a really scary roller coaster. Maybe start there and--"

  "You know what, I don't want to hear it." Kim glared at me. "You've never run a race before but you're training for a marathon. Why is that okay but what I want to do isn't?"

  Because I've never had heart surgery?

  "That's different," Mom said. "If Megan can't do the race she'll just quit. How are you going to quit halfway through skydiving?"

  Brandon dropped his hand onto the table and made a vile squishing noise with his mouth.

  Dad swatted him on the shoulder but Mom's focus didn't waver from Kim. "I can't let my girl do something so dangerous. Promise me you won't."

  I was either not her girl or not doing something she thought was dangerous, but I didn't have time to think about that because I was watching the struggle on Kim's face. She truly wanted to do this, and though I thought it was a terrible idea I felt awful watching her being pressured into giving up her dream. To my surprise even though I disapproved I found myself willing her to stand strong.

  She didn't, though. She dropped her head nearly to the table and mumbled, "Okay."

  "That's my girl." Mom patted her on the back.

  Kim didn't look up.

  I'd always wished Mom would say 'my girl' to me in that loving tone, but now I realized I might have dodged a bullet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "I'm sorry," I said as I rushed up to Andrew. "I really am. My meeting kind of blew up and I had to figure out what to do and..." I shook my head. "Anyhow, I'm sorry. I know I need to be on time."

  He didn't smile like he usually did, didn't tell me it was okay. Instead, he moved to face me so his back was to the other runners on the track, and with his eyes locked to mine he said, "Are you really committed to running the marathon?"

  I blinked. "Of course. Why?"

  He glanced up at the big wall clock then back at me.

  "Because I was late? It's only..." I looked at the clock too. "Ack. I'm twenty minutes late, aren't I?"

  He nodded. "And you've been late to a few other Fridays too, and at least one Sunday. It's no good. It won't work like this."

  I couldn't look into his serious blue eyes any more so I stared down at my running shoes. "I'm sorry. I know. It messes things up for you when everyone's not here on time and you have to stop running to--"

  He took a firm hold of my shoulder, which startled me enough that I looked up at him. "That's not it at all. I'm not worried about me. If you could run the marathon by showing up even forty minutes late every time, I'd be fine with it. But you can't. You need to put in your time. If you really want this race, you need to make it your top priority, and I don't think that's what's happening at the moment. Is it?"

  He didn't sound like a boss telling me off, or a parent using a tone that made it clear I was supposed to hang my head and mumble, "No, it's not." He sounded like a friend, and he sounded like he was truly asking the question and wanted to know the answer.

  I didn't hang my head, but I did say, "No. Not even close."

  He nodded. "It's hard. I get that. You have a lot going on at school."

  He didn't know the half of it. I did have a lot of school-related work, with final grading and report cards and controlling my students who just wanted to play outside in the fresh May air, but that wasn't the real problem. My day had been all about other people and their needs.

  Amanda arrived in my blissfully silent room in the morning while my kids were at music and took up my entire prep period bitching about James and his lack of proposal. I'd tried to change the subject, tried to get her talking about the lovely warm weather or the cute picture one of my students had drawn for her since she'd be her teacher next year or the delicious crepes the French teacher had left in the staff room for us, but nothing worked. All she wanted to do was talk about James and I couldn't do anything about it.

  After music, as my kids jostled each other in the hall outside the door, she finally left, but not before saying, "It's that stupid chicken we made. It just didn't do the job." Such a flash of fury tore through me that I couldn't speak, which was probably just as well because screaming, "You didn't make the chicken, I did, and if it had been up to me I'd have poisoned James with it!" would have scared my poor students half to death.

  My lunch hour had gone to Tosca. I enjoyed time with her because she so desperately wanted to improve herself as a teacher and I could really see her making progress, and she'd thanked me so much for my help that I'd had to tell her to shush because it made me uncomfortable to see such gratitude, but still I'd been working right through lunch, and then again through afternoon recess when Tosca and I talked some more on the playground.

  And if all that hadn't made for a crazy enough day, I'd been late to the run because Veronica had kept me waiting thirty minutes for our after-school grad committee meeting before arriving to let me know she'd just told Colette she wouldn't be coming back to our school in the fall. I'd told her I was sorry we wouldn't be working together next year, which was true even though I knew there'd be far less fighting for me to deal with if she and Amanda weren't at each other's throats, and then she'd stunned me by saying, "So anyhow, I won't have any time to help with grad because I need to get things in order for next year's teacher. But since I did the program and you've got everything else under control, I'm sure you'll be fine." Then she'd left before I could speak.

  I'd either have to find someone else to help me, which would be next to impossible since we were all frantically trying to finish everything that had to be done by the end of June, or do it all myself. Either way, I had an awful struggle in store for me.

  I took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. "Yeah. I do have a lot going on. It's not just that, though. It's... everyone expects so much of me and..." I shrugged the shoulder he wasn't touching. "I can't fix everything for eve
ryone. It doesn't matter what I do, someone's always disappointed." I swallowed hard and looked back at my feet, feeling lower than the soles of my running shoes. "And now I've disappointed you and I hate it. Look, I'm sorry I've been late. I'll try not to do it any more. No, I won't do it any more. Okay?"

  When he didn't answer, I raised my eyes, to see his full of concern. His hand tightened on my shoulder. "Megan, don't worry about me. Please. I'm not at all disappointed in you. Not even close. But tell me why you won't be late."

  The most obvious possible answers rushed through my head: "because it disrupts the group", "because I don't like being rushed before a run", "because I hate not seeing you smile when I arrive". I let them all go by, searching for the real truth.

  He waited without a word, the warmth of his hand sinking into my shoulder. Something in his face told me he knew how hard this was for me, and with that support I found the words.

  "Because I want to do the marathon and I deserve to train right." Saying it out loud, I knew I meant it.

  His smile was small but the light in his eyes was huge. "Glad to hear it. That's a great reason. So let's get on the track and you can tell me what used to be getting in your way."

  I giggled, fighting off tears at the same time. I so hoped he was right but somehow I doubted that one commitment would be enough to fix everything.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jeanine got up to pick up a strawberry that she'd knocked off her Sunday brunch plate and groaned. "My poor legs. Andrew, you're a slave driver."

  He blinked innocently. "Me? Why, thank you."

  She rolled her eyes and bent stiffly to retrieve the errant fruit. "This is called fun," she said, trying to re-settle herself comfortably in her chair. "Megan, we volunteered for this, you know."

  I shook my head. "I can't imagine why."

  "My magnetic personality?" Andrew suggested.

  "No, that's not it." Jeanine gave him a grin. "Sorry, had to be said."

  "I suppose."

  I smiled, but Andrew's personality certainly had played a role in my decision to train for the marathon, and a huge role in my ability to keep training.

  Jeanine tapped her copy of "Trinity". "So anyhow, this book," she said before I could drift off into thoughts of how kind he'd been last Friday when challenging me to commit to the marathon, and this week too at our Sunday and Friday runs, and really every time I'd seen him. "Andrew, thoughts?"

  We chatted about the three main characters and how they'd been changed by their wildly different living situations for a while. Eventually, though, Jeanine said, "I did hate how Talia acted, though, in that brutal part. You know what I mean."

  I didn't. Andrew said, "With the priest?" but without much conviction.

  "Of course with the priest. I can't believe you even have to ask. That didn't make you crazy?"

  I remembered the scene now but I hadn't found it even annoying, never mind crazy-making. "Nope. Why?"

  She stared at me. "Really? This poor girl, who's been living in one tiny little room in the convent her whole life, gets asked to give up her closet so the priest doesn't have to clutter up his own rooms and she says yes. She cut her own space in half! What kind of freak would do that in real life?"

  This kind. Last week Amanda had asked me to store her classroom decorations in my room "because you're better organized so you have more space for them than I do". I'd wanted to say no, since I knew she'd be in and out of my room getting things at the most inopportune times, but I did have the space and the mere thought of saying no made me feel sick so I said yes.

  "Jeanine," Andrew said, "helping people doesn't make her a freak. Talia, I mean."

  I'd told him about my new role as storage locker last Friday night as we cruised around the track, as part of letting out all my frustrations. At first I'd been reluctant to dump my problems on him, but he kept encouraging me and in the end I'd shared everything I could think of that was getting in my way. While I'd been exhausted after that run, both physically and emotionally, I still felt so much better not keeping everything inside. Andrew was an amazing listener. Maybe some day I could help him deal with what were no doubt still difficult feelings over his late girlfriend. I hoped so.

  "Does to me," Jeanine said dismissively. "That jerk was totally taking advantage of her. She should have said no."

  "But it doesn't really hurt her any." I had to defend my fictional fellow helper. "She hardly had any stuff anyhow so she--"

  "It's not fair." Jeanine put so much force behind the word that it shocked me silent, and she went on. "She shouldn't have had to share like that. It was her space. Hers!"

  Andrew looked between us, between her furious eyes and what was no doubt my stunned expression, and said, "Jeanine, care to fill Megan in on your background?"

  She turned to me, and I saw surprise take over from her anger. "Did I freak you out?"

  "Yeah," I admitted. "What's the deal?"

  She tipped her head from side to side. "I'm a twin. My parents were obsessed with dressing us differently so we'd each have our own identity but they were also paranoid about making sure we got exactly the same amount of everything." Her cheeks pinkened. "I guess I have an obsession myself now, with being fair and getting my fair share." She looked away. "And I get aggravated with people who are all, 'Oh, no, I don't need anything. Go ahead, walk all over me.' I hate it."

  I felt my own cheeks getting warm. She had to be talking about--

  "I knew this woman at work," she said, picking up speed as she went, "who was like that all the time. Didn't want anything, wouldn't take anything, always asking if it was okay if she went to lunch when a group of us were going or whatever. But she didn't mean any of it. It was all about getting people to say that of course she could be there and of course she could have whatever she wanted. She just wanted to be acknowledged, be patted on the head for being a doormat. I hate people like that."

  Her snapping at me after the first run, when I'd asked if I could come along for dinner, suddenly made a lot more sense. "But..."

  When she turned to me, our eyes met and I saw something like an apology in hers and knew she remembered snapping at me too. Her tone was gentle when she said, "But what?"

  "Well, I don't think Talia was actually like that." I spoke for both Talia and myself. "She just wanted to help. The priest had a need and she could fulfill that need, so she did it."

  "But why'd she have to bend over backwards like that? Why not give him just a shelf or something? Why give up everything?"

  I sighed. "Because the other way she'd always know she could have done more."

  We sat silent for a second, then Jeanine said, with almost no conviction, "I still think she could have refused."

  Andrew glanced at me then said, "I guess she could have, but remember she owed the priest her life because he talked the assassin into leaving her alone. How do you say no when someone's done that much for you?"

  "I suppose," she said, clearly reluctant. "But I still didn't like it. But I did like..." She flipped through the book then began reading us her favorite part.

  I sat in silence, not listening. Did people say things like that about me? Did they think I was a doormat? Did they call me a freak for helping Amanda, especially since she hadn't done that much for me?

  That much? Had she ever done anything for me?

  She must have. Hadn't she? She'd stuck by me during Kim's surgery and recovery. But I couldn't seem to think of anything else.

  When Jeanine finished reading and said, "Did you guys like that part?" I pushed away my futile thoughts and rejoined the discussion. My heart wasn't in it, though, and Andrew must have noticed because when Jeanine went to request a coffee refill from the waitress who seemed to have forgotten about us Andrew put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in. "Don't worry about it. Jeanine's just not the nurturing type. You handle things differently."

  I sure did. Maybe the wrong way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As we finished our coffee
, Andrew said, "You ladies are both doing all your runs, right?"

  "Yup," Jeanine said. "Friday night and Sunday morning with you, then Tuesday and Thursday mornings like clockwork. I'm a machine."

  I was a broken-down machine, so I sat quietly hoping he'd forget to ask me.

  Of course he didn't; when I didn't answer he turned to me and raised his eyebrows, and when I shook my head he gave me a mock glare. "You need at least three runs a week, and four would be better. Friday night and Sunday isn't enough to get ready for a marathon."

  "I know." I sighed. "I want to, and I do manage it sometimes, but it's so hard to get up in the morning and run. I keep hitting snooze."

  "Put your clock across the room."

  "I tried that. I got up and turned it off and went right back to bed. Didn't even realize I'd done it."

  He chuckled. "Well, that's some exercise, at least, but not nearly enough. After work?"

  "You don't know many teachers, do you?"

  He shook his head. "Why?"

  "The end of May and all of June is insane with final grading and report cards and getting the classroom tidied up and all that. If I don't run in the morning it won't happen. I can handle the Friday night group run because I know I have the weekend to sleep in and do my other stuff but during the week I'm way too tired by the end of the day."

  Andrew looked at me like he was trying to resolve some complicated issue. Then he surprised me. "What if we run together Tuesday mornings?"

  "Before school? I have to be there by eight-thirty. Isn't that too early for you?"

  "I usually get to the office around then anyhow, so no worries. If you're meeting me, you'll actually show up because you'll feel guilty if you don't."

  Jeanine chuckled, but I knew he was right. More amazingly, he knew me well enough to know he was right. I stared at him, feeling warm and fuzzy. "You'd do that for me? Drag me around the track another time a week?"

  His cheeks reddened and he shrugged one shoulder. "No big deal. You're working hard so if I can help, why not? And no track. You need more time on the road to get your legs used to pavement. We can go to the path in the Beaches. Nice to run along the waterfront."