by Sonia Tilson
“Gimme the money before you get knocked over, Neil,” Hiu said, anxiously watching a couple of guys shoving and pushing each other nearby. “Why don’t you two go grab a seat while I get the drinks.”
“You okay?” Courtenay asked as they slipped into a space left on the bench by an old lady with a lot of bags.
“Look, Courtenay, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, anxious to get this over with before Hiu came back. “I was really rude to you, and I know you were just trying to help me. I’ve been feeling terrible about that.”
“Forget about it,” she said. “You were upset, and I don’t blame you.” She looked at him seriously. “How are you now?”
“I’m okay, actually.” He said, still surprised to realize it was true.
“Really?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah. Really.” They shifted over to make room for Hiu.
“You know I’m…living at Margaret’s now?” she said to him before slurping her drink.
“You’re what?” No one had said anything about this to him. “How did that happen?”
“Yes, well just after you ran off, my mom and dad had a huge fight, and the police came and took my dad away, and my mom was in a real state, so Margaret came and said for me to come home with her.”
“Wow! But what happened then to your mom and dad?”
“Well, after they let him go, my dad went to stay with his mom in Florida, and believe it or not, my mom is getting help. She’ll be away for a few months, but it’s for the best. And it’s all thanks to Margaret. She said I could live with her until my mom gets back.”
“Ha!” This was good news. “So you’re going to be around quite a bit?”
“Guess so. I’m so lucky! Margaret’s so kind to me, and it’s nice and peaceful living with her.”
As they sat chatting, Neil looked around and remembered his first visit to the mall. What a lot had happened since then, he thought. Maybe he really was becoming a different person.
Chapter 23
Neil and his mom hurried up to Margaret’s door. He knew from the loving way his grandmother had greeted him at the airport that she had somehow totally forgiven him for trashing her home. And now, just a few days later, she was giving a big dinner to celebrate his return. He wasn’t sure if he deserved any of it.
She opened the door, smiling happily. “That which was lost, is found,” she exclaimed, giving him a big hug. He returned it as well as he could. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t think of what to say. “Hi, Grandma,” he croaked.
She looked almost pretty that evening, not nearly so old, with her hair short and wavy, and a bit of colour on her lips and cheeks.
He looked around. The living room seemed larger and lighter, he thought, probably because the heavy lace drapes had been replaced by plainer, more transparent ones. Otherwise it was all much the same. Even the painting was back, hanging in its old spot once again.
He took a flat brown-paper parcel from Sasha’s carrier bag and offered it to Margaret. “This is for you,” he said.
She pulled off the wrappings and held up the framed sketch. “Oh, how extraordinary,” she said. “It’s a picture of Old Dude. Look, Sasha.” She held up the drawing. “This is Old Dude to the life, isn’t it?”
Sasha went over to see it better. “It sure is,” she said. “It’s the image of him.” She leaned forward, examining it. “This is a very good drawing, Neil—the best thing I’ve seen you do so far. The perspective is really well done, and I love how you’ve caught that soft look in his eye.” She squinted at the drawing. “It’s Old Dude all right.” She frowned suddenly and looked up. “But how can he possibly be still alive? I mean all that was at least thirty years ago, and he was old then.”
“It’s Little Dude actually,” he explained, feeling very proud. “He’s Old Dude’s grandson. Ken says he’s pretty much a clone. I remembered that you really liked that horse, Grandma, so I put this in a frame I found in the barn.”
“Thank you, Neil,” Margaret said. “It’s wonderful.” She propped it up on the desk in the corner.
The doorbell rang, and a moment later someone called from the entry: “Hello! It’s me, Julie.”
He’d seen Julie at home during these last few days, but each time she’d been in uniform, coming from or going to work. She looked different now, all dressed up in a floaty white and gold dress, but oddly enough, more ordinary, like someone who might live on their street or be some little kid’s mother. She went over to hug Sasha, and they shared a quick kiss before she turned to Neil with a big smile.
“How are you today?” Julie said. “You know, I think you’ve grown in the last couple of days.” She laughed. “I remember my young brother shooting up like that when he was your age. It’s amazing how fast kids grow, especially boys.”
“It certainly is,” Margaret said. “And change. I can hardly believe it’s the same boy. But come and look at this, Julie.”
While they looked at the drawing, Neil watched his mom sit down again in the comfy armchair and lean her head back, her eyes closed and a slight smile formed on her lips. She was still pale, but her face looked somehow softer. The worry lines were nearly gone from between her eyebrows and around her mouth; she looked a bit tired, but sort of peaceful and beautiful.
With a clink and a clatter, Margaret and Julie were setting the table, now made into an oval by its big central leaf. He watched them set out side plates, napkins, and silverware, along with the fancy wine glasses from the corner cabinet. He heard the unmistakable clunk of the fridge door and knew that must be Courtenay in the kitchen.
His mouth watered at the good smells coming from there. Margaret had roasted a large chicken for the dinner, plus all the trimmings: stuffing, roast potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts, gravy, and red-currant jelly.
Taking in these aromas and the gleaming table settings, and hearing the laughter and comfortable chatter going on behind him, Neil suddenly thought of Ken, all by himself in his miserable little bungalow. He couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for his grandfather. He was what he was, and maybe couldn’t change. In his own way, Ken had helped Neil; he had taught him a lot—about riding and looking after horses anyway, which was something after all. Maybe someday, he’d give Ken a call.
A sound like a gunshot, followed by laughter, came from the kitchen. Margaret hurried back into the room with Julie. “Everything’s keeping hot in the oven,” she said, “but first, we’re going to celebrate the return of the prodigal son with a toast!”
“Prodigal son?” he said. “A toast?”
“Just a spot. Why not? Here comes Courtenay with it now—champagne for the grown-ups and sparkling grape juice for you two!”
Courtenay looked even prettier than Neil remembered, in a black turtleneck and pants. She carried a round silver tray on which five tall thin glasses ringed a fat, gold-wired bottle and a slim, dark green one. She placed it on the side table next to Sasha and sat by Julie on the loveseat, getting a welcoming hug and kiss.
After they had all been provided with their equally sparkling drinks, Margaret tapped a fork against her glass. “Here’s to us,” she said, looking around with a smile. They raised their glasses. “We’ve all been through a lot lately,” she said, “one way or another, but here we all are, safe and happy and, most important, together. So, here’s to love, and kindness, and courage.”
Neil looked over at Courtenay and raised his glass higher. The silver ball on her lip flashed as she smiled and tilted her glass towards his.
“Isn’t it Neil’s fourteenth birthday soon?” Julie asked.
“November the twentieth,” Sasha said. She turned to him. “I’ve been wondering, Neil…” she looked at him uncertainly, “what would you like for your birthday? Since you love horses so much, I was thinking about riding lessons—after your ankle’s mended of course. Would you like that?”
That all belonged to a different part of his life, he thought, a part that was over. Besides, riding lessons would seem rather tame after what he’d experienced.
“I don’t think so, Mom,” he said, “although maybe I’ll take it up again some time.” He hesitated. “I was wondering though, after I saw how much you liked Keeper….” He stared into the bubbles before looking up. “How would you feel about us getting a dog?”
He saw Julie clasp her hands while Margaret gave a slow, thoughtful smile. Courtenay was looking at Sasha, her eyes wide and her lips pressed together as if holding her breath.
“I’d look after it,” he said, “with walks and feeds and that. And it would be company for you, Mom, on days when you’re not working and I’m at school. And it could be protection for you, too, when you go running.” He took a breath. “We could get a rescue dog. That way you can sort of tell what you’re getting, and it would already be house-trained, so it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you, and it wouldn’t cost all that much either.”
“Relax, Neil!” Sasha laughed. “You got me at the mention of Keeper. I think it’s a great idea. Get yourself a bit more mobile,” she nodded at his cast, “and when you’re ready, we’ll do it. In the meantime you can do some research online to see what sort of dog you think we should get.”
He smiled. Maybe a really big dog, he thought, like a German shepherd or a golden retriever. Or a Great Dane. Or they could get a rescued boxer. Or even a Jack Russell puppy. That was it! He could read all about training and sign up for obedience school.
Margaret stood. “To the table, everyone!”
As they moved to take their places, Neil watched to see who would be sitting where. Margaret would be at the head of the table of course, at the kitchen end. Sasha and Julie were already together on one side, leaving, he was pleased to see, two empty spaces on the other side for Courtenay and him. Sasha and Julie smiled across at him before turning again to each other.
He was happy to see them totally wrapped up in each other. Maybe, in time, Julie would move in with them. With the dog and all, they might even be a family.
Margaret came in carrying an oval plate, the brown chicken ringed by roast potatoes. Courtenay followed, carefully bringing in the gravy boat.
When the others had been served with chicken, stuffing, and roast potatoes, and were helping themselves to vegetables, Courtenay leaned over to put down Neil’s plate. Her long, soft hair swung forward with the scent of flowers.
Neil looked around at his family and friends and knew his disappearing days were over. In every way that mattered, he had come home.
Acknowledgements
My thanks go to all at Nimbus Publishing for their excellent work, especially to the senior editor, Whitney Moran, for her faith in the book and her expert help, and to Tom Ryan for his patient and perceptive editing. Special thanks go to Allison McLay for her guidance on sensitive issues. I am also grateful to my family: to Alistair for all the discerning and long-suffering listening; to David for sharing his knowledge of horse matters, and to Edward for his encouragement and help. I should also like to thank all my friends for their support: Mary Borsky and the members of her writing class for all the good cheer and invaluable feedback; Genevieve Hone for her psychological insight; and Owen Menendez for his input on teenage diction and thinking. I must also acknowledge the influence of Ivan Coyote whose memoir-writing course years ago turned me into a writer.
About the Author
Alan Dean Photography
Sonia Tilson was born in Swansea, South Wales, and educated at Monmouth School for Girls and Swansea University. She married and immigrated to Canada in 1964 and has lived mostly in Ottawa, teaching English at up to university level. Her first book, The Monkey Puzzle Tree, was published by Biblioasis in 2013, and was nominated for the Metcalf-Rooke Award in 2012 and for the Ottawa Book Award in 2014.