by Marie Landry
Ignoring her, I closed and locked the front door and moved past her into the kitchen. I could feel her hovering behind me, and even though I hated having my back to her, I didn’t want to look at her. I was opening the fridge door when a loud banging made me gasp and whirl around.
“Oops.” Ella’s hand was on a cupboard door, and her eyes were wide with innocence. “I forgot how jumpy you are these days. My bad.” With an evil grin, she spun around and sauntered across the living room to the sliding glass doors.
She didn’t notice anything else, but of course she had to notice I’d been anxious lately, and startled at the least little thing. I didn’t know whether it came from being cooped up so much, my lack of sleep, or spending so much time worrying about Mom and everyone else. Regardless, I hoped my nerves improved soon. I didn’t need one more thing for Ella to use against me.
“Oh, Charlotte, there you are.” Dad walked into the kitchen and looked at me as if he hadn’t seen me in ages. “That boy who’s working on the porch…what is his name, and why can’t I remember it?”
“Ezra,” I prompted.
“Ezra!” Dad said, snapping his fingers. “Ezra asked me to tell you he had to leave early today to check on a project he’s doing for someone else. Said he’ll see you soon, though. He seems like a nice boy.”
“Yeah, he does,” I agreed. The old Dad—as in pre-Zombie Dad—would have prodded me for information about whether I liked Ezra. He would have jabbed me lightly in the ribs and teased me until I told him everything he wanted to know. I waited a minute, hoping he might ask, but he didn’t.
“He’s a fast worker, too,” he commented instead. “I thought it would take ages to get that porch down, but he’s almost done.” I just nodded, unsure how to respond. After a few seconds, he said, “Anyway, I was going to head into town, check things out. I thought you and Ella might like to come along, but she just left. You up for it?”
“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. I thought for sure it would be days before I’d get a chance to go anywhere, and I was eager to see what else the island had to offer.
“Great.” Dad gave me a small smile and stepped closer, running his hand down my long braid and tugging lightly on the end. “I know this isn’t easy,” he said quietly. “I know you and Mom were close…and I know I’ve been…” He waved a hand around, as if hoping to grasp the right words from thin air. Finally he shrugged helplessly, searching my face for understanding.
“I know, Dad.” My throat was so thick I could only whisper the words.
He leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. I closed mine too, and felt tears slip down my cheeks.
“I’m so angry, Charlotte,” he whispered. “So angry at her for leaving us.”
I jerked back and looked at him in shock. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he desperately wished he could take back his words. The guilt in his expression made the hollow ache around my heart return. He started to back toward the door, but I grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“I’m mad too.” My voice was a barely audible whisper now, and I prayed that wherever Mom was she hadn’t heard me. I hadn’t let myself acknowledge that particular emotion because it felt like I was betraying Mom. She hadn’t asked to get sick, and she sure as hell hadn’t asked to die, but it didn’t stop the anger.
I had made up my mind it was one thing I would never share with another living soul. My sadness, my pain, my inability to understand how life could be so unfair sometimes—that was one thing—but the anger was something I was ashamed of.
Until now. Until I realized I wasn’t alone.
Dad just stared at me. He looked like he wanted to believe me, but he wasn’t quite sure if I was just saying the words or if they were true.
“I’ve been angry for so long,” he told me, his voice quiet as if he were confessing his sins and hoping to be absolved. “It’s not fair. She was so…so young and beautiful and vibrant, with such an amazing life ahead. But it was ripped away from her. She was ripped away from us. I know it happens all the time, but it’s just so wrong.”
“I know.” I was still holding his wrist, and I could feel his pulse fluttering under his skin like a trapped butterfly. “I know.”
“But…” He shrugged and wiped at his red eyes. “That’s life. Being angry doesn’t bring her back. It doesn’t change a damn thing, does it?”
I shook my head. Without a word, he pulled his arm from my grasp, turned, and walked toward the sliding doors in the living room. “I’ll be waiting in the car,” he called. “Take your time.”
I touched my wet face. I was sure it was probably as red as it had been when I got out of the shower. I went upstairs, splashed my face with cold water, and put on a bit of makeup in an attempt to disguise my flushed skin and puffy eyes.
I wanted to believe that after Dad’s revelation, things would be different. That after sharing his secret and discovering I felt the same way, he’d talk to me more, maybe even confide in me. But I had a feeling it would take more than our conversation and a few shared tears to make him return to his old self. I would keep hoping and trying though.
I knew I should attempt the same with Ella, but she didn’t make it easy. It felt like she’d made it her mission to be as miserable as possible, and anything anyone said or did would just make her worse. There was part of me—the part that still thought of her as my baby sister despite the fact she was almost seventeen—that wanted to wrap my arms around her and promise her everything would be okay. But lately instead of any sisterly feelings toward her, all I felt was the same hostility she showed me.
I hated it—hated the negative emotions eating away at me, hated the distance between us—but I felt powerless. We had both lost Mom, and even though I’d promised to take care of Ella, sometimes I wondered who was going to take care of me.
I grabbed my purse and met Dad in the car. He didn’t look at me and didn’t say anything, just started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
I leaned my head back on the seat and watched the scenery pass by. I found Kennedy’s and Miranda’s houses and wondered briefly what they were doing. Where would they get summer jobs? Were they going away to college in the fall?
When we reached the end of our road, Dad paused for a long time at the stop sign. A few people milled around on the sidewalk, and I caught a glimpse of Hank in the window of the general store.
“I thought we might just drive for a bit,” Dad said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Then we can park and check out the main street.” He indicated the shops on Carrington Street, and I simply nodded.
He turned left and drove in the opposite direction from the way we came the day we arrived. I was surprised at the number of businesses clustered together, and thought there must be more people living in this area than I’d originally assumed.
It didn’t take long for the buildings to become fewer and farther between and finally taper off to farmland once more. There seemed to be more houses on this side of the island, but they were all set way back from the road.
The street dipped and curved, and the lake came back into view. As we got closer to the water, more houses started popping up, but these were unlike the rest of the houses I’d seen so far. These looked like million dollar homes. Sitting on lots that were easily twice the size of the beach house lots, these houses were enormous, with elaborate architectural designs and massive windows.
“They’re really something, eh?” Dad commented.
I murmured my agreement, unable to take my eyes off the houses. I noticed what looked like a gazebo being built at the back of one property, and wondered if Ezra was the one building it.
We carried on, following the road wherever it turned. We passed a big old church in the middle of nowhere with huge cornfields on either side and across the street. I squinted at the sign as we passed, smiling when I read ‘The Church in the Cornfield’ under the name. Everything seemed so much simpler here than in the city.
When we’d circled back around t
o Carrington Street, Dad parked in front of the general store and we got out. Hank was leaning in the doorway again, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“I guess there’s a library back here somewhere,” Dad said, heading in the opposite direction. I trailed along after him, following him down a short alley to an old house that had been converted into a library.
When I was little, books had been my dad’s and my ‘thing’. Mom loved to read too, but Dad was the one who took me to the bookstore every Sunday and to the library anytime I asked. Once a month he’d take me to the library at the university where he worked, and I’d wander the stacks, fingers trailing reverently over the spines of hundreds of old volumes.
It wasn’t until I was in high school that Dad let me check out the occasional book from the university library, but I was happy just to be there with him in the presence of all those tomes. We often tried to get Ella to come along, but she preferred to stay home playing by herself. Eventually Mom stepped in and decided to make Sundays Mom and Ella days, and she’d take my sister wherever she wanted to go, just the two of them.
I’d forgotten about that until now. The memory made me wonder yet again how Ella could think I was Mom’s favourite. We didn’t have special Mom and Charlotte days, but then a voice in my head—one that sounded an awful lot like Ella—said that was because every day was Mom and Charlotte day.
“They have a pretty good selection for a small island library,” Dad whispered to me, once again breaking into my thoughts. I hadn’t even realized we were inside the library. I must have followed along on autopilot, my mind so stuck in the past I hadn’t been aware of what I was doing. That was kind of a scary thought.
I cast a glance around, taking in the checkout desk to the left and the stacks of books straight ahead. I could hear the faint click-clack of fingers on a keyboard, and figured there must be an area with computers behind the stacks.
“Hi there!” a pleasant voice called. I hadn’t noticed the librarian behind the desk, but she scurried out now, offering a hand to my dad, then me. I was terrible at guessing adults’ ages, but I estimated her to be in her mid-forties; she was medium height with short curly hair, a summery dress, and flat shoes. “You must be the O’Dells. I’m Shelley, the head librarian. When I heard you were a professor, I didn’t think it’d be long before we’d be seeing you in here.”
Shelley and Dad fell into conversation about his job and what it was like to teach in the city. I excused myself, wandering over to the bulletin board by the desk. There was a flyer for the concert Kennedy and Miranda had mentioned last night, a notice about a block yard sale coming up in two weeks, and a small card with a hand-written advertisement for repairs, minor construction, and yard work with Ezra’s name and phone number. The number was easy, and I repeated it to myself several times before it was etched in my brain.
Just in case, I thought.
I was about to turn away when I noticed one more flyer. It had been turned over slightly, as if caught in a breeze from someone walking by. I flattened it out and read ‘Volunteers wanted at the library, please ask Shelley for information’.
“I don’t suppose you’re interested,” Shelley said from behind me. I jumped, nearly ripping the page from the board. “Sorry, dear,” she said with a light, tinkling laugh. “I’m a quiet walker. Occupational hazard.”
I smoothed out the paper. “What would a volunteer do?”
“Odd jobs mostly,” Shelley replied, slipping behind the desk and sitting in her swiveling chair. “Shelving books, unpacking boxes of new arrivals, that sort of thing. I’m hoping to get someone young and creative to maybe help me come up with a literacy campaign for the next school year. I’m also hoping to find a replacement for our story time reader who’s going on maternity leave in mid-July.” She cocked her head to the side and studied me. “Any of that interest you?”
As a matter of fact, it did. Maybe not the story telling part—I didn’t have much experience with kids—but I’d love to be around books, and I could probably come up with some ideas for the literacy campaign.
But…there was that annoying little voice in my head again. I wasn’t sure who it sounded like this time, and I tried to ignore the thought that it simply sounded like me. I wasn’t used to being around people anymore. Plus I was an insomniac, up all night and sleeping half the day. That would make it pretty difficult to commit to regular hours.
Shelley must have sensed my hesitation. “You think about it. I know it’s summer and you probably just want to take it easy, but any help you could give would be greatly appreciated.” She smiled warmly at me.
I was saved from having to answer when a college-age girl came to check out a pile of books.
With a little wave to Shelley, I headed into the stacks. I meandered around for a bit, picking up a couple of books by local authors, then found Dad in the history section.
“Oh good, you found something,” he said. “If you hadn’t been able to find anything you wanted, I was going to take you to the bookstore and let you pick something out.” He gave me the first genuine smile I’d seen from him in ages. He instantly looked ten years younger. It was just a quick flash, but I’d seen a glimpse of the old Dad, and it gave me hope. “I suppose we still could. Your mother used to say…” He faltered and looked away. I didn’t expect him to finish the thought, so I was surprised when he did. “Your mother used to say I’d spoil you. I said there were worse things to spoil a child with than books.”
I laughed lightly, imagining Mom telling Dad that with a teasing glint in her eyes. “It’s true,” I agreed. “Parents these days spend hundreds of dollars on video games that rot kids’ minds. At least yours was—”
“An investment in your future,” he finished for me, his voice quiet. “Your mom used to say that, too.”
I noticed the change in him instantly. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes took on a faraway haze as if he was seeing something I couldn’t. I wondered if it would always be like this when we talked about Mom. I desperately wanted to talk about her to someone, but Ella was out of the question, and now it seemed Dad was too if he was going to shut down every time.
“I forgot to bring a list of what I need, so I think I’m done here,” he said in a hollow voice. “I’m just going to go wait in the car. You take your time.”
“Dad, wait,” I called after him, but he walked past me, nodding absently at Shelley as he passed on his way to the door.
Shelley glanced my way, concern and sympathy etched on her features. When she’d introduced herself, she’d been one of the first people who hadn’t looked at me with that ‘poor little Charlotte’ look. I told myself that wasn’t how she was looking at me now, but I felt resentment and embarrassment bubble up inside me over the fact she’d witnessed a moment I wished could have been private.
I considered putting the books back on the shelf and slipping out, but I knew that would be ridiculous, so I walked slowly to the counter and set them on the desk.
“I got a library card all ready for you,” Shelley said, her expression back to normal. I smiled at her gratefully, and when she nodded I thought she understood. “It’s a two week loan, one renewal allowed. You can do that online, or here at the desk.”
“The library has a website?” I asked.
Shelley grinned at my surprised tone. “We do. It’s actually quite popular—even off-island, believe it or not. We have a blog section where we get locals to contribute reviews, talk about signings and events, that sort of thing. It’s falling a bit behind because I haven’t had time to update it lately, and with summer vacation here most of the kids who contribute are busy doing other things.” She shrugged and pushed my books across the desk toward me. “That’s something else I was hoping a volunteer might be willing to help me with.” She gave me a meaningful smile. “No pressure, but you think about it, okay?”
“I will,” I promised. “Thanks, Shelley.”
When I returned to the car, Dad wasn’t in the driver�
�s seat. I glanced up and down the street, and was about to go searching for him when he walked out of the diner carrying a take-out bag.
I slipped into the passenger seat, and he got in beside me, handing me the bag. “I could smell fish and chips as soon as I stepped out of the library, and since they’re your favourite…” He angled his head to look at me, his expression half apologetic, half pleading. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to do more exploring today. And I’m sorry about…” He waved a hand in the general direction of the library.
“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” I said, peeking into the bag at the grease-soaked containers so I could avoid looking into his sad eyes. He’d remembered to get extra tartar sauce—which I loved—and which proved he did have moments of clarity. “We have all summer to explore.”
“You’re too good to me,” Dad said softly, pulling the car away from the curb. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”
I sighed quietly. “We take care of each other,” I told him. I hoped the words rang truer for him than they did for me. “That’s what you do when you love someone.”
*****
That night after sunset, I planted myself in the sand behind the little hill on the beach. I didn’t really feel like being social, but I also didn’t want to sit in the house any longer, especially when I’d probably end up being awake all night.
When Dad had pulled into the driveway after our little excursion, my gaze automatically went next door, but Ezra’s car was still gone. I hadn’t seen any sign of him the rest of the evening, but lights shone from inside his house now.
I recited his phone number in my head and briefly considered calling him, but I had no idea what to say. I’d probably just end up embarrassing myself and making him think I was crazy.
Laughter and happy shouts came from further down the beach, drawing my attention in that direction. The bonfire had been lit right at sunset, and there seemed to be even more kids around than usual.
“Why are you hiding all the way over here by yourself?”