“I had to battle post-rush-hour Friday night traffic to get here. So, you’re welcome,” says Mitchell with a mild sheepishness. Bryce turns to me and smiles.
“Thank you for coming to get me. They won’t let me take transit by myself, so this is pretty much my only shot at getting out of the house without my mom, former nanny, or one of the Arbutus House staff.”
“We wouldn’t let you take transit anyway. Not in your condition,” says Mitchell.
“She’s not sick,” says Bryce. His aggravated tone of voice cheers me; he’s defending my honor, sort of. If only I could get over the frown on Mitchell’s face in the rearview mirror. An awkward silence takes over until we turn left onto Commercial Drive.
“What part of the Drive would you like to see?” asks Mitchell.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been on Commercial Drive on foot. Every time Mom and I come to Vancouver, it’s all about downtown,” I say as I look over the storefronts scrolling past us.
“Then you’re in for a treat. This is hipster central. People are calling it just ‘the Drive’ these days. I think some marketer came up with that and put it on ribbons on every other lamppost and now the cool crowd thinks they invented it,” says Bryce. We turn onto a side street and coast past cars parked bumper to bumper.
“It must be a cool neighborhood if there’s nowhere to park,” I say.
“More like Vancouver has too many people for the number of interesting places to hang out,” says Mitchell. We turn another corner, now a block parallel to Com-mercial and finally park.
“I don’t mind it being busy here. I’m a sucker for trendy hangouts. Remember how much there is to do in Nelson? The tourists usually last a week and they’ve burned it all up.” I’m using my best all-is-cool-and-normal voice. Deep down I wish Mitchell would stay in the car while Bryce and I explore the Drive.
“I remember. Vancouver may be crazy, but there’s literally no end of things to do,” says Bryce.
“Dad says the city will never justify the cost of real estate. I agree with him,” says Mitchell. We get out of the car and Mitchell assesses his parking job, not satisfied, while Bryce plugs change into the parking meter.
“You guys don’t use your phones for parking?”
“Listen to you. Big city already. Or has Nelson upgraded the parking meters since we moved?” says Bryce.
“Patty used her phone to pay for parking when we went to the library the other day. We went to the Central branch downtown.”
“Good to hear you didn’t just come to the city to crash in our basement,” says Mitchell. His sarcastic tone and smirk suggest he’s joking, but I can’t shake the vibe that Bryce’s brother would rather be elsewhere.
“Hey, why don’t you go check out that model-building shop towards Venables Street?” Bryce says to Mitchell.
“Aren’t I supposed to be chaperoning this little tour?”
“I seriously doubt the Arbutus House ladies will have any way of knowing if you don’t stick with us the whole time,” I say, doing my best to sound nonchalant. Mitchell eyes us both carefully.
“If you take off — either of you — I’m not going to cover for you.”
“No worries. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m playing by the book from now on.” I lift my hand in a pledge of truth.
“Give me a shred of credit. Just go,” says Bryce. He’s straddling a fine line between staying on Mitchell’s good side and speaking his mind. The mind seems to be on my side.
“We’ll meet back here in an hour. That gives you guys time to wander around and we’ll still have Katelyn back before her pass expires. Don’t get into trouble.” Mitchell shakes his head and walks off.
Bryce and I cross the road heading in the opposite direction.
“He’s really not excited about driving us around, is he?”
“It’s not that. He finished the year second in his math class. Dad is not happy and he’s making Mitchell study all summer.”
“Ouch. Does your dad know why you both came out today?”
“Yes and no. He knows we’re showing you around the Drive. He doesn’t know you’re in a home for youth. We left that part out. He maybe kind of thinks you’re staying with your mom’s friend.” Bryce looks away. We need a new topic of conversation. We arrive at back at Commercial next to a pet store.
“So, what part of the Drive should I see first? This is your town now. Lead the way to whatever is awesome.”
“Okay. There’s a great gelato place around the corner.”
“Perfect! I’m not much of a smoothie person anyway.”
“So, how are things going, being at Arbutus House?”
I stop and think before I answer. If I tell the truth, I keep Bryce in the loop on the fact that I still believe in Akasha.
“It’s tough. I never would have thought that having a couple of quirky ideas would land me in mental health treatment. Mom is so sure there’s something physically wrong. I feel fine. I’m not sick or crazy.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re crazy. Neither does Mom, but she won’t say so in front of Dad.” The image of Bryce’s mother smiling in her kitchen flashes in my mind’s eye. Radhika might sym-pathize with me, if I get a chance to talk to her and tell my side of the story properly.
We pass a spice shop, a clothing boutique, and a book shop. The window of an antique store catches my eye — its display includes a crystal ball resting in a ceramic dragon claw hand, a stack of tarot cards, a handful of runes, and a sun-bleached yellow-and-black Ouija board.
“Can we look inside?”
“Sure, we still have time.”
The aromas of amber and sandalwood are thick in the smoky air of the shop. Incense has been burning here for a long time. A middle-aged woman with long flowing salt-and-pepper hair reads a book behind the counter.
“Excuse me, is the stuff in your window for sale?” I ask her. Bryce browses, peering into the curio cabinets.
“What were you looking at?” The woman rises from her chair and walks to the window.
“I’m interested in the Ouija board.”
“That’s a lovely one, isn’t it? Are you thinking of it for personal use or a gift? These vintage boards are pretty popular right now.” I’m not sure if she’s making conversation or trying to sell me the value of an item that’s overpriced.
“It’s just for me.”
She hands me the board and an inverted heart-shaped instrument with a magnifying glass in the middle.
“This is called a planchette.”
“How much for both of them?”
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Bryce frowning at me.
“Twenty-five for the set. You can’t buy one without the other. It’s bad juju to break a board and planchette pairing, particularly one that’s been used for so long.” The saleswoman has a deadpan expression I can’t read, other than taking her at face value. I do not believe in juju, but my personal experience compels me to believe in the capacity of the dead to communicate.
“Would you take twenty? It’s all I’ve got with me. My mom took my bank card. It’s a long story.”
The saleswoman hums and haws.
“I’ve got five bucks,” says Bryce. He’s still frowning, but he’s already holding a blue bill out to us.
“Thanks. You don’t have to do that,” I say sheepishly.
My new used Ouija board is wrapped up and we’re back out on the street, me holding a paper bag a few minutes later.
“Let me just ask this: are you going to get in trouble for having that thing? Not that I think you’re going to accomplish anything, but you’re supposed to put that dream and diary stuff behind you, right? At least as far as Arbutus House is concerned, yes?”
“They don’t need to see this. They don’t search my stuff and they won’t unless I give them a r
eason. My sessions with Jane are going well. She’ll be calling Dr. Werdiger soon to re-evaluate me for release. I know the difference between real and pretend, so I don’t see the harm.” My stomach wrenches. I badly want Bryce to be an ally, like Patty.
“I trust you. I wouldn’t rat you out. I still think it’s bizarre that you’re in therapy for this stuff to begin with.”
“It’s because I ran away, remember? The deal with the almost-Amber-Alert and all that. Otherwise it would have been a simple visit to a psychiatrist.”
“Well, at least you get to hang out with me for a while in Vancouver.”
“Yeah, you’re the real reason I ran from my mom and got myself on the hook for over a month of therapy.”
Bryce laughs. I swallow hard and do my best to laugh with him.
Chapter 12
It is a Tuesday afternoon in late July. I am in my bed-room at Arbutus House, unwrapping the brown paper layers taped around my Ouija board. I doubt very much that anyone’s past life has ever made contact with this board. I feel silly as I lay the thing as flat as I can on my comforter. Perhaps feeling silly is what I need. If I feel outright ridiculous for long enough — and get no more messages from Akasha — maybe I can go home and put everything behind me.
Rayanne will be in a session with Jane for another half hour. I have time to commune, so I set the planchette down and place my fingertips on the edges. I’ve seen Ouija boards in movies; they’re not complicated to use.
I concentrate and think of Akasha’s face reflected at me in the mirror above the mantel in the Edwardian sitting room. Nothing happens. I open my eyes to a slit, looking down at the board. Nothing. I try again, eyes shut. I picture every setting where I have seen Akasha; we are on the boat, in the temple, in the sitting room again, on a grassy clifftop. I wait and concentrate, looping through images in my mind. Nothing.
“What the hell is this?” says Rayanne. Startled, I sit up straight and whip my head around to the door.
“I, uh, I thought you were meeting with Jane.”
“Yeah, I was. Aren’t you not supposed to be talking to the dead anymore?” Rayanne is far less understanding than Bryce.
“Are you going to tell Jane or Mariah?” My heart is racing, but my words are under control. There was always a chance of getting caught.
“Nah, you’re good.”
“It doesn’t work, anyway. Not for me.”
“Smoke a jay first. That’ll put you in the right state of mind. You’ll probably feel a spirit whether there’s one or not.” Rayanne laughs.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never smoked pot before.” Although Rayanne is a few years older than me, she still seems so young to be dabbling in drugs, even marijuana.
“Doesn’t surprise me. You’ve got ‘golden child’ writ-ten all over you. But if you’re into all this spirit stuff, don’t let them tell you you’re nuts. Just take it to the park so you won’t get caught.”
“I can’t use a day pass without an escort.”
“I’m fifteen. I’ve got a pass left. Let’s go.”
I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t really think of an objection.
“Don’t worry; I’m not going to smoke pot. I’ve only got a few cigarettes on me.”
“Can I get a rain check? We’ve got the family barbeque tonight, remember?”
“That thing? My parents won’t be showing up to eat hot dogs with my jailers.”
“Well, my mom’s coming, and so is my old nanny. They’re bound to notice if I duck out.”
“Fair enough. But I might not be around when you decide the time is right.”
“It’s a risk I’ll have to take.” I’m a little relieved, but a small part of me thinks she might be right. I’ll need a peaceful safe place to make the Ouija work. On edge in my Arbutus House room just waiting to get caught isn’t exactly the best way to relax.
The Arbutus House family barbeque proves every bit as awkward as I expected it to be. The picnic table in the backyard has a plastic red-and-white tablecloth stapled around the edges like a fitted sheet. Hot dogs, freezer burgers, potato chips, and condiments cover the table.
All of us girls are directed to set the table and hang decorations around the yard. The back wall of the house gets a welcome banner courtesy of Yolanda and Melody. Therese and I set the table. As tacky as she comes across, I still have a hard time picturing Therese with her bright smile and porcelain skin standing on a street corner, offering herself to the night. Likewise, I cannot picture Melody irrational and talking nonsense. As I arrange sets of cutlery, I wonder if I am more like Yolanda, for running away from home, or Melody for seeing things nobody else saw. I try to puzzle out which of us will go home and put our lives back together and which of us will keep going down the roads less travelled.
Melody’s parents arrive, followed by Therese’s older sister. Yolanda’s parents and brother follow. As she predicted, no family comes for Rayanne. I’m starting to feel anxious about my own guests being absent. On cue, the gate latch clinks again.
“Katelyn, how are you, honey?” says Patty as I look up with a mouth full of food. Patty leans down to give me a hug, but Mom hangs back at the gate to the yard, already chatting with someone while holding a supermarket vegetable platter.
“What’s this? Did Mom make a friend already?”
“That’s your friend Bryce’s mother. We bumped into them out front and they got to chatting.”
Bryce steps out from behind Radhika and Mom. I had completely forgotten mentioning the barbeque to him. The mothers turn and smile at me, both waving as though greeting a preschooler.
Therese glides over to Bryce and introduces herself. Bryce looks so confused I almost laugh. I’m curious about what she’s saying, but Mom and Radhika close the gap to meet me.
“Hi, sweetie. Isn’t it so nice that the Manns could join us?” Mom’s obviously forced, high pitch enthusiasm gives away how uncomfortable she is.
“Is the whole family here?”
“Just Bryce and me,” says Radhika.
Her melodic voice reminds me of the time Mom com-mented on the perfection of her English. Embarrassed, I reminded Mom that Radhika had been born in Canada, like her own father. Professor Mann had moved to Canada to marry Radhika, so he did have an accent. It could have been worse; Mom could have peppered Radhika with questions about arranged marriage.
“I see you’ve already got lots of veggie snacks. Why don’t I just pop this into the kitchen?” Mom smiles and trots off to find a home for her vegetables. I’m left with my fists in my pockets smiling at Radhika and survey-ing the backyard while Patty chats with Mariah and Therese continues flirting with Bryce.
“How are you feeling now, dear?” says Radhika. The quiet concern in her voice makes it difficult to feel irritated.
“I’m fine. If you ask me, this thing is just a big mis-understanding. I’m not sick and I was just being goofy.” I brush the whole thing aside to keep her from worrying and to prevent a drawn-out discussion of my mental health.
“Bryce told me the same thing. I’m just worried about you.”
“Thanks. It’s going well. I’ll be going home soon.” And then a thought strikes me. “Hey, this may sound odd, but have you ever heard of a steamship called the Komagata Maru? It was —”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.” Radhika cuts me off, a curious furrow in her brow.
“I thought you might have. I’m … looking into it for a class project.” I can’t imagine I sound convincing, but she couldn’t possibly know why I’m really interested.
“I might be able to help. My grandfather came to Canada on that ship.”
“Really? Are you sure? The research I’ve been doing says hardly any passengers were admitted.”
“I’m quite sure about it.”
“That’s great. I mean, that you’ve got personal knowledg
e, not that your grandfather had to go through all that.” I’m fumbling for an appropriately tactful response when Mom and Bryce simultaneously return.
“If you’d like to come by the house before you leave, I’ll try to find a photograph of my grandfather, and maybe see if I have any letters or papers of his,” says Radhika.
“Why would you dig up an old photo of Great Grandpa?” says Bryce.
“I was going to ask the same thing,” says Mom, eyeing me with suspicion. Patty rejoins us and I feel more confident with backup.
“Just a class project. Totally harmless historical research. Patty also helped me the other day at the library.” Mom’s eyebrows lift. This is the first she’s heard of it.
“It’s no trouble, Becky, really,” says Radhika, softly reassuring my distrustful mom. “A lot of boxes got stuffed in the basement after our move. I’ve been looking for an excuse to go through them.”
“Speaking of boxes, remember I’m moving offices tomorrow and it’s going to be a long day. Can we call it a night?” Patty stares Mom down while tapping an imaginary watch.
Mom and Patty hug me and say goodbye. Others are leaving as well, prompting Radhika and Bryce to do the same. I walk all my guests to the gate and quickly retreat to the back step. I’m in no hurry to get started on clean-up.
“Why don’t you go see a psychic? Vancouver is full of them,” says Melody as she sits down next to me.
“What?” I’m shocked that Melody has been following my personal drama.
“I overheard you talking to Rayanne in your room today. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. If you can’t get your Ouija board to work, you should think about seeing a professional.”
Melody’s use of the word professional leaves me struck dumb. I look at her for a long moment and nod slowly.
An hour later, I am lying in bed, my thoughts racing. What do I want to learn from a psychic? Should I ask about the house in the West End? Or should I say nothing and maybe get an entirely new lead? Am I truly prepared to have the session produce no results, further solidifying my return home?
To be honest, I do not fully and completely believe in Ouija boards and psychics, not any more than I believe in crosses and crucifixes. Only the sense that I have come too far to let it all go keeps me grasping at straws. Confusion and frustration finally exhaust me to the point where I let sleep take me.
Secrets from Myself Page 7