by Tudor Robins
I’ve been through three sinks of water, and my hands are like two prunes, when Carl comes in from mowing the lawn. His hair clings to his head, t-shirt is stuck to his shoulders. Maybe doing dishes in (partial) air-conditioning isn’t the worst job today.
He throws the mail down on the kitchen table. “Hey Meg, there’s something here for you.”
“Me?” I assume he means a story in the local newspaper I’ll be interested in, or a catalogue I might want to look through. But no: as soon as I’ve dried my hands, he holds out a slip of stiff card stock.
I take it, read it, furrow my brows, look back at him. “What is it?”
“You tell me.”
“It says I have a parcel at the bus station.”
“Well, then, I guess you have a parcel at the bus station.”
“But what? From who? Who would send something for me by bus?” I double-check: my name on the slip, followed by Betsy and Carl’s address.
Carl shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Ooooh! Now I really want to know. Do you think they’d tell me if I call?”
He smiles. “Why don’t you come over to Kingston with me this afternoon? The dishwasher repair place is up by the bus station. We can swing by.”
“Really? You’d take me?”
“I don’t see why not. I doubt Betsy’s going to want you to weed the garden in this heat, and I’m sure nobody should be doing any cooking in this house.”
“I. Am. So. Excited.”
“Well, excited, get out of the way now so I can haul this ridiculous dishwasher out.”
**********
A midday trip into the village, and across to Kingston, means a chance to buy a sandwich at the bakery and eat it on the boat while the scenery of the harbour slips by: tour boats, and batches of bobbing sailing dinghies, and, maybe, a tall ship.
And there’s bound to be a breeze on deck.
I run into Jared in the bakery, fishing in his jeans pocket for the extra five cents he needs to pay for his sandwich. I reach across and plunk a nickel on the worn counter.
“There: it’s on me,” I say to him, and, “I’ll have one, too,” to the woman behind the cash.
“Don’t you get lunch at work?” Jared asks. “I wouldn’t be in here if I got Betsy’s cooking for free.” He tips his head to the woman handing him the sandwich. “No offense, Norma.”
“Oh, you couldn’t offend anyone, Jared Strickland.” She winks at me, and I hope the red in my cheeks can be explained away by the extreme heat thrown off by the big, never-off, ovens baking away.
Matching sandwiches in hand, Jared and I step out of the bakery and into a moment of silence, which we both rush to fill at exactly the same time.
“I’m just going …” I start, and “Where are you heading?” Jared asks.
“To Kingston.” I don’t fight my cheeks reddening now; the mystery package hasn’t gotten any less exciting. “Carl has some errands to do, and I have to pick up a package at the bus station.”
“Oh, yeah? Package?”
“Yup! I’m so excited, I love getting packages, I … Sorry. I’m a bit obsessed. What are you doing?”
He holds up his sandwich. “Oh, you know, just getting lunch on my way through the village. Then back to work.”
“OK, well. I’ll be by to see Salem when I get back. Carl’s in line, so I should go find him.”
“Hey Meg, since you’re going over anyway, could I ask you a favour?”
“Of course. Any time.” A car rolls past, the first in a long line coming off the ferry. “I’ve got to get on this boat. Tell me what you need while we walk.”
Jared holds up his hand to stop the next car in the convoy, and we dart across. “It’s my mom’s birthday in a couple of days.”
“Oh! That’s nice.”
“Yes, except I don’t have anything for her. And I was wondering if I could give you some money, and you could pick something up?”
As we pass Carl’s truck, I knock on the passenger side window and point to the front of the line. Mouth ‘See you on board.’
I turn back to Jared. “I thought you were going over soon anyway, to get that tooth looked at.”
He shrugs. “Not quite yet. My appointment’s later. After her birthday.”
“Well, in that case, no problem. Did you order something? Where is it?”
“No. Sorry. I was hoping you could maybe just pick something.”
“Jared! I don’t know your mom that well …”
“Yeah, but you’re a girl. I mean, don’t girls know what to buy for other girls – women – whatever?”
“Sure, why don’t you just randomly buy a present for my dad.”
“OK, OK. Point taken. She was talking to my aunt on the phone the other day about this new store on Princess Street. I think it’s called ‘Bluebird’. Maybe you could go there?”
“What do they sell?”
“I don’t know – things moms like, I guess.”
We’re at the edge of the ramp, now, and the cars from the island are starting to roll over it, loading onto the ferry; their tires clanking rhythmically across the overlapping stamped steel plates.
I put my hand on his arm. “Listen. I’ll try. If I see something that looks good, I’ll get it.”
“Really? You don’t mind?” He reaches into his pocket again. Pulls out his wallet. “Here. Take this.” He holds out a few bills.
I fold them over twice, grip them firmly in my fist. “I’ll do my best!”
**********
As Carl drives us toward the bus station, I have my hand buried in my bag, where I take turns fingering the parcel notice, and Jared’s three twenty-dollar bills.
My stomach flutters every time I wonder what’s in the parcel.
It clenches every time I wonder what on earth I’m going to choose for his mom’s gift. I exhale. I guess whatever they have for sixty dollars at Bluebird.
But the parcel’s first, and definitely the simpler of the two tasks, so as Carl pulls into the parking lot I push gift worries out of my mind.
“The appliance place is just around the corner,” Carl tells me. “Are you OK if I head over there and pick you up here in about fifteen minutes?”
“Of course.” I point to a small patch of green with a sagging picnic table on it. “I’ll wait for you there.”
It doesn’t take long to get the package, but carrying it over to the picnic table is a challenge.
It’s huge.
Not as heavy as it looks, but solid. Nothing rattles as I settle it onto the graffiti-scarred table surface.
It’s über-packaged. I can’t find a loose end of tape anywhere; every crack is covered with thick layers of smooth plastic stuck on evenly and neatly.
I finally find a paper clip in the bottom of my bag, and unfold it so I can slip the sharp end under one of the flaps of the box. With careful forward slices, I work both flaps free. Voila.
I unfold them and my heart speeds up. No way.
I think … but I’m not sure. I reach deeper and feel around. Yes, I’m definitely right. It’s my saddle, wedged tightly in place with my saddle pad, and various bandages. And shoved down the side of the box is something I can pull right out. My beautiful, leather halter. With the plaque still on it: “D Major”. I pull it to my chest and whisper, “Major Disaster.”
My chest aches and swells at the same time. Wow – happy and sad will just about knock you over when they hit together.
I open the note that fell out when I pulled the halter free. It’s simple – one of those cards with a running horse on the front, and blank inside – and has big, slashing printing done in bold Sharpie inside. “Happy Riding, Meg. Love, Mom”
I sit down to wait for Carl, with one hand resting on my precious parcel and the other making use of the amazingly strong mainland cell signal to call my mom.
“Emily Traherne.”
“Mom, hi. It’s me.”
“Oh, Meg. Why are you calling in the
middle of the day? Is something wrong?”
“No, Mom. Nothing’s wrong.”
“So you’re OK? And the cottage is OK? You’re sure?”
“Yes, positive. I …”
“It’s just that I’m in a meeting, so if you’re fine …”
“I’m calling because I’m in Kingston and I just picked up my saddle from the bus station.”
“Oh. It’s there already?”
“Yes. I was so surprised. It’s amazing. Thank you.”
“Well, I just …” She’s quiet for a minute and I pull the phone away from my ear to check the screen; make sure it’s still connected. Put it back in time to hear her say. “I just thought, if you were going to ride, you might as well do it properly.”
“I’ll definitely do it properly now.”
“That’s good, Meg. I’m glad.”
**********
And now for the hard part. Carl lets me out of the car at the bottom of Princess Street.
“I’ll come meet you at the dock.” I promise. “I won’t be long.” I hope …
Where is this place? “Bluebird”. It’s a strange name. I hope Jared remembered it right. What if it’s a totally different bird name? Or a completely different animal? What if I can’t find it?
Oh, wait, here it is.
The floors are natural wood, and the walls are painted blue – not depressing but fresh; calming. I can see why Jared’s mom would like it here.
I’m in it, but I still can’t really say what kind of shop it is. There are clothes, and candles, and pillows, and soap.
There’s too much to choose from in the time I have.
I turn over the price tag on a scarf and cringe. This tiny scarf alone would take all of Jared’s money.
I need to get this right.
“Can I help you?”
A woman, also dressed in blue, smiles at me.
“I’m looking for a gift for a woman. Someone I don’t know very well. A friend’s mother.”
“Ah, and you want to get it just right.”
I nod. “I want her to be happy.” As I say it, I know it’s a lie. I want Jared to be happy with me.
“Well, let’s see …” She puts her hand to her throat, and I blink. “What is it?” she asks.
“Your necklace. It’s amazing.”
She lifts it away from her skin – a small silver leaf on a linked silver chain. “Well, that’s easy, we have lots more.”
She talks as she leads me to the back of the store. “They’re all different of course – hand-made from real leaves – but they’re all beautiful.”
She’s right. They are. Simple, and elegant. I love them all, but there’s a ginkgo leaf, which looks almost like a seashell, that stands out.
But the price. It’s got to be too much.
I point at it. “Could you please tell me how much this one costs?”
The woman flips over the tag, and I exhale. Eighty dollars. Chipping in twenty dollars of my own is a no-brainer.
“I’ll take it.”
Back on the boat I ease open the bag from the jewellery store, lay the necklace on the seat, snap a picture and send it to Slate:
Do you like this?
The answer comes almost immediately:
God, yes. One for me please!
So I’m not the only one in the world who likes it.
But it’s not important if Slate likes it. It’s not even important if Mrs. Strickland likes it. Well, it is, of course, but first Jared has to like it.
What if he doesn’t?
Then I guess he should have gone to buy his mom’s present himself – it’s not my problem.
Yeah, right.
On the way back to the B&B, Carl pulls into Jared’s driveway. “Do you need help?”
“No, I’ll just be a second. I’ll stash the stuff in an empty stall for now, and find a better place for it later.”
I leave Carl listening to the weather forecast while I heft the big box out of the back of the truck.
It’s strange to be here in the middle of the afternoon, when I’d normally be working. The tractor’s nowhere in sight; and Salem and her calf-friends are gathered in the shade of a tree, eyes half-closed, skin twitching against the flies.
In the barn I prop a board across two hay bales, and hang my saddle over it. Carefully snug the cover on, and put the box with the rest of my stuff beside it. Good enough for now.
Now for the necklace. I don’t know when Jared needs it, and I figure I should give him as much time as possible to return it, in case he really hates it, so I use a length of binder twine to hang the velvet jewellery store bag from an old nail beside the blackboard by the barn door.
I find a nub of chalk and scrawl: “As discussed. Hope it’s OK. Receipt in the bag in case you want to change it.” I draw a big, cheerful, happy face.
I wish I was as confident as that smiley face. Wish I could just be happy that Jared asked for my help. If I cared less about him it would be easier, but it’s too late to care less now.
Chapter Nineteen
I wish I could watch what happened here this morning in one of those cool time lapse videos.
7:30 a.m.: Quiet barnyard.
7:45 a.m.: Truck pulls in. Rod, Lacey and Will spill out of the cab. Jared and I appear to help haul things out of the back.
8:00 a.m.: Rod, Will, and Jared measuring the new ring. Pacing a rectangle, standing in corners, pointing to other corners, conferring, shaking heads, nodding heads.
9:00 to 10:30 a.m.: General blur of activity. Lacey and I painting dressage letters. Jared driving the tractor. Rod pointing where he should go. Will being sent back and forth to the truck, and the barn, for miscellaneous tools.
10:45 a.m.: A huge dump truck rumbles in from out of nowhere. Tilts the dumper, slides a massive load of sand onto the edge of the newly prepared rectangle. Gives a final bang-bang to thump the last bits loose, toots its horn and drives off.
Pause for me to run out. “Who was that? What just happened? Where did the sand come from? I can’t believe it! This sand is beautiful. I’ve never seen so much of it.” Me burying my arms in the sand, leading to Lacey and Will burying each other in the sand, causing Jared and Rod to stand back and laugh.
11:00 a.m.: I bring everyone lemonade (it’s still thirty degrees in the shade).
11:15 till just past noon: More tractor use. Pushing sand here, moving it there. Mixing it with the top layer of clay soil. Harrowing it.
As the sun hits its highest point – as all of us are sweaty, with rumbling stomachs and a general air of irritability, Jared steps out of the tractor and we all gather around and say, “Wow.”
“Is it OK?” Jared asks.
“It’s amazing. It’s perfect. I can’t believe it’s here.” I throw my arms out wide. “Now I’m buying everyone lunch!”
“What?” says Jared.
“In the village. Pizza, if that’s OK.”
“You can’t!” But he’s the only one saying it. Rod, and Will, and Lacey are nodding and saying, “Yes please!” and “Pizza!”
In the truck, on the way, Jared tries again. “You can’t buy lunch for all five of us.”
“And you can’t make me a sand ring in one morning.”
“Meg …”
“I work, Jared. I make money.” I point at the truck ahead of us. “They helped me out of the goodness of their hearts. I want to buy everybody pizza.”
“You’re too nice.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re buying everyone lunch. You bailed me out for my mom’s birthday.”
It’s hard to talk casually, and hold my breath at the same time. “So, the necklace was OK?”
He grins, “She cried. In a good way. I knew you’d make a great choice.”
Warmth spreads through me. “I’m glad. I was worried you – I mean she – wouldn’t like it.”
“I would always like anything you chose, Meg. I like everything about you.”
I can’t breathe, think, or form a complete sentence. “Oh. Thanks.”
Jared pulls the truck over in front of the pizza place. “Come on, let’s eat.”
My stomach’s so fluttery that, for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to eat pizza. He likes everything about me.
Turns out Jared’s the one who has trouble eating. Will’s already started his third slice, while Jared’s still working on his first. I catch him wincing.
“That tooth? Still? When are you going to the dentist?”
Lacey mumbles around a mouthful of pizza. “Oh, Jared’ll wait for his tooth to fall out before he goes to the dentist.”
“Why?” I ask. “Are you afraid of the dentist? Is that what this is all about?”
Lacey shakes her head. “It’s not the dentist he’s afraid of …”
“Lacey …” There’s that tone in Jared’s voice again.
This time it’s Rod who breaks in. “That’s enough Lacey. We all have our own particular fears.”
“Not me!” she declares. “And I bet Meg’s not afraid of anything either.”
They all turn to me, and I don’t know whose eyes to meet. I settle on Lacey. “Sure I am, Lace. In fact, in the spring, when my horse died, I was afraid of everything. I was afraid my summer would be ruined, and I’d never love another horse again, and I wouldn’t be happy for a long, long time.”
I shift my eyes to Jared. “And look how wrong I was. Because I met all of you, and I have Salem, and I like every single thing about my summer so far.”
**********
It’s too noisy to talk with the wind rushing through the truck window, so I roll it up. “So, you and Lacey?”
Jared slows as a car turns off the highway in front of us, glances over at me. “Yeah. In some ways she’s more like my little sister than my cousin. Which means I love her more …”
“And she bugs you more.”
He nods. “You got it. I know I should be more patient with her. She’s a lot younger than me.”
I laugh. “I don’t think it has anything to do with her age. Do you really think Lacey’s going to change as she grows up?”
“You’re right. Probably not. And mostly I wouldn’t want her to. It’s just when she pushes my buttons … anyway, enough about that, look over there.” Jared points to a spot on the mainland east of Kingston, where the sky is roiling grey over mist-like lines of rain. “We’re going to get some serious rain. With thunder. And lightning. It’s just a matter of when it hits us.”