Shadow Girl

by Patricia Morrison

  It’s one thing to be scared. It’s another when your best friend is scared for you.

  “Gee. Over Christmas, Jules. And you gotta stay with people you don’t even know.”

  Strange how Patsy’s the only one who speaks the truth.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Foster.

  Jules knew the word but wondered why it was used to describe what she was, what Mr. and Mrs. Chapman were. She looked it up in an old dictionary she found in the Chapman basement. “Foster: to bring up or nurse; to encourage, to promote; to cherish.”

  Cherish.

  Jules spent a long time in the bathroom the first morning of school after the holidays, searching her face, trying to figure out if what had happened to her – what she was – showed. It was January 6, the day of the Epiphany.

  My face is pale, colorless, as always. My eyes look as if they’re bulging out of my head, like my soul is trying to escape my body. If I keep my eyes down, maybe they won’t notice.

  “Jules, you’re old enough to make your own lunch,” Mrs. Chapman told her when she got downstairs. “I have enough to do. I’ve left out what I want you to have.”

  Bread and bologna. Ha!

  When she got to class, Mrs. Fournier gave her a knowing look.

  Shut up. If you say anything, I’ll kill you.

  None of the kids in her class acted differently toward her. Yet. It was good being back at school, though. She didn’t expect to feel that. She could pretend she was normal for at least part of the day.

  Jules asked Patsy if she wanted to come over to the Chapmans’ after school. Having Patsy inside that house with her might be good. Her old regular life could soften the new, and she might not feel so out of place.

  “Nice house,” Patsy said as they walked around to the back door.

  “I guess.”

  It felt pretty bare inside after all the Christmas decorations were put away. The furniture wasn’t old or run-down, but there wasn’t much of it. Mrs. Chapman was always complaining about how she needed a new this or that – washing machine, car, clothes for the girls. Mr. Chapman said they’d be able to afford a whole lot more if their kids didn’t have to go to a private Catholic school.

  Mrs. Chapman said he was welcome to pull them out, but it would have to be over her dead body. “They’re going to be raised properly, to be ladies, if it takes every last penny we’ve got!”

  Mr. Chapman dressed like a businessman, and Jules thought every businessman had money, but maybe the insurance company he worked for wasn’t successful.

  The Chapman family really was like the families her dad talked about, the ones who had fancy-looking houses on the outside but ate Kraft Dinner every night on the inside.

  Jules and Patsy found Mrs. Chapman in the living room, watching TV. A soap opera.

  “This is Patsy, my friend.”

  “Oh. Hi there,” Mrs. Chapman said without looking away from the screen.

  “Can she stay over and play?”

  Mrs. Chapman looked as if she’d just been zapped by a monster mosquito. “Well, Jules, you know what I told you. You should check with me first.”

  That’s what I’m doing.

  “I like to know ahead of time.”

  “It’s okay,” Patsy said quickly.

  Mrs. Chapman looked at Patsy. “Some other day.”

  “Can I show her the room?”

  “Of course.”

  There wasn’t much to see. Patsy stayed only a few minutes.

  As soon as the front door closed, Mrs. Chapman called out from the living room, “Now get yourself changed and start your homework – if you have any.”

  Jules was starving. “Could I have a sandwich or maybe an orange?”

  “We’re going to have dinner soon. I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”

  Jules went up to the room and made her fort.

  What can I imagine? It’s white all around me. I’m in a snow castle, standing on a battlement, a knight looking below to where the enemy troops gather.…

  Thump!

  “What’s that noise? What’s going on up there?” Mrs. Chapman yelled from downstairs.

  Jules picked herself up off the floor, went into the hallway, and leaned over the banister so that Mrs. Chapman could see her. “I was sleeping. Fell out of bed.”

  Had my nightmare again.

  “For heaven’s sake, Jules! What a lot of noise you made. And look at you. Haven’t even changed out of your uniform. Please get it off.” Mrs. Chapman turned her attention back to the TV.

  When the girls got home, Jules heard them turn on “American Bandstand.” She forced herself to go downstairs. Marilyn had brought a friend home.

  I wonder if she has permission.

  They all said hi when Jules came into the living room and sat down.

  “This is Jules,” Marilyn said. “One of our foster kids.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Just her. But we always have one or two around.”

  “Oh.”

  Jules felt her face get hot.

  “She’s at Our Lady of Peace. Grade 7.”

  “How was it? Today at school?” Jules threw the question out into the room, hoping either Marilyn or Veronica would pick it up.

  Veronica didn’t. She kept her head stuck in a Seventeen magazine.

  “The usual,” Marilyn replied and began talking to her friend about volleyball practice.

  When “American Bandstand” was over, the three of them left Jules and went upstairs.

  “Jules had a nightmare today. Screamed blue murder and fell out of bed,” Mrs. Chapman said, laughing, as they ate dinner. “Gave me quite a shock.”

  “Oh,” Mr. Chapman said. He looked at Jules as if she were one of the blocks of wood in his basement workshop.

  “I’d have nightmares too if my father –”

  “Veronica!”

  “Well …?”

  “Jules just had a bad dream, didn’t you?” Mrs. Chapman said.

  Jules hung her head over her plate.

  That night, she couldn’t calm herself down. The rocking chair was near the window. She could have turned it sideways so that she’d be able to sit and look out, but Jules hated rocking chairs. When you sat in one, you had to move back and forth, unless you used your legs and feet to keep the chair still. But that wasn’t relaxing.

  She preferred to rock her body to her own rhythm, wrapping her arms around her ribcage and holding on.

  Taking a blanket from the bed, she sat on the floor in front of the window. The window was too high for her to see outside very well, unless she knelt by the sill, but she could still see parts of the sky.

  The moon might be there. Stars or clouds. But outside it’s dark. That’s all that matters. I’ll send my thoughts out of me, set them against the night sky, and try to leave them there.

  It was possible to do. It had always been possible to do.

  CHAPTER

  16

  January 18. Saturday. Jules waited for her dad.

  She didn’t have a watch. She didn’t need one to know when he was supposed to show up. She’d been downstairs in the kitchen, sitting by herself, but she’d had to come up because her thoughts were crashing against the walls.

  The phone rang.

  “Jules, Jules, it’s your dad,” Mrs. Chapman called up from the kitchen. “He wants to talk to you.” She came downstairs slowly and took the phone. “Hi, honey.”

  “Hi.”

  “Uh, I’m sorry, Jules. Tracie and I were supposed to get a lift with Hank, but he never showed up. Too late to get there now. But I promise I’ll be there next week.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, what’re you going to do today?”

  Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  “Probably play at Patsy’s or Teresa’s.”

  “Good. That’s good. Okay. Have a nice time, and we’ll see you next week. We’ll have fun.”

  “Yeah.”

  I�
�m not going to let you hang up yet.

  “Dad … you went to court, Eileen said.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She said I’m a ward, in the care of Children’s Aid for three months.”

  He sighed into the phone. “Not even that, you know. It’s temporary, just for now. Until I get myself sorted out. So don’t worry about it one bit. We can talk about it when we meet up.”

  “I miss you, Dad.”

  “Miss you, too, Jules. Gotta go. Bye.”

  Jules couldn’t say good-bye, couldn’t look at Mrs. Chapman as she hung up the phone.

  My chest and stomach hurt. If I have to stay here the whole afternoon, I’ll go crazy. The plaza. I’ll go to the plaza.

  Mrs. Chapman gave her permission to go, plus fifty cents spending money.

  She headed out into the cold.

  A part of Jules wanted to be angry with Mrs. Adamson – for all time. But another part knew that Mrs. Adamson hadn’t meant to make her life miserable.

  As Jules pushed the door open to Zellers, her heart beat faster. She felt as if all the employees were staring at her. She kept her head down. She could get to where she wanted to go without looking up.

  Candy department first. No candy canes, Christmas candies, chocolate Santas – except for some stuff on a table shoved to the side. Half price. Discarded.

  Then the toy department. Mrs. Adamson was at the cash register. Jules wandered toward the dolls and stuffed animals. Mrs. Adamson spotted her and rushed over. She looked as if she wanted to grab Jules. Jules moved sideways, so that wouldn’t happen.

  “It’s so good to see you!” Mrs. Adamson said in a loud shaky voice. “I was so worried! How are you?” Jules did not look up.

  “I tried calling Eileen. But with the holidays …”

  Shut up about it.

  Jules started to walk away.

  “Stay, please. Um … your doll’s been moved. We changed the display. It’s over there.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you …? You wanted it for Christmas. Did your dad … did anyone?”

  “No.” Jules’s lips trembled.

  “Are you going to be in the store for a while?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m going on a break at three-fifteen. Would you like to have a drink at the Canadiana?”

  “Uh …”

  Say yes? Say no?

  “I have to be back by four-thirty,” Jules said.

  “There’s enough time. It’ll be easier to talk over there. What do you say?”

  “All right.”

  Jules fooled around the toy department and read books, then she and Mrs. Adamson walked to the restaurant. Mrs. Adamson ordered coffee for herself, a pop for Jules.

  “I’m so glad you came in today. I was so worried! I couldn’t reach Eileen at first. Then I called after Christmas and asked what had happened. But there’s only so much she could tell me. It was awful not knowing, particularly … particularly because I felt responsible. And I … I knew what a hard time you were having. I only wanted to help, Jules. I hope you understand that.”

  Despite everything, Jules couldn’t bring herself to hate Mrs. Adamson.

  She really cares about me for some stupid reason. Not like Eileen. Or Mrs. Chapman.

  “You’re here so often. I thought we’d become friends, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Okay” is a lousy word that hides a lot. I’m not okay.

  “Did you … did your dad …?”

  “They found him. He came back.”

  “So you’re togeth –”

  Jules cut her off fast. “No. I’m in a foster home.”

  “And your dad?”

  “My dad …” Jules felt tears rising up. She waited until she could talk. “My dad’s staying at a friend’s house. We’re not going to live in the same place we did. We’ll probably move away from here.”

  So nobody can poke their noses into our business anymore. I need to protect us. My dad’s a good person, no matter what anybody says or thinks.

  “The social worker told me I have to stay at the foster home, but just until … he’s ready. Settled.”

  Mrs. Adamson reached over and touched Jules’s hand. “I’m sorry, Jules.”

  Why? Because Jules and Joe Doherty are screwed up?

  “How is it? At the foster home?”

  What kind of question is that? I don’t even have the words to describe it to myself.

  “It’s okay.”

  That stupid word again.

  “It can’t be easy for you.”

  If I start to feel sorry for myself or show how sad I am – right here, right now – I’m doomed.

  “No.”

  “And Christmas?”

  Tears fought their way back up again. “My dad came over in the morning. It was fine.”

  She’d never seen Mrs. Adamson act so nervous, look so upset. Maybe she understood how hard it was for Jules to talk about all the bad.

  Mrs. Adamson began to ask her about other things, like school and Patsy, and that gave Jules a chance to relax. She told Mrs. Adamson bits and pieces about the past few weeks, only what she wanted to tell.

  “My break’s almost over. Do you want to come back with me to the toy department?”

  “No. I’m gonna go ho–. I’m going to go back.”

  “You’re welcome to stay and read. And look at the toys. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  Mrs. Adamson looked as if she wanted to say something more but didn’t know how to begin. She glanced shyly at Jules. “Um … I’ve asked Eileen about this, and maybe – if you like – you could visit us, my family and me, some Saturday. I don’t work every weekend.”

  “I visit with my dad on Saturdays.”

  “Oh.”

  Today is Saturday.

  “Well, maybe on a Sunday then, after church? If it’s okay with your dad, of course. I’ve already mentioned to Eileen that you and I have become friends. So I told her about me and my family and gave her references – that sort of thing. I’d love to have you visit us so we can get to know each other better.”

  No! I hate everybody and everything. And why would anyone want to be with me, Jules the nothing?

  But Mrs. Adamson isn’t like other people.

  “I guess.”

  “Great!” Mrs. Adamson gave her a bright smile. “I’ll get in touch with Eileen, and we can arrange something.”

  “Sure.”

  When Jules left the restaurant, part of her felt good, but another part was aching.

  CHAPTER

  17

  January 25.

  “Tracie can’t come today. She’s gotta work.”

  “That’s okay. We can do something together.” But sitting inside, talking, playing board games –it wasn’t them, wasn’t how Jules and her father were with each other. They decided to go for a walk.

  “Dad, why don’t you get a pair of skates? Some skate shops sell them secondhand. We could go to Wedgewood next time. Or the rink on Montgomery.”

  “You think I wanna wear somebody else’s castoffs?”

  When Jules was eight or nine, her dad used to get together with his work buddies and play hockey on Saturday afternoons. She remembered standing against the boards of the outdoor rinks they went to, watching him.

  Most adults looked like strong skaters no matter what – because they were big. But Jules could tell that her dad stood out from the rest of the men he played with. She’d never seen anyone skate as fast as he did or play hockey so well. He’d been on the hockey team at St. Mike’s in Toronto, with a scholarship when he was a teenager, but his mom pulled him out of school to work.

  But, oh, today … he doesn’t look good. And he smells of alcohol. He’s only thirty-five, but he looks like an old man.

  Jules didn’t want him to be around the Chapmans and hated herself for feeling that way.

  He was quieter than usual this afternoon.

  “So who’s this Mr
s. Adamson you want to visit? Is she the one who reported me?”

  That’s what’s bugging him.

  Jules was silent.

  I wouldn’t tell him the truth in a million years.

  “I don’t like it one bit. I was … I had too much on my mind when you and the social worker phoned me this week, but now that I think about it, I don’t want you hanging around that goddamn store or the people who work there. Ever. When I get back to Tracie’s, I’m going to call and get the visit cancelled.”

  No!

  “It’s Saturday today. You might not be able to reach anybody at Children’s Aid. And the visit’s tomorrow.”

  He thought about that for a minute.

  He won’t want to make a fuss, get in trouble – especially with people who’re interfering in his life too much already.

  He wants to make me feel bad, though.

  “Well, it’s creepy, if you ask me. The visit tomorrow with this department store lady will be the first and last. You got it?”

  CHAPTER

  18

  The Chapmans were in a hurry. Mr. Chapman honked the car horn.

  Mrs. Adamson came outside to greet them at the curb.

  “Well, here she is,” Mrs. Chapman said from the passenger seat in the car. “Open the door, Jules. I’ve written down the address and phone number for my sister’s place, and here’s the number of the agency in case there’s a problem.”

  Mrs. Adamson said hello to everyone and took the piece of paper from Mrs. Chapman. Jules got out. “And we’ll pick her up at four o’clock?”

  Mrs. Adamson nodded.

  “Great.”

  The Adamsons lived in a yellow brick bungalow on a small corner lot near Patsy’s place. Larger, two-storey homes mixed in with the bungalows all along the street. Jules’s dad had once told her that the whole neighborhood got built up after the war, when regular people started being able to buy houses. Most of the rickety old farmhouses, like the one Jules lived in, had been torn down.

  From the outside, the Adamson home looked bigger than it was because of the small garage attached to it. The front yard was tiny, and there was no grass in the backyard, just exposed dirt. Mrs. Adamson had told Jules once that the vegetable garden out back was Mr. Adamson’s pride and joy. The neighbors called it an eyesore.