Beauty Returns

by Sylvia McNicoll

  “Your job not working out?” Mom continues as she takes some red peppers from the fridge.

  “I’m working freelance these days.” Rolph quickly changes the subject. “Really, this new foster dog of yours seems dangerous. Not the kind of dog we want around Teal at all.”

  “She’s not our standard foster dog either.” I grin at Rolph. “We’re going to keep her.”

  I glance back at Magic as I reach into the cupboard for a snack. Paws still crossed, head on top of them now—but her floppy ears lift slightly at the rattle of the cookie bag. I turn back towards Rolph.

  “Maybe she shouldn’t have growled at you, but it’s Magic’s first day here. Cut her some slack.”

  “Well, if you put a dog’s life ahead of a child’s, maybe Teal will have to live elsewhere.”

  Mom and I give each other looks. There’s the threat. It’s always there. Our family worries Rolph will go to court for joint custody. So we all act nice through gritted teeth whenever he’s around. Rolph scoops up Teal and plants slurpy kisses on his face. What’s really different about what he and Magic do to Teal? A dog’s mouth is clean; Rolph’s mouth is like an ashtray.

  Mom slams a cleaver through a red pepper.

  “Magic is wonderful with children, according to the trainers,” Mom says brusquely. “Today, as Elizabeth said, we really have to make allowances.”

  “As long as you watch Teal around her, I guess it should be fine.”

  “Did you want to stay for supper, Rolph?” My mother raises her cleaver towards him. Why does she have to ask him to stay?

  “If you don’t mind looking after Teal, I’ll order some takeout food for Deb and me. That way she can keep working if she likes.”

  I can see Mom do a mini eye roll. She doesn’t like getting stuck with Teal any more than I do. I watch her open her mouth to say no, but then she shuts it again, shaking her head.

  “Tell Deb she shouldn’t stay out late. I can’t be up with Teal tonight and teach class tomorrow.”

  Phew, safe. No Rolph at dinner time.

  Rolph gets up to leave and then says over his shoulder, “By the way, someone called for you.”

  “Who?”

  “A boy.” Rolph taps his chin with a finger.

  “Well, that narrows it down,” I say through gritted teeth. I feel the blood rush to my face because I want it to be Kyle so badly.

  “You don’t remember his name?”

  He shakes his head. “Clint, no, Carl…I’m sorry, I was chasing Teal, and I didn’t have time to write it down. But you can listen to the voice mail yourself, anyway.”

  “Kyle?” I venture.

  Rolph snaps his fingers. “That’s it. He said something about Rollerblading. You made a date with him in the summer. He left several messages—you can listen to them all. They didn’t make any sense to me.”

  I run to the phone, key in our private voice mail code—a code Rolph’s somehow gotten hold of—and hear Kyle’s voice: “Hi, Elizabeth, I don’t know if you remember me, but you told me at Beauty’s graduation that you’d show me how to Rollerblade some time. Call me back.” Beep!

  Next message. “Kyle again—forgot to leave you my telephone number: 336-9401.”

  Does he just want to Rollerblade with someone, or does he want to see me, I wonder. The next message plays.

  “Hi; it’s Kyle Nicholson again. If you don’t want to Rollerblade, call me anyway, we can do something else.”

  Fourth and final message: “Well, I guess you’re still not home. I just wanted to talk. You took off so quickly at school today…maybe you just want to forget it. I’ll understand. Oh yeah, it’s Kyle calling.”

  He sounds nervous. I smile. The first few times I met Kyle, he seemed so ultra cool and unreachable. “Dude with an attitude”—that’s what Alicia called him. Now here he is calling me, and he’s nervous! Whoo-hoo! I listen to the messages again to get his number. I take some deep breaths to calm myself as I think of what to say. I’d love to show you how to Rollerblade. Nah, too desperate. If you’d like to go Rollerblading, I can show you. I start keying in his number: Three, three, six. The square buttons feel slippery under my fingers. Whoops, was that a nine I pressed? Four, zero, one—wait. A man’s voice answers. Voice mail. He speaks in a Southern accent. Darn! I’ve dialed the wrong number. I slam the phone down before I get to the message part.

  I wash my hands and dry my fingers carefully. Then I go again: three, three, six, nine, four, zero, one. No finger slipping; for sure it has to be his number—again the Southern accent. I listen through the entire message this time and leave my own. It all comes out in a rush.

  “If you wanna go Rollerblading, meet me at the swings in the park at 5:00 Friday.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Kyle and Beauty

  Why hasn’t Elizabeth returned my calls? I made enough of them. Perhaps that’s the problem: I sounded too desperate. Why would she want to go out with a blind guy anyway?

  To take my mind off Elizabeth, I decide to work on my school project for Mr. Veen. I’ve gone on the Internet to search for audio books that might satisfy him. The special program on my computer reads my screen to me. I’ve put the voice on high speed, but it’s still too slow. I stop when I hear the word Blindness. It’s a Nobel Prize-winning novel by José Saramago. How can Mr. Veen argue with that?

  I hear Mom walk in the door and set her bags down in the hall. She sighs when I ask her to drive me to the library.

  “Just let me get a cup of tea, will you, Kyle?”

  While she’s making it, I tell her about my day at school. I leave out the bit about Elizabeth, and the way Beauty seems to act up around her. Instead, I focus on Mr. Veen.

  “Sounds as though Mr. Veen has a bit of an attitude problem,” says my mother. “Perhaps your father and I should have a word with the principal about him.”

  Mom always wants to make things right for me.

  “No, Mom,” I say firmly. “You can’t always step in to protect me. All I have to do is prove myself to him, just like everyone else.”

  “You’re right,” Mom says, making a clatter with her teacup as she sets it down. “The best revenge is living well.”

  “Which means?”

  “Your essay has to knock his socks off. Come on. The library closes in an hour. Let’s go.”

  I harness up Beauty again, and we head off to the car. Outside it smells like wet sidewalk—it must have rained. I can’t see it, but I feel the warm lightness of the sun on my face. As I pull open the car door, I hear the ringing, insistent and unmistakable, of the phone.

  I squeeze my eyelids together. It’s Elizabeth, I know it’s her.

  “We’re in a hurry. Let’s just let the answering machine get it,” Mom says.

  No, no, I need to hear her voice. But Mom’s slammed her door already, the engine’s starting up.

  With a heavy feeling in my chest, I slide in too. We don’t talk as we drive to the library. Mom’s mind is probably back at work. I’m wondering what’s on Elizabeth’s phone message.

  When we get to the parking lot, Mom offers me her arm.

  “You can drop the harness. It will be faster.”

  “No, thanks. Forward, girl.” I love being able to do this myself and actually walk ahead of Mom.

  “Find the door, Beauty.”

  When we step into the library, I inhale the earthy book smell, the paper and glue. The floor feels almost smooth beneath my feet, a low pile carpet, but as we move forward, Beauty pulls to the left, as if she’s distracted by something or somebody. I shake her harness as a correction just as a female voice tells me that dogs are not allowed in the library. A young voice—probably a library page.

  “It is illegal for you to prevent a dog guide from a public building,” my mother tells her in a sharp, hard tone.

  This is just the kind of attention I don’t want to have. Explaining gently that Beauty is a dog guide would have probably solved the problem. I smile into thin air, hoping the page unde
rstands I’m just with my mother for the ride—that we don’t share the same attitude. But I can’t give Beauty directions to the audio department, so I’m forced to drop the harness and take Mom’s arm.

  “Beauty seems to like that girl. She keeps turning her head to look at her,” Mom tells me.

  “No, Beauty, no!” I say loudly and shake the harness.

  “Maybe you should call the trainer about that.”

  “Let me handle the dog, Mom.”

  I wonder if the page has red hair. What would Mom say if she knew how Beauty had bolted down the stairs after Elizabeth?

  While Mom and I peruse the audio shelves together, Beauty stands patiently at my feet, the perfect dog guide. It gets really hot waiting while Mom reads all the titles in the S section. “José Saramago, here it is—Blindness,” she finally says.

  “Can you check if it’s unabridged?” I wipe sweat from my forehead with a shaky hand. Suddenly, I feel really sick.

  “It doesn’t say that anywhere on the cover. Three hours of reading. Ah, here—it’s a condensed version approved by the author.”

  “A condensed version won’t do. Mr. Veen will only accept a complete book.” Standing is becoming an effort, and I shift from one leg to the other. My knees wobble. Beauty whimpers. “Shh, girl.”

  “You know what? We’ll take this one out, and I’ll buy you a copy of the book on the way home. You can scan it, or I personally will read it out loud to you. We’ll show this guy.”

  She’s pumped from her victory with the library page, and I can hear the determination in her voice. But I feel vague and confused. She works Saturdays and three evenings a week selling cars. We won’t be home enough hours together for her to read it out loud to me. And I will be the one calling all the attention to myself in English class with the toughest teacher at our school.

  “Mom, can you find me the audio of Lord of the Flies too? Under G for Golding. William.”

  I can feel myself turning grey. My legs and arms turn into Jell-O, quivery and weak.

  “Why? You backing down?”

  “No, no, Mom. It’s a comparative essay. I need both books.”

  I find and grip Beauty’s harness tightly, to steady myself.

  “Kyle, you’re trembling. What’s wrong?”

  Beauty whimpers again.

  I shake my head and grope my backpack for the small bottle of corn syrup I keep in the outside pocket. Hurry, hurry, I tell my fumbling fingers as I unzip it and remove the bottle. Unscrewing the cap, I feel my legs buckling, and I sink to the ground. From behind me, I hear a gasp. I get the cap off and have two swallows.

  “Should I call an ambulance?” a hushed voice asks, the same page who wanted to keep Beauty out. Great, more attention that I don’t want.

  Mom ignores her. Beauty licks at my face.

  “Did you have your snack after school, the way you’re supposed to?” Mom asks.

  The answer is clear, and I’m too weak and disoriented to answer.

  “Will he be okay? Should I get him some water?” the worried young voice asks.

  “I’m fine,” I struggle to get the words out. “Please, just go away.”

  “For heaven’s sakes, we were having tea. You couldn’t remember to have an arrowroot biscuit at the same time?” my mother rants.

  “Don’t you understand how important it is to maintain good control over your blood sugar level?” I can hear her through a haze, exasperation hissing through her voice.

  The trembling stops, and I can focus on a clear thought again. How can she think I don’t understand? I’m the one blind from diabetes. I’m the one who feels like a leaf shaken from a branch. A tide washes over me as the corn syrup connects. I’m exhausted, but I’m better. I breathe deeply.

  “Let’s just go.”

  Back in the car, Mom asks if I still want to stop at the bookstore.

  “No. I’m wiped.”

  “We better get home and get some supper into you then.”

  We drive in silence. I’m fine now, no shakes and yet none of the tell-tale irritability of hyperglycemia either. Still, I feel low. I want my life in control.

  The car rolls into the driveway. Mom slams her door and hurries ahead of me to unlock the door. By the time I make it in, she’s already checked the answering machine.

  “Kyle, some young girl called for you. She didn’t identify herself.”

  I don’t even unhitch the dog but head right for the phone in the kitchen, grabbing the receiver from Mom.

  I listen to Elizabeth’s voice on the message. Chimes in the wind. She wants to meet me in the park Friday at 5:00. I feel everything inside me lift again. Life is good.

  CHAPTER 7

  Elizabeth and Magic

  “And you left the ironing board out with the iron plugged in! That’s four times this week.” Mom jams a cereal bowl into the dishwasher as she rants at me.

  Across the table from me, Debra tries to coax Teal into eating but he only natters in his high chair, his cheeks blotchy with red clouds.

  I chugalug the last of my orange juice so I can answer Mom.

  “I didn’t leave the iron out. I just set it up so it would be the right temperature to straighten my hair when I’m done eating.”

  Suddenly, an angry flip of Teal’s hand sends his cereal bowl flying, most of the contents landing on Debra. She jumps up and sweeps the Cheerios onto the floor. The phone rings. Mom’s tea kettle whistles. Magic barks. From the bedroom, Dad hollers about not having any more clean socks.

  It’s surround-sound chaos, as usual.

  I snap my fingers at the dog.

  “Magic, here! Leave those Cheerios alone! You’re not supposed to eat the baby’s food.”

  “Let him, just this once.” Debra flings up her hands.

  “I don’t feel like cleaning up. Teal was up all night with his teething.”

  Debra is pale and her hair looks like she’s taken a mixer to it, but it also seems wet and spiky. The messy hedgehog style might be on purpose.

  “Rolph doesn’t like Magic around Teal when he’s eating.”

  Mom continues clearing the table and loading the dishwasher.

  “And we can’t have it both ways. Elizabeth, be a good girl and clean up that mess so your sister can change for her appointment.”

  “Magic, in your crate!” I tell her, and she slinks off instantly. Apart from that one piddle on the carpet, Magic does seem perfectly trained.

  Hands on my hips, I study the mess on the floor.

  Always, always, I have to be a good girl because of my sister. The Cheerios sit, swollen and soggy in a puddle of milk. I can’t just sweep them. I bend down and scoop them up in my hand, yuck, and dump them in the trash. Then I have to get rags to soak up the milk because Mom doesn’t allow paper towels—they’re not environmental. The gross wet rags will smell rotten in about five minutes, so Mom suggests I be a good girl again and put them in the washing machine downstairs, with a load of Dad’s socks.

  I don’t feel like being good. But I take a deep breath and head down the stairs to the laundry with a hamper and the milk rags. Nothing will ruin my day, because after school I have a date with Kyle. I’ll get to see my other dog, Beauty, and Rollerblade down the path near Little Stone Bridge. Nothing can ruin that.

  Is Mom a mind reader or what? Because the next thing she says to me is, “Could you come straight home after school in case Debra’s late from her appointment and Teal has to leave daycare?”

  She looks at me expectantly.

  I keep from screaming by counting to ten and taking deep calming breaths.

  “Why would Teal have to leave daycare?” I ask quietly.

  “If he’s sick,” Debra explains. “I’m sure it’s just the teething, but he feels a bit warm.”

  “I’m meeting someone at five. I can’t be stuck with the brat today.”

  “Elizabeth! Don’t call Teal a brat. He’s your nephew.

  You can still make your five o’clock date. Debra’s j
ust going for a lunch downtown, but we can’t count on traffic.”

  “Fine, I’ll come straight home.”

  For the third time, I’m a good girl for my sister. No way am I going to be in a bad mood over anything, I vow as I head outside. It’s a bright, cool day, a day of opposites, mellow yet crisp. I whistle on the way to Alicia’s house. Smiling, I tell her my good news as she steps out the door.

  “So he finally called after all this time and you said yes? What happened to our deal?” Alicia asks me as we walk up the sidewalk together.

  “It’s just a date. Single dates are allowed.”

  We walk quickly under the clear blue sky, perfect weather for Rollerblading.

  “I’m not going to go out with him.”

  “Sure Liz, sure.”

  She rolls her eyes. “And you won’t go all gaga over him like you did with Scott. You absolutely promise.”

  “Of course. I made him wait a few days for the date.”

  Truth is I already feel more attracted to Kyle than I ever did to Scott. Maybe it’s because of Beauty. And this perfect weather seems to forecast a perfect date.

  “Good.” Alicia chucks me on the shoulder. “So don’t blow it and act too eager.”

  I shake my head and sigh.

  “You know I don’t even see Kyle all day unless I hunt him down. And I’ve resisted over the past few days.”

  “Good work. Let him make all the moves. And I want you to know…” she wags her finger at me now, “since our deal allows single dates, I’m calling Scott tonight.”

  “Whatever.” Clearly, it’s impossible to keep Alicia away from him.

  The day drags, and I find it hard to concentrate in class. No sightings of Kyle in the hallways, and I keep checking the clock. When the day finally ends, I race home. Magic greets me from her crate with a thumping tail.

  “Come on, girl, you can come to the park too.”

  She follows me up to my room, and I pile my helmet and knee and wrist guards on my unmade bed while I rummage for a cleaner top in the pile on the floor. I change quickly but when I’m done, my wrist guards have disappeared.

  “That’s funny. I’m sure I put them right here.” When I can’t find something, and I talk out loud, I feel more in control, like I’m not going totally insane.