“I’ll do whatever you want to do.” Considering the heat, we decided to go inside so that I could make us some Freshie while Gloria caught her breath. Then I dug out a second lawn chair from the back kitchen and we took our drinks down to the riverbank. It would be fun to have company for the afternoon, I thought. Gloria had already made friends with Ernie.
“I’d love to have a dog,” she said with feeling.
“Some people are afraid of Ernie because he’s so big,” I admitted.
“What kind is he, anyway?”
“A mixed breed, mostly Newfoundland, I think.”
“He’ll keep any strangers off your property,” she decided.
“He already has,” and I told her about the two men that I’d seen here since I arrived.
“What did you do?” Gloria asked. “Were you scared?”
“The first time, a friend of mine pulled into the drive on his motorcycle, and the man just left. That was Michael. The one I told you about?”
Gloria nodded. “Your dream boat,” she smiled.
“The second time, I sicked Ernie on him.”
“No wonder your aunt wanted you to get a room in town. I don’t think I’d want to live out here all by myself.” Gloria pulled the neckline of her blouse down to bare her smooth shoulders to the sun. “Don’t you have any cousins or anyone you could stay with?”
“I’m a little short on family,” I told her. “There’s only Aunt Irene. Anyway, this is my place. So where else would I go?”
She shrugged and took a long sip of her Freshie.
It was inevitable that our conversation that afternoon would turn to that which we had most in common, our jobs at Savaway. Bobby’s girlfriend had shown up at the store last Thursday, and I’d seen, firsthand, how the assistant manager’s behaviour toward his fellow workers changed in Karen’s presence, how he’d suddenly become all business, calling us Miss Eaton and Miss Hooper.
“Doesn’t it just make you sick?” said Gloria, rolling her eyes.
“You don’t still go out with him, do you?” I asked.
“Just once in a while.” She shot me a quick glance. “It’s not easy, Libby, knowing that if you’re nice to him he’ll see that Mr. Forth gives you a raise.”
“He will? What if you aren’t nice to him?”
“Then you could be the one who spends the afternoon dusting all the teeny little bottles in cosmetics,” said Gloria. “Or else he’ll make you sweep out the back room. There are rats out there. I’ve seen them, eating holes in the cookie boxes.”
“Rats? Really?”
“Yeah. And this time I mean the four-legged kind.” Then we both rolled our eyes and laughed.
Later, after I’d shown Gloria around the house and my room, she picked up a framed photograph of Alex from the buffet. “Your mother was pretty,” Gloria remarked. “Did she have a boyfriend?”
I shook my head. “I used to think her publisher was her boyfriend. We used to clean the house like crazy whenever he was coming. He drove a big car and always brought flowers. From a florist shop, even.”
“And?”
I shrugged. “I think it was strictly business on Alex’s part.”
“Too bad.” Gloria set the picture down with a sigh. “She was so young, too.”
We boiled wieners for our supper, and Gloria showed me how to wrap them in slices of bread, fasten the bread with toothpicks and brown them in the oven.
When I rose to clear the table Gloria said, suddenly, “I know it’s awful of me to go out with Bobby, but I don’t know how to stop it. He keeps coming over.”
“So, just tell him to buzz off,” I said.
She sighed and avoided my eyes. “The last time he was over, things got . . . well, a little hot and heavy. He had his arms around me, and I felt him start to undo the buttons on the back of my blouse.”
I’m sure my face was the colour of the ketchup bottle I held in my hand. I didn’t know what to say.
Gloria looked up suddenly from the salt and pepper shakers she’d been sliding back and forth on the tabletop. “I’m scared, Libby,” she said.
I sat down abruptly. “You are?”
She nodded. “I’m scared it’s going to get worse, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Listen, Gloria.” I clutched her arm with both my hands. “You’ve got to tell someone about this. Tell your father!”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, drawing away from me. “My dad would kill me!”
“He would not! You want it to stop, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said fervently. “Bobby Baker is just a jerk. But he can make it hard for me to keep my job.”
I sat back in the chair, considering. “You know, whenever I have trouble with something, I try to think what Alex might have done. And I think she had the answer to this one.” I told Gloria then how my mother had stood up to Eddie Hackett years ago. “He was pressuring her, I think. Just like Bobby’s doing.”
“Well, your mother was a strong person,” said Gloria.
“Sure she was. And you can be too. Alex would tell you that you don’t have to accept that kind of treatment. No one does. Bobby thinks just because he’s the assistant manager that he has power over us. But he has no right to ask you to do anything for him that you don’t feel right about.”
“I know what you mean, Libby,” Gloria admitted. “But saying ‘no’ could get me fired.”
“Then, go to Bobby’s boss, Mr. Forth!”
Gloria shook her head. “You know that wouldn’t help.”
“Why not?”
“Because he lets Bobby run things. Mr. Forth just wants to be left alone.” She smiled wanly. “But you know, I feel better just talking to you about it.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s what friends are for. I’m practising being a good listener.”
“And now I have to be getting back,” Gloria announced.
“So soon?” It was only six o’clock.
She stood and readjusted the cinch belt over the waistband of the red pedal pushers. “I want to be sure Dad eats the food I fixed for him. Before he falls asleep.”
“I’ll walk you part way, then,” I told her. “Coming, Ernie?” I didn’t have to ask him twice.
“Just exactly what is wrong with your father?” I ventured to ask as we dawdled along. Ernie was happily exploring the ditches on either side of the road, scaring out moles and field mice as he pounced.
“My father?” Gloria plucked the petals, one by one, off a roadside daisy. “He loves me; he loves me not.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” I said. “But I did lose my mother to cancer, so I know what it’s like having someone close who’s really, really sick.”
“My dad’s not sick like that,” Gloria admitted, tossing the flower onto the road. “He’s sick the way Mr. Forth is.”
I stopped in my tracks, frowning. “Mr. Forth? At work?”
“He’s an alcoholic too.”
“I didn’t know that!”
“Well, he is. Sometimes he doesn’t come out of his office all day. You must have noticed.”
I had noticed. “I just never thought that was the reason,” I said as we resumed walking. “He seems like a nice man.”
“He is a nice man,” said Gloria emphatically. “But he’s sick.” We continued a ways in silence before she spoke again. “Well, that’s the way it is with my dad. I never have anyone over to the house. I never know if it’ll be one of his bad days. I keep hoping he’ll go back to work soon. That would help get his mind off things.”
“I’m sorry, Gloria,” I said. “I guess we all think we are the only one with any problems.”
We’d reached the place where the dirt road met the highway into Pinkney Corners, where we’d have to go our separate ways. Gloria’s smile was a little sorrowful. “That’s just the way it is, since Mom left. She couldn’t stand it any more. But he needs me, so I’m not leaving.”
“Promise you’ll come out to my place
whenever you can,” I urged.
“Thanks, Libby.” But she made no promises. “That was a real good supper, too. Bye, Ernie.” She patted the dog’s wide back. “Hey, I just figured it out! He’s Ernest Hemingway, isn’t he?” And when I nodded, “I knew it, your mother being a writer and everything. He’s so loveable.” And giving a little twirl in the dust, she turned to head for home.
Margaret’s mother was not a regular at the five-and-ten, so I was surprised to see her breeze through the doors, one of the first customers after we opened one Friday morning. She headed right for me where I stood, pricing men’s socks.
“I just wanted to let you know, Libby dear,” Mrs. Pacey announced, “that Margaret is coming home for the weekend.”
It was about time, I thought to myself; summer was half over. “That’s the best news!” I exclaimed.
“She’s coming by train and will be getting here about seven-thirty this evening.”
“Would you ask her to call me as soon as she’s home, please?”
Fern Pacey looked surprised. “You have a telephone?”
“Yes. I do now. I’m not in the book yet.” I wrote the number on the back of a sales ticket and handed it to Mrs. Pacey with a flourish. I could see Bobby out of the corner of my eye, advancing down the aisle towards us, scowling. I slipped back behind the counter.
“Morning, Mrs. Pacey,” he said, recognizing my visitor.
“Good morning, Mr. Baker.” Mrs. Pacey’s tone was coldly formal, dismissing the assistant manager. “Well, Libby, I have errands to run. I’m cooking all of Margaret’s favourites while she’s home. Be sure to come for dinner. Tomorrow night?”
It would be so good to see Margaret again. We had a lot to catch up on. I wondered if Michael would be there for supper and, just in case, decided I would get up extra early and wash my hair before I left for work the next day.
During my break at ten thirty, I went over to the candy counter to say hi to Gloria. She hadn’t come my way all morning. I didn’t see her at first, and then I found her bent over a box under the counter. “Hi,” I said, coming around behind the glass.
“Hi yourself,” from the depths of the box.
“I’m going for my break now. Have you had yours?”
“Not yet.” Still she didn’t look up at me.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” came the answer. “Just busy.”
That was strange, not like Gloria. She was never too busy to be friendly. I took an apple from my lunch bag and went to eat on the bench out on the sidewalk.
Ten minutes later, I took the long way back to my counter. Gloria was weighing licorice allsorts for a customer, dropping candies onto the scales with the metal scoop. I waited until she was finished, and she looked up to see who was next in line.
She was sporting a black eye.
“What happened?” I gasped.
“It’s nothing,” she said, ducking her head.
“It is too something!” I hissed, coming around behind with her. None of the senior staff was in sight. “What did you do to your eye?”
She glanced quickly over her shoulder. “Our beloved assistant manager,” she said, her jaw clenching.
“You mean he did that to you?”
“He didn’t mean to. He was at my place, acting like the creep he is. I told him I thought he should leave. He got mad, and he grabbed his jacket off the hook. I was standing right behind him when his hand came back with the jacket, and he caught me under my eye.”
“Oh.” I supposed that was possible. “Well, it looks really painful,” I remarked lamely.
Gingerly, Gloria put her finger to the bruised flesh. “It’s okay now. Looks worse than it feels.”
“I hope he apologized.”
“Are you kidding? Look,” she advised, after a moment, “we’d better get back to work.”
Not wanting to cause Gloria any more trouble, I did as she suggested and didn’t speak to her again that day. At closing time, I discovered that she had slipped past me and left by the back door.
Had the black eye really been an accident? Because Bobby was involved, I was suspicious. I was barely civil to him when I ducked under his arm while he stood holding the front door open, waiting for the employees to leave so that he could lock up. “Night, Pat. Nighty-night, Doreen. Sweet dreams, Valerie. G’night, Libby.”
How dare he not apologize for hurting Gloria, even if he hadn’t meant to. She was such a soft-hearted person, looking after her father and sticking up for poor Mr. Forth. I was still fuming when I arrived home. “Life’s not fair, Ernie,” I grumbled as I ripped some bread into little pieces and stirred it into the remains of a can of dog food for him. It didn’t take much to keep Ernie happy.
I pondered Gloria’s predicament for another hour, then I decided to call my aunt. I needed to talk to someone about it.
“Irene?” I heard the cheery hello on the other end of the line. “Irene, I have this friend.” I unburdened myself of the whole unhappy story, not mentioning any names, of course. Irene listened without speaking until I was through. “You still there?” I asked.
“Libby, this friend,” she choked, “it isn’t you, is it? Because, I just knew I shouldn’t have . . .”
“Irene! Listen to me. It isn’t me. But what if it was? What would you tell me to do?”
“Oh, my. Well, I’d come right down there and bring you back here, of course.”
“Except that this is my friend we’re talking about, Irene, and she lives here.”
“She has to stand up to the man,” Irene decided. “Confront him.”
I wondered if that is what had caused the black eye.
“Or she could write him a letter,” Irene suggested. “A letter saying either he stop bothering her or she’ll tell his boss. He has to know that she is serious.”
“Okay.” I liked the idea of the letter. “I’ll tell her, Irene. Thanks.”
“I think it’s a good sign that your friend talked to you about this, Libby,” said Irene, gathering steam. “Sometimes, when this kind of stuff goes on, a girl feels very alone.”
“Well, like I told you, my friend looks after her sick father and her mother’s left. So she is pretty much alone.”
“She’s lucky to have you as a friend, Libby,” Irene said, softly.
At eight o’clock Margaret called. “Libby! It’s me!”
“Hi, you,” I said. “Welcome home!”
“Welcome to the twentieth century. You’ve got a telephone!”
“Amazing, isn’t it.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” Margaret bubbled. “When can you come over?”
“Tomorrow, after work,” I said. “I wish I didn’t have to go in tomorrow, but I work three Saturdays out of four.”
“Well, it’s probably just as well.” Margaret gave an exaggerated sigh. “It sounds like Mother has most of my day planned for me. But you’re coming for dinner. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, raspberry sorbet for dessert, and she’s made chocolate fudge brownies.”
My mouth was already watering. “I’m off at five,” I promised. “See you then.”
“And bring your p.j.s. You’re staying over.”
Poor Ernie, I thought, but only for an instant. I would feed him well in the morning, and I knew that if he got lonely he’d head up the lane to see the McIntyres.
This was Gloria’s Saturday off from the store. Bobby seemed to spend an enormous amount of time showing Valerie how he wanted the new rack of 45 r.p.m. records set up, with the top ten songs on the Hit Parade out in front. He kept reaching around in front of her, standing first on one side, then the other. “Look out, Valerie,” I felt like saying, “you could be his next victim.” But of course I didn’t.
All that went out of my mind the minute I started up the walk towards the Pacey’s verandah. There was Margaret, flying out of the house to meet me. We threw our arms around each other right there on the sidewalk. Then the strangest thing happened. Suddenly, with Margare
t’s arms around me, I started to sob. I shook from head to foot, choking on tears and clinging to my friend, unable to control myself. It seemed to go on forever.
At last, releasing her and wiping my cheeks, “I’m sorry,” I gulped. “I don’t know what that was all about.”
“Well, I do,” declared Margaret, still holding my hand. “Come on up and sit here. We won’t go inside yet to see the others.” She sat me down on the swing and settled beside me. “You still aren’t over losing your mom, Libby. I bet you haven’t cried about it in a long time. It’s understandable.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I whimpered, feeling foolish. “I thought I was over it. The worst of it, anyway. I’ve had so many other things on my mind. But seeing you, well, it just reminded me of all that has changed.” I gave a weak smile. “Do I sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself? Because I’m not usually like this.”
“I know you’re not. And I haven’t changed. We’re still best friends.” That’s what’s so wonderful about Margaret. No matter what, she is always the same.
Nine
It was like old times, having supper at the Paceys’ that evening. Because the two oldest boys were away, there were fewer family members than usual, but Michael was there, and that was all that mattered to me. Each time I sneaked a look across the table at him, I found him watching me. I suddenly became conscious of how I looked when I was eating. I wished I’d practised getting peas to my mouth, in front of a mirror. Did my ears wiggle when I chewed, I wondered?
Margaret and I went up to her bedroom when the meal was over. There was new paper on the walls since my last visit, and a frilly bedspread with matching curtains. “Priscillas,” Margaret explained. “I think they’re a little ridiculous myself. But Mother likes them, so I put up with them.”
“It’s a beautiful room,” I said.
Impulsively, Margaret flung open her closet and started lifting out hangers. “Want to try some of these clothes on, Libby?” she asked. “I’m getting rid of them.” She hesitated. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Have I ever minded? I can’t afford to say no to hand-me-downs.”
Finding My Own Way Page 9