by Freya Barker
Clearly, today it's euchre, at which Phyllis is indeed a shark, and Maggie merely passable.
I missed our biweekly, Monday card game at Don Cherry's in town last night. Even for a Monday the day had sucked, and I didn't feel like it. Normally, I look forward to meeting up in Parry Sound with the group of women I've known since my high school days, but yesterday I just wanted to chill with my menagerie.
"You realize this is supposed to be a bonding exercise, right? I swear the two of you make it feel more like the Hunger Games than euchre night," I scold her. "Don't you think it's time to let things go?"
"When pigs fly," she announces firmly, before changing the subject. "What do you need Jim for?"
"None of your beeswax."
"Like I can't guess."
"Then why bother asking?" I fire back.
The irony is that Maggie generally knows everything there is to know in town. She's the admin and dispatcher for the OPP detachment in town, and as such, is often the first to hear of anything going on.
"Whatever," she mutters, pretending to be offended. "I'll patch you through, he should be done with his morning constitutional."
"Information I could've done without," I respond dryly.
"What information?" Jim's voice comes over the line and I bite my tongue. It's too tempting to make him feel uncomfortable, but I figure what I have to tell him will be unpleasant enough.
"Hate doing this to you, Jim, but I caught Billy manhandling a fourteen-year-old girl from St. Peter's in the parking lot by the Laundromat on Mall Drive at around nine yesterday morning. He took off, and I took the girl back to her school. She's downplaying the whole scene—although I have to tell you, from what I witnessed, she had reason enough to press charges—but I felt you needed to know. As a parent."
The silence on the other side lasts so long, I'm starting to wonder if he hung up on me.
"I'll take care of it," he bites off, finally responding.
"I've offered before, but you know there are things we might be able to help with at the clinic, right? Both for troubled kids and for their parents."
"I know, Freddy, I said I'd take care of it."
As on previous occasions, Jim is defensive, and I get it. He and I have a history, one that ended quite abruptly when he dumped me out of the blue, while I was lying in a hospital bed, after nine years together. He ended up marrying a former classmate of mine, Ella Manry, just three months later. Ella was a single mom back then, with a young boy whose father was nothing but a sperm donor. She was also five months pregnant when they got married—you do the math. What made it even harder was that around the time their son, Jordan, was born, I had just been dealt a final devastating blow, which steered me down a dark period in my life. I was literally struggling to survive.
I did though, and over time Jim and I started speaking again and were able to forge a workable friendship. We never really spoke about what happened. Why open old wounds?
"Fair enough, Jim. You know where to find me." I let him off the hook.
If I were petty—I grudgingly admit I have been on occasion in the past—I would push the issue. Reminding him he chose a woman who can't keep her panties on long enough to say hello to her often much younger suitors. Ella has not fared well over the years. She fought hard to get that ring around her finger, but once she had Jim and his baby, the shine apparently came off fast. Alcohol, and God knows what else, plus the affairs she doesn't even bother to hide anymore, have eroded the marriage. Sadly, it has also impacted the boys in a negative way—especially Billy.
She shows up now and then for euchre night, but mostly steers clear of me, which is probably a good idea.
I curb my natural instinct to drive a knee in Jim's already shriveled balls, and instead, hang up the phone. Boulder walks up to me and shoves his big head under my elbow, and I give it a scratch.
Tuesday mornings I generally visit one of the high schools in the district. I touch base with school counsellors and hear their concerns about certain students. Almost every week, I end up doing some kind of on-site counselling session with a teen who has hit a rough spot or is threatening to run off the tracks. I bring Boulder with me, because he's an immediate connection with most kids. He's a trained support dog and is licensed to go into hospitals and nursing homes as well, which we sometimes do.
This time of the year, it's mostly students struggling with the pressures of upcoming exams, or those who have rough home situations that need a little extra attention from me, and some puppy loving from Boulder. He loves all the attention, and being a smart dog, he knows exactly when he's due for some. That's why he's nudging me now to get a move on.
"All right, bud, let me just make sure the rest of the family is safely locked away," I mutter to him as I grab my keys, scratch one of my three barn cats, who like to pop inside from time to time—Curly, Moe, and Larry: all females—and head outside, Boulder close on my heels.
The old barn on the edge of the field, where Chester, my twelve-year-old rescue horse, is happily munching on the juicy spring grass, houses the rest of my collection of strays. Four chickens and one rooster live in a small chicken coop, with a large run on the side of the barn closest to the house. Timber, my goat, almost climbs over the enclosure he shares with George, a potbelly pig some idiot left tied to a tree along the Trans-Canada Highway four years ago. Timber is always scrounging for food, so I know better than to think he's just happy to see me. I got him as a kid, to keep George company, and the two have become inseparable since.
After work and on weekends, during the warmer months, I'll let the two of them roam around my property. They tend to stick close to the house, often following me around. In the winter, I'll sometimes let them keep me company inside the house. Both are pretty much house-trained, aside from the occasional accident, but the barn is warm enough and they prefer to sleep huddled together in the straw.
Chester has a door on the backside of the barn, so he can come and go as he pleases. Only when we have extreme weather will I occasionally close him inside.
With everyone set for the day, I open the back door to my Matrix and let Boulder hop inside. The entire way to Parry Sound High School, my alma mater, his head is resting on my shoulder, tongue lolling in anticipation.
-
"Before you go, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Susan Treyvaud, the school's counsellor, says when I walk into her office.
I just spent a heartbreaking morning with a boy who showed up to school yesterday with questionable cuts and bruises all over his face. It took just five minutes of Boulder's unconditional love for the poor kid to burst out sobbing. He hedgingly confessed it hadn't been a door as he'd claimed before, but his father's fists that did the damage to his face. It apparently hadn't been an isolated incident either.
Protocol dictates that in cases where child abuse is even suspected, the school has an obligation to contact the Children's Aid Society. I had to pull in the kid's teacher and Jeff Brackenridge, the school principal, to set those wheels in motion.
These situations are never easy or pleasant for anyone involved, let alone the victim. With the help of my four-footed sidekick, I tried to help the boy deal with the feelings of guilt and fear of the repercussions around his confession, the best I could. Luckily, we have a CAS office in Parry Sound, and they responded immediately. I left him in the care of a CAS worker I've worked with before, and respect, and was about to head out.
"Tell me more." I sit down across from her and Boulder flops down on the floor beside me with a loud groan of discontent. I promised him a bone for his good work this morning, and he clearly does not appreciate waiting for his well-deserved treat.
"New girl started school yesterday. Grade nine, Eliza Dorkin's class." I roll my eyes at the mention of the teacher. She and I have butted heads in the past. "She just moved out here with her father last week. I had an introductory chat with her yesterday and my flags went up all over the place," Susan continues.
"Where's
the mom?" I ask, trying to form some context.
"Passed away three years ago, from what I gather. The girl was pretty tight-lipped. Chewed on her fingers the entire time she was in my office and didn't seem to notice when she started bleeding. She never once looked me in the eye, aside from the initial introduction, and all she was willing to say about her father is that he's a retired cop."
"So what are you thinking?"
"Not sure. I looked over her school records, and she seems to have done okay in elementary school, but has had some trouble with her grades this first year in high school. Her teachers don't report any suspicions of possible abuse, but do mention she seems very withdrawn."
"Doesn't seem a smart move to uproot the kid during the school year when she's already struggling," I observe.
"I guess it depends on what the reasoning is. I tried to get some insight from her, but like I said, I didn't get far. Was thinking perhaps you could let Boulder work his magic on her. Loosen her up, so to speak."
"Call her in, Boulder can wait for his treat in return for more cuddles." At hearing the magic word—treat—Boulder sits up with his floppy ears as perked as he can get them. "Be patient, buddy. First you get to make a new friend."
When the young girl shuffles reluctantly into the room, her eyes immediately land on Boulder. The change in her is noticeable when the dog immediately eases up to her and shoves his big head under her hand. She barely spares me a glance, so I observe and wait.
She's a little on the small side for her age, and her short spiked hair only adds to the impression of someone younger than fourteen. A pretty girl. Her beautiful blue eyes and dainty nose, set in a round face, make her look like a doll. She carries a little puppy fat a lot of girls going through hormonal changes deal with. Nothing major, and nothing that won't disappear with regular activity in a couple of years.
She crouches down beside Boulder and gets in his face, talking in a very soft voice, but I can pick up 'handsome boy.' Truth be told, he is anything but, but his beautiful spirit more than makes up for the fact he is not exactly Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show material. I sit back in my chair and watch my pup work his magic, even pulling a little smile from her when he sniffs her face with his big wet nose.
Patience pays off when she turns to me.
"What's his name?"
She smiles when I tell her. Most people do. He's a solid boy and hard to move when he doesn't feel like it. The girl is discovering that when he comfortably leans into her, almost knocking her over.
"What about you? What's your name?"
She glances at me suspiciously before she answers. "Millie. Millie Tobias."
"Nice to meet you, Millie Tobias. I like your name."
"Thank you," she mumbles.
"I'm Ms. Marchand, Fred or Freddy is fine too. I'm what they call an animal therapist. I bring Boulder to the hospital or to the schools in the area regularly so he can get his cuddle fix." The suspicion is not quite gone from her eyes but she's still watching me. "At least that's what he thinks. He doesn't realize the comfort he brings some people."
That earns me the tiniest of smiles before she focuses her attention back on the dog. I let that percolate for a bit before I continue.
"He's usually busier at the beginning of the school year, especially with the kids just starting high school. That's why Ms. Treyvaud thought you might like to meet him. I hear you've just changed schools."
At first I don't think she's going to respond, but then she sighs and sits down on the floor with her back against the wall. Boulder doesn't hesitate and lays his head on her legs, maintaining contact. He's such a good boy. Almost instantly, Millie's hand starts stroking his ear and I can almost see the dog's eyes rolling back in his head from sheer bliss.
"I wasn't doing too well in school," she finally speaks up. "Back in Kanata? That's where we lived. Dad said we could probably both use a change of pace, so he moved us here." Her eyes drop down to the dog's head as she adds in an almost whisper, "He quit his job and everything."
I can hear the conflicted emotions in what and how she words it. Both anger and guilt. In this case, the two are tightly connected.
"Oh," I feign surprise. "I thought Ms. Treyvaud mentioned your father was retired?"
"He took early retirement a few months ago, but only after..." Her eyes flick up at me, just for a moment. "Anyway," she continues, quickly changing the subject. Clearly something happened she's not ready to talk about. "We're here now. Well, we live in Carling, just outside of Nobel? The lake is nice, but the bugs suck."
I bark out a laugh and assure her, "I can tell you that the mosquitos and black flies will be mostly gone by the time July comes along. Black flies for sure. Those nasty critters don't like the heat of the sun. In the meantime, don't wear any perfume or body spray—they tend to be attracted to that—stay inside at dawn and dusk, they're most active then, and if you have to go out, make sure you wear lots of bug spray with Deet, that's most effective."
Again, that little smile pops out, but just as she opens her mouth to say something, the buzzer for lunch sounds. Poor timing, I was hoping I could loosen her up to talk a little more. There is something about this girl that has me concerned. I get why Susan wanted me to see her.
"That's lunch for you, right?" She nods in response. "Boulder will be disappointed." I point to the dog, who is fast asleep on the girl's lap. "If you like, I can bring him in again next week. I'm sure he'd appreciate the ear scratches."
"Maybe," she mumbles, dropping her face in the scruff of his neck.
"Just let Ms. Treyvaud know. And if you would like to see him earlier, or have a chat with me, feel free to have her contact me, and I'll see if I can swing by earlier." I get up, which has Boulder jumping to all fours. He knows what's waiting for him at home.
Millie scrambles to her feet as well. "See you around, Boulder," she says, patting his head before turning to me. "Thanks for letting me pet him."
"You're very welcome. Like I said, he loves the cuddles."
With a shy smile, she nods and walks out of the room. It does not escape my notice that she has very carefully avoided committing to anything. Sweet, smart, but also conflicted and very, very cautious.
What I wouldn't give to meet her father.
Newt
"How was school?"
"Fine." It's the same answer Millie gave me yesterday and it doesn't tell me anything. I read somewhere once that when a woman says 'fine,' it means she's everything but.
"Anything exciting?" I try again, which earns me an eye-roll, and I turn my eyes back to the road.
"Actually," she suddenly says, surprising me. "I met a dog today."
"At school?" I'm confused; I didn't know they let dogs in the school.
"Yeah. Dad, can we get a dog?"
"Wait. Is that even allowed? Bringing a dog into school?"
"I guess so. He's some kind of service dog. But, Dad, can we have a dog?"
"What—like a Seeing Eye dog?"
"No, he belonged to a therapist visiting the school. So can we?"
"You saw a therapist?"
"It was just some kind of welcome thing they do with new kids."
"That's pretty neat."
"Whatever, it wasn't a big deal. Can we pick up a donut at Tim Hortons?" she asks, changing tracks at lightning speed. We're coming up to Nobel and Timmies is just down the road. "I just really liked the dog. So?"
"Sure, we can."
The screaming that follows almost has me running the damn Jeep off the road.
"Yes! Thanks so much, Dad," she says with more enthusiasm than I've heard her express in the past four years. "Can we get one this weekend?"
Now I'm confused. Does she not want me to stop now?
"You want your donut this weekend?"
"Donut I want now." She turns to me with big wide innocent eyes. "But we can shop for the dog this weekend?"
Wait. What?
THREE
Newt
"Hand m
e that wrench, Mill."
It's a good thing I haven't lost my reflexes or I would've had a hole in my head. I bite my tongue. We're on day four of Millie's silent treatment. Ever since I put the kibosh on getting a dog this weekend, she's frozen me out. It's not that I don't want a dog, because I'd love one now that I actually have time for one, but I won't let my daughter run roughshod over me. She knew damn well I was agreeing to get her a donut and not a dog.
The dog will come, but not until I'm good and ready, and that won't be until school's out for the summer. If she wants a dog, she'll have to help train and look after it. No better time than summer break to get her in that routine. For now, I'm just waiting for her to show signs of the sweet girl I know is in there somewhere. As soon as I get a glimpse, I'll talk to her about getting a pet. I'm not about to reward this kind of behaviour.
My natural instinct would be to have her sit, dig down deep, and get her to talk, but after what I walked in on three months ago, I'm afraid of what she'll do when I push. The psychologist, our doctor set us up with, tried to tell me it was just a phase and she would grow out of it, but I'm not buying it. Just another quack who is quick to brush off any concerns and pull out a bottle of pills as a solution. Same thing happened when Millie's mom, Esther, got sick. She'd complained for months about severe abdominal pains and was sent home with pills for stomach acid. When she finally put her foot down and got a referral for a CAT scan, the cancer had metastasized through her body and two months later she was dead. I've lost all faith in the medical profession.