“What were you aimin’ for?” Danny said.
“What I hit.”
Danny turned up towards his house.
“Where’re you going?”
“I have to go home for a while, think things over.”
“Okay. We’ll talk some more soon.”
Janine headed back the way they had come.
“You can swim in our pool if you want to,” he called after her, in case he had been too abrupt.
She waved without turning around. Every single thing she did enchanted him more.
16
Later that afternoon, the clouds disappeared, and Danny sat on a Muskoka chair by the pool popping peanuts into his mouth and flipping the shells onto the ground.
Russell lay across his legs. She was far too big for anybody’s lap. She was covered with peanut dust, and broken shells had attached themselves to her fur. Her eyes were closed and the warm rays of the afternoon sun caught the rear half of her body.
The Blues were practically the only family in the neighbourhood with a swimming pool in their yard, and Danny thought, for the first time, how odd that was. His family would not be on anyone’s list as one likely to have a pool.
In previous summers he and his friends had used it — Cookie, not so much in recent years. On extra-hot days other kids would knock on the door and ask politely if they could have a dip to cool off. Mrs. Blue had allowed it; she hadn’t told them to go away. But Danny knew she didn’t like it. She was on edge till they cleared out.
It was inevitable that teenagers would take liberties at night, with beer in their bellies and no fear to speak of. Then she would make a fuss. She would even phone their parents if she knew who they were. At night the kids were at least partially naked, so as soon as Danny heard them, he would rush to the bathroom window to see if he could catch anything interesting. Boys’ dicks and asses mostly. The girls were slower to get out of the water once they were in and they weren’t as flagrant as the boys; they usually left their underwear on. But on occasion, he had seen a breast or two and a hint of something dark down below. It was worth the wait.
No one came knocking this summer. Danny supposed it was because of Cookie’s death. The pool was out of bounds now, for fun and frolic.
It must have been different once, before him, before Cookie. Maybe his mum and dad had had some good years, before their kids and her sickness came along to spoil everything. Maybe they had swum together in the pool. He liked to think the Blues were a welcoming family at one time. There was no reason for him to think that, other than that he liked to.
He didn’t remember his dad, except as a word: dad. A notion of a person.
There was an arm — big and sturdy with lots of hair — soft against his face. That might have been his dad.
He remembered a time when he and Cookie were little, and they had peeked around a wall into the front room to see their mother sitting in a sunbeam, sewing a button on her taffeta dress.
“Daddy?” Cookie said.
Their mum looked their way but didn’t speak.
“Daddy,” Cookie said again.
She set aside her sewing and looked past them out the window.
The memory felt so hollow that Danny wanted to fill it up with a better one, even if he had to make it up.
When he was old enough to notice that other kids had two grownups in their houses instead of just one, he’d asked his mum about it.
“Your dad died,” she said.
Aunt Dot and Uncle Edwin were there when she said it and they both got funny looks on their faces, so Danny didn’t believe her. And then, later that day, Dot and his mother whispered in cat voices. It was the first time he heard them hiss.
He waited what he considered to be a substantial length of time and then he said it again.
“Where’s my dad?”
“I told you. He died.”
“No.”
“Yes. Now leave it, Danny.”
He was still young enough not to know that a couple of hours wasn’t a substantial length of time under those sorts of circumstances.
When he had given up on asking his mother, he asked Cookie.
“Where’s our dad?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Somewhere.”
That was enough for him. He had a dad out there and he would wait for him to come home. His dad would be nicer than his mum.
As time went by, Danny and Cookie made it their business to get to the bottom of the puzzle of their missing dad. Cookie became the asker, Danny along for moral support.
Their mother started out by denying again that he existed and then, when they wouldn’t give it up, she ignored them, went about what she was doing, even if it wasn’t much. She didn’t bustle like other people’s mothers. Danny wanted a mum who bustled.
They pegged her for a liar. They even made up a game surrounding it. Cookie would be the mum, Danny the kid.
“Where’s our dad?” said the kid.
“He’s dead,” said Cookie in an irritated mother voice.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” the kid would shout.
Then they would both dance around, singing it,” Liar, liar, pants on fire, hang them up on a telephone wire,” till their real mother shouted up the stairs.
“Cut it out up there!”
They speculated on their father’s absence. Was it their fault for being born? Had their dad wanted no children? Had they behaved so badly as babies that he couldn’t stand them for one more day and escaped to a far-off land where no one knew his name or what he had run from?
Cookie had more memories than Danny of him. She knew enough to draw a picture of him. He was shaped like an elongated pear. One of the juicy ones that they took outside to slurp on in summer. The drawing looked more like a pear than a person, but Danny praised her anyway and said they could use it as a guide when they went searching.
He imagined their dad climbing up and down grassy knolls with a stick over his shoulder. The stick held a large handkerchief — father-sized — bulging with tasty foods that Danny and Cookie never got at home: fried chicken, crackers with more flavour than soda crackers, potato salad. Their mum cooked potatoes all the time, but she never made them into a salad like other mothers did. Mrs. Carter added mayonnaise and celery, and radishes in summer.
They wondered to death what became of their dad. One of Danny’s speculations was that he was a magic man. He had kept his talents to himself over the years and behaved like any other dad, made a living like any other dad, but he could see into the future. And he saw that the future in the house on Lyndale Drive was bleak. It wasn’t their fault, his and Cookie’s. They hadn’t been bleak kids, not yet, anyway. It was the fault of their mother.
Maybe their dad couldn’t face a future with her and her illness, so he did the thing that made the most sense. He ran off and joined the circus, putting to use the powers that he had kept to himself for so long. He read people’s fortunes, helped them with decisions in their lives, their futures. In short, he did good.
“Maybe that’s it,” Cookie said when Danny told her his latest theory.
“Yup, I think it is.”
They found themselves being happy for him, cheering him on in his endeavours, and then they would remember that he left them, and a shadow would fall over the hillside rambler, who ended up in a travelling show of wonderment.
Finally they put it to rest. Out loud, anyway.
Danny shifted in his lawn chair now, and Russell dug in. He shifted some more, and she resigned herself to getting up.
There was a small whisk hanging from a hook inside the back door. Danny fetched it and a dustpan and cleaned up the scattered peanut shells around his chair.
17
Rain fell in the night, but it stopped before Danny rolled out of bed. Clouds still hung heavy in the sky. It was the kind
of day when Cookie would have once said, “Let’s play board games.”
He wondered if Janine liked to play games. She probably had loads of girlfriends that she hung around with on days like this, experimenting with hairdos and talking about girl stuff, like bras and Kotex. She didn’t have much hair to work with, and it always looked about the same, and her breasts were small under her T-shirts. She wouldn’t have to think too much about what size of brassiere to choose — likely the smallest one. Maybe she and her friends just hung around, like he used to do with Paul: walking around the neighbourhood, poking at things, inventing wild scenarios that would never come to be. He missed Paul, but not as much as he did before Janine entered his life.
He’d never noticed her with girlfriends, but they must exist. The only time he’d seen her with other people was the day they’d rescued Cookie. It was hard to imagine her in a dangerous pack of girls that stood around whispering and giggling, but it must happen. Who wouldn’t want to hang around with Janine? You’d have to be mental. She said she read a lot, that that was what she did when she was on her own, but she must have friends, mustn’t she?
When he went downstairs, Aunt Dot was in the kitchen with his mother. A new carton of Buckinghams sat on the table between them. It had already been opened.
“Hello, Danny dear,” Dot said.
He hadn’t known she was coming and he didn’t think his mum had either. She was at the table in her housecoat, trying to sit up straight, her hair flat against her scalp. They exchanged a glance, mother and son, united in their desire to get on with things in their own way.
“Hi, Auntie Dot,” said Danny. “Is Uncle Edwin here too?”
“Yes. He’s outside skimming the seeds and whatnot off the pool. Are you using it, Danny?”
“Well…I lounged beside it yesterday.”
His mum lit a cigarette from the one she was ready to put out.
“How are you getting along?” said Dot. “Since no one ever answers the phone around here, I thought I better drive in and ask you in person.”
“Sorry. I answer it if I’m here.” Danny immediately regretted his words. He had ratted out his mother. He looked at her again, and this time it felt as though their shared bond was one of distrust.
“Morning, Daniel.” It was Edwin at the door.
With no thought, Danny ran to his uncle and threw his arms around his waist. Edwin brought with him the smell of the farm — manure and prairie grasses. To Danny’s horror, he felt hot tears spill down his cheeks when Edwin’s strong hand pressed against his back. He let go and made a beeline for the front hall, where he sat down on the telephone chair out of sight. His face burned with his baby-girl behaviour.
A chair scraped against the kitchen floor.
“I’m going to lie down,” his mum said.
“Oh no, you’re not,” said Dot. “Barbara, we need to talk. For God’s sake, Edwin, sit down.”
Danny had never heard her so upset. She wasn’t one to take the Lord’s name in vain. Another chair scraped, as Edwin sat.
Dot’s voice eased up a little.
“You’re not managing,” she said. “I’m going to stay for a while. Edwin, you’ll have to get along without me. You can hire someone from town for a few days to help with the house chores and the milking.”
Danny heard his mum sigh, and when he poked his head around the corner, saw her head resting on the table from two feet out. Her back made a flat surface. You could have set teacups on it.
“You go, Edwin,” Dot said. “I’ll borrow some of Barbara’s clothes.”
Edwin’s chair scraped again, and Danny returned to the kitchen in time to see him put his hat on.
“Can you two not get up without scraping your chairs along the floor and driving a person to distraction?” said Dot.
Edwin and Danny exchanged the tiniest of smiles. Neither of them wanted to get caught; it was no time for smiles.
Dot followed Edwin to their car. Danny went too, but stopped when he got to the shed. He had a few stones in his pocket to add to the ones on his shelf.
He could hear Dot’s voice clearly. Her words were all about his mum snapping out of it and performing her duties as a mother to her remaining child.
Edwin spoke, but more quietly. Danny couldn’t hear what he said. Probably not much — maybe yes, no, or mm hmm — whichever he thought fit in best.
“I’ve a mind to take that child home with us and leave Barbara to it. This is too much for Danny, Edwin. Surely you can see that.”
Again, Danny couldn’t hear his uncle’s words. He hoped he was arguing against Dot’s idea. It wasn’t possible for him to go and live with them. He wished he could relive the last several minutes and act in a more manly fashion.
“I don’t know, Edwin. I just don’t know.”
Even Dot’s sighs were louder than Edwin’s words.
It started to rain. Edwin got in the car and pulled away, and Dot marched back to the house. Danny waited a few minutes. He didn’t want to go in, but the rain began to come down hard. He found Dot in the living room, straightening up the couch and surrounding area. His mother had disappeared into her bedroom.
“How are you really getting along, Danny?” Dot held a ratty-looking blanket in her arms.
“Fine, thanks.”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly.” He smiled. He needed her to believe him.
“Are you hungry, dear?”
“A bit, I guess. I usually have cereal or toast about now.”
“Are you doing all your own meals, honey?”
“Yeah, pretty much. But it’s not hard. I’m okay with it.”
“Are you making your mother’s meals as well?”
“We had beans on toast yesterday.”
“Who prepared it?”
“Me.”
“Is your mother doing anything at all?”
He picked up an overflowing ashtray and started towards the kitchen.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my.” She followed along behind him, her arms full of bedding. “I’m just going to run down and throw a load in the washer.”
“Okay,” said Danny. “I’ll have some cereal.”
“No, you won’t. I’m going to make you a proper cooked breakfast.”
Danny stirred some Jiffy into a glass of milk while he waited for Dot.
“I could make you some hot cocoa,” she said when she came upstairs and saw what he had in front of him.
“I’m good with cold Jiffy, thanks.”
“We need laundry detergent,” Dot said. “I’ll make a list.”
She found everything she needed to make fried eggs and pancakes. There was no syrup in the cupboard, but she made some out of sugar and water.
“You’re doing a good job, Danny.”
“Thanks.”
She went to get her sister and force her to sit back down at the table. The pancakes tasted good, and Danny took a small amount of pleasure in watching his mum try to impress Dot with her eating, as though she did it all the time.
“We’re going to give your hair a good scrub after breakfast,” Dot said.
“I…” Danny began, but when he looked up from his food, he realized she was talking to his mother.
He had a mum with dirty hair.
“What would you think about coming out to the farm for a while?” Dot said to Danny. “For the rest of the summer, say?”
“No, thanks.”
He spoke around a mouthful of pancake. Everything on his plate was drenched in syrup.
“I love pancakes,” he said.
Dot sat down. “We have them all the time out at the farm. The hired men are fond of them too.”
“I can’t leave,” Danny said.
“Maybe we could talk your mum into coming too. That way you wouldn’t have to worry a
bout her.”
His mum’s fork lingered halfway between her mouth and her plate for what seemed a very long time. A small piece of pancake rested on top of it.
“I can’t go,” Danny said again. “I have swimming lessons, baseball, and summer fun club.”
His mum turned to stare at him now, but he didn’t care. She’d have to be retarded to object to his lies.
He could come up with more if he needed to. Lying had become a necessity. Dot’s idea was unacceptable.
“Well, we’ll see,” said Dot.
“Thanks for breakfast, Auntie Dot. It was delicious. May I please be excused?”
“Certainly, dear.” Dot busied herself with the cleanup.
Danny went upstairs, where he sat in his chair and stared out at the rain. It was really coming down. He used to like the rain, but ever since Cookie’s funeral it had felt like an enemy. This morning it was conspiring with Aunt Dot to take him away from his house and Janine and his plan. Not Russell. He knew they would allow him to take Russell with him. He reached down to pat the smooth clean head of his dog. She was only five years old; she probably had a good five or ten years left before she died.
He heard his mum and aunt in the bathroom. His mum let out a couple of ows. His aunt was, indeed, giving her head a good scrub.
18
Dot made salmon sandwiches for a late lunch. The three of them ate in silence around the kitchen table. Afterwards, Danny put on his baseball cap and a pullover and stuck his slingshot in his back pocket. The lace broke on his left sneaker. He retied it, using what remained. When he got home he could look for a new one, in secret, so Dot wouldn’t make a major production out of it. It was still raining, but he couldn’t wear a raincoat or take an umbrella. He could imagine the sneer on Paul’s face if he saw him scurrying along underneath his mother’s umbrella.
The clouds were so heavy that it was darker than dusk. He ran over to Janine’s house. The lights turned on in the houses lent them an air of warmth and comfort. His mum hadn’t been letting him switch on lights at home.
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