Ms. Zephyr's Notebook

by kc dyer

  “I told you she was special,” she said, running her fingers through a thin film of dust on the tabletop. “Didn’t you read my essay?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. I just forgot, that’s all.”

  “You totally did not read it. Too bad. It was an amazing piece of writing. Abbie gave me an A. It’s probably still there, in your stolen goods.” She pointed to Abbie’s notebook, the one corner of the cover that stuck out from the plastic looking considerably worse for its journey.

  “Look, I only stole Abbie’s notebook so I could use it to find you. Maybe I didn’t have time to read the whole thing.”

  For the first time, she peered at him closely. “You’re lying,” she said after a moment. “I think you really did read it after all. You’re only saying you didn’t read it because you think cool guys don’t read.”

  “Not true.”

  “It is so. And that’s where you’re wrong, bucko. Cool guys do read. And write, too. Look at Holden Caulfield.”

  “Holden Caulfield was a figment of J.D. Salinger’s imagination,” Logan snapped. “He wasn’t a real person.”

  “Ha!” Cleo’s face registered something other than pain for the first time that day. “I knew you’d get that. Means you had to have read the book, moron.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. There was no arguing with the female of the species. She was like a dog with a bone in its teeth — might as well just give up now. “Yeah, well, I only read that because Abbie told me I might like it. That and a book of poetry by Robert Frost. And she took away my Xbox, so I had nothing better to do.”

  “Anyway,” Cleo continued, still smug from her small victory. “Since you read my essay, you should remember that Nona collected antiques.”

  Logan looked around again. “My grandmother collects antiques, too,” he admitted, “but this house looks nothing like hers. Her house is huge and old and filled with pieces of smelly furniture, and each one weighs seven tons.”

  Cleo shook her head. “Nona may have been an astronomer, but she was all about fun. She only collected old things that she thought were extremely cool.” She reached down and picked up a strange looking instrument from a side table. “This sextant, for example. Nona told me she found it in the garbage at one of the observatories she worked in. Guess somebody thought that new technology was better, but Nona liked it, so she kept it.”

  A thought suddenly struck Logan and he leapt to his feet. He returned from the front hall with the contents of his inner jacket pocket.

  “Here’s something you might want back,” he said, ducking his head a little as he handed her the astrolabe. “I meant to give it back earlier, but —”

  “Logan!” she said, clearly ecstatic. “Where did you find it?”

  He was tempted to make something up — like maybe he’d found it under her bed in the hospital room — but in the end, he just told the truth. “You threw it at me the night I got mad at you for hiding the laxative wrappers in my recycling,” he said.

  She laughed a little. “Author of my own misfortune, I guess. I was past rational thinking at that point — just throwing anything to get you to stop talking. To stop reminding me of the things I do wrong.”

  “But I…”

  “I know. You were just saying what you thought was right. And it was right. But I was so sick of always being handled, Logan. Blood pressure cuff. Temperature. Heart rate monitor. Gastric tube. Intravenous drip. You must know what I mean, you’ve been there, too. I just wanted them to leave me alone. When the feeding tube came out I thought I would be free of them for at least part of the time. But Medusa was measuring my food output. Do you know what that means?”

  Logan was silent a moment, watching Cleo running her fingers over the small metal astrolabe. “I guess it means you thought she deserved to find a little dog shit in the toilet.”

  Cleo grinned. “Exactly.”

  12

  A candle flickered from inside a jam jar and reflected off the polished surface of the old dining table.

  “Nona would have liked this,” Cleo said. “She loved spontaneity.”

  Logan looked across at her and grinned. “What would she have thought about the menu?”

  The table was not exactly groaning under the weight of a feast. A quick search through Nona’s pantry yielded little that either of them was either interested in or able to eat. So, they drank tea, ate toast, and Cleo splurged on a spoonful of peanut butter.

  “I’ve given up barfing,” she said conversationally.

  Logan grinned, not put off in the least from his dinner. “How do you know?” he asked. “Maybe as soon as you get back around the skinny chick at school or your sister you’ll want to start again.”

  “No,” she said firmly, chewing her toast. “I decided last night. After the cab let me off at the rest home, I hiked over and hid in the bathroom of the community centre. Sitting with my feet up on the toilet until they shut off the lights gave me a chance to think.”

  “Good place for thinking, toilets,” Logan said.

  “Not for me. I usually spend my time in the washroom trying not to think about what I am doing.” She took a sip of tea. “Anyway, I really do want to try to have more fun in my life. Not like Adine and her rainbow-party kind of fun. I want to be more like Nona — the one I remember, not the one I saw today. I need to get rid of some of the crappy stuff from my past. Including throwing up every time I eat.”

  Logan was silent a moment, thinking. “I still don’t really get it, you know.”

  “Get what? The barfing?”

  “Yeah — well, that and everything else. I mean, look at you; you are a beautiful girl. Or you would be if you had a little meat on your bones.” He ignored Cleo’s glare and stumbled on, determined to finish what he’d set out to say. “It’s just been really hard for me, y’know. Watching you starve yourself — for the sake of what? Did it make you smarter or better than anyone else? Did it make you happier?”

  Cleo dropped her eyes.

  “No, it didn’t make me happier. It just sort of took hold of me. I couldn’t think of anything else. It was like, if I controlled the food, it meant I would look great and everything else would be all right.”

  “Uh, I hate to break it to you, but you don’t look great with your bones sticking through your skin.”

  She glared at him across the table. “Okay, I just said I’d given up being sick. I’ve figured it out, all right?”

  Logan reached across the table and touched her arm. Cleo stiffened, but finally let him take her hand in his.

  “I don’t think you have got it all figured out,” he said quietly. “But the reason I came to find you was to let you know that if you need a little support along the way, I’m here.”

  Cleo looked at him a long time, her eyes large in the candlelight. Logan steeled himself for the usual verbal onslaught when she finally opened her mouth, but instead of the whole chain of excuses he expected to hear, all she said was “Thanks.”

  Logan woke as the first light of dawn crept through Nona’s lace curtains. He pulled himself up off the couch, grateful for its comfort after the bench of the night before. They’d sat for hours after dinner, just talking and looking out the window at the stars. Cleo had shown him how to use the astrolabe and the sextant. He’d told her about his decision to try for a job as volunteer coach for the rugby squad at the middle school next year. They had both expected the police or her parents to show up — but nothing. Not even a phone call. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but this morning, somehow he felt completely rested for the first time in months.

  He could hear Cleo in the kitchen, knocking dishes together and splashing. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  “Logan!”

  Cleo’s voice was muffled from the distance, but there was no mistaking her urgency. Logan jumped up, instantly alert, and ran through the doorway. “What is it?”

  He found her standing in the pristine kitchen, all blue and white cheerfulness in the morning light. Cle
o stood beside the countertop, a strange look on her face. On the counter was Abbie’s notebook, open to the last page. And in her hand was a small, white envelope.

  “What is it?” Logan repeated, striding over to stand beside her.

  “I must have missed it in the dark last night,” she said. “I think it’s a note — to me.”

  “Uh, did you pick that up from the fact that it has ‘CLEO’ written on it in huge letters?”

  “Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants. It’s just… she said yesterday she’d left me something, remember? When I was talking to her in the nursing home.”

  “Cleo, by the time I got there, you were holding hands with an ex-grandmother.”

  She glared at him and turned the envelope over in her hands.

  “Words from the dead. That’s a bit creepy, isn’t it?” he muttered.

  “Thank you, Mister Sensitivity,” she said flatly.

  “Maybe I should just read it.”

  “Good idea.”

  She opened the small envelope and pulled out a heavily folded piece of paper. As she undid the first fold, a silver key fell out and clattered onto the countertop. It was attached to a thin chain with a tiny car on it. Logan slapped his hand on the key to stop it sliding to the floor.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a key, goofball.”

  “I can see that,” he replied impatiently. “My question is, what is it a key to?” He looked at the keychain. “A car, maybe?”

  “Nona hasn’t driven since I’ve known her, so your guess is as good as mine.” Cleo unfolded the rest of the letter, a surprisingly large piece of paper with both sides closely covered in a spidery script.

  Logan took one look at the length of the letter and turned away to prowl the cupboards. It was time for breakfast.

  The phone on the counter rang with a shrillness that made them both jump.

  “Are you going to answer that?” he asked after the second ring.

  “I don’t want them to know I’m here,” Cleo said. “Unless…”

  The answering machine attached to the phone clicked on and a lively voice spoke.

  “This is Sophia. You’ve missed me. Leave a message.”

  Cleo’s face was white. “Nona…,” she whispered.

  “Cleopatra darling, are you there? It’s Mother. If you are there, please pick up the phone.”

  Logan reached for the receiver but Cleo pushed his hand away, gesturing wildly. Her mother’s voice continued.

  “Sweetie, I’ve just come off the phone with Mrs. Beadle at the nursing home. They told me you were with Nona when she passed yesterday. I’m… I’m a little confused, sweetie-pie. I got a message from the hospital on my voicemail saying you’d been transferred to a different unit, but when I called the hospital, they said you’d been signed out for a weekend pass. But never mind that now — we can sort it all out later. Honey? Are you there? Please pick up. I’m so sorry, baby, I wanted to spare you this after all you’ve been through lately.”

  “You should talk to her, Cleo,” said Logan. “Hurry, before she hangs up.” He reached for the phone again, but his hand froze at her next words

  “Honey, I’m coming down to get you. Logan’s dad is here, too. I know he’s with you down there. Mrs. Beadle said you were there with someone claiming to be your cousin…”

  “Oh, now that’s good,” muttered Cleo. “They probably think we planned all this.”

  “Shhh!” said Logan, trying to hear.

  “… all have a lot to talk about, don’t you think? We’ll be there…”

  Click.

  The answering machine cut her off and the tape began to rewind.

  “Oh, great,” said Logan. “Some kind of freakin’ modern answering machine your Nona has — now we don’t even know when they are going to get here.”

  Cleo still looked like she’d seen — or heard — a ghost. “I think maybe you need a cup of tea,” he said quietly, mentally kicking himself. She was right — he really was Mr. Sensitivity. Not.

  Cleo spoke through white lips. “We need to decide what to do, don’t you think? She said your dad…”

  “Just think a minute. It’s okay. Even if they leave right now, it’ll still take them a couple of hours to get here,” Logan said. “Let me get you a drink at least.” Cleo nodded and turned back to the letter.

  Logan walked into the pantry but found himself staring blindly at the shelves. Dad? Here? Why would…?

  His thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of a slamming door. His heart went into his throat. How could they be here already?

  Logan stuck his head into the kitchen. “Is somebody…”

  But the kitchen was empty.

  Hunger forgotten, Logan grabbed his coat and ran for the door. He leaped over a broom Cleo had left tilted against the wall but caught the toe of his shoe and crashed heavily to the floor. By the time he wrenched open the front door there was no sign of her. He stared stupidly down at the footprints still frozen on the doorstep from the night before. No fresh prints, so he slammed the door shut and headed for the back of the house. He hadn’t been back here before and it took a minute to find the door. It wasn’t quite closed and a pall of cold hung in the air. But when he opened it he could see where she’d bolted through the large yard and past an outbuilding.

  Logan ran back inside to grab his shoes and saw the letter where she’d dropped it on the floor. His heart still hammering, he walked over and picked up the letter. What was going on in that girl’s head? Maybe the letter held the answer.

  The key was still on the counter. His fingers toyed with it absently as he read.

  July 15

  My darling Cleopatra,

  I’m very tired these days, my dear and you mustn’t fret about my imminent departure. I’m not one to hang around after a party gets dull. But the old girl has a few surprises left in her. Your mother will be able to stop worrying about pushing poor Helena toward a career as a terminal starlet. In your case, of course, your brains will carry you wherever you need to go, my dear. However, your Nona has made a few financial provisions for you as well. Somehow I don’t think you care about money as much as your parents do and that is as it should be. Parents are made for worrying; it’s what we do.

  The worst thing about being gone will be missing out on watching the fun you are going to have in your life. But perhaps I won’t miss it, after all. I may just hang around on some spiritual level to make sure you keep enough starch in your petticoats. (Just a little joke, my dear. Personally, I’ve never favoured petticoats.)

  When I think of all the good times I’ve had in my life, I realize that most of them have stemmed from not standing still. I love to have roots; my home has been here in Clearwater since before your father was born. It is very important to me. But I must say I enjoyed my home the most when I was returning to it from someplace far away.

  I don’t think you’ve had exposure to nearly enough wandering, my dear. And I want to give you the opportunity. So let’s just say this little silver object is more than just a key. It’s a way of life. You will not be able to use it immediately, but as I know all too well, time passes more quickly than we ever imagine. I hope you embrace my gift to you and get as much enjoyment out of it as I have. I might add that over the years I found it never hurts to have a handsome navigator along for the ride.

  Time for me to say a final goodbye now, Cleopatra. But, my girl, please remember this: when I say I will love you into eternity, that is exactly what I plan to do.

  Your grandmother,

  Nona Sophia

  Logan dropped the letter onto the counter. He still didn’t have a clue what Cleo was up to. But she had quite the cool grandmother, he thought. He picked up the key and examined it curiously. He rubbed his thumb across the tiny logo on the key again, and lifted his eyes slowly from the key, out the kitchen window to the small building behind the house. He ran for his shoes.

  The door wasn’t even locked. The handle turned as smoothly as
any well-oiled machine in his hand. And even though the key dangled from his fist, he still couldn’t quite believe the sight before his eyes.

  Number one on the list.

  Number one.

  The Ferrari. His dream car.

  Okay — it wasn’t a 1961 — if he guessed right it was a ’68 or a ’69. And it wasn’t silver. It was red.

  Cherry red. A cherry red rag top. Logan leaned against the wall. After everything that had happened in the past few days, he wasn’t completely sure he could trust his legs to hold him up.

  He’d never been in the presence of a car like this one before. He’d never even known anyone who had been. His dad had talked about seeing one once, but even that was only at a distance.

  It was beautiful. It was a jewel. But instead of dropping it into his lap, the car gods had bequeathed it to a weird skinny girl who couldn’t even drive yet.

  He ran his hand along the chrome and something akin to an electric shock shot through him, snapping him back to reality. He’d forgotten Cleo. Some helpful guy he was. The ex-rugby player drops the ball again. Where had she gone, anyway?

  He looked out the garage window and realized she’d run towards the water. Was she suicidal with the light of day and the loss of her grandmother? Was the thought of her mother’s arrival enough to make her want to throw herself into the lake? And what had he done to help? Fainted on her and nearly broken her nose. Fallen asleep on the couch. Time to get his act together.

  He wiped his hands on his coat and then reverently placed them on the hood of the car again. Stealing a car was okay if the owner gave you the key, wasn’t it? She’d left him the key, hadn’t she? That made it not stealing. Of course it did.

  But the car would never start. Not in this cold. Not a chance.

  Logan looked around. Heated garage, car plugged into a block heater. Maybe the car gods didn’t completely hate him after all.

  Afterwards, he couldn’t even remember sliding in behind the wheel. The vehicle started like a dream and purred like a panther. It didn’t matter that he’d never heard a panther purr. If a panther purred, this is what it would sound like, no question.