by B. R. Myers
“When?” I checked my watch, determined to not screw up today.
“Right now.”
I was still in my cut-offs.
“Oh geez! I have to change!” I headed for the bathroom, unzipping my bag as I ran.
I pushed open the door and smacked right into Chloe.
THIRTEEN
Chloe and I were in some kind of silent movie, where the actors stared at each other while their mouths moved but no sound came out. The heat swelled up and set my cheeks on fire. My armpits were sticky. It was a long, tortuous three seconds.
“Oh,” I finally said. Holy bacon turds, for a chick who spends most of her time reading, my vocab today was el sucko.
Chloe looked just as uncomfortable. “Hey,” she said.
I stated the obvious. “Maybe this year for Christmas someone can buy us a thesaurus.”
She let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about your best friend,” she said.
My eyes darted around the washroom, wondering if this was a joke. Considering my public berating by Mr. Deveau, it made no sense for her to bring up Francine. “Why are you sorry?” I asked slowly.
Chloe’s white cap was bunched up in her hands. “My best friend is away for the summer too.” She gave me a sad smile. “And yeah, it sucks.”
“Is she having an awesome time at her family’s beach house?” I asked, a little sarcastically.
Chloe shook her head and said, “It’s kind of a long story.” She motioned to the uniform poking out of my bag. “Get changed and meet me in the holding bar, okay? There’s a pile of linen to fold for lunch.”
Even though she didn’t say very much, I felt like Chloe and I had started to build a bridge, like we’d crossed some invisible line.
Chloe wasn’t kidding about the huge pile of napkins to sort through. “That’s for you,” she said, pointing to a glass of Coke on the bar.
“Oh, thanks,” I said, surprised. Although the thought of having Coke at ten in the morning made my teeth ache.
Chloe folded a napkin in thirds then doubled it over, running her hand along the seam to smooth it down. “When we set up for lunch,” she said, “I’ll show you how to make a flower and a fan.”
I copied her actions the best I could. Five minutes of silent folding and pressing went by. Then, out of the blue, she started. “My best friend,” she paused and caught my eye, “is Jesse Collins.”
“Oh right,” I said, trying to sound surprised. Of course I knew who her best friend was! She and Chloe were the top of the food chain at our high school. This was the total opposite of our conversation yesterday.
That’s the interesting thing about popular people like Chloe. They have no clue that people they didn’t even know existed (like moi), knew everything about them and their friends. Chloe was the beauty queen and Jesse was the tall athletic phenom—or at least she used to be.
My heart sank. I knew where this story was going. Everyone in Mariner’s Cove had talked about it for months.
“Well,” Chloe began. “You remember about her dad, right?”
I did. It was even in the papers. I nodded sadly.
“She dropped out of track and gave up on a scholarship after he died.” Chloe took a long sip of Coke. “It’s hard to see someone you love feel so horrible. She wasn’t herself at all.”
“It must have been a nightmare.” My parents are beyond frustrating sometimes, but I don’t know what I’d I do if it were just Chet and me.
“Yeah.” She let out a little puff of air. Then after a long pause she said, “But here’s the thing. She really needed to get away this summer, and escape all the gossip and staring.”
“Little community, big gossip,” I said automatically. I cringed inside. I felt like an idiot, but Chloe relaxed her whole body.
“Exactly,” she agreed. The indignant huff was hard to miss. “So, Jesse is at camp, working as a counsellor, meeting new people—people who don’t know about her dad. And she can have some fun, get recharged. And I’m totally happy that she’s done it, but…”
Chloe closed her eyes. She took another long gulp of Coke and finished off the glass. “But I really miss her, and I hate that I couldn’t make her happy, you know? I wanted to be the one who could bring her around.” She sat down. I could tell she was unloading a lot of guilt at my feet.
I didn’t know what to do. I took a long swig of my Coke. A pain built up in my chest. Chloe had been missing her best friend too. Maybe she had big plans for this summer and had no one to make sure she was checking off her spreadsheet.
“Hey,” I started—then, without warning, I let out a humongous belch. I clamped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, excuse me. I didn’t know that was there!”
Chloe started to laugh, and then let out her own burp.
“Huh,” Julia stood in the doorway, looking impressed. She was still in her leather chaps. Her boyfriend’s motorcycle rumbled off in the distance. “This place just got a whole lot more interesting.”
By the time the tables were set with mine and Chloe’s beautiful napkin fans and fresh flowers from the new garden, Mr. Deveau was wrapping up a deal with the new caterer. The woman was middle-aged and stylish, but not over the top. Some moms dress like they’re trying to look young, but it comes off cheesy. She wasn’t like that, she was classy. She also had a nice smile.
Chloe and I watched from the kitchen. She nudged me in the ribs with her elbow. “That’s Jesse’s mom,” she said, proudly. “She needs all the extra jobs she can get. With Jesse dropping track, the scholarship isn’t possible anymore.”
My stomach clenched with guilt. “That’s how you know her,” I said, seeing her suggestion from yesterday in a whole new light.
“Come on.” Chloe tugged playfully on my apron. I followed her through the dining room and waited by the doorway as Mr. Deveau sealed the deal with a handshake. He didn’t even make eye contact as he whisked by me to the bar.
The woman gave Chloe a beaming smile, and pulled her into a hug. “Heard from Jesse?” she asked.
Chloe giggled. “I got an e-mail yesterday. Sounds like her cabin is a hoot. And there’s—” Chloe paused. “Some good-looking guys…sort of.”
Jesse’s mom squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t need to tell me everything, Chloe.” She smiled and it was almost a look of relief. “I’m so happy she decided to go.” Chloe nodded and they both got misty-eyed. The intimate scene didn’t need my nose poking in, so I slipped away.
A petite woman with grey hair was frowning up at Captain Bowsky’s portrait. Her hands were clasped behind her back. The tables in this area were empty; most of the customers had decided to dine on the patio today. I smiled at her as I walked by.
“Creepy,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
She nodded her slightly spiky hair toward the painting. She said, “His eyes do that weird thing where they follow you—”
“Around the room!” I finished.
Her bright red lips stretched into a smile. “Thank goodness,” she said. “I thought I was the only one he was haunting.”
I laughed. “Have you ordered yet? Can I get you anything?”
Folded linen napkin? Sugar bowl? Peppermint that’s been warming in my pocket?
She smoothed out her long white tunic. Her ballet flats had daises on the toes. I immediately thought of Ronnie. “Oh, no, thank you,” she said. “My daughter was meeting with the manager about a wedding cake. She’s a caterer.” Her voice went up at the end, a sign of pride. I wondered if my mom told people I was a busgirl. I imagined her voice going down, keeping it low, like a secret.
I did the math and peeked out at Chloe and Jesse’s mom, still talking. The elderly woman said to me, “Chloe has a strong link to my granddaughter. When I’m around her, I don’t miss Legs so much.”
“Legs?”
“Tha
t’s my nickname for my granddaughter, Jesse.” She smiled again. It was genuine. Again I pictured the tall, popular girl from high school. You think you know everything about someone, but we all have secrets, apparently. She tilted her head and studied me. “Is this a nice place to work?”
I plucked at my apron. “It could be worse. I could be a pirate.”
“Actually, I think you make a rather cute Little Bo Peep,” she declared. “Are you having a good summer?” she asked.
“I guess it depends on your definition of good.” I stopped and gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that just kind of came out.”
“It means you’re honest,” she said, matter of fact.
I thought of all my quizzes and I suddenly felt tired. “I’m not sure what I am these days.”
We stayed quiet for a few seconds, then she reached out her hand to mine. “May I?” she asked. The question on her face softened. “I read palms,” she explained.
My hand reached out to hers like it had a mind of its own. With two academics for parents, palm reading wasn’t high on the list of belief systems. Still, I liked how her fingers traced the lines on my hand as if decoding an ancient prophecy that started in the womb. Or maybe it was just nice to have someone paying attention to me.
Her bangles tinkled. “Oh, dear.” Her well-shaped eyebrows furrowed together. I leaned closer as if DANGER! were written on my palm. “It’s inevitable,” she sighed. When she let go of my hand, I instantly missed her warmth.
I searched her eyes. “What?” I asked.
She clasped her hands behind her back again. “You’re in for an unexpected romance,” she said. My eyes flicked to Captain Bowsky, certain I would see him wink. I snorted and followed her gaze to the main foyer, where Chloe was saying goodbye to Jesse’s mom.
“All right,” she sighed. “I better give Scarlett O’Hara a hug. That’s my nickname for Jesse’s friend Chloe,” she laughed. “The boys hover around her like bees to the hive, but that’s because she’s such a honey. You can’t say that about most beauty queens.”
“I wish I knew her secret,” I said. It seemed honesty was trickling out of me uncontrollably. Hey, the woman had seen my future, there were no secrets between us girls now.
Jesse’s grandma looked at me like I had two heads. “It’s easy,” she said. “Chloe loves herself.” She leaned in closer and dropped her voice, ready to deliver a delicious bit of gossip. “A girl can’t sparkle unless she knows which bits shine.”
I tried to come up with something in me that shone. She could tell I was struggling. “Everyone has something that makes them glow,” she insisted.
I knew what made me glow—thinking about kissing Blaine. “What if you can’t get the thing that makes you glow?” I asked her.
She thought for a moment, then said, “When you stop chasing the thing you want, you give the thing you need a chance to catch you.” She ended the sentence with a wink, like it was a secret signal or something. “See you later, Bo Peep.” She made her way to the main foyer, where she enveloped Chloe. It was comforting to watch them.
The rest of the shift went smoothly. Each time I went into the kitchen, How-hole gave me a friendly nod. I guess we were sort of friends now. When you walk in on someone’s audition for Canadian Idol, you bond.
Mr. Deveau was in jolly good form, with his red polo shirt and white pants. I couldn’t believe the guy dressed that way on purpose. He paused by the window, studying the harbour. “With the sun sparkling off the water and the sailboats breezing by,” he sighed, “it makes my heart leap.”
I caught Chloe’s eye and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
He let out another loving sigh, then clapped his hands. “The cake is ordered and the wedding photographer is scheduled to come by for a preliminary shooting. We will leave nothing to chance on the special day.” He gave Chloe and Julia a thumbs-up.
As if Julia, or anyone else, was losing sleep over the stupid wedding. It’s not like it was the royal wedding or anything. Now that would be totally awesome. Still, even though Prince Harry is a hottie, he’s no Blaine Mulder.
Chloe and I walked down the front stairs, dragging our swollen feet, glad to be finished another shift. We’d already changed out of our uniforms. She told me about her plans to go to the beach the next day with a few friends and invited me to tag along.
My heart soared. I didn’t bother trying to hide how excited I was. She gave me a wave goodbye, then popped in her ear buds and left in the direction of the yacht club.
I hung out by the front gate. I checked my watch. Dad was usually late getting supper ready. I wondered if I had enough time for a quick trip to the yacht club. I couldn’t very well have a spontaneous chit-chat with Blaine if I didn’t bump into him. A heaviness settled in my chest. If it was this much work to check off a spontaneous chit-chat, it would be Labour Day weekend by the time I worked my way down to the kissing box.
I unwrapped my last peppermint for the day. How-hole pedalled by, his neon hair poking out of his bike helmet. He flashed me a grin, and I imagined his blue eyes were crinkling at the edges. I laughed out loud and watched as he leaned forward, practically standing on the pedals, to get up the steep hill.
“Work it, dishpan hands,” I called out.
I kept watching the spot where his bike disappeared over the slope. “When you stop chasing the thing you want, you give the thing you need a chance to catch you.”
Little Bo Peep, has lost her sheep…maybe I have been chasing the wrong thing.
I slowly sucked on my peppermint. Jesse’s grandma had put me in a philosophical kind of mood. I started to think about all the fuss with the upcoming wedding. Is that what love was really about? Why was it so important to have a fancy caterer, and flowers grown specially, and a photographer who has to show up for light tests? Does the amount of money you spend equate the amount of love you feel?
It made no sense to me. My parents had been married in the afternoon, had a buffet reception at a colleague’s house, and that was it. And they were still happy…right?
I crunched down on the peppermint, breaking it in half. Goosebumps covered my arms. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen my parents smile at each other.
A horn beeped. Blaine’s truck rumbled through the intersection. Without thinking, I pushed off the front gate, my legs propelling me to the edge of the road. Francine’s spreadsheet loomed in my mind. If Chloe’s best friend was trying to make a new start at camp, I could certainly wave at Blaine. We were math buddies, after all.
I stood on my tiptoes and waved, “Hey, Blaine!” My heart was thumping out a tribal message.
Go. Go. Go.
Blaine turned his head. His face was blank. Time froze. Then he smiled at me.
He. Smiled. At. Me.
Suddenly weddings and flowers and cakes were beautiful and wonderful and fabulous. And everyone should be in love because it makes you leap to your feet.
I was busy waving at him and he was busy smiling back. Neither one of us noticed the bike racing down the hill, or the rider with his hands down by his sides.
FOURTEEN
A flash of blue caught my attention. I turned my head. There was no time to warn him. I saw everything happen in slow motion. The scream was trapped inside my head. I almost choked on my peppermint. How-hole gripped the bars and swerved to the side at the last second. Blaine didn’t even brake, he hadn’t seen How-hole at all. The truck and bike passed each other as if death wasn’t leaning against the picket fence, smoking a cigarette, just waiting for the blood spill.
I almost got How-hole killed!
I was the only one having a coronary, though. Blaine was now looking forward, driving away from me. How-hole, ignorant to how close he had come to getting his blue-haired head knocked off his shoulders, continued to pedal through the intersection.
Then I
was left alone, clutching the fuzzy yellow gorilla, trying to swallow my heart back down my throat. I glanced around; no one else had seen How-hole almost get killed. The world continued turning for the ignorant.
I blinked a few times and swivelled my head, looking for his blue hair. I spotted him over by the main wharf. He had taken the road that wrapped around the back of the harbour.
If that was the way home, I wondered, why had he even gone up the hill to begin with?
A voice echoed an answer inside my head.
Reckless thrill-seeker.
My temples began to pound. I guess when you mix craziness with bad driving, your choices don’t always make sense. Normal people don’t careen down hills toward trucks for fun, right? A chill ran down my spine. Blaine wasn’t the kind of guy who would plow into someone on a bike. He’d never drive recklessly. He’d only waved at me for a split second—it’s not like he was texting.
Blaine was responsible.
I decided to walk home instead of calling for a drive. I needed to decompress. Besides, Blaine’s truck might make another appearance and offer me a lift home. Francine would be proud. I was attacking “spontaneous chit-chat” with gumption.
But the only vehicles I noticed were a Stunder’s Mercedes, a local in a banged-up two-door, and the shiny red SUV that everyone knew belonged to Frank Driscoll, high school dropout and local creep.
He lived with his mother and worked at the gas station, where he cleaned his car after every shift—inside and out. Harmless, but still able to produce skin-crawling comments on a regular basis.
He pulled up beside me and rolled down his window. “Hey, Kelsey,” he said. “Need a drive?”
“No, thank you.” I kept walking. “I need the exercise.”
Friendly yet formal works for all kinds of situations.