Small Bones

by Vicki Grant

  He put his hands on my waist. “Anxious to get to bed, are you?”

  I put my palms on his shoulder. “Anxious to get to sleep. So thanks for the ride—”

  “I can think of a better way to thank me. You could ask me in.”

  “But I’m not going to.”

  He leaned against me. “Sure?”

  “Yes.” I pushed him away. A button popped off his shirt.

  “Just four more to go,” he said.

  “Leave,” I said.

  “We’re just getting started.”

  “No. Go.”

  He shoved me up against the door of the cabin, pushing his fat, French-fry-flavored tongue into my mouth.

  I bit down as hard as I could. He swore and jumped back, his hand checking for blood. I unlocked the door, stepped inside and locked it behind me.

  He stood outside the cabin, banging at my window, spitting every so often, threatening to ruin me in all sorts of ways I hadn’t already managed to do myself.

  I stopped listening and started packing. When he finally left and there was enough silence for me to think, I unfolded the note.

  What happened? How come you didn’t come to the dock? Really need to talk. We’ve got to decide what we’re going to do.

  Eddie xo

  He’d said we.

  He’d said we.

  For a moment I let myself forget everything else and just remembered how nice that used to sound.

  Then I tore the note into little pieces and went to bed.

  Twenty-Eight

  I DIDN’T SLEEP. I was too busy planning my escape or fending off unpleasant thoughts—and even pleasant ones, because they turned into the worst kind and hurt the most.

  In the morning I got dressed and stepped outside into the sunlight. I felt like my eyeballs had been marinated in nail-polish remover overnight.

  There was another note stuck in my door.

  You better get out of here fast. You aren’t safe.

  I didn’t recognize the handwriting—a childish scrawl—but I had a pretty good idea who the note was from. Finlay couldn’t scare me. I’d be long gone by the time he got off work.

  I got to the housekeeping office at ten to eight. Mrs. Smees said, “You have trouble sleeping last night?” I must have looked bad. “Well, don’t think that’s an excuse to get nothing done today.”

  I nodded and sat down at my sewing machine. I set to work, brainlessly patching napkins and hemming tablecloths.

  At ten thirty, Mrs. Smees disappeared into the laundry room for a few minutes and came back with a bundle of freshly pressed napkins. “Take these to the gazebo set up near the beach. Tell Mr. Oliphant they’re for the head table.”

  I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to run into anyone, but what choice did I have? I went. The lawn between the lodge and the lake had been transformed. There were tables, chairs, tents, giant flower arrangements, all sorts of people buzzing around, but no Mr. Oliphant.

  Glennie was in the midst of the hustle, popping buns into her apron pocket, goofing around. Janice was there too, but actually working. I finally spotted Mr. Oliphant struggling with a tent pole at the far side of the crowd. He saw me and his face scrunched up as if something smelled bad. He’d never forgiven me for the coffee incident.

  I handed him the napkins and hurried back toward the lodge so I wouldn’t run into anyone else. Not fast enough.

  “Dot!”

  I kept going.

  “Dot!” And pounding feet.

  I turned around, made my face smile.

  “Hey!” Eddie’s hair looked like he’d had a windy ride across the lake. “Where were you last night? Didn’t you get my note?”

  “You left a note?” Weak.

  “Really?” Like, You’re kidding me. Waiting for the joke. “Mr. Quigley called me in to—”

  “Could we talk about this some other time? I’ve got to go. Mrs. Smees…”

  “Sure. But don’t worry about Muriel. I’ll look after her.” Laughing now. “There’s someone you have to meet.”

  “I can’t.”

  Taking my hand. “C’mon.” Running. “Only take a second.” He whistled as if he was calling a cab. A man sitting on a log at the edge of the beach turned, put his cigarette into his mouth and saluted.

  “I really don’t have time, Eddie.”

  “Nonsense.”

  He dragged me down to the beach and the man. “Dad,” he said with a big smile, “this is Dot Blythe.”

  Gunky’s face was sunburned, lines and wrinkles engraved in red skin. His shirt could have used a cleaning. He kept his cigarette in his mouth and said, “And here I thought Eddie’d been exaggerating—but you’re everything he said you were and an ice-cream sundae too.” His words were a bit slurred, but it was the floatiness of his head that did it. He’d been drinking. “Forgive me if I don’t get up.”

  I said, “That’s okay” and took a few steps back. “I’ve got to get going anyway. Nice to meet you, Mr. Nicholson.”

  “Who’s this Mr. Nicholson? My name’s Eric—but call me Gunky,” he said. “Everyone does.”

  Eric.

  E.

  I couldn’t even say goodbye. I turned and ran back to the lodge.

  Eddie ran after me for a while, calling my name, then stopped. Just stopped. Let me go.

  I’d thought that’s what I wanted, but it didn’t feel like it.

  Twenty-Nine

  MRS. SMEES LAID into me for taking so long to drop off the napkins. I got back to my mending but had trouble negotiating even the straight seams.

  Run away. Run-run-run-run-runaway. That’s all I could think.

  Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door, and Eddie bounded in. “Sorry, Muriel, but Mrs. Naylor asked to borrow Dot for a few minutes.”

  “Now? The garden party starts in two hours. I might need her. I’ve—”

  “Can’t imagine Mrs. Naylor asking if it wasn’t important. Could be something to do with the party. Isn’t Ward master of ceremonies?”

  She swatted us away. “Okay, okay. Take her. I’ll make do.”

  He handed her a sticky bun. “No. Take a break. I’ll have her back in two shakes.”

  We headed down the hall. “What does she need done?” I said in my most humble-servant type of voice.

  Eddie had a sort of blank all-purpose smile on his face. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

  He led me to the path in the woods, not speaking. I was worried he was going to wait until we were out of sight and then kiss me. I was worried he wasn’t going to.

  He stopped behind an old pine. He checked to see if anyone was around, then said, “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I didn’t.

  “Don’t even try, Dot. You know damn well what I’m talking about. Running off like that. You ashamed to be seen with my dad?”

  I opened my mouth. I shook my head. That’s not what it was about at all.

  “You have no right to judge him. You have no idea what he’s been through.”

  “I don’t judge him.”

  He snorted at that. “You know, you had me fooled for a while there. Girl like Glennie or Janice, I’d have expected something like that. It’s just the type of people they are. But I honestly thought you were different. Not just another rich kid doing time at the Arms because her parents want her to ‘learn the value of a dollar.’ You actually work. You’ve got a brain in your head. You’re decent. And then this. Treating him like a piece of garbage.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You were so.”

  “No. I was just busy. You surprised me. And the big party is…”

  He was staring at me, calculating his next move. “Okay. Then come down to the beach and talk to him.” He took my hand, started to walk out of the woods.

  “I can’t. Mrs. Smees.” I dug in my heels.

  “Yes, you can. She thinks you’re at Mrs. Naylor’s.” He pulled.

&nb
sp; I wouldn’t move. “What if she sees us?”

  “She won’t. She never goes to the beach.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You don’t want to be seen with my father. There’s no other possible reason.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  How was I going to explain this? Admit the truth? I wasn’t brave enough for that. Apologize? Go back and see Gunky? Carry on as if I didn’t know? I couldn’t.

  “It’s not your father. It’s—”

  “What?”

  “I’ve met someone else.”

  Eddie dropped my hand and stepped back. “Who?” He turned up his palms, an entirely different person now. “Who?”

  I didn’t know anyone. The Weasel? He had a girlfriend. Bas? I couldn’t.

  “Finlay.”

  “Finlay Hart? You’re not serious.”

  “I am.”

  “He’s a jerk. You know that, Dot. What could you possibly like about him?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It is so. You owe me that much.” Not mad now.

  I looked at my fingers. He was right. I did owe him that much. “He’s funny.” Not really. “Good-looking.” At least, some people thought so.

  “Good-looking? Dot. I’ve caught fish that are better-looking than him—and smarter too.”

  I thought he was trying to make me laugh, but when I looked up, his face was sad.

  “I don’t understand. I thought this was like, I don’t know, a thing. I thought we were serious.” He put his hands on my shoulders, and they were warm, and I could feel myself giving in.

  I pushed them away. “Yeah, well, me too, but then I realized I was being an idiot. I’m sick of you flirting with everyone who moves.”

  “Flirting? Me? With who?”

  “Janice.”

  “Janice Petley-Jones?”

  “I saw you outside the kitchen that day. Whispering, giggling. Hands all over her.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve seen Janice, like, once this year, and I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Filling Oliphant’s shoes with gravy. Something stupid like that. A joke. I wasn’t flirting. I was just being, I don’t know, me.”

  “And were you just being you when you gave me Libby’s jacket?”

  He twitched like a bug had just landed on his eyelid. “What does that have to do with anything? You didn’t have one. She left it at my place—”

  “Yeah. And what other garments did she leave?”

  “I don’t know. Who cares? I’m not apologizing for going out with someone before I even met you. You’re different. This is special.”

  “Sure. Special. You pull the same shtick with all the girls. Hidden Bay. The ham sandwiches.”

  “You’ve been talking with Glennie.”

  “Good thing. You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

  “Why does that even matter? I didn’t know you then. Now I know you. I like you. We do different stuff. Dot. Please. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We’re done.”

  “This isn’t right.” He looked at me and kind of smiled like, C’mon. It’s me, Eddie. “Please. Why are you doing this?”

  “Why?” I said. “Why should I go out with a caretaker from some crappy little town when I could go out with a college boy?”

  Thirty

  “SO WHAT DID she need you for so desperately?” Mrs. Smees said.

  I mumbled something about a silk dress with a torn lining and she said Mrs. Naylor never wore anything other than a cotton housedress, and I said maybe it wasn’t hers, could have been a friend’s— at which point she huffed and said I should stop stalling and get back to work.

  My sewing machine kept saying, EddieEddieEddieEddie, and I kept thinking, SorrySorrySorrySorry. I had no choice. This had to end.

  And now I had to get out of there.

  I left for lunch on the stroke of twelve. I needed to see a train schedule. The guy at the front desk didn’t have one, so he sent me to the reading room. There were only two other people there, a man snoring over a newspaper, and a lady reading Chatelaine.

  The schedule was right where it should be, and I was in luck. Sunday was the only day of the week with an evening train. It was heading to Albany, New York. A one-way ticket was eleven dollars and fifty cents.

  The clock on the wall said 12:17. I couldn’t go back yet. Mrs. Smees would get suspicious. I didn’t want to go to the staff cafeteria, for fear of running into Finlay, or to the beach, for fear of running into Eddie.

  I flipped through a magazine but couldn’t keep up the pretense very long. There was something else I wanted to do. I found the album for 1947 and looked for signs of my mother.

  Dances. Weddings. Baptisms. That same picture of the Adair Scholarship party we’d seen in the Gleaner, the one with Miss Cameron and Glennie’s sparkly mother. I turned the page. A big picture of two men in bathing suits, arms around each other, laughing, a single medal with an extra-long ribbon strung around both their necks.

  Headline: Swimmers Combine Forces to Win Race.

  It wasn’t until I read the caption that I realized who they were.

  “Gunky” Nicholson and “Ward” Adair were once again crowd favorites at the Annual Dunbrae Swimming Regatta. As they have every year since returning from overseas, the former swimming instructors bound themselves together and competed as one two-legged competitor. Adair lost his right leg in a tank accident in Belgium. Nicholson lost his left leg fighting in northern France. Says Nicholson, “I went over to give Hitler a boot in the hindquarters. I never expected him to keep it!”

  I stared at the photo for a long time. Gunky wasn’t a tall man. He was almost a head shorter than Mr. Adair. They were tied together around the waist and the legs. Or what was left of their legs.

  “Are you all right, dear?” the lady said.

  I said yes, but I wasn’t. I felt hot, feverish. I turned the page, not sure what this meant.

  Boat races. Barbecues. Rose gardens in full bloom. Then July 8. My birthday. My birth day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing of interest to me in July at all.

  And then it was August, and a headline jumped out at me. Lucinda Harvey wins Adair Scholarship.

  I read the article.

  In an unprecedented show of generosity, the Adair family has made it possible for two Buckminster students to attend university next year. At the annual July ceremony, Cathleen MacDonnell received a full Adair Scholarship to the University of Western Ontario. Now Lucinda Harvey has won the same honor, to attend Victoria College at the University of Toronto. Edward B. “Ward” Adair explains the unusual move. “Miss Harvey has not only maintained high academic marks throughout her school career but also has an exemplary record of community service. She is a beloved children’s caregiver at the Dunbrae Arms and a dedicated volunteer at Buckminster Manor for the Aged. We thought it was only fitting her achievements be recognized.”

  Ward was short for Edward.

  I had to catch my breath.

  E.B. Adair.

  That wasn’t Gunky’s coat. It was his.

  I read the article again, my heart not a drumbeat any more but a drumroll.

  Lucinda volunteered at Buckminster Manor. Alvie wasn’t confused. He recognized something about me.

  I inspected the photo. Lucinda wasn’t smiling the way you’d think a person who’d just won a full scholarship would be smiling, but that’s not what got me. What got me were the words written across the plaque she was holding.

  It said Adair Scholarship in large letters and then, under that, the family motto.

  I’d read it wrong before. Not Loyal on the earth.

  Loyal unto death.

  The whole true-blue-loyalty thing.

  Thirty-One

  IT WAS 12:36. I ran back downstairs and slid through the front door of the laundry room. Bas had his feet up on the table, sandwich on his chest, paperback in his
hand.

  “This is my lunch break, Dot. Come back at quarter to.”

  “Just one sec, Bas. One sec, and then I won’t bother you again. Please.”

  He closed his book over his thumb, looked up at me. I didn’t wait for him to say yes or no.

  “You weren’t talking about Gunky.” That’s all I said.

  “No. I wasn’t. Why would you think that? You knew the guy’s initials were E.B.” He made a sound almost like a laugh and opened his book again. “And anyway, Gunky knows what’s his and what ain’t. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

  I ran back out the staff entrance, onto the back lawn. What had I done?

  What was the matter with me? Jumping to conclusions, not thinking things through. It couldn’t have been Gunky. He wasn’t tall. He wasn’t rich enough for cashmere or mustard spoons. All those boys who went to war. Why did I assume he was the only guy to lose a leg?

  The place was swarming with people—waitresses, grounds crew, ladies with flowers—all setting up for the garden party. I made my way past the crowd and down to the beach, but I was too late. They weren’t there.

  I squinted up at the patio. I didn’t see them there but wasn’t surprised. Gunky didn’t look like he was in any shape to be dining at the Arms.

  The dock. The boathouse. I scanned the yard. Glennie was sauntering down from the lodge with a tray of glasses.

  “You seen Eddie?”

  “Yeah, I did.” She puckered up her face. “He was awfully foul. What’s up with him?”

  “Where’d you see him?”

  “On the dock. Good hour ago. He and Gunky took off somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “No idea.”

  I covered my face in my hands.

  “Gee. What’s with the dramatics? And by the way, what the heck did you do to Finlay?”

  “Nothing he didn’t deserve.” I ran off. “If you see him, tell him we need to talk.”

  “I don’t think he’ll be able to. Something’s the matter with his tongue.”