Pretty Furious, page 3
I leaned forwards and blew the candles out.
3.
Maddie Carter
There were still a lot of details we had to figure out. Most of them were related to logistics, but since the garden committee had literally posted a schedule of sod care and maintenance including the chemicals to be applied on the church bulletin board, we had a good start. The more personal details were more daunting. Char might be angry when Jenny told them she was going back to church, for starters. We didn’t want to put them through anything else—or any of the Hoernigs, for that matter. We were all on our second pieces of cake by the time Mags came up with a reasonable solution.
“Tell them I begged you,” Mags said. “That you’re just doing it for me, because otherwise I’d be all by myself in a gross church basement with a bunch of fourteen-year-olds, because all the sixteen-year-olds have jobs.”
“It has the benefit of being true,” Louise pointed out.
“Or I could just tell them the actual truth,” Jenny said. She still sounded uncomfortable.
We all considered it for a moment. I could tell Emily before she went back to school. Mags could tell Aaron when he got home from his summer co-op at the agricultural college. Char would probably be thrilled.
“We can’t,” Jen said, finally. We all knew it was the best call. “We can’t tell anyone, ever. It has to be a complete secret.”
Jenny sighed and nodded.
“I don’t think we should write anything down, either,” she said. “No texts or emails, or even a to-do list. Just talking.”
“What about internet search history?” Mags asked. “If we can’t use the stuff our parents have, we’ll have to Google for the commercial equivalents.”
There was a long moment of silence, and then Louise made a face.
“Spit it out,” Jenny said. “This is going to be uncomfortable anyway, so you might as well.”
“Mags, we could ask your grandpa,” Louise said, so quietly we barely heard her.
David Shropshall Sr. had been a pillar of all of our childhoods. His wife, Mags’s grandmother—also named Magdalen, because: tradition—helped out with the steadily increasing number of Sharpe children in the main house, and we spent a lot of time with him to get away from the babies. It had been his farm before Mags’s mom had taken it over, and he spent his retirement summers chasing five little girls around the woodlot, pretending to be whatever villain Louise was obsessed with that particular week. He’d started showing signs of dementia when we were in grade six, the little things, like forgetting his glasses or why he’d gone to the grocery store. By the time we started grade eight, he didn’t remember anyone, except sometimes he mistook Mags for his wife or daughter.
The Sharpes talked about all the usual solutions: moving him into the main house and sending Mags to live with her grandmother across the yard, hiring someone to live in—all that sort of thing. The problem was that David was a wanderer, and the country wasn’t safe for a man who knew he was a farmer, but couldn’t remember how. In the end, they’d had to put him in a nursing home, which made none of them happy. Mags, David (the third), and Colin visited pretty regularly after school, bringing Elsie or Clara in turns. Teddy—the youngest of the six—only went on weekends, with Mags’s mum and dad. Mags’s grandma was there from breakfast to bedtime, knitting or reading, or talking with the other patients’ family members.
“He’d definitely know what to use,” Mags admitted. She was trying to sound detached, but her voice caught a bit. “And he’d never remember that he told us.”
“I’m sorry,” Louise said, still making herself small. “It’s a mean idea.”
“It’s a good idea,” Mags said. “But you’re coming with me when we do it.”
“I’ll come, too,” I volunteered quickly. I wanted to make it better. “Unless you think that would make it too crowded?”
“No,” Mags said. “We always take him to the conservatory, and Grandma goes outside for a walk. We’ll be fine.”
We sat in a somewhat grim silence, finishing up the cake. I felt like I’d ruined my own birthday party. Both Jenny and Mags were on the spot with people they loved, and all for some stupid wish.
“You know,” said Jenny, having scraped all the icing off of her plate, “even though this is weird and uncomfortable, I do feel better. We haven’t even done anything yet, but I feel better.”
“Honestly, the fact that it was so easy to come up with an idea makes me feel better,” Louise said. “I feel like the past few weeks it’s just been everyone nosing into everyone else’s business, looking for mistakes.”
“The looks I’ve got from people coming through my till at the grocery story are not subtle,” Jenny said. “Like they’re just waiting and wondering if I need a push.”
“Well, you’re going to fucking push,” Jen said.
Jen and Jenny had both been members of the Child of a Single Mum Club until we were seven and Jen’s mother married John Dalrymple, but Jen never forgot what it was like, and how everyone treated her when she “didn’t have a responsible role model.” At least Jenny’s dad paid child support.
“You haven’t ruined your birthday, is what they’re trying to say,” Mags said. “I know you’re thinking it.”
“I was,” I admitted. The beanbag chair rustled as I shifted. “I didn’t mean to drag you all into a life of crime because I was angry at a rock.”
“It’s a minor crime, at least,” Louise pointed out. “We’ll just go with whatever the girl equivalent of ‘boys will be boys’ is.”
“I don’t think there is one,” Mags said. “The Latin for ‘children’ was translated into ‘boys’ in the 1750s.”
“Why on earth do you know that?” Jen demanded.
“I like making adults uncomfortable,” Mags said primly.
“When are you going to visit your grandpa?” Jenny asked. “Full offence, but I am not going back in that building—even the basement—until I have a reason.”
“Mags and I both have spares third this week,” Louise said. “We can go during lunch, and then after Maddie leaves we’ll have enough time that I can help you get him resettled.”
“We’ll go on Wednesday,” Mags said.
“Why not Monday?” I asked.
“Because I want to look at the supply closet at the church first,” Mags said. “If there’s stuff in there already we can use, then it’s just a matter of switching bottles around.”
“And not causing explosions,” Jen added. “Some of those things don’t play well with others.”
“This is going to be so much to remember,” Louise said. I could tell she was itching to make a list.
“Let’s just take this one step at a time,” Mags said. “We don’t have to get everything done this week. We have all summer.”
“It might actually be better if it takes all summer,” Jenny said thoughtfully. “Imagine dead grass slowly spreading across the lawn, and the only source is the memorial stone. Like the opposite of when Mary statues cry or the Jesus bleeds.”
“That means you have to go to youth group all summer,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, but they’ve played mind games with my family for years,” Jenny said. “I don’t mind being patient to get something back.”
A chime on Mags’s phone went off, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Family dinner still on?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “At least it’ll be interesting, right?”
She did not sound happy about it.
“Do you need a ride?” I asked.
“No,” Louise said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Because Aaron is home this weekend, and he’s going to be all white knight and sit through it with her.”
“No, thank you,” Mags said, as if Louise hadn’t spoken. “Because Aaron is home this weekend, and he volunteered to be my white knight and keep me from doing a murder.”
Her dignified answer did not stop the rest of us from bursting into giggles. Since five people is a lot, even when they are only girls, we’d spent a lot of our time as kids at either Louise’s house or Mags’s. Jenny’s mum’s camera store was in town, but there was always someone home at the other farms. Aaron started coming because he could drive Louise, Jen, and me to Mags’s, and eventually he started staying because Mary and Theo Sharpe ran a full farm operation, and he could learn more with them than he could at home. He was always invited for dinner, and then it made sense for him to stay until our movie was done, and then, when we were in grade ten, Mags was somehow quietly dating Louise’s older brother, and we all thought it was absolutely hilarious.
Just like that, it was a normal birthday again. A normal Sunday, even. The sick, hard feeling that had been clenching in my gut all day was lifted, and I kind of wanted another piece of cake. Louise broke out the pop and chips she’d brought over from the main house, along with a fruit tray in case any of us were feeling virtuous. Mags said her good-byes, and the rest of us wasted the afternoon talking about our upcoming exams and the fact that course selections were this week. When it was time to go home, we sorted the recycling and garbage, and Louise put all the strawberry hulls in a little container so that she could dump them in the compost on her way back to the house.
* * *
—
I dropped Jen off at the foot of her driveway at exactly six, and then barely touched the gas to make it down the block to my house. Dad was in the garden and made a big show of checking the car over for damage, but he couldn’t stop laughing while he did it. We had dinner, all four of us sitting at the table, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. I finished up my homework, such as it was at this time of year, and brushed and flossed my teeth. I turned my light off at ten, and looked up at the glow stars I’d stuck to the ceiling when I was eight and afraid of the dark.
We were absolutely going to get away with it.
4.
Maddie Carter
On Wednesday when the bell rang for lunch, we headed for the doors by the library. Our English teacher waved at us as we left, but aside from that, no one asked us any questions. Mr. Rogman, the chemistry teacher, was waiting at the corner for his pizzas to be delivered—he sold slices for a dollar each every Wednesday to pay for field trips.
“No pizza today?” he asked.
“No,” said Louise, who had never bought food at school in our entire lives.
“Have a good adventure, then,” he said, which is what he always said instead of saying things like “see you tomorrow” or “see you after lunch because that’s when you have chemistry.”
“I’ll be back in time for class,” I assured him. He waved a hand dismissively.
“I’ll mark you present either way,” he said. “But if you don’t make it back, you will miss the Flaming Ball of Science.”
His favourite end-of-year trick was to submerge the gas tap hose in bubble water, collect a giant mass of bubbles on a metrestick, and then light the whole thing on fire. It was neat, but I’d already seen it.
Like most kids who grew up in Eganston, I usually went to the nursing home a couple of times a year. In elementary school, the music teacher would take us caroling at Christmas, and there were always residents who gave out candy at Halloween. We never really went past the public rooms, but there was no doubt as to the nature of the place. It was always too warm, and half of the residents looked right through you.
When Mags’s grandfather moved in, we all visited him pretty regularly at first. He shared a room with Dahlia Hastings’s grandfather, so sometimes we saw her there, too. There was an unspoken agreement that we didn’t really talk to her about it, especially not at school. Visiting was hard because David never acknowledged us. Even if he was the only one in the room at the time, he acted like we were there to visit someone else. Eventually we visited less and less, and the worst part was that Mags completely understood.
The room was airy today, because it was warm enough outside to open the windows. Dahlia’s family had hung up a lot of greenery for Shavuot, so it even smelled pretty good. David was sitting in his upholstered chair from the farmhouse, and looked up when Mags said hello.
There was always a moment before you know how the visit was going to go. He’d look up, and then there’d be an awful pause, and then something would happen in his face. Sometimes his gaze stayed blank. Sometimes he panicked and called for the nurse. Sometimes he thought Mags was her grandma. Today was the fourth possibility: he thought we were random strangers who had come to visit him for no particular reason, and he was really pleased about it, because he was very bored.
“We’ve come to have lunch with you, David, if that’s all right,” Louise said. “The nurse’s aide said she’d set up a card table in the conservatory and get you a tray.”
“What are you three going to eat?” he asked, already changing his slippers for his shoes. His mobility was still mostly normal, which made him a flight risk, but he couldn’t remember the code to get outside by himself.
“We’ve got our own lunches,” Mags said. “We didn’t want to cause any trouble.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” David said. He was patting down his cardigan as he looked for something without knowing what it was he looked for. “These girls work very hard. I’m ready to go now.”
Mags double-checked his shoes to make sure they were laced properly, and then helped him stand up. He barely needed a cane to walk, but the transfer was a little awkward out of a comfy chair. She kept her elbow linked with his, and we all headed down to the conservatory, slowly enough that David could pretend he was leading us—he was the host, after all—even though he had no idea where it was.
“Just pull the cord if you need anything,” the nurse’s aide said when we got there. She’d already gotten David’s lunch, along with three extra slices of cake.
We thanked her, took our seats, and started eating. David started talking about dairy schedules, his default topic, and we didn’t want to push him, so we just nodded at appropriate moments. When he paused, it wasn’t the vague gap that his brain came up to with increasing regularity. He was still concentrating on something, it just wasn’t cows anymore.
“The food here is quite good,” he said. “But there is something wrong with this tuna sandwich. I don’t know what, but there’s something missing.”
“It’s pickles,” Mags said, and held out the ziplock bag with the other half of her sandwich in it. “Do you want mine?”
“That is very kind of you,” David said, and pushed his plate towards her.
Mags took the sandwich out and handed it to him. He took a bite and smiled so widely, it was like we were seven again, and he finally had us cornered in the hay barn.
“This is excellent,” he said in the space between bites. “This tuna sandwich was made by someone who knows how. My wife was really good at tuna sandwiches.” He paused and the vagueness returned. “I . . . don’t know where she is.”
Mags blinked several times, way too quickly, and Louise and I exchanged a look of helplessness. Even when it was good, it was awful.
“I’ve been trying to grow a kitchen garden this summer,” Mags said, and none of us were at all surprised by the abrupt subject change. “It’s started out pretty good, but the weeds are growing better than anything I planted on purpose.”
“Ain’t that always the way,” David drawled. It was his exaggerated farmer voice instead of his normal one. It had always made us giggle when we were little. “I swear, some years I wish I’d planted milkweed and had a corn infestation.”
“What did you do to stop the weeds?” Louise asked, shredding a string cheese into thread-thin strands instead of fidgeting.
“Well, you know, we had quite a bit of pesticide on hand,” David said. “But when my grandkids came along, we decided to use something a bit softer in the kitchen garden.”
Mags flinched. He didn’t usually remember the grandchildren at all.
“That seems like a smart idea,” I said. “What did you do?”
“We mixed up something from the kitchen, and put it in a spray bottle,” David said. “Two parts salt and one part water.”
Louise nodded, and I saw her mouth moving as she repeated it to herself several times because she couldn’t write it down.
“But you have to be careful with it,” David continued, “because if you use too much, it’ll kill everything living in the dirt, and then nothing at all will grow.”
That sounded like exactly what we were after, and it wasn’t even going to be dangerous, or hard to get the supplies we needed. It was just a matter of figuring out how to do it.
“This is an excellent sandwich,” David said, his attention diverting again. “The food here is quite good, but sometimes their tuna’s not quite right, and today it’s perfect. What am I supposed to do with all this cake?”
“We’ll help,” Mags said. He smiled brightly at her.
David talked about tuna sandwiches on loop for an hour. I hoped Mr. Rogman had actually marked me present, because I didn’t leave Mags and Louise to go back to school. At 1:30, we walked him back to his room. He was fading fast by then, each sentence more vague and unrelated than the last. By the time Mags had him settled into his chair, he wasn’t focusing on anything anymore. He just sat quietly with his hands folded on his lap, locked inside his own head. The nurses all smiled at us when we left. I took Mags’s hand as Louise led the way down the sidewalk.
“You okay?” I asked. I rarely saw my own grandparents, but this was worse.
“No, but there’s no good alternative,” she said. She straightened her shoulders. “At least we found out what we need to know.”
