Dad and I drove Leslie to the airport soon after breakfast. We’d all managed to keep it together, even when the flight attendants took Leslie through security to the waiting area where she was to board. The last I saw of her was when she turned to smile and wave goodbye, her other hand wrapped around a stuffed bear Dad and I had given her on her birthday. Dad and I weren’t allowed into the restricted area, but we raced outside and watched the plane taxi down the runway. Bright sunlight reflected off the silver wings as it made a steep turn towards the south.
“Well, that’s that,” Dad sighed, lowering the hand that he’d been using to shield his eyes from the sun. We walked slowly back towards the car park. “I’ve got to go into the shop for the rest of the afternoon. What do you plan to do with your last few days of summer holiday?”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I groaned. “Two days and I’m back at the mercy of Morton T. High’s diabolical teaching staff.”
“I have a feeling this is going to be the year it all clicks for you,” Dad said. He looked hopeful.
“The only clicking going on will be when they turn the key to lock me into that prison,” I grumbled, but I was secretly excited to be starting another year. There was something fresh and new about the first week of school, before the assignments piled up. Kind of like the feeling you get before diving off the dock at the beginning of the summer on your first visit to the cottage. “I could help you in the shop today if you want,” I offered.
Dad’s mouth turned up in a grin. “You really want to come work with me? I have some bills that need sorting through and then entered into the computer. That would be a big help, but I don’t want to tie up your last days of freedom.”
“I’ll be happy to help,” I said. Anything beat sitting around missing Pete and Leslie, not to mention Mom.
“I have a car needs an oil change, and I’ll teach you to do that when I finish working on Frank Bowick’s carburetor.”
I could see by the sudden rise in Dad’s shoulders and the quickness in his step as he walked ahead of me that he was pleased I’d offered to work in his shop. He’d been trying to get me there for two summers, but I’d always been busy with something or other and hadn’t showed any interest. Today though, I felt like I wanted to stay close by him. Working in his shop would keep my mind off all the things I really didn’t want to think about yet.
I spent most of Sunday and Labour Day Monday helping Dad in the shop. I learned to do oil changes, which didn’t turn out to be that difficult. I also straightened out the pile of bills he hadn’t gotten around to issuing, and by the end of Monday had a pile of stamped envelopes on his desk ready to be sent out to clients. We drove home around four o’clock, figuring we’d order pizza. Uncle Phil had promised to drop by.
“Dad!” I exclaimed, pointing towards our front steps as we turned onto Sunnydale. “Isn’t that . . .?”
“Roxie Firestone!” Dad proclaimed. “Now, what in the world would she be doing here?”
“We’ll soon find out,” I said. Roxie was a thirteen-year-old kid from Toronto whom I’d met at summer camp and brought home for a week in August because her foster family had been out of town. The family had picked her up on their way home after receiving a call from Roxie’s social worker, Miss Cooke. We hadn’t heard from Roxie since that day a few weeks earlier. As we drew closer, I noticed she’d dyed her short purple hair a soft pink colour with streaks of scarlet laced throughout. Her triple pierced ears glinted in the sun, and big dark sunglasses likely hid eyes circled in eyeliner and mascara. She was slender and short, dressed in faded blue jeans, a red tank top and jean jacket. Her elbows were resting on the top step, and her legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, showing off black leather boots.
I jumped out of the car as soon as it came to a stop in the driveway. “Roxie! Great to see you,” I said as I raced over to the steps.
She looked up at me and grinned. “Hey, Jennifer. How’s it going?”
“Not so bad,” I said, sitting down beside her after she’d moved over to make room.
“Hello, Mr. Bannon,” Roxie said. “Long time no see.”
“Roxie Firestone,” Dad said, “to what do we owe this pleasure?” He stood over us, a worried look in his eyes, even though he was smiling. “Everything okay at home?” We both knew Roxie’s foster parents hadn’t been all that eager to keep her, even though they’d looked like nice people the day they’d come to get her from our house. I imagined Roxie would be a challenge for any family. She’d been through a lot of homes and had an exterior as tough and prickly as a porcupine. As Dad said, Roxie was old way beyond her years.
“Well, as it turns out, I’ve got a new home,” Roxie said.
“Is that a good thing?” Dad asked.
“My last family thinks so.” She gave a little laugh. “My social worker started looking seriously at a couple here in Springhills after my visit, and they’ve agreed to give me a shot.”
“Who, Roxie?” I asked.
“Marcie and Bert. They’re an old retired couple, and they live on the other side of Springhills, near the train station. It’s kind of like living in the country. Not my first choice of locations, but whatever.” Roxie shrugged.
Dad and I looked at each other. “That must be the Stoykos,” Dad said, and Roxie and I both nodded. Mr. Stoyko had run a convenience store in town that also sold homemade cabbage rolls, soups and ham or turkey sandwiches on thick crusty bread. We’d been sorry when he’d retired and closed shop a few years back. The Stoykos had emigrated from Poland many years earlier with their baby daughter, who’d become a doctor and moved to Hamilton.
“Where’s Leslie?” Roxie asked. “She’s not with you?”
“Leslie’s gone to stay with her mother for a while,” Dad said, stepping past us to unlock the door.
Roxie looked at me, and I nodded. “Bummer,” she said under her breath. “I was hoping we could hang out.”
“Probably not, unless we put you on the next flight to L.A.,” I said. “Do the Stoykos know you’re here?”
“Yeah. They’re cool,” Roxie said. “They actually seem to want me to live with them. I have my own bedroom and my own bathroom. They gave me that bike over there.”
I looked at where she pointed to a blue mountain bike leaning against the side of the house. “Nice.”
“I’ve never had a bike before,” Roxie said, her eyes lighting up for a second before her face settled back into its normal look of indifference.
“Everybody loved the Stoykos when they ran the convenience store. I’m glad it’s working out for you, Roxie.”
“Well, we’ll see.” She stood and smoothed down her jeans. “I was hoping to see Leslie at school. It would’ve been nice to know someone first day, even though she’s a few years behind me.”
“So you’re starting Grade Eight?”
“Yup. They’ve let me in on condition.”
“On condition of what?”
“On condition that I show up. I missed most of Grade Seven, but they don’t want me kept behind, influencing minds younger and more innocent than my own.” She grinned at me.
“What did you do when you skipped class?”
“Explored Toronto on the subway. I found lots of interesting places to hang out.”
“Oh, Miss Cooke—or Cookie—tried to get me to shape up, but I wasn’t all that interested in school then.”
“And now?”
“It’s a condition for me staying with Marcia and Bert. I have to behave, or Cookie’s going to make me move back to Toronto. Actually, she thinks being in a smaller community might help me find my way, as she put it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Roxie,” I said. “If you put your mind to doing well in school, it’ll be a breeze for you. Unlike me, who has to struggle for every mark I get.”
Roxie looked at me and cocked her head to one side. “I never would have thought you’d be having trouble in school. Doesn’t add up.”
I shrugged. My slipping grades were the direct result of an inability to concentrate. Not all that strange, considering. “Want to stay for supper? Dad could barbeque some ribs. I made a sauce last week that’s lip-smacking good.”
Roxie stood up and stretched. “Sure, but I have to call . . . home.” She wrapped her mouth around the word “home” like she was trying it out. Even her eyes looked a little puzzled, as if she was stepping into unknown territory. The fact she’d even thought to call somebody about her whereabouts looked like progress to me.
“Life is looking up, kid,” I said. “Smooth sailing from here on in.”
My words were hopeful, but even as they slipped out of my mouth, I realized that they probably weren’t too grounded in reality. Still, sometimes it’s best not to know what’s just around the corner.