“All the way downtown, all by yourself?” Mom asks. “Mom, I’m thirteen,” I say. “I have to go out into the world on my own sometime.” Telling her I’ve been doing it all summer—and on a bicycle, no less—will only make matters worse.
“But isn’t that box heavy? Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Jeanette knows where I’m going.”
The box Mom referred to is the bandoneón. I’m taking it to Frank’s along with a letter I wrote last night.
Dear Mr. Moreno,
Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would, since you only met me once and I wasn’t exactly honest about why I went to the tea talk. I know I should have told you about the bandoneón, but I didn’t know how. I figured if I went up to you and said I had something that was your father’s, you’d probably think I was nuts.
Okay. And there’s another reason too. I love this bandoneón and would give just about anything to keep it. But I keep thinking of that picture you told me about, the one of your father playing and your mother clapping behind him. You sounded so grateful for that photograph, and I know the bandoneón would mean a lot to you too. It was something of theirs that made them happy, and it doesn’t feel right to keep it from you.
Inside the lining of the case, you’ll find an envelope with all sorts of things inside—all the clues I followed to find you. I’ve left everything exactly how I found it.
I’m leaving Victoria tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but Frank has my email address if you want it.
Yours truly,
Ellie Saunders
P.S. Any idea how both you and your father’s bandoneón wound up in Canada separately?
Frank asks me if I’m sure about this, and when I nod, he tells me he’s proud and disappointed at the same time. “You have the makings of a damn fine player, and I hate to see you go without a bandoneón. If ever I hear of one for sale, you’ll be the first to know, and if you don’t go about finding one yourself, I’ll personally come over and give you a swift kick in the pants.” Coming from Frank, I figure that’s the highest compliment. I thank him, he hugs me, and Louise gives me a CD that Frank and his tango group made a few years ago. I promise I’ll visit again as soon as I can.
I walk back along Government Street feeling lonelier than I have in my whole life. I eat the granola bar that I brought for Ned and am relieved that Sarah’s busy at the petting zoo. Last night I tried to figure out what to say to her, and I wrote a whole speech in my head about how much her friendship has meant to me and how awful I feel about how it’s turned out. When I woke up this morning, though, I knew I’d never have the courage to say all that, so it’s just as well I won’t be able to see her.
In the end, I wrapped up something I found in the basement—a box of my aunt’s clothes from the seventies, which Jeanette agrees Sarah will love. The card that I taped to the top said only Sarah, I’m sorry for being such a lame friend. Hope this makes up for it a bit. E
I wrote her name on the envelope and left the package at her front door. Sometimes there’s only so much you can do.