Monkey Beach (39 page)

“Are you staying or going back to Vancouver?” he said.

“Going back.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Where are you staying tonight?”

“City Centre Motel.”

He nodded. “You mind if I walk you back?”

We walked up to the fountain instead. The hospital rose behind it, electric pink. Every Remembrance Day, the flame near the fountain gets lighted. In the summer, the tourists get their pictures taken by the totem pole but it wasn’t the right time of year for the fountain. Hospital Hill, the road that leads from the City Centre Mall to the highway, was empty, and the two sets of lights in Kitimat blinked at the deserted roads. Jimmy sat on a bench and smoked, offering me one.

I grinned. “This is unreal. I can’t believe you, Jimmy Hill, are having a cigarette.”

He gave me a sideways look, then bent forward and
rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the fountain. “You’re not taking me seriously at all, are you?”

I shrugged. He sighed. We stared at each other—his eyes dark brown, gold-flecked eyes. “You should at least say goodbye.”

As we drove to the village, he explained that he had to go pick Dad up at work, but he’d drop me off at the house first. “I can take you back to the motel when I get back.”

We pulled into the driveway. The porch light flicked on and Mom opened the door. I don’t know which one of us was more surprised. Her hair was flat and her clothes weren’t ironed. She didn’t even have any makeup or jewellery on. Her hand reached out and touched my hair. “Who did the butcher job?”

“You should have seen it before I got this cut.”

She touched my cheek. “You’re so thin.”

“It’s the new look. Very chic.”

“We had barbecue fish for dinner,” Jimmy said, pushing me in the door. “I can reheat it if you want.”

“That sounds good,” I said.

Jimmy pulled some plastic bowls out of the fridge and put them in the microwave. Mom poured three coffees and handed me a mug.

“Did you fly up?” Jimmy said as I sat down.

“No. I drove up with Frank. For the funeral.”

“How are Bill’s brothers taking it?” Mom asked.

Bill. I couldn’t think of him as anything but Pooch. “They’re doing okay.”

“She’s at City Centre Motel.” Jimmy said just before the microwave beeped.

Mom frowned, sipped her coffee. “Waste of money.”

I wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or a general comment. “It’s okay.”

“If you don’t want to stay here, I could call Erica. I’m sure she’d be glad to see you.”

“She’s got a kid, a little girl,” Jimmy said. “Tell her the name, Mom.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Chinook Agnes Jakobs.”

“Ouch.”

“You should stay the night,” Jimmy said. “Do you want your old room?”

I watched Mom’s face. “Are you sure? I mean, that I …”

She waved her hand in dismissal, “It’s done. Let’s forget it now. Do you want another cup?” She held up the pot.

“No, thanks. I’ll be up all night.”

Jimmy surprised me with a peck on the cheek as he left. Without him there, we couldn’t seem to find anything to talk about. The fridge hummed to life. Some dogs barked outside. She said my hair was driving her crazy and asked if she could straighten the line. I grinned and said we could do it tomorrow. The last week of sleepless nights was catching up with me and I had trouble keeping my eyes open. Mom asked me if I had a nightgown, and when I said no, gave me one of hers.

My bedroom had been tidied. I pulled up the desk chair and spun a few times. Mom brought me blankets and sheets and started to fix my bed.

“I can do that,” I said.

“No, no, it’s okay. How long are you staying?”

“Probably go after they have the thank-you supper.”

“Good. Good.” When she finished making the bed, she rolled the covers back, then paused, looked sheepish, as if she’d been caught doing something silly. I didn’t know how to bring up the subject gracefully. “How’s Jimmy? He said he quit swimming.”

She sat on the bed. “He had an accident. A stupid one. He was helping a friend change a tire. He was carrying the flat tire to the trunk, the gravel was loose and he slid down the embankment. He landed at just the right angle to dislocate his shoulder. The Olympics are in a few months. He got bumped.” She asked if I needed anything else, and I said no.

Dad knocked on my room later that evening. “Lisa?”

“I’m still awake.”

Dad wasn’t thin, he was emaciated. He hadn’t ever been chubby, but now he was gaunt. He sat on the edge of my bed as I leaned against the headboard and hugged my knees.

“You look good,” he said.

“So do you.”

“You can stay as long as you want.”

I gave him a hug. “Thanks.”

He patted my back then left.

Erica brought her baby over to visit on the fourth day I was back. Her baby was chubby and constantly turning around to see what was going on. She had deep blue eyes and black hair. Erica had graduated on time, had her baby, and her boyfriend was trying to convince her
to move to Esquimalt, where he would be stationed while he was training to be a naval officer.

“You’re going back to school?” she said when I told her. We were sitting in the living room as she bounced her girl in her lap.

“Starting January,” I said.

She sang the theme song to “The Twilight Zone” and we laughed. She asked for a smoke and I shook one out. It was a gorgeous day. I had forgotten how the ocean steamed when the temperature dropped. I wondered how Tab was doing. I considered calling her, to tell her about my plan to get my life back together. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to try grade eleven again.

“No shit,” Dad had said when I told him. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Mom.

“No shit,” I said.

Dad gave me three weeks. Mom said a month, just to be stubborn. Erica said I wouldn’t even make it past the first week. They shook hands on a ten-dollar bet and I glared at them all.

“If you take summer classes,” Jimmy said, grinning, “you can graduate with me. Want to walk up together?”

For my birthday that year, Mom bought a Safeway cake with one big candle and put up balloons. Dad took the day off and said we were going to have dinner anywhere I wanted.

“McDonald’s!” I said, laughing at their expressions, and then I declared I wanted dry spareribs from the Chinese restaurant in town. Jimmy met us as we were going in. After dinner, we read our fortune cookies, then they brought out presents. Mom said
that if I didn’t like hers, I could return it. The wind chimes were long and silver and had a solemn, mellow tone when I hit them with my fingernail. I grinned. “I love them.”

“Thank God,” she said. “I have no idea what to get you now that you’ve grown out of slingshots.”

Dad gave me the copy of the monkey mask that Mick had carved. I almost started crying and he patted my shoulder, saying he always meant to give it to me.

“Thanks a lot, Dad,” Jimmy said, nudging him. “I’d have to give her my kidney to top that. When you look at this, remember me and smile.”

I looked at him quizzically, reached into the gift bag and pulled out the ugliest clock I’d ever seen.

“Now you’ll get to class on time,” he said.

Frank had a job on the Kemano II project. He came in every other weekend and took me to Rosario’s. When I asked him if he wanted to come back to school with me, he snorted. “Lisa, I’m making union wages. I got benefits. I’m saving up for a truck—”

“A big truck?”

His grin faded.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know why I said it. It’s—”

“Pooch’s dream,” he said. He sat back and was quiet for the rest of the meal.

It’s amazing what a goal will do. Mine was simple, but not very admirable. I didn’t want to graduate after Jimmy did. I plowed through my assignments with an enthusiasm I usually reserved for partying. To say that my teachers were surprised would be like saying Mount Everest is high. When I felt bogged down and
overwhelmed, I pictured myself walking up to get my diploma with Jimmy in front of me.

My head was spinning from all the things I had to memorize. I’d never pushed myself in school before, so I’d never known how distracting it can be. It’s hard to philosophize about how crappy life is when you’re trying to finish a zillion things at once. Sometimes, late, late in the night when I paused for my smoke and coffee break, I would sit on the patio chairs and stare at the stars. When I started to feel sad, I’d head back inside and hit the books.

I caught up with English easily, but algebra was an absolute bitch. I struggled up to the quadratic formula, then admitted defeat. I skipped two classes before Jimmy found out and asked me what I was doing. I explained that I wasn’t interested in school any more; he pulled out my books and perused my homework.

“Are you going to give up?”

I glowered at him. “No.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s get to it.”

He would break down problems until they were little pieces all over the page. He’d explain each piece, and when I grasped it, we’d move on until the problem was solved. I hated it the first night, found it completely galling, but admitted secretly that the mysteries of math were unfolding.

Not that Jimmy had given up partying. His date of the week would arrive at the door, pick him up and he’d be gone. He would stumble home, late at night, fall into bed and wake up grouchy. Mom and I liked to guess how long it would take him to go through all
the girls and have to start dating in Terrace. But he wouldn’t call Karaoke.

On one of my smoke runs to the mall, Frank strolled towards me, his clothes a little too tight from the weight he’d gained. We chatted, and he said he was taking off for Vancouver soon to look for a truck. I wished him luck and he wished me luck with midterms, then he asked if I wanted to go to a party. “Karaoke’s birthday. We’re going to try to have a quiet one this year.”

“Sure,” I said. “Can I invite Jimmy?”

“Go ahead. The more the merrier.”

After dinner, I asked Jimmy if he wanted to come, and he ran for the shower, then frantically blow-dried his hair and then spent a half-hour picking out his clothes and another half-hour dithering over which pair of running shoes to wear.

“You’re worse than Erica,” I said.

“God, God,” he said, suddenly grabbing the car keys. “Got to get a present, got to get a card.”

“Jimmy! We don’t have time!” I yelled from the front porch as he sprinted to the car. “We’re late already! And nothing’s open! Are you going to make me walk?”

He waved as he drove away.

“Thanks a lot!” I yelled.

The party was at Frank’s brother’s house in one of the new subdivisions. Bib greeted me at the door and gave me a beer. Karaoke was in the living room with her
cousin Ronny, who was resplendent in a tight leather micromini, and enough earrings and bracelets to set off a metal detector. Bib shook his head and said Ronny’s parents were freaking because she was now going through a biker-chick phase. Karaoke and Ronny were making tequila-puff shooters on the coffee table and slugging them back as if they were Kool-Aid.

“Kids,” Bib said, shaking his head.

“Ah, wise one. How old are you now? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“I’m a hundred compared to them.”

I laughed, turned around and caught Frank watching me. He came and stood beside his brother, smiling at me. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“That’s not surprising,” Bib said. “You need glasses like—”

“Like you need a beer,” Frank said, handing him a can. “There’s some pot in the kitchen. Karaoke doesn’t want it.”

“Hey, thanks, bro,” Bib said, winking at me before he made his way through the crowd. Frank’s chin sank to his neck and his eyebrows crunched together as he studied me.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” I said.

“Like what?”

“Like I did something wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“Then stop it.”

He turned and glared at Karaoke instead. She was using the empty tequila bottle as a microphone and belting out a Janis Joplin song. Ronny told him to crank the tunes or Karaoke would sing again. He
brought out the cake instead and we all sang “Happy Birthday.” Karaoke blew out her sixteen candles then grabbed a handful of cake and smeared it into Ronny’s face.