Authors: Patricia Morrison
He looked at his watch. “Next time, hon. We’d have to have coffee or something. I don’t want to miss the bus.”
“Okay.”
They said good-bye, then her dad and Tracie turned and walked down the street without looking back.
T
he following Monday after school, Jules went to the plaza. She got as far as the door to Zellers.
On Tuesday, as far as the cosmetic counter.
Wednesday was a cloudy, gray, miserable day.
Thursdays aren’t for endings. Fridays are
.
Mrs. Adamson was at the cash register with a customer when Jules reached the toy department. Instead of waiting for Mrs. Adamson to come over while she played with the dolls and toys, Jules forced herself to walk up to the counter and wait. She prayed that nobody else would need help once Mrs. Adamson was finished.
“Hey, Jules! It’s great to see you.” A smile, like sunshine. “Have you had a chance to check with Eileen and your dad about another visit? We’re
going tobogganing on Sunday, and it’d be great if you could come.”
Tobogganing
.
“Uh … my dad, he said that maybe …”
“Yes?”
“… I shouldn’t visit.”
“Visit who? Us?”
“Yeah. He thinks what I did … the trouble … he thinks I shouldn’t be hanging around the store. Things have to get settled first.”
Jules felt the sadness creep up out of her and into Mrs. Adamson.
“Sure, Jules. Of course.” Mrs. Adamson looked as if she didn’t know what to do with the papers in her hand. She turned away and stared down at the cash register.
I can’t cry. I’m not going to cry
.
“I didn’t say anything to him, about who –”
“It doesn’t matter, hon.” Mrs. Adamson looked into Jules’s eyes. “Please don’t worry about that.”
Of all the people in the world – and “all” means only one or two – I don’t want to say something to you that’s bad. I love my dad and need to make sure we’ll be together again
.
“Uh, my dad … he’s good. Things’ll be okay soon.”
A woman came to the counter, dragging a kid in the middle of a tantrum.
“I understand. Really. Maybe more than you
think. I didn’t have it easy growing up … I don’t mean to say … I know you love him, Jules. And I hope everything works out. You’re a very special girl.”
Special nothing
.
“It’ll be soon, I think. We’re going to move and –” Jules stopped. She could feel her face getting red. She didn’t want the customer to hear their conversation. Didn’t want to leave. “I don’t know when, exactly. And maybe, probably, out of this neighborhood. Back to where we were before. In Mimico.”
“If you don’t mind …” the woman with the child said impatiently to Jules. “If you’re not buying anything …”
“Please, we’ll just be a moment,” Mrs. Adamson said, trying to put on the face she used for customers.
Jules looked at the child, who was rolling around on the floor, screaming.
If only I could act like that
.
Mrs. Adamson reached for Jules’s hand.
Jules pulled away and ran.
“Wait, Jules, wait!”
“She’s not even buying anything!” the woman said to Mrs. Adamson. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Joanie,” she pleaded with her daughter. “Would you please stop!”
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Adamson. “I can’t …” She left the counter and caught up to Jules near the exit.
This will be the last time
.
“I’m so sorry, Jules. But I want you to know this … I want you to hear me. If you ever need me – ever – I will always –”
“I know.”
J
ules’s birthday landed on a Sunday, but since nothing was open, she and her dad decided to celebrate the day before, March 7. She was so excited about the visit that she decided to forgive him for missing the last two Saturdays.
“Why don’t we go to the Kingsway and have lunch at Woolworth’s?” he’d suggested over the phone. When they lived in Mimico, they’d sometimes go there as a special treat.
He arrived at the Chapmans’ late. Jules had been waiting for him in the kitchen, watching the hands on the clock not move. She barreled out the door past him as he stood in the hallway, so that he wouldn’t have to talk to Mrs. Chapman. He reeked of alcohol, even though he acted sober. In one hand, he held a small rectangular parcel.
Hurray! Doll clothes for Maggie
.
Whenever the subject of her birthday had come up, Jules tried to tell him she wanted doll clothes. The ratty old clothes from her other dolls didn’t fit. Maggie was special, and Jules wanted to keep her that way.
“My present!”
“Hold on, birthday girl. Open it when we get to Woolworth’s.”
It was a bright sunny day. Slush and snow still covered everything, but winter was melting away.
Jules didn’t want to ask her dad if he’d gotten a job, or talk about Tracie, Eileen, or the Chapmans.
Nothing bad!
Once they were on the bus, he asked about school – like he’d done when they’d gone out to lunch before. But after a while, they ran out of things to say. Jules watched the people on the bus or looked through the grimy bus windows at the passing streets.
I’m with my dad, me and me alone. He has a present for me, and we’re going to eat yummy food!
Just before they got to the lunch counter at Woolworth’s, her dad pulled her aside. “I’ve only got five bucks,” he said with an embarrassed laugh.
“That’s okay. We don’t have to eat anything. Just have pop.”
“No, no, it’s your birthday. We’ll get a drink each plus one other thing, okay?” He grabbed her chin. “C’mon. No worried faces.”
They sat down at the snack bar.
“So, Jules Doherty’s turning twelve. And growing
like crazy. You won’t want to be around your old man pretty soon.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Well, happy birthday, hon.”
He passed her the gift, and she ripped off the wrapping paper.
A makeup bag
.
“What’s wrong?”
Jules fought to keep the expression on her face right.
“C’mon, you don’t know what’s inside. Open it! There’s real lipstick in there, a small bottle of perfume, nail polish. The works!”
Anyone who knows me – anyone! – knows that makeup is the last thing I want
.
“Dammit, Jules. The least you could do is say thank you.”
“Oh, thank you, Dad. I –”
“What?” His voice was loud.
“I like it. It’s just …”
The waitress approached.
Her dad ordered for them. “And gimme that coffee quick, eh?” He pulled out his cigarettes. A long mirror ran along the entire back wall of the snack bar. He looked at himself for a moment, then looked away. “For Christ’s sake, Jules. Somebody goes to all the trouble of getting you a special present, and you act like it’s crap.”
That “somebody” wasn’t you. It was Tracie, and Tracie doesn’t know the first thing about me!
If they’d been at home alone, her father would’ve thrown the cosmetic bag in the garbage. As it was, he tried to yank it away from her, but Jules wouldn’t let him.
“No, Dad. I like it. Really. It’s just that –”
“It’s just that it’s a stupid present.”
“No. I’m not used to … I never thought –”
“No, you never thought. You never do.”
The day’s going bad
.
Jules forced herself to pull out the lipstick and take off the cap. Red. The kind Tracie wore. “Gee, it’s a pretty color.”
The waitress brought over the coffee and pop.
Jules opened the tiny perfume bottle and sniffed. “Wow, it smells great – like roses! Here, have a sniff.”
He took a few sips of his coffee. Then he slowly turned his face toward her outstretched hand and smelled the perfume. “Better put the stuff in the bag. Don’t get it all over the counter.”
“I can hardly wait to try it all out.”
“That’s bull, and you know it!”
He kept smoking, drinking coffee, and facing away from her on purpose. She wished their food would come to distract him.
Jules oohed and aahed over the big plate of fries the waitress brought. She gave him some to eat, gobbed with ketchup – just the way he liked them.
When they were finished, they walked slowly along Bloor, looking in shop windows. Jules told
him about the game she played with Patsy, the one where they pretended to buy whatever they wanted. He started to play along, and his mood got better.
When they were near the bus stop at Montgomery Road, he said, “I may as well say good-bye, Jules. The bus’ll take you straight to Botfield.”
You can’t go yet
.
“Why don’t we walk some more? It’s fun.”
“Not much else to see beyond this point. And if you miss the bus, it could be forty minutes before the next one comes along. You know what it’s like on Saturdays.”
It’s my birthday
.
He gave her a hug, but she held herself frozen like a statue. When he called out “Happy birthday, Jules!” in a happy voice as she got on the bus, she didn’t turn around.
She was glad there wasn’t a free window seat.
When she got to the Chapmans’, she ran upstairs to the room and threw the makeup bag against the wall, hoping the bottle of cheap perfume inside would break.
The Chapmans “celebrated” Jules’s birthday at lunch the following day. Patsy wasn’t allowed to come.
“We’d like her to be here,” Mrs. Chapman said. “But I’m going to my sister’s right after lunch, and the girls will be busy. We don’t want you two to be alone in the house.”
Mr. Chapman was going to be in his workshop,
but that didn’t seem to matter. He floated around the house half the time like a stranger, too.
Mrs. and Mr. Chapman gave Jules a pair of “good” matching gloves and scarf for Mass. She received another Nancy Drew mystery from the girls and a blue beret from Eileen, which Eileen had brought over earlier in the week.
Mrs. Chapman had bought her a birthday cake, and everyone sang “Happy Birthday.” Marilyn and Veronica stuffed down their piece of cake in seconds. Veronica was in a hurry to get to a friend’s to study, and Marilyn was going skating at Montgomery.
Jules asked her if she could come along.
Marilyn looked at her mom as she answered. “No, I’m meeting Barb. Sorry.”
Mrs. Chapman immediately started humming a song and clearing off the table. Jules felt like a dummy and went upstairs. The good feeling she’d had – with their singing to her, getting cake and presents – died.
H
ow am I supposed to get through each day when my life feels like it’s stalled, stopped, frozen in time? I feel like I’m moving through muck at zero miles an hour
.
In early April, Jules’s dad called to say he’d found a new job.
“It’s at a car dealership on the Queensway. Got it made now. Only thing is, I might have to work some Saturday mornings.”
“That’s okay. We can have a visit later in the day.”
“Yeah, but by the time I get washed, on the bus, and over there, it’ll be too late.”
“We can switch to Sunday then.”
“Sure.”
But one thing or another – work or Tracie or Hank – kept getting in the way. He started to telephone more than visit.
As if I’ve gone away
.
Jules asked her dad for the phone number at Tracie’s place, and she started to call often.
“I need to know, Dad, ahead of time – about the visits. So, if you can’t come, I’m not stuck by my –”
“Hold on there,” he interrupted. “It’s not my fault. Half the time, I don’t know myself.”
“Sure, Dad. It’s just –”
“Nobody’s stopping you from doing whatever you damn well want.”
“But sometimes it’s too late to make a plan with someone else.”
“Listen. I told you already. It’s hard for me to know – either it’s overtime or something else pops up unexpectedly. I’m the one dropping everything and coming all the way.”
“But can’t you just call me Friday night?”
“That’s the one night I have to enjoy a break. I work hard, you know.”
In the middle of April, they walked to Jules’s empty schoolyard for one Saturday visit. Another day later in the month, they stared at each other in the Chapman living room.
I hate living room visits!
“G
et your uniform off,” Mrs. Chapman called to Jules every day after school as she came in the back door.
Jules would make her way quietly through the kitchen, sneaking food as Mrs. Chapman watched TV. If only one or two apples or oranges were left in the fruit bowl, Jules would leave them alone. She didn’t want the usual lecture about spoiling her dinner or – the recent favorite – not being considerate of others. It was harder to sneak bread or cookies, but over time, she got better at it.
She’d lug herself upstairs, throw her schoolbag on the floor, change out of her uniform, and take Maggie from her hiding place. If she was falling-down tired, she’d slip under the bedcovers and sleep – a good thing if she wanted to escape, but bad if she wanted a proper night’s sleep later on. Night in that room was awful.
The girls got home later than Jules did. They were always busy with after-school clubs. Dinner was at five-thirty, when Mr. Chapman returned home from work.
Jules had to clear the table or help with the dishes. Most of her other chores were done on the weekend. Mrs. Chapman said she was training her girls – and Jules – to be good homemakers, although the training didn’t include teaching Jules how to cook. Mrs. Chapman didn’t want Jules anywhere near the kitchen.
Mr. Chapman would turn on the TV after dinner. He got first choice, the girls second. Mr. Chapman liked watching Red Skelton, “The Garry Moore Show,” and westerns. Marilyn loved “The Patty Duke Show” or anything about teenagers.
Jules went up to the room if she was bored or lonely.
At night, it helped if she played with Maggie or read a book. Playing her recorder reminded Jules of Christmas and missing the school concert, so she didn’t practice anymore. Reading was better. It helped push the past and present away and stopped Jules from having her own thoughts. She’d make her fort, bring the lamp under it, get Maggie, and read until one or two o’clock in the morning.