The number on the building in front of her read "400 Bay Street" and so she walked two blocks south until she reached the two hundred block.
Sarah was awestruck when she discovered that two hundred Bay Street was an enormous, glass skyscraper. The towering edifice stretched upwards - forty stories or more - and Sarah craned her neck until she could see the top.
This was where her dad worked?
She made her way towards the three revolving doors that served as the building's main entrance. At least a dozen men and women puffed away on cigarettes and Sarah covered her nose as she walked through their smoke. (Her mother's smoking habit had killed her and Sarah had long ago vowed to never even inhale second-hand cigarette smoke for as long as she lived.)
Once inside, she headed straight towards the security desk in front of the elevators. Two African-Canadian men were seated behind the counter - one grey-haired and relaxed-looking, the other young and alert.
"Hi."
"Hello."
"I'm trying to find my dad's office," said Sarah, handing the business card to the younger of the two.
"Stafford Schumann...those guys are on the...sixth floor...I'm pretty sure."
His eyes scanned the card for the suite number, but the older one spoke before he could find it.
"They're at six hundred A. Take the elevator to the sixth floor. It's the first door you see when you get off."
"Thanks."
The younger of the two seemed annoyed by his colleague butting in. He handed the card back to Sarah and as she walked towards the elevator, she heard him remark: "Why do you always have to go and do that Jack? You're making me look bad."
"Learn your stuff then kid," he growled.
Sarah smiled at their exchange as she pressed the elevator button. The door opened with a ding and she stepped inside.
A woman called out for her to "WAIT!" and she held the elevator for her.
She pressed the button for the sixth floor then turned to the woman. "What floor?"
"Nine...please."
Sarah pressed the button for the ninth floor and as they rode upwards, she waited in that awkward silence that so often arises between strangers in the elevator.
The car stopped at the sixth floor, the doors opened, and Sarah stepped off. The doors closed behind her. She found herself in a quiet hallway, standing on a blue carpet floor, surrounded by decorative light fixtures that ran the length of both walls. Sarah looked ahead at the large, frosted glass doors immediately in front of her. An insignia with two "S"s - exactly like the one on her dad's business card - was emblazoned on it.
This was it. She was about to meet her dad. Sarah's mind raced through dozens of images as she tried to picture what he might look like.
Was he tall with brown hair? Was he short with blonde hair? Did he wear a suit or a sweater vest? Did he have a nice smile or was he always frowning?
These were her thoughts as she stepped forwards and pulled open one of the heavy, glass doors, bisecting the SS insignia.
Inside was pure luxury. Mahogany tables, leather chairs, fancy paintings - it was the Le Luxembourg all over again...hopefully she'd have better luck this time.
A pretty, blonde receptionist sat at the front desk. The placard on top of it read "Brenda Murphy".
"Good morning, young lady."
"Hi," Sarah answered nervously.
"What can I help you with?"
She could instantly tell that Brenda's smile was a fake one.
"I'm here to see Norman Foster."
Brenda paused briefly.
"I'm sorry, but I've never heard that name before. Is he a friend of yours?"
Her perfume was overpowering and Sarah waved a hand in front of her face to clear the air.
"He's my dad actually - and he works here."
"I don't know of any Norman Foster here. Are you sure he works here?"
"Yes."
"Well...uh...I've been here for a year now and I've never heard of a person by that name."
How could this be?
Sarah removed the card from her pocket and read it to the woman.
"Stafford Schumman and Associates. Norman Foster," her voice rose as she continued, battling against her lack of confidence.
"Two hundred Bay Street. Suite six hundred A. How can there be no Norman Foster here?"
"Okay young lady - I need you to calm down right now. I am not in the mood for this today. I don't know what you're up to and what stunt you're trying to pull here - but there is no Norman Foster here! I'll even check for you. Okay!?"
She snapped open a binder on her desk and flipped through the pages with such force that Sarah was sure they would tear.
She stopped on a page and ran her finger from top to bottom.
"There's no one listed in our employee register with that name. Have a look for yourself if you don't believe me," she said irritably, thrusting the binder across the desk.
Sarah scowled and studied the list of "F" surnames. Farfan, Farmer, Faubert, Fehr ...
There were fourteen "F" names in all and none of them was "Foster".
Her face fell. How can this be? The business card isn't that old. This is just great.
"Will that be all then?" asked the receptionist, clicking her half inch nails on the desk top in a way that made Sarah dislike her even more.
"Yes. That will be all," she said, shoving the binder away. "Sorry to waste your precious time!"
The receptionist seemed taken aback by Sarah's sudden rudeness.
"You watch your manners in here or I'll have you escorted out by security!"
"Oh yeah!" Sarah screamed back.
She was fed up. She'd had it. Nothing ever went her way.
She imagined what Ron would say if he were here. He'd tell her to cool it, to just relax. But she couldn't - not when she'd come all this way and not when she and Ron had nowhere else to go.
Furious, she needed a punching bag - and Brenda was going to be it.
"GO AHEAD! CALL SECURITY! SEE IF I CARE!"
Brenda smacked her hand against the table.
"THAT'S IT! YOU WANT IT MISSY!? YOU GOT IT!" And with that she pressed a button on the desk. It beeped three times and then stopped.
"They're on their way," she said smugly as she stared squarely at Sarah.
Sarah turned away and watched the door, waiting for one of the African-Canadian security guards to appear. The first person to arrive on the scene however, came from behind her.
"Brenda! Just what is going on out here!?"
The shrill tone of the female voice reminded Sarah of fingernails on a chalkboard.
Sarah whirled around to see who the voice belonged to.
"Ms. Gladstone," said the receptionist. "I'm sorry. This girl here has been extremely rude and belligerent - and I've called security."
Ms. Gladstone shifted her gaze from Brenda to Sarah. Her face softened.
"Can I ask what you want, young lady?"
"I've come here to see my dad...Norman Foster."
"Norman Foster is your dad?"
At this, Brenda's face went from completely smug to completely bewildered.
"You know my dad?"
"Who's Norman Foster?"
"One at a time please," said Ms. Gladstone with an impatient smile.
At that moment the doors opened and in stepped the young security guard Sarah had met at the security desk downstairs.
"Is there a problem here?"
"No," said Ms. Gladstone. There's isn't. But thank you for coming so quickly. We've just had a bit of a misunderstanding. It's all cleared up now."
"So...you don't need me here?"
"That's correct, Sir."
He looked at Sarah. "I see you found the place okay."
"Yeah...thanks."
"No problem."
He looked at each of them and when they said nothing he nodded his head.
"Alright then. You ladies have a nice day. Call me if you need me."
r /> "We will. Thanks."
When he was gone, Ms. Gladstone invited Sarah to her office and told Brenda to bring them some coffee. Trying to make sense of this latest development , Sarah followed the tall and leggy, short-haired blonde to her large, corner office at the end of the corridor.
"Have a seat," she said once they were inside.
Sarah sat down dutifully in front of a large oak desk. On the desk was a placard that read: "Joyce Gladstone, VP".
The corporate executive sat down in her luxurious-looking leather chair behind the desk. "Your name again was?"
"Sarah. Sarah Litchmore."
"Sarah Litchmore...hmm...I can't say I've ever heard that name before..."
"My mother was June Litchmore."
"June...June...June...that name rings a bell...yes of course."
Ms. Gladstone looked across her desk at Sarah, her eyes bright.
"I never forget a name."
Sarah fidgeted uncomfortably.
"And, what do you remember of my mother?"
"Well, we threw a huge Christmas party this one year...this was back in, oh, ninety five? Ninety six? One or the other. Anyway, we threw this Christmas party for the office at Candy's downtown - great place - they tore it down a few years ago - really a shame - fantastic place - but yes - I remember now - it was Christmas nineteen ninety-five. Norm had been with us for about a year - it was his first Christmas with us - and he brought this drop-dead gorgeous red-head as his guest...had everybody on their toes...and her name was June...I never forget a name if I can picture the face."
Sarah nodded, smiling at Ms. Gladstone's description of her mother.
Brenda arrived with their coffee and Ms. Gladstone cleared a space on her desk for the two steaming mugs. As Brenda left the office, she glared at Sarah. Sarah gave her a smug smile.
"So Norm's your dad, eh?" said Ms. Gladstone as she stirred two creams into her coffee.
Sarah could tell by her tone that the corporate executive was both amused and intrigued.
"Who?"
"Norm. Norman."
"Yeah."
That Ms. Gladstone had used the present tense to refer to her father assured Sarah that he was at least alive - which was a good first sign.
More importantly though, was he here? Would she get to meet him?
"Well that is interesting...how old are you - if you don't mind me asking?"
Sarah wasn't sure whether she should give "Jessica's" age or her own age. She decided to be up front with Ms. Gladstone seeing as she was taking the time to tell her about her dad.
"Fourteen and a half. I turn fifteen in April."
The corporate executive seemed to perform a calculation in her head. "That sounds about right."
"For what?"
"Well...I can remember the very day your dad came in and told me that June was pregnant. It was September...yes...September ninety-six."
She chuckled as she recalled the memory. Sarah wished she would hurry up and share it with her.
"We had an important meeting scheduled for that morning with one of our clients...Taka Industries...Japanese firm...very impatient fellows..." she said with a grin.
"Anyways, your mom I guess had broken the news to him the night before - because when he came in - and this I will never forget," she started to laugh, "he was still wearing his pajamas! Can you imagine? One of our most important clients - we're sitting around the table in the board room and in walks your dad," she said, barely able to control herself, "his hair is sticking out in every direction, he hasn't shaved, he's got bags under his eyes..."
(she had to stop and take a breath before she could continue)
"and he's wearing his suit jacket over his pajama top and he's still got these baby blue pajama bottoms on. I mean - "
(she laughed)
"- it was just unreal! And these Japanese guys - "
(laughing)
"- you should have seen their faces! You know how they are - very formal and polite and always well-dressed - and here's Norm - "
(laughing and wiping a tear from her eye)
"- looking like he'd just walked out of a tornado! Ah - "
(finishes wiping eyes, finally collecting herself)
" - you had to be there. It was just...it was unreal...poor guy... he just wasn't ready to be a father I don't think... anyways, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laughing like this...it's been years since I've thought about that - Norm never spoke of that day again - "
(sips her coffee)
"but, oh God, it was the talk of the office for a month."
Sarah smiled to be polite, but the obvious question was still nagging at her. Where was her dad?
"So...is my dad here?"
"Unfortunately not my dear. He transferred to our Paris office in ninety-seven and about...oh...eight years ago was it?" She thought for a second, "Yes two thousand three because that's when my father passed away...Norm sent a condolence card...in two thousand three Norm went into business for himself. Or, your father I should say. In two thousand three your father went into business for himself. He started some type of bookkeeping firm or something."
"Oh."
Nineteen ninety-seven was the year he left mom. Is that what he did then? He just upped and left and hopped on a plane?
Ms. Gladstone sipped her coffee and gave her head a small shake. "Yep..that was our Norm...a real go-getter. He started with us in...what year was that...ninety-four...yes nineteen ninety-four...because I had just transferred over from Cullen and Associates...anyways...within a year your dad became one of our best recruiters."
"Oh."
The corporate executive sipped her coffee. "Oh, I just love this French vanilla."
A minute of uncomfortable silence passed before Sarah finally spoke.
"Did he say why he was leaving us and moving to Paris? I mean...did he say anything about me or my mom?"
Ms. Gladstone set down her coffee and looked sympathetically across her desk at Sarah. "He told me one night...that he wasn't ready to be a dad...that he wasn't happy with his life...that he wanted a change. He regretted not having been able to travel before starting a family...and he'd always wanted to see Europe."
Sarah felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. "So...he left us because he wasn't ready to be my dad? He wanted to go play tourist?"
The woman nodded, her lips pursed tightly together. "I guess...to put it bluntly."
"But...why?"
Ms. Gladstone sighed deeply. "Men don't make sense sometimes my dear - sometimes - I should say most of the time - the things they do - like I said - Norm was ambitious. Sorry, your father, was an ambitious man...he was always thinking of the next big thing, his next move. He said to me once that he felt tied down with your mother...those were his words by the way...and that he didn't want to end up miserable like his own father."
"Oh..."
There was another minute of uncomfortable silence as Sarah grappled with the million thoughts whirring through her brain.
"Does he ever come back to Canada? To Toronto?"
Ms. Gladstone shook her head. "No...I don't believe so anyway...the last time he was here was ninety-nine - he came for a conference. He was still working for us at that point of course...so it made sense...but now that he's in business for himself...I don't think he comes back much anymore - if at all."
Seeing the sullen expression on the face of the girl seated in front of her, Ms. Gladstone attempted to engage Sarah in some lighter conversation.
"How is your mom by the way? Is she doing well?"
Sarah looked at her. "She's dead. She died when I was nine."
Ms. Gladstone's eyes widened. "Oh my God...I'm so sorry...please...I didn't mean - "
"No. It's okay."
"Well it certainly isn't okay Sarah...I mean - who are you living with? Your grandparents - or an aunt or an uncle?"
"No. My only uncle died in a car accident when I was seven...and my mom only spoke of my grandparents a few times...and wh
en she did, she called them crazy. She said that they were mer - mans or something."
"Mormons?"
"Yeah. Mormons. She told me that they live in B.C. somewhere. My mom left them when she was eighteen and moved to Toronto...she never saw them after that."
Ms. Gladstone shook her head as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"What a tragic situation my dear. My question still stands though - are you being cared for by someone?"
"Oh yes, we have a great foster family...by we I mean my foster brother and I...they're really nice to us and we have a great, big house in Bridle Path."
Telling the truth about her and Ron's situation would have only prompted the corporate executive to call Child Services - and plus - she was tired of all the sympathy.
Why did she have to always be the charity case? Why couldn't she just be normal like everyone else?
"Oh wow!" Ms. Gladstone exclaimed. "Bridlewood."
Sarah noted, with some derision, that she seemed to lap it all up.
Adults are so gullible sometimes.
"Well I'm glad for that at least...even though...your life has been extremely difficult up until now."
"Yeah."
"Hey...would you like to see a picture of your dad?"
She wasn't sure. Did she want to see a picture of the man who'd left them - a man who didn't want them?
"I guess..."
"I'm sure I have an old Annual Report or something here with his photograph...let me see..."
Ms. Gladstone turned around in her chair so that she faced her book shelf.
"Hmm...Annual Reports...where did I last see those..."
Sarah looked out the window. It was grey and cloudy - exactly how she felt right now.
"Ah yes...here we are," said the woman as she removed a stack of glossy booklets from the shelf.
"Let's see...two thousand ten, two thousand nine...let's get back into the nineties here...right...ninety-nine...ninety-six...ninety-five...ninety-four...let's go with ninety-four. That was your dad's first year here."
She opened the book and examined the table of contents. "Representatives...page four. Perfect."
Sarah watched anxiously as the corporate executive turned to page four. Her mother had never kept any pictures of her dad - she'd burned them all after he left - or so she said - and so, for the first time, she was about to see his face.
"Ah, here we are. Norman Foster. Look how young he looks here - he couldn't have been more than twenty-five in this picture. Here, have a look."
Sarah took the booklet and looked at the spot where Ms. Gladstone held her finger. A man with a strong face, dark brown hair, and clear blue eyes smiled at her.
Sarah couldn't bear to look at the picture - but then she couldn't stand not looking - it was her father - the man who'd given her life - the man her mother had loved so dearly.
"I can make a photocopy of this for you if you'd like."
Sarah didn't know how to respond. Did she want this man's picture? She didn't know him - even though she was a part of him - he'd been absent her entire life. Did she want to have a picture that would remind her of that every time she looked at it?
"No thanks."
"Okay..."
Sarah placed her head between her knees and breathed in deeply.
"Are you alright? Are you sick?"
"No. I'm fine. I'm just...shocked. I thought he would be here. I thought I'd get to meet him today. I thought...
Sarah didn't want to admit that she'd thought she could live with him...that he'd want her back in his life.
What a stupid idea. This whole thing is stupid.
Sarah stood up.
"Thank you."
Ms. Gladstone's face registered a look of surprise. "For what? Are you leaving? So soon?"
Sarah could feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes. If she stayed a minute longer, she'd be crying in front of this woman. This stranger.
"Yes. I have to go."
"Okay...feel free to come back if you ever want to talk more..."
Sarah was out the door before Ms. Gladstone could finish.
She sped past Brenda's desk and pushed open the heavy, glass doors.
Clutching at her stomach and with tears now streaming down her cheeks, she pressed the elevator button and prayed it wouldn't take forever. The doors opened instantly and she got on. She pressed the button for the ground floor. It took her down quickly - not stopping once.
When the doors opened, she hid her face and practically jogged past the security desk. She didn't want anyone to ask her what was wrong. She just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.
Sarah cried all the way back to Anthony's. At times her tears had flowed forcefully - running down her cheeks to the bottom of her chin. Other times they were simple droplets that hung from her eye lashes. She figured that she must have gotten a thousand stares from random people on the sidewalk and on the subway - but she'd didn't care.
Her dad was a lousy, deadbeat - a continent and an ocean away. In fourteen years he'd never once called or written - even though she and her mom had lived in the same apartment until the day she had passed away.
Why on Earth had she thought there was a chance that she could get to know him - that she could live with him?
Sarah burned inside - she was angry with herself and even angrier with her dad - correction - her father - a dad plays a proud part in his daughter's life - a father makes a baby and moves halfway across the world.
As soon as she got back to Anthony's she headed to her room and crawled into bed. She skipped lunch and despite Ron's insistence to "Come and see the rec room!", Sarah lay in bed, the covers over her face, wishing she'd never been born.
Selma knocked on the bedroom door at a quarter after one to tell her that Team Purple was starting clean up in the kitchen and the dining hall now and did she want to come and help? Sarah told her politely to go away, that she was tired, and not feeling well.
To her annoyance, this news caused Amy to come and check on her a short while later.
"Are you alright? What happened? Are you sick?"
Sarah refused to answer her questions - simply telling her that she'd had a rough morning and could she please be left alone now?
Amy agreed to leave her along if she agreed to speak to one of the counselors. Sarah didn't want to speak to anyone - well, maybe Rachel - but said that she would if Amy would leave her be for the rest of the day. Amy left her then and Sarah, her tears finally abating, quickly fell asleep.
Sometime after five she awoke to the sound of someone knocking. "Jessica?"
"Who's there?"
"It's me - Rachel."
Sarah sat up. "Hey..."
She rubbed her eyes as Rachel entered the bedroom. "Geez, it's dark in here."
She flicked the light switch and Sarah covered her eyes with the blanket.
"Ahhh."
"I'm sorry Jess," said Rachel quickly, switching the light off. "I brought you supper."
Sarah pulled the blanket from her head. The light from the hallway was just enough for her to make out Rachel's face.
"Thanks...what time is it?"
"It's almost six o'clock."
"Geez...I've slept a long time. Where's Ron?"
"He's in the rec room, playing with some other kids. He got a cast put on his ankle today - and he's on crutches now. He seems to be enjoying all the attention he's getting though - everyone wants to sign his cast."
"Oh..." answered Sarah meekly.
"Is everything alright? Amy said you were having a rough day."
"Yeah..."
Rachel set the plate of food she'd brought on top of the desk and took a seat at the foot of the bed.
"My mom got me these new kicks today."
Rachel lifted her foot so Sarah could see.
"Nice. Are they comfy?"
"Totally. It's like walking on air."
"Awesome...I need to get some new shoes eventu
ally."
Rachel glanced around the room.
"I've never actually been inside a room here before - this isn't all that bad to be honest."
"Yeah it's alright. Could use a few posters though."
"I hear that. My room is covered. My mom hates it - she says it'll ruin the wallpaper - but hey, it's my room isn't it?"
"Yeah. There's nothing more boring than a blank wall."
Sarah was beginning to feel sociable. And hungry.
"So you brought me supper?"
"Yeah...want it?"
"Yeah."
Sarah took the plate and tore off the plastic wrap to reveal a baked potato, steamed asparagus and a grilled chicken breast.
"Sorry about the asparagus - Wynona insisted I put some on there."
Sarah smiled."It's all good."
Rachel talked while she picked at her food.
"You should have seen - at school today - my art teacher Mrs. Jenkins - she totally flipped on this guy Ryan because he drew two monkeys doing it for his nature project.
"What?"
"Yeah. Like - we all had these National Geographic magazines - and we had to pick out an image - I did a Monarch butterfly and Stacey did a Koala bear - but Ryan - he's always trying to get attention - he picked this picture with two monkeys doing it and he drew that."
"What did your teacher say?"
"She flipped on him. She told him to pack up his stuff, leave, and to not come back until he does the assignment properly."
"Wow. Strict."
"Yeah, but she's really cool - best teacher I've ever had - well one of the best - my grade eight music teacher was so funny that most of us signed up for concert band just to hear his jokes."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
The conversation went silent for a minute while Sarah attacked her baked potato and Rachel played with her shoelaces.
"So how's the food?"
"Good," said Sarah, licking her fingers. "It's awesome...I was so hungry...I haven't eaten since breakfast."
"Well eat up. Some of it gets old pretty quickly though - like the steamed vegetables - we have them like every night."
"Yeah. And the bread too. It tastes like the same stuff they put out last night."
Rachel smiled. "You should try my mom's corn bread. It's like...heaven. Seriously. And it's healthy too. I could eat it all day."
"Yeah...corn bread's pretty good."
Hey!" said Rachel suddenly. "I just got an idea."
"What?"
"Well Thanksgiving is on Sunday right?"
"Yeah."
"Well - I'd have to ask my parents first, but - why don't you and Ron come to our house for Thanksgiving supper?"
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"You'd want us?"
"Jess. C'mon. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to come."
Sarah smiled. "Okay. Sure. Why not. It'd be nice to get out of here for awhile.
"Great. I'll ask my mom tonight. She's picking me up at eight. I'll have an answer for you by tomorrow - and don't worry - she'll say yes. She's cool - same with my dad."
"Okay..."
Sarah finished her baked potato and moved on to the steamed vegetables.
"Well...Wynona's going to skin me if I don't get back - I promised her I'd come up and go straight back."
"That's fine. I'll probably go take a bath now anyway. Baths always make me feel better."
"Me too."
They shared a smile and Rachel stood up. "Alright. So tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
"I'll be here at five again - for supper - and I'll let you know what my mom says. Okay?"
"Okay. And...thanks for bringing me supper. I don't think I could have faced everyone tonight - especially after I skipped out on lunch cleanup."
"Wynona mentioned that...but she didn't seem too upset. She forgets she's mad really quickly," added Rachel with a grin.
Sarah nodded. "Yeah I got that impression last night with the fruit salad."
"That's Wynona."
The conversation ended there and Rachel bid her friend farewell, leaving Sarah to her food - and her thoughts.
- 10 -
SELMA'S DILEMMA
Sarah had decided at breakfast the following morning that she would give as little information as possible to the Anthony's counselor Amy had arranged for her to see. She didn't feel like discussing her father; as far as she was concerned, if he didn't care about her, then she didn't care about him.
Still, omitting any mention of her father from the conversation was only half the battle - she also had to be careful not to slip up and reveal her true identity.
"My name is Jessica Myers and I am nineteen years old. My name is Jessica Myers and I am nineteen years old."
She repeated this to herself over and over, as she sat in the office of "Dr. Angela Adamo, Clinical Therapist", waiting for her to arrive.
Sarah imagined herself as an adult - independent, employed and living in her own apartment.
My life would be so much easier. No curfew.Watch what I want. Eat what I want. Go out with my friends. Throw parties. Have a good job...
The door opened and in walked a short and stocky woman, dressed all in black. She carried a briefcase and wore a silver cross around her neck.
"So sorry to have kept you waiting Jessica - one of our other residents was having a small episode. Certain holidays can trigger a lot of difficult emotions in some people - and Thanksgiving is no exception. But, here we are."
She squeezed into her chair and gazed at Sarah from behind her square-frame glasses.
"So...how are you feeling today?"
Sarah shrugged. "Not bad. Could be better, could be worse."
Dr. Adamo smiled. "That's very non-committal."
"Sorry?"
"Non-committal...like...you're not committing to one way or the other. It's not good, it's not bad. It just is."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. It just doesn't really give me an understanding of how you're feeling."
"Oh. Well, I'm sorry but my mood changes on a whim sometimes - so I can't really commit to one feeling or another."
Sarah could see by the look on Dr. Adamo's face that she was already well on her way to accomplishing her task of not revealing too much.
She watched Dr. Adamo scribble in her notebook.
"What are you writing?"
The counselor looked up and smiled. "Just making notes. You just sit back and relax and I'll ask the questions, okay?"
"Sure."
There was a span of silence before her next question and Sarah leaned back to count the ceiling tiles.
"So. Let's get back to how you've been feeling - and in particular - the good feeling."
"Okay..."
"For instance, what was good about yesterday."
"Breakfast was good. We had blueberry pancakes. That's one of my favourites."
"Okay, (scribbling in her notebook) and anything else?"
"No."
"Alright. How about, what wasn't good about yesterday?"
What could she say? That she'd waited fourteen and a half years to see her father and that he turned out to be a total deadbeat?
"The weather. It was cloudy and grey."
"And why don't you like the weather when it's cloudy and grey?"
"Well do you like it when it's cloudy and grey?"
"We're not here to talk about me," said Dr. Adamo with a crisp smile, "we're here to talk about you."
Sarah sat back and looked at the numerous certificates on Dr. Adamo's wall.
"How long did it take you to become a head doctor?"
"Jessica."
"Yes."
"We're talking about you."
"Right. Sorry. I forgot. Um...what else was good about yesterday...hmm...oh, my friend Rachel."
She stopped and waited for Dr. Adamo to prompt her to say more.
"And? What about your friend Rachel was good?"
/>
"She came to see me and she brought supper to my room."
"And why did that feel good?"
"I don't know - I guess because she's a friend."
"Okay. So this Rachel person is a friend of yours and she makes you feel good because she does nice things for you? Because she's considerate?"
"Yeah."
"Alright."
Sarah didn't like that Dr. Adamo seemed to be tearing down the walls she'd put up.
"It feels good to have friends that care about us, doesn't it?"
"Yeah...I guess so."
"Do you have many friends?"
That was a good question. Who did she count as friends? Troy and Samantha from her last group home? Tom and Julia Whittaker? Would she see either of them ever again? Weren't friends people you saw regularly?
"Jessica?"
"Sorry. I guess I have a few."
"A few friends?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. And do all your friends make you feel good? Do they treat you well?"
"I guess."
The session continued back and forth like this for the rest of the hour. Dr. Adamo asked her about Ron. She asked her what type of career she was considering. Did she plan to go to college or university? Did she have a boyfriend?
Sarah answered all of these questions with simple, open-ended answers, skillfully dragging out the hour. Only once did she reveal more than she had wanted, mentioning at one point that she wasn't old enough to drink.
To this, Dr. Adamo had asked: "But you're nineteen aren't you?" And indeed, Jessica Myers was nineteen.
Hastily correcting herself, Sarah explained that she'd simply meant that she wasn't mature enough to drink and added that she avoided alcohol because of what it did to people.
At exactly eleven o'clock, Dr. Adamo said that her next appointment was waiting and that Sarah was free to leave. Sarah didn't need telling twice, and left her office, happy that she'd performed so well.
However, at lunch, Ron dampened her enthusiasm when he told her that she didn't look close to being nineteen - despite the way she'd done her hair and makeup that morning - and that he'd always wondered how she got away with it.
"Well you don't even look eight!" she'd shouted angrily, loud enough for everyone in the dining hall to hear.
They made up - eventually - after some encouragement from Annette - and after lunch, made their way to the rec room.
As it was a Saturday - the rec room was packed. Kids who would normally have been in school fought over board games and hogged the foosball table.
Sarah had to literally pry one young boy's fingers from the computer when his half hour was up so that she could use it.
It had been at least a week since she'd last logged onto Facebook and she felt out of touch - not that she had many friends anyway.
Suspiciously, there was a message from Julia, asking how she was doing and what she was up to.
No doubt her grandmother had put her up to it.
She deleted the message - even though she would have loved nothing more than to write Julia back and update her on everything that had been happening since they'd run away from the Smolinski's. But she couldn't - she couldn't risk Child Services taking them back - not after all they'd been through already.
Sarah felt as though they were finally turning a corner - and if she could just get a job - her and Ron could maybe get a little apartment and start over fresh.
After an hour Sarah had had enough and Ron agreed to some fresh air. They put on their jackets - as it was fairly cold with the wind - and Sarah wheeled her brother to the park across the street.
They watched a squirrel fight a murder of crows for a piece of bread and clapped fiercely when the squirrel won. A group of boys was playing ultimate frisbee on the soccer field and Sarah watched them until it became too windy and they called it a game.
At four forty-five Sarah wheeled Ron back to Anthony's. "You go ahead to the dining hall - I have to go to the bathroom first. I'll meet you in there."
She headed up the stairs to the bathroom on the purple floor. As she neared the door, she heard someone crying. She stopped and listened. It sounded like that kind of crying where your body heaves and you want to scream out, but it would be too loud, so you hold it in and endure the pain.
Sarah knocked softly on the door and the crying stopped.
"Hello? Are you alright in there?"
"Jessica...it's you. Yes. I am fine. Thank you."
By the voice and the accent, she could tell that it was Selma.
"You don't sound fine. Why are you crying?"
There was no answer.
"Selma?"
"My family has disowned me," she answered after a minute.
"What? Why? What happened?"
She could hear Selma sniffling and then blowing her nose.
"I called my sister today - in Pakistan - and I told her that I want to come home."
Her voice broke.
"She told me that I couldn't - that my father would kill me - that I had brought shame to our family because I left Shabeer - my husband."
Selma's breathing was rapid, like muted machine gun bursts that came between her tears and her sniffles.
"I'm so sorry, Selma."
Sarah sat down beside the door and waited patiently for the young mother to speak again.
"I have no place to go, Jessica. Where will me and my baby live? We can only stay here for three months as you know," she said, her voice breaking, "I don't know what I can do."
"Well, we'll talk to Amy," said Sarah hopefully. "I'll come with you. Maybe she can help."
"No. It won't work. She already told me that she wants me to speak to the police about Shabeer - she wants me to press the charges on him. Jessica, I can't. I cannot do this. It is unacceptable for our culture. In my culture, a wife must obey her husband - no matter what. I cannot speak to the police..."
"But Selma - you're in Canada now. You're safe. You can go to the police and press charges against your husband if he - "
"No! Jessica...I cannot. Even though my body is in Canada, my heart and my soul are in Hamai - that is my village back home - and if I ever want to return - I cannot bring such shame on my family."
Sarah had no idea what to say. What could she say? Tell Selma that everything was going to be alright? She hated it whenever someone said that - because it was never true - it never worked out alright.
A baby began to cry from behind the bathroom door. Amir.
Selma hushed her baby and began to sing to him. She sang beautifully and Sarah rested her back against the wall and closed her eyes to listen.
The language was like none she'd ever heard. Graceful. Melancholic. It moved her.
Selma's singing continued for several minutes and when she was finished, Amir had stopped crying.
"I think you should talk to Amy, Selma. She can help you."
"No, Jessica. She cannot. She does not understand my culture."
"Well what then? You can't just go back to your husband."
"That is what I must do," she answered quietly.
"What!? No!"
Selma ignored her.
"Selma. You can't go back to that man! He hits you! That's wrong - in any culture."
There was no answer.
"Selma. You're a friend of mine and I can't just sit back and let you do that. If you won't go to see Amy, then I will!"
The door opened suddenly and Selma appeared. Her face was red, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying.
"You must not Jessica! You cannot! I will leave now!"
"No!"
She reached out to grab Selma by the arm, but the woman slapped her arms away and pushed her. Sarah fell backwards and landed hard on the floor. In that instant Selma scooped up Amir and ran towards her bedroom. Sarah leapt to her feet, her adrenaline pumping full blast, and sprinted after her. It was no use though. The door slammed shut and Sarah heard what sounded like a chair being put under the door kno
b - she knew this sound well because she'd often done it to keep Hank from wailing on Ron - locking her brother in a room until Hank had either left the house or calmed down.
"Selma! Open the door!"
There was no answer, but she heard Selma moving hangers in her closet - and the sound of a zipper being unzipped. Was she packing? Was she really going to leave Anthony's and go back to her husband? She had to stop her. She had to find Amy.
"Somebody! Anybody! Team Purple! Is anyone up here?"
Sarah ran the length of hallway. It was silent. Everyone had gone down to supper and there was nobody to stand guard while she went to fetch Amy. She'd have to be fast.
Sarah raced towards the stairwell and hurtled down the steps. She came to the dining hall. Where was Amy? Her eyes searched frantically. "SAIR! HURRY UP! IT'S ALMOST TIME TO EAT!"
Ron was sitting a few feet from where she stood, by himself, at the end of the purple table. "Come and sit!"
"Not now, Ron! And don't call me Sair," she hissed.
"Sorry."
"Where's Amy? I need to speak with her."
"I think she's in the kitchen. Why? What's going on?"
Sarah didn't answer, but took off running across the dining hall towards the kitchen.
"Ahhhh!"
Wynona let out a cry as Sarah nearly crashed into her.
"Jessica! Just what do you think you're doing!?"
"AMY!" Sarah yelled, ignoring Wynona's protests. "AMY!"
Amy poked her head out around the corner.
"Jessica? What's the matter? Why are you shouting?"
"It's Selma," said Sarah breathlessly. "She's about to leave - go back to her husband - she was crying - very upset - she said she brought shame to her family."
Her heart was pounding and she could hardly speak as she tried to catch her breath.
Amy looked deeply concerned. "Where is she now?"
"In her room."
"Okay. I'm going right now."
Amy waved one of the security guards over and began issuing instructions as Sarah collapsed against the wall.
"Jess?"
Sarah turned around.
Rachel.
"Hey."
Her friend wore a concerned expression on her face.
"You look terrible...what's wrong? Are you alright?"
Sarah managed a smile. She was sweating and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
"I'm alright...thanks...just tired. There's this woman...her name is Selma...I'm not sure if you know her."
Rachel shook her head. "No. I don't know her."
"She left her husband about three weeks ago because he was abusive towards her. Anyways, her family back in Pakistan disowned her because, apparently, it brought shame onto her whole family. Like, because she left her husband."
"Okay..." said Rachel.
"It was an arranged marriage sort of deal and the two families are from the same village...and so yeah...it's just a bad situation all around. That's what Annette told me anyway."
"That's so sad...and I can't believe that she's even considering going back to the guy..."
Sarah looked at her with a knowing expression. "Tell me about it."
Her breathing had finally returned to normal and her heart had slowed to its normal pace.
"Are you eating?" asked Rachel with a hopeful expression. "It's lasagna tonight - and it's actually good."
"Yum...that sounds delicious," she answered, momentarily forgetting about Selma.
Rachel grinned. I'll take that as a yes...anyways, I have to get back to my station now before Wynona starts her griping."
Sarah put out her hand. "Wait."
"Yeah?"
"I just wanted to say...thanks for last night. You know...coming to see me in my room and bringing me supper...no one usually does stuff like that for me."
"Don't mention it. You're a cool girl, Jess. I was glad to do that for ya. Are you feeling better today?"
Sarah smiled (although she was starting to feel really guilty that Rachel still didn't know her real name).
"Much better."
"I'm glad to hear that...oh hey! Guess what?"
"What?"
"My mom said that you and Ron can come to our house for Thanksgiving tomorrow and if you want you can stay the night and come with us to the zoo on Monday. That's sort of a Nielsen-Vasquez family, Thanksgiving tradition...what do you say?"
What could she say but yes?
"Of course! I'd love to come."
Rachel grinned. "That's so awesome. We'll have lots of fun."
"Yay...I'm so excited."
"Me too."
The girls chatted some more before Wynona came into the kitchen and shooed them out.
- 11 -
THANKSGIVING WITH THE NIELSEN'S
On Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, Maria Nielsen-Vasquez pulled into the loading zone behind Anthony's. Sarah and Ron were waiting, impatiently, anxious for a change of scenery and excited to spend time with the Nielsen family.
"Hey Jess!"
"Hi Rachel!"
"Hey Ron."
"Hey."
"Jess, this is my mom, Maria."
"How do you do?"
"Hi Mrs. Nielsen - it's nice to meet you."
Not one for small talk, Maria did not see any need for them to stand around. "Are we all ready to go?"
"Yeah."
"Okay then...Rachel...open up the back so we can put Ron's...what's the word again...crutches. Crutches! I remembered that word," she said with a smile.
"Good job, mamá," Rachel chimed as she opened the trunk and stowed Ron's crutches inside.
Sarah helped Ron climb into the front passenger seat of the red mini-van and once Ron was buckled in, the girls climbed into the rear seat.
"Bueno," said Maria a minute later when she was satisfied that they were all packed and ready to go. "Next stop, la casa Nielsen!"
"So Rachel tells me you're from Pickering," said Maria once they were on the highway.
"Yeah."
"I used to work in Pickering. Do you know the River Lodge care facility?"
"Is that the one near Lucky Burger?"
"Si! Yes! You know it then. That's where I worked for the first two years when I came to Canada."
Sarah smiled, glad that she could find something in common with Rachel's mom.
"I used to eat lunch at the Lucky Burger every Friday," Maria continued. "It's really too bad we don't have a place like that in Toronto."
"Yeah, the Lucky Burger makes the best burgers."
"Yes...and you know, in my country, before I came to Canada, I had never eaten a hamburger."
"Really?"
"Yes. Well, it's because I am from a small town called Nahuala where we don't have hamburgers - we do make this type of meatball - but we use pork because beef is very expensive in El Salvador - only for the rich. My family was very poor when I was young."
Sarah could feel that Rachel was a little embarrassed by the conversation - not only did Maria Nielsen-Vasquez have a noticeable Spanish accent - she admitted to being poor as freely as a person admits to being human.
But Sarah liked her accent - and as for being poor - she'd been raised by a single mother and was now a homeless orphan - so being poor was nothing new.
"Where's El Salvador?" asked Ron. He'd set down his game console and was listening intently to the conversation unfolding in the van.
"El Salvador is in Central America - "
"Near Mexico?" asked Ron before she could finish. "Mexico is in Central America isn't it?"
Maria smiled. "You're a very intelligent boy I see. Yes. México (she pronounced it "mey - heeko") is in Central America - but El Salvador is more south. It is between Honduras and Guatemala."
"Cool! Is it hot there then? Like in Mexico? And they speak Spanish right?"
Maria laughed."Wow! You know so much! Yes, it's much warmer in El Salvador than here - and we speak Spanish."
Sarah and Rac
hel listened as Maria gave Ron a thorough lesson on El Salvador, patiently answering all of his questions and diligently explaining everything from the name of the national bird to the name of the country's tallest mountain.
The Nielsen's lived in the small suburb of Rexdale. Rexdale reminded Sarah of Pickering with its single-storey bungalows, tree-lined streets and big front lawns.
Maria turned into the driveway of a modest, red-brick bungalow.
"Everybody out," said Maria once they were in the garage.
"Rachel, get the crutches from the back and help Jessica with Ron please."
"I am."
"Okay. I was just making sure. They are our guests - so you have to treat them nicely."
"Yo sé mamá," said Rachel irritably.
Sarah looked at her. "You speak Spanish?"
"Yeah."
"Wow, I'm so jealous."
Rachel smiled. "Don't be. I can teach you."
"That would be so cool. I've always wanted to be able to speak another language - and Spanish sounds so cool."
While Maria went inside to let the dog out from his kennel ("Memo" was the Nielsen's big golden retriever), the girls helped Ron onto his crutches and then up the steps into the house.
"Querida - can you show them where to put their jackets and their shoes, please?" said Maria to Rachel once they were all inside.
At that moment Memo bounded over to them and Ron got all excited. "Here boy! Come here! Good boy! Ah, his tongue is wet!"
All of them laughed as the hulking retriever pushed Ron onto the couch and licked his face.
"Memo! Ya basta! That's enough!"
"Come here boy," said Rachel. "Leave Ron alone, okay? He just met you and he doesn't want all those kisses from you!"
"How about you girls take him for a walk, querida?"
"What's querida mean?" Sarah whispered.
"It means like sweetheart in Spanish."
"In a bit mamá, okay? First I want to show Jessica my room."
The front door opened all of a sudden and in walked a tall man with shaggy blonde hair and fogged up glasses. He wore a black fleece and a Toronto Maple Leafs toque.
"Hey dad."
"Hey honey."
Rachel's dad removed his glasses and he and Maria shared a quick kiss.
"How were the lineups?"
"Muy concurrido cariña. Very busy. I only went because I love ya."
He saw Ron and Sarah. "You must be Ron and Jessica. I'm Julian. Rachel's dad."
"Hi. Jessica."
"I'm Ron."
They shook hands.
"Well it's nice to meet you both. Rachel's told us a lot about you two."
Sarah blushed. "Did she?"
"Yep, says you're a real troublemaker," he said with a wide grin, "and this one (he gestured towards Ron) plays his video game twenty-four seven."
Sarah laughed. "That's pretty much us in a nutshell."
"In a nutshell?" asked Maria curiously.
Rachel looked at her mother in exasperation. "Mamá, you ask that every time...it means like, the summary of someone...you know, the basics."
"Ah, I see, okay. Querida, go easy on me - I don't spend time around young people so I don't know all your expressions."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "It's not just a young people's expression mamá..."
"Okay, okay, enough of that," said Julian, removing his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. "Have our guests been offered some food and drink?"
"I was just about to do that," said Maria. "Thank you for reminding me cariño."
She turned to Ron and Sarah. "What would you two like to drink? We have pop, juice, chocolate milk - "
"Chocolate milk! Chocolate milk!" Ron shouted enthusiastically.
Maria laughed. "I think someone is crazy for chocolate milk."
"Yeahhhh!"
Maria laughed again. "Okay! Chocolate milk for you! And Jessica?"
"Just some juice please."
"Orange? Apple? Pineapple?"
"Orange please."
"Bueno."
"Okay, now you have to come and see my room," said Rachel once her mother and Julian had gone into the kitchen.
"Sure."
"What am I going to do?" Ron whined as they headed for the stairs. His foot, in its cast, was propped up on the coffee table.
"Just stay there. We'll be back in a five minutes."
Ron was about to protest further, but the girls were already halfway up the stairs.
After a minute, Julian poked his head out the kitchen doorway. "Hey Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to come downstairs and watch the hockey game?"
"No, he doesn't want to watch your stupid hockey game," joked Maria from behind him. "How you Canadians can enjoy a game that has to be played on ice - in minus twenty degree weather - ay - I still don't understand it! Even after sixteen years!"
"I want to watch the game," said Ron brightly.
"Great! We'll just have to figure out a way to get you down the stairs - this house isn't exactly built for people on crutches," Julian added with a grin.
"Here, cariño," said Maria, setting down the glasses of orange juice and chocolate milk she'd just filled. "I'll take the crutches and you carry him."
Ron looked unsure.
"Don't worry," said Maria when she saw the doubt on Ron's face. "He's a strong guy!"
Julian laughed as he plucked Ron from the couch and held him with one arm. "Such flattery from my wife - you watch - she'll ask me to do her a favour in about two minutes."
Maria smiled. "Liar!"
"Huh oh! Am I? What about this morning when you told me I looked handsome? A minute later you asked me to return that blender!"
"I did not!"
"You did too!"
They continued their good natured back-and-forth as they descended the stairs. When they reached the bottom Julian lowered Ron to the ground. "There ya go."
Maria handed him the crutches and he hopped towards the couch.
"Kind of tough gettin' around on those things, eh?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah."
Julian rested his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I had to use crutches my second year of college. Tore my ACL. It was pretty rough."
"Okay, well," said Maria, "I'll leave you boys in the man-cave (she always said this word with a smile because she found it so amusing) and I will go and start supper. You let me know if he's being mean or hogging the remote. Okay, Ron?"
Julian laughed. "Oh come on! When do I ever hog the remote!?"
"Okay," said Ron, grinning from ear to ear. "Thanks."
Maria smiled. "Okay. Good. Oh - your chocolate milk. I'll bring it down for you."
"No it's okay honey," said Julian. "I have to bring a few snacks down anyways."
"Ah, okay."
Using the remote, Julian flicked on the TV and set the channel for the hockey game.
"I'll be back in a couple minutes, alright? I'm gonna bring down some food. Do you like pretzels?"
Ron nodded.
"Alright then. Pretzels it is. Here, (he tossed Ron the remote), watch whatever you want until I get back. Since my wife (he tickled Maria until she squealed) says I hog the remote."
Ron smiled. "Okay."
They bounded up the steps like two rabbits in love and Ron sat back, surveying his new surroundings. It was quite dark in the basement, but he could make out what looked like a pool table in one corner. In the other corner was a punching bag and a weight set and immediately adjacent to these, a washer and dryer. To the right of the washer and dryer was a wall displaying a number of comic and book covers in frames. Julian returned a minute later with two large bowls of pretzels - one for him and one for Ron. He also brought Ron's chocolate milk, and for himself, a can of beer.
"Ahh," he said, stretching his feet onto the coffee table. "This is what the holidays are all about."
Ron nodded. "Yeah...hey...what are those comics on the wall back there?"
He pointed
to the wall that held the picture frames.
"Oh, those are some of my works. The big ones anyways - the ones that get noticed. I'm an animation artist."
"Whoa...so like...you do comics and stuff?"
Julian nodded. "Comic books, book covers, graphic novels, comic strips for newspapers - a bit of everything."
"That's so cool."
"I'll show you my office sometime today or tomorrow and you can see some of the projects I have on the go."
"Awesome. Can you show me how to draw?"
Julian smiled. "Sure I can teach you a few things."
Ron looked ecstatic and Julian couldn't help laughing. "You look so amazed. Don't you draw?"
"Sometimes. I like to draw my video game characters."
"Well, that's how you start - and then you just keep practicing and practicing until you get good."
Ron shoved a pretzel into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, mulling over Julian's advice.
Don Cherry came on and began talking about the Leafs' first line.
"You like hockey?" asked Julian, taking a sip of his beer.
"Yeah."
"How 'bout the Leafs?"
"Yeah!"
"Awesome. They've been my favourite team since I was old enough to skate. If you weren't a Leafs fan, you weren't a Nielsen."
While Ron and Julian watched the hockey game downstairs, Sarah was busy admiring Rachel's room upstairs.
"And you have a loft bed!"
Rachel grinned. "That was my Christmas present last year. Pretty slick, hunh?"
"Totally."
"Did you see my Brittany Shears poster? It's autographed."
"No way!"
"Yeah way! I bought it online, so I didn't actually meet her - but still - it's pretty cool."
Sarah ran her hand over the signature then circled the room, taking in the other aspects of Rachel's room.
"You're so lucky...to have all this..."
Rachel sniffed. "I know - but my life hasn't been completely easy either, you know."
Sarah looked out the window and watched some kids playing hockey in the street.
It sure seems like an easy life...growing up here in the suburbs...everyone has a house with a car in the driveway...kids playing road hockey...
"We lost my younger brother six years ago. Leukemia."
Sarah whirled around. "Oh my God...Rachel...I had no idea."
Now she knew how Ms. Gladstone must have felt when she'd dropped the bomb on her about her mom being dead.
Rachel looked at the floor. "It's okay Jess...just try not to mention it to my parents...we don't talk about him much. It's too painful for them."
"I can imagine..."
"Anyways," said Rachel, looking up at her, "let's not dwell on that. George wouldn't have wanted us to be sad."
"That was his name?"
"Yeah...George, Jorge - he went by both."
Sarah closed her eyes.
Rest in peace George...Jorge...whichever you prefer...you have a very nice family.
"Have you heard the Purple Sunglasses' new song yet?" asked Rachel, grabbing her laptop from the desk and popping it open.
"No! Do you have it!?"
"Yeah, just give me a second and I'll load it up."