“Gross.”
He took my hand.
“I have to ask you something,” I said. “Why haven’t you reached out to Frankie?”
“Because…he’s better off never hearing from me again.”
“And maybe because you’re scared?”
“That, too.” We fell into silence. “I have to ask you something, too,” he said after a while. “And you have to tell the truth.”
“Okay.”
“Will you be able to forgive me for everything I did? Will you be able to look at me the same way?”
I opened my mouth.
And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t break his heart.
So for the first time I told Jacob a lie.
I said, “Yes.”
The fog in my head started to clear.
I kept bringing Jacob his homework, upping it to three days a week. Alonzo and Koula often came with me. The first time Koula saw Jacob she punched him in the arm, but he just grabbed her with his real hand and gave her a noogie with his bionic one.
I was nice when I saw him.
But I still kept my distance.
Jacob returned to school in May. Things went okay. Word hadn’t spread. I thought that was a small miracle, and said so his first time back at YART.
“Why’s that surprising?” asked Koula. “We’re practically the only ones who know.”
“Yes, but you in particular are not known for your discretion.”
“Shut your piehole,” she said. Betty indicated the Jar. Koula dropped in a quarter, then she placed something else on the table. “It’s my two-month chip.”
“Wow,” said Alonzo. “That’s twice as long as you’ve ever made it before.”
“I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone, and I am choosing to ignore it.”
Alonzo wrapped her in a hug. “No sarcasm. Seriously. You should be proud.”
“Yes, you should,” said Betty. “Congratulations.”
Koula turned to Jacob. “And also, I sent my mom the video we made. I didn’t hear anything at first, but two days ago she phoned me. We met at a coffee shop yesterday after school. Neutral territory. And we only shouted a little bit. Mostly we just talked.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” said Jacob.
“Yeah. That’s fantastic,” said Alonzo. But he sounded a bit glum. He hadn’t heard a word from his family. Not a peep.
Jacob turned to Ivan, who’d been sullen and quiet so far. “How’ve you been doing?”
Ivan wouldn’t look him in the eye. He just shrugged.
“I’ve really missed you,” Jacob said.
Ivan didn’t answer.
“I have tickets to a Whitecaps game next weekend. I was hoping we could go together.”
Ivan couldn’t help himself. “Good seats?”
“Great seats.”
Ivan cracked a smile.
Betty cleared her throat. “I also have some good news to share. I passed my course. I’ll be moving on to a temporary position with elementary-age children next September.”
We congratulated her. After Betty went into her office, Koula emptied the mason jar that she’d almost single-handedly filled with quarters. The following Friday we brought in a cake, party hats, and noisemakers to celebrate.
We even put socks on our hands. Our puppets belted out “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”
—
Dad’s impending move had put the three of us into a spring-cleaning frenzy. The weekend before he was scheduled to leave, I did a massive cleanup of my room. I filled one bag with garbage and another bag with old scarves, hats, socks, and mittens I’d knit over the years. They would go to a homeless shelter in our neighborhood. I cleared out the clutter from under my bed. Including my scrapbook.
I flipped through it.
I put it in the garbage bag.
I took it out of the garbage bag.
I left it beside the garbage bag.
Lastly, I went through my books. I packed up a couple of boxes to donate to a school and reorganized the rest.
That’s how I found, tucked at the back of one of the shelves, Maxine’s copy of Where the Wild Things Are.
It was a worn, much-loved hardcover. I opened it up. To Maxine Ella, our own little wild thing: May your life be full of adventure and joy. With love from Mommy and Daddy and big sister Petula.
I sat on my bedroom floor and had a good cry.
Then I put the book back on the shelf. Not hidden in the back. But not too prominent, either.
Just there, always.
On Saturday morning, Dad’s moving day, he made us one last pancake breakfast before picking up the rental van. We were just finishing breakfast when our buzzer sounded. I leapt up to answer it.
“Delivery for Petula De Wilde,” said a woman’s voice.
I buzzed her up. Mom had wandered into the foyer. “Do you know what it is?”
“No idea.”
All three of us were curious. I opened the door and we glanced toward the elevators.
A moment later a woman in a Canada Post uniform stepped off wheeling a dolly that held the biggest bag of dry cat food I’d ever seen in my life and six large flats of canned food.
I signed for the delivery. A card was attached. Congratulations on winning one of ten runner-up prizes in our Purrfect video contest!
I don’t know why, exactly, but I laughed for a long time.
—
An hour later I was carrying a heavy box out to Dad’s rental van when I saw him, standing on the sidewalk. We hadn’t seen each other outside his apartment or school for quite a while. It was a cool morning, and he was wearing his off-white fisherman’s sweater.
My favorite.
“Need an extra set of hands?” he asked. “One real, one artificial?”
“Sure.”
He opened the back of the van for me. I told him about the runner-up prize. “No way,” Jacob said. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Not exactly an Academy Award, but still.”
“Maybe we could shoot another Cataptation sometime.”
I looked at him, surprised. “Yeah. Maybe.”
We headed inside to get another load of stuff, and ran into my parents in the foyer. They knew Jacob’s story by now; I’d told them an abbreviated version. They both gave him a big hug. “I can’t tell you how happy we are to see you again,” Mom said.
When we’d finished loading Dad’s things, Jacob helped me carry down the boxes and bags from my room. We put the books and knit goods into the van so Dad and I could drop them off on our way to his new apartment.
Then we carried the garbage bag and my scrapbook to the back of the building.
Jacob hurled the garbage bag upward and got it in the dumpster.
I stared at my scrapbook for a long time. I got ready to throw it.
Something held me back.
“Petula.”
I threw it. But my aim was crappy; it bounced off the side of the bin and landed at my feet.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” I began.
Jacob picked it up and chucked it into the dumpster. “There. Done.”
Corny as it sounds, I felt a little bit lighter.
I turned toward him. “I’ve really missed you.” There. I’d said it.
“I’ve really missed you, too.” He took my hands. “If I try to hug you, do you promise not to knee me in the nuts?”
“Promise.”
He hugged me.
I hugged him back.
After a while, I pressed myself against him.
He pressed back.
My face was squished against his sweater. The mothball smell was still there, coupled with his deodorant and his soap, and also the smell that was just him.
When he started kissing me, I kissed him back.
“Can we try again?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
But we kept kissing until my dad hollered for me. His voice startled both of us, and pressed together as we were, we lost
our balance.
But we held on. We didn’t fall.
I keep forgetting to breathe.
When I remember, I suck in air, inhaling and exhaling like I’ve just run a marathon. I grab the safety instructions from the pouch in front of me and try to focus on the drawings.
Jacob puts his real hand over mine. “You’re going to be fine. This is one of the safest modes of transportation ever.”
Suddenly the plane shudders forward. “Oh my God, we’re moving.”
“We’re still on the ground. We’re just taxiing.”
I’m wearing my lucky everything: lucky earrings, lucky Rachel-made necklace, lucky hand-woven belt. I touch them all, my own weird version of making the sign of the cross.
The flight attendants start to run through the safety features on the plane.
Jacob pulls out a Twix bar. “You want some—”
“Shh!” I say. I need to hear everything. I want to know how, exactly, they expect us to jump out of an emergency exit and propel ourselves down an inflatable slide while blowing up an inflatable life jacket. It sounds like something to take our minds off the fact that we are facing sure death.
I’m in the middle seat. Jacob is by the window. The woman in the aisle seat keeps shooting me sideways glances.
When the flight attendants are done I speak loudly to the one closest to us. “Excuse me, sir, I just have a few more questions—”
“No. You don’t.” Jacob smiles sweetly at the flight attendant. “She doesn’t.” He settles back in his seat, adjusting the monkey neck pillow I made him especially for the trip.
“Flight attendants, prepare for departure,” says the captain over the PA.
As the plane heads down the runway, picking up speed, I squeeze my eyes shut. Jacob grips my hand.
Suddenly everything feels different. Smoother. Lighter.
“We’re airborne,” says Jacob.
I dare to open my eyes. I peek out the window. Sure enough, we’re above Vancouver. I can see all of Stanley Park, and the North Shore Mountains. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
But over the next few hours, as some of my fear seeps away, I see it creep into Jacob. He grows quiet as we fly over the Rockies, then the prairies.
He’s not afraid of the journey.
He’s afraid of the arrival.
—
I got the idea for this trip during a session with my new counselor.
Mr. Watley told me about him in his office one day. He had a new framed photo on his desk; this one showed him holding up Alice/Ginger and Mrs. Watley holding up Stanley/Fred.
“He’s a brand-new hire. I’ve met him and I like him. I thought you might like to try him out.”
I was wary at first. My one-on-one sessions with Carol had been disastrous. But after just two visits, I realized the new counselor and I were going to get along just fine. He’s the real deal. For one thing, I’m pretty sure he’s been through some hard times too. Call it a sixth sense.
His name is Cosmo Economopoulos, and I can talk to him about everything. Plus he’s already asked me to make a pair of Scrabble tile earrings for his wife, because she’s apparently a total Scrabble nerd.
We talk a lot about Maxine. We discuss my parents, who, I have to admit, seem to be doing better now that they’re living apart. We discuss my new living arrangement, half the week at Mom’s, half the week at Dad’s.
It isn’t so bad. Mom and I talk a lot. And Dad doesn’t work late on the days I’m with him. His place is small but charming, in an old, regal-looking redbrick low-rise called Robson Arms. My bedroom has an actual window seat overlooking the treetops—a perfect reading perch.
Sometimes Dad puts on music. He kept over two hundred records, so there’s always something to listen to. Sometimes we even dance like we used to. And Rachel and I have been having a crafting heyday, decorating my new bedroom and adding lots of cool touches around Dad’s apartment, like hand-stitched throw cushions, macramé wall hangings, and even some old-school doilies.
I’m not sure Dad likes everything we’ve done so far. But he doesn’t dare say a word.
Guilt has its upside.
—
There’s one subject Cosmo and I circle back to over and over, and that’s Jacob.
I still struggle to trust him. Sometimes, when he’s telling me a story, I wonder if it’s really true.
And I still find it hard to look at him the same way as before.
Cosmo says all of this is normal. He says I can only take it day by day and see how it plays out. “It sounds like he’s a good person at heart.”
“Yes.”
“A good person who did a bad thing.”
“Yes.”
“From everything you’ve told me, he’s been a positive presence in your life.”
“He has. No question. He’s helped me face a lot of my fears.”
“Have you ever thought that you might be able to help him face his?”
I took what Cosmo said to heart. I thought about it a lot. And I came up with an idea. I told Cosmo about it at our next session. “It’s interesting,” he said. “But you’ll have to get Jacob and his family on board.”
I didn’t go about it quite that way. Instead I used the rainy-day money in my bank account and bought two nonrefundable tickets to Toronto during a seat sale.
Then I told Jacob my plan.
He said no.
“Fine. But I’m getting on that plane, no matter what.”
“You. Getting on a plane. Alone.”
“Yes.” It was the second lie I’d told him. No way would I get on that plane without him.
At the last minute, he agreed to come. He talked it over with his parents first. They had mixed feelings but felt that it was Jacob’s decision to make.
My parents didn’t love the idea, but when they found out we’d be staying with Jacob’s bubbe and zadie, they relaxed.
Koula, Alonzo, and Ivan took the Canada Line to the airport with Jacob and me to see us off. Ivan wore the Whitecaps hat Jacob had bought him. Koula slugged Jacob on the arm, then gave me a big hug. Alonzo followed us as we got in the security lineup. Then he pretended to hit an invisible wall. He took a few steps back and ran to join us. He hit the wall again.
Miming at its best.
When we boarded the plane, we had to show photo ID. I snuck a peek at Jacob’s.
His middle name really is Schlomo.
—
We’re beginning our descent into Toronto. I’ve done remarkably well. I only spent fifty percent of my time wondering if any of the other passengers were planning to hijack the plane or detonate a bomb.
We’ll be in Toronto for a week. Jacob’s going to take me to his favorite vintage clothing store and the Art Gallery of Ontario and the Royal Ontario Museum. He also wants me to go up the CN Tower even though I’ve told him “over my dead body.”
And we’re going to visit Frankie.
Jacob sent him a message. Frankie replied right away.
He also contacted the Esterhaszes.
I won’t repeat what Shirley said. But Gord’s dad and one of Gord’s sisters want to sit down with Jacob.
Will this trip help Jacob? I have no idea. Everything—including us—is unclear. But that’s life, I guess. We know we can’t do a rewrite. We can’t undo what’s been done, or control what’s coming next.
All we can do is hope for the best.
I’m trying to be optimistic.
Heaps of gratitude to:
The experts in their fields for being so generous with their time, and for helping me not look foolish: my friend Gordon Kopelow, a great lawyer who always graciously takes the time to answer my questions, all for the cost of a diner lunch; lawyer and bestselling author Robert Rotenberg for taking time out of his busy schedule to answer my questions about Ontario law (and my dear friend Moira Holmes for the introduction); Brian Montague and Randy Fincham of the Vancouver Police Department, who are always so fast to respond to my “y
es but what would happen if…?” questions; and Catherine MacMillan, for being a far better counselor than any of the ones in this book (with the exception of the one who appears at the end, who will become as good as Catherine, I am sure of it).
Susan Juby, Linda Bailey, and Ross King, for reading the manuscript at various stages and giving me such thoughtful and considered notes. I am in awe of your writing talent and delighted to count you all as friends. Susan Juby, IOU one title, since you inadvertently gave me mine.
My husband, Göran Fernlund, for reading—and rereading and rereading—the manuscript, for making sure my bionic arm stuff was accurate, and for letting me talk about it on long walks after dinner.
Wendy Russell, TV personality and crafter extraordinaire, for letting me put the real, live you in my book.
Hilary McMahon, for always being a voice of honesty and reason when I need it most, and for just being so good at your job.
All the folks at Tundra, Wendy Lamb Books, and Andersen Press, some of whom I’ve met face to face, some of whom I’ve only met via email: Dana Carey, Colleen Fellingham, Peter Phillips, Pamela Osti, Aisha Cloud, Sarah Kimmelman, Chloe Sackur, Harriet Dunlea and everyone else—for all the hard work you do.
My editors. I feel like I won the lottery, getting to work with Tara Walker, Wendy Lamb, and Charlie Sheppard—three in this case is definitely not a crowd. Your notes, patience, kindness, and nurturing through the growing pains of this novel—well, I mean it when I say I could not have done it without you. My gratitude is infinite.
Lastly, the Internet, that great time-suck, for all the info I ever needed on cool crafts and freak deaths—but especially for all the awesome cat videos.
Susin Nielsen got her start feeding cast and crew on the popular television series Degrassi Junior High. They hated her food, but they saw a spark in her writing. Nielsen went on to pen sixteen episodes of the hit TV show. Since then she has written for many Canadian TV series.
Nielsen’s first two young adult novels, Word Nerd and Dear George Clooney: Please Marry My Mom, won critical acclaim and multiple young readers’ choice awards. The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen won the prestigious Governor General’s Literary Award and the Canadian Library Association’s Children’s Book of the Year. Most recently, We Are All Made of Molecules was a Kirkus Reviews Best Teen Book of the Year, was shortlisted for the Governor General’s Literary Award, was longlisted for the Carnegie Medal, and was a Canadian Library Association Young Adult Canadian Book Award Honor Book. Nielsen lives in Vancouver with her family and two extremely destructive cats. Visit her at susinnielsen.com; on Facebook at Susin Nielsen, Author; and on Twitter at @susinnielsen.