The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (leveled readers txt) 📗

In a weird trance I drifted to the coffee shop and bought a small butterscotch-flavored latte, then sat down at a table to purge the sense of loss that seeped under my flesh like the creeping chill of a winter graveyard.

8

I had trouble sleeping the days before we met Guy’s parents. Lying in bed late at night, I grilled him about his mother, Nancy. He told me she’d been a kindergarten teacher. According to him, a good one, even great. Hands-on, inspirational, dearly loved by all who enjoyed her Bring Your Teddy Day and her legendary Kindergarten Cooking Fun class. But it seemed that all her little victories paled in the shadow of Gord’s colossal empire and, naturally, when his business grew too large to manage on his own, she retired from her job and became his full-time sidekick and Girl Friday, excelling in her role as the guru’s wife.

“I guess you could say she sacrificed her own ambitions to help Dad make a success of the business.”

I rested against his chest, calmed by its steady rise and fall. “Do you think she resented that?”

He kissed the top of my head. “She made me her project instead. Homeschooled me for kindergarten and first grade.”

“What was it like?”

His arms pulled me closer. “Amazing. Being the only kid with the best kindergarten teacher ever. We read so many books, made puppets, did science experiments in the kitchen, baked Halloween cookies, painted murals, carved, sculpted, had our own grocery store with play money, went to museums, art galleries, plays.”

I thought about my own early childhood in Dennis’s garbage-filled backyard. Alone there with Birdie for hours on end.

“What happened in second grade?”

I sensed his heartbeat quicken. “Dad said I should go to school and learn about the real world. Said he needed Mom’s help with the business. Said I needed to toughen up.”

“That’s harsh,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow to look at him, but he turned his face away. “Must’ve been a shock.”

“At first it was like torture. I guess I’ve blocked most of it out.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say after that, so we lay there, quiet until Guy finally drifted off, his eyelids flickering then staying shut.

I wanted to know more about Nancy. Anything that would give me a feel for this woman who’d been the center of his universe. But he looked so vulnerable, I couldn’t bear to wake him. I kissed the corner of his mouth then lay back and stared at the ceiling, willing myself to sleep.

I counted sheep, lost track, then ran over my lesson plans for the next day. Then I pictured Guy in second grade. Hair brushed, shirt buttoned up to his chin, glasses perched on his nose. A timid, pampered boy, alone and motherless among all those other kids. They must have eaten him alive. Birdie and I survived only because we were a team. If she couldn’t charm them with her sassiness, I was ready to step in and smack the bullies and meanies, to pull their hair and hoof them in the butt. I wasn’t afraid of anyone. Neither was Birdie with me by her side. Not at first, anyway. We were a team. Just how Dennis predicted.

Gradually, the safety of darkness and the steady sound of Guy’s breathing allowed me to get back to Birdie. To remember of all things, a door. A wooden door with a smashed lock and a rope tied through a hole in the doorpost to secure it shut. The walls in the room were papered with sickly orange flowers and a sour smell hung heavy in the air. Someone’s finger touched my swollen eye. Birdie’s finger?

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pushed the thought away, my heart racing so fast I thought I’d pass out. I slid out of bed and put my head between my knees. When the dizziness passed, I padded out to the kitchen, poured a glass of water and gulped it down, my throat catching at its cold bite. Staring down at the city below, shrouded by night, the reflections of lights flickering on the river, I thought of Dane and his buddies out there. So young and vulnerable. I could give them food and money, then maybe they’d go home and not have to cruise the riverside for tricks. But Robin, our principal, had always told us never to get involved with the kids outside of class.

If you’re not prepared to be a friend for life, then don’t be a temporary buddy. These kids have been let down too many times before by well-meaning do-gooders who float into their lives, raise their hopes and then drop them when their demands become too inconvenient or when the next cause of the moment presents itself. Our job is to help our students help themselves. Not patronize them with charity.

I took that lesson to heart.

Placing my palms against the glass, I felt a sneaking sense of claustrophobia, a longing to get out into the open air, so I grabbed my shoes and coat, slipped out the door and headed down to the underground parking garage.

The dash display glowed green telling me it was a few minutes past midnight. I had to be up at seven the next day. Not to worry. I’d managed on a couple of hours sleep before and if Guy woke up wondering where I’d gone, I’d tell him I went to buy aspirin at the drug store.

I nosed the car through the garage doors into dimly lit streets, then turned right towards the river, past burger joints and late night coffee bars still filled with night owls and late night stragglers. The riverside was so close to Guy’s place. The area now gentrified with towering loft-style condominiums, quaint boutiques, artisan bakeries and coffee bars that could have graced any chic New York street. Further along, the apartment buildings became grimier, their few lit windows revealing broken blinds and dusty spider plants, and beyond that, unseen