A distinct and unshakeable feeling hits me hard in my stomach – Casey’s near death is somehow my fault.
Kate
The whole town hears of Casey’s accident and by sunrise, Sunday morning, a community team has been put together. Hannah arrives for breakfast, filling Jillian and me in on the details. They’re not a bad lot when something’s wrong, or someone’s hurt. Mrs Daniels had the Country Women’s Association members baking early so the Thorntons had three hot meals delivered by 8:00 am. Ken Derby, who owns the local hardware store, took over a new fishing rod for Casey, to replace the one he lost in the river.
‘There have been offers to clean their house and do gardening around the yard,’ Hannah explains. ‘Someone even offered to fence off the river from the back of the house.’
We’re sitting around the kitchen table while Jillian loads our plates with pancakes and Hannah piles on heaps of butter, maple syrup, icing sugar and maple syrup all over again. I smile at this, wondering where she’s going to put it all as she has no stomach, and think about these people who have shown real kindness. It’s one of the reasons I love living here, even though I doubt their kindness would extend as far as Jillian and me. Most people, while often browsing through the Crystal Forest, never include us in their social calendar. I’m glad for Jarrod though, it will make him feel accepted. It’s something he deeply desires, to the point where he loses objectivity.
The front door jingles and Jillian swears under her breath. She’s a mess and customers are in the room next door. ‘I’ll go,’ I tell her. She turns to me with a relieved smile. I leave Hannah happily finishing off a second and third helping of pancakes, licking the maple syrup off her dripping fingers. I smile and shake my head. I know she never gets to indulge in little luxuries like pancakes and syrup at home. Food is scarcer there, has to go round more mouths, including an elderly grandparent who recently joined them. And it’s not as if she’s going to put on weight. Hannah is as thin as a sheet of A4 paper.
On Sundays Jillian opens at nine. I tell her to wait another hour, but it’s her busiest day. A lot of people come up from the cities for the weekends, the tourist park is full almost every weekend, except through the winter. She’s making the most of it while the weather’s still OK.
But it isn’t a customer that’s in the shop browsing. It’s Jarrod. I see his bike out the front.
I wait at the back of the counter and he walks towards me. ‘Can we talk?’
His tone is deadly serious, his eyes understandably red-streaked. He obviously hasn’t slept much, yet I have this feeling it’s more than Casey’s accident that is giving him insomnia. ‘Sure, come upstairs.’
We almost make it too, but the front door jingles this time with real customers; and when we turn at the sound and recognise who they are, both of us, for our own reasons, freeze.
‘Jarrod!’ Tasha Daniels purrs. She’s followed by her favourite lap dog, Jessica Palmer. ‘Fancy seeing you here. I heard about your brother. I hope he’s all right. Mum’s been cooking since the crack of dawn. Did you get the food?’
He doesn’t reply to the verbal onslaught, just gives a kind of nod and angles his body subtly so that now I have his profile and Tasha his full attention.
Jessica Palmer moves in closer, edging her ‘best friend’ slightly behind. I think the action quite brave, especially for Jessica. Generally, she knows her place – well and truly in Tasha’s shadow. Apparently she’s decided Jarrod is worth the risk of upsetting Her Highness. ‘Ryan’s throwing a fancy dress party on Saturday night, the official first day of winter. D’ya wanna come?’
So, both of them are after Jarrod. This, I decide as I grate my teeth, could prove interesting. Their jealousy could very well erupt into the catfight of the century. I hope I’m there to see it.
Tasha pouts sulkily. The image sparks a vicious thought. One thing that really annoys me is Tasha’s portrayal of a blonde airhead. She’s not dumb. In fact, she’s the most intelligent girl in the whole grade. But she acts like a bimbo, pumping out feminine charm by the bucket load. And the guys love it. I think of a spell that will make her body create a flush of testosterone. I colourfully visualise her delicate flawless cheeks disappearing beneath a layer of bristly dark facial hair. The thought makes me dizzy.
Jessica’s words reluctantly return my focus and I file the idea for later experimentation. ‘Ryan’s been throwing fancy dress parties on the first day of winter ever since I can remember.’