Out of the Box(31)

I fold my arms across my chest. “Jeanette is not turning me against you,” I say. “Just because I want to spend the rest of the summer here, like we planned, doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Mom’s eyes fly open. She stares at me, scrunches her eyes shut again and takes a few deep breaths. “I. Want. You. Home.”

I cast a pleading look at Jeanette.

“Believe me,” Jeanette says, “I’ve spent the past hour talking to her, but she won’t budge. I can’t keep you here without her consent.”

I close my eyes and try to breathe. “When are we going?”

Mom looks at her watch. “We’re still on time for the five o’clock ferry.”

“You’re kidding,” I say. “I’m not leaving just like that! I have friends to say goodbye to.”

Mom looks startled. She’s spent so much time harping on me to socialize more, and now she seems unable to believe I have friends. “Don’t forget Ellie’s dentist appointment tomorrow,” Jeanette puts in. Good old Jeanette. She’s knows how to hit where it counts. Mom is obviously flustered, and Jeanette goes for the jugular. “You know we’ll have to pay in full if we cancel now anyway, and it’ll take a few weeks to get her another one at home.”

Mom glares at her sister. “Fine,” she says through clenched teeth. “But this time tomorrow, we’re leaving.” She gets up and leaves the room, and I watch her go.

I tell myself everything will be okay. My parents love me, feed me, keep a roof over my head and give me all the stuff they never had as kids. At my age, Mom had escaped from her abusive parents, was living with Jeanette and babysitting to help make ends meet. Who knows what my dad was living through? I really have nothing to complain about.

Jeanette reaches out and places a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

I meet her eyes, willing myself not to cry.

“You’re not a bad person for not wanting to deal with this,” she says. “You know that, don’t you?”

I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak.

“I love you, Ellie,” Jeanette says, and I hug her like I’m never going to see her again.



Supper is tense—the kind of tension I’m used to at home but that never happens at Jeanette’s house. She and Alison always worked things out before eating together. Mom doesn’t care about stuff like that.

Later, Jeanette goes out to weed her garden, and I follow her. As soon as I do, Mom comes out too, saying nothing but sitting within earshot, like a prison warden.

My aunt and I weed silently for a while. I try again to remember my violin recital, when my parents were smiling and life was something to be celebrated. I want to hang on to that image, but I’m not sure I can.

Halfway through the second row of carrots, I make a decision.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” I say, wiping the dirt from my knees.

Jeanette nods. Mom looks up from her magazine but does not smile. I walk past her into the house.





TWENTY-THREE


“All the way downtown, all by yourself?” Mom asks. “Mom, I’m thirteen,” I say. “I have to go out into the world on my own sometime.” Telling her I’ve been doing it all summer—and on a bicycle, no less—will only make matters worse.

“But isn’t that box heavy? Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Jeanette knows where I’m going.”

The box Mom referred to is the bandoneón. I’m taking it to Frank’s along with a letter I wrote last night.

Dear Mr. Moreno,

Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would, since you only met me once and I wasn’t exactly honest about why I went to the tea talk. I know I should have told you about the bandoneón, but I didn’t know how. I figured if I went up to you and said I had something that was your father’s, you’d probably think I was nuts.

Okay. And there’s another reason too. I love this bandoneón and would give just about anything to keep it. But I keep thinking of that picture you told me about, the one of your father playing and your mother clapping behind him. You sounded so grateful for that photograph, and I know the bandoneón would mean a lot to you too. It was something of theirs that made them happy, and it doesn’t feel right to keep it from you.

Inside the lining of the case, you’ll find an envelope with all sorts of things inside—all the clues I followed to find you. I’ve left everything exactly how I found it.

I’m leaving Victoria tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but Frank has my email address if you want it.