If This Is Home Page 4

  As the morning sun floods the kitchen, I rummage through the junk drawer, hoping to come upon Mom’s address book. Surely I’ll be able to track Dad down. I mean, someone must know something about where he is. And, once he knows the situation, he’ll realize how much help we need and he’ll step in. He’s going to have to stand up and be a man and take care of his family.

  I want to believe this so badly — that he’ll step in and make things okay. But it’s hard to imagine this, since he hasn’t been around in years. Really, I was hoping that I’d wake up this morning and Mom would be fixing us breakfast, or that I’d at least hear her coughing in her bed. Her absence is unnerving, and it reminds me that the nightmare of what’s happening is all true.

  Where is the book? I can’t make any calls without trying the numbers in Mom’s book. I wouldn’t know where to start otherwise.

  “What are you doing?” Ellie asks. She has come into the kitchen, clutching her threadbare yellow blanket and sucking her thumb.

  “Just looking for something. You need to go and get dressed.”

  “Why?” Ellie asks.

  “What do you mean, why? I have to go to school and you’re going to Mrs. Johnson’s.”

  “What about Mom?” Ellie whimpers.

  “She has to stay in the hospital a little longer. She told us that.” I know I should be comforting her and soothing her jagged nerves, but I’m so preoccupied with finding Mom’s address book that worrying about Ellie is too much for the moment.

  “But I want Mom,” Ellie cries. She puts her thumb back in her mouth, sucking even harder than before.

  “She’ll be home soon,” I snap. “Now go get dressed.”

  I’ve emptied out almost all of the contents of the drawer, but the address book is not there. Frustrated, I throw everything back into the drawer, and slide it closed with my hip. Mom’s room? Maybe it’s in there.

  As I head toward Mom’s room, I’m happy to see that Ellie is pulling a shirt over her head. I flick on the light to Mom’s bedroom. She rarely turns on the light or takes the blanket off the window, so it’s weird to see the room bathed in light. It smells musty and gross to me. I wonder if the pungent odour is of illness, if the cancer was even seeping through her skin without us noticing. The bed is a tangled mess of sheets and blankets, and a glass of water sits half-full on the bedside table.

  I open the top drawer of her dresser first, where she keeps her underwear and socks. Mom has always told me to keep important documents like my birth certi­ficate and immunization record in my underwear drawer, because I’ll always remember to look there first. I rummage through her undergarments and find a couple of black-and-white photos that must be her as a young girl, but nothing else.

  I survey the room.

  I open the closet door, but the closet is mostly empty, except for a few items of clothing on hangers. Mom’s worn, stained running shoes that she wears to the diner are at the bottom of her closet, along with her work uniform and apron. The plastic name tag is facing up; Eleanor is written on it in black letters.

  “Ellie, are you ready yet?” I call out, hoping that Ellie hasn’t become preoccupied with her toys or something else. I get on my hands and knees to look under the bed. There are a couple of old candy wrappers, a receipt, and balls of dust, but no address book.

  I place my hands in between the box spring and the mattress, hoping that perhaps Mom has hidden the book there. I’ve seen people hide things in between their mattresses on TV. Mostly money or weapons, of course, but you never know. I slide my hands underneath the mattress and feel my way around the silky fabric, but come up empty-handed. Where could it be?

  One look at the clock, and I know that I must get Ellie to Mrs. Johnson’s and get myself to school. I hit the light switch in Mom’s room and grab my backpack. After school, we’ll head back to the hospital and Mom will be able to tell me where it is. Then I can start making phone calls and Dad will come. He’ll take care of everything.

  Chapter 4

  By some miracle, I make it in to class on time. I’m sweating, both from rushing and from the anxiety of our secret. Will Joelle be able to keep our secret from Mrs. Johnson? How can I trust a four-year-old to keep quiet about the fact that our mother is lying in a hospital bed right now? That’s pretty monumental. Not only that, I have to worry about how I’m going to keep everything together until Mom gets better and comes home to us. She’s counting on me.

  “Are you okay?” Amanda asks.

  “Yeah. Why?” I shrug.

  “You just seem weird today.”

  I know that this is the part when I should confide in her, given that she is my best friend, but I just can’t bring myself to say anything. I watch as she scrapes old nail polish from her fingernails and holds her fingers out to examine them and I can’t help but feel that as much as Amanda is my friend, she just won’t get it. Like the time I tried to explain that I couldn’t come on the year-end camping trip because we couldn’t afford the fees or the supplies. I had wanted to go so badly, but there was no way Mom could make it happen. When I told Amanda, she got really upset with me as though I was staying home on purpose. She didn’t talk to me for a week. She was upset at me for leaving her to go on the trip alone, without a best friend, even though she knew I couldn’t afford to go and there were thirty-seven other students going. She’d even threatened to get a new best friend, but then came around one day and apologized. Truth be told, sometimes Amanda isn’t really good at seeing beyond what affects her.

  Mr. Letts enters the room and nods in my direction. I can tell he is happy to see me in class on time. I shrink into my seat and hope that I can fly under the radar today. Mr. Letts writes the same heading on the board as he did yesterday:

  TAKE YOUR SON OR DAUGHTER TO WORK DAY

  Ha. Yesterday I was wishing Mom had a better job, something more glamorous. Today I just wish she could go to work. The familiar feeling of guilt creeps over me. How could I be embarrassed of her and her job, when all she’s done is work hard to try and support us? And me commenting that she was missing all these days at work as though it was out of laziness or something, when really she was being attacked by some terrible illness. She was dying! I feel sick to myself, thinking of how selfish I’ve been.

  What will I do about Monday? If I talk to Mr. Letts about it, he’ll know my mom is sick. No one can know this. If other people know she’s actually in the hospital, who knows what will happen to me and Ellie. Maybe I can pretend she’s only sick for that day and I can ask if I can go with Amanda to her dad’s work. He is an account­ant at an office downtown. I’m sure his office wouldn’t mind a second tagalong.

  Mr. Letts did say that we could choose a relative or a neighbour, but that doesn’t help me, either. Mrs. Johnson is too old to hold a job other than taking care of Ellie, and I don’t have any other relatives around. That’s another thing. Not only is my father not around, but I have no idea what my mother’s side of the family is like, either. All I know is that Mom left the town she grew up in at a young age and never looked back. I don’t even know if she’s ever spoken to her mother since. Mom has always been very quiet about her family, and changes the subject whenever it comes up.

  Maybe Mom’s family could help us? Maybe I should just talk to Mom about it and see what she says. This is no time to pretend that everything is going to be okay.

  “Miss Loewen, is there something more interesting on your mind than English Language Arts this mor­ning?” Mr. Letts asks me pointedly.

  Giggles erupt in the room and everyone stares at me. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment and shake my head.

  “I’m paying attention,” I assure him. He stares at me for a moment and then continues on with the lesson. The palms of my hands are sweating. I rub them on my jeans and try to focus. Mr. Letts is saying that he wants us to keep a journal for class, and that he’ll reply to our entries each week.
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  “The contents of the journals will remain confidential. I want you to practise writing about things that are important to you in these books.” He holds up a stack of cheap spiral notebooks. “Maybe you want to write about your hobby of car restoration, or about something else you’re passionate about. Maybe you want to vent about some of the injustices you see in the world. Maybe you’ll write about where you see your future going: your hopes and dreams. You get the idea.”

  He walks down the aisles and hands a notebook to each student.

  “I want a minimum of three-quarters of a page written each week. The notebooks are to be handed in every Friday and I will return them to you on Monday. Understood?”

  There is a collective groan from the class.

  I open my notebook and stare at the blank page before me. It looks overwhelming. Write about what’s important to me? Are you serious? Where do I start? We’ve been in survival mode for so long, I don’t even know how to answer. Why do some people have to struggle more than others? Why does my mom have to work so hard and yet we barely have food to eat? Why does she have to deal with this illness now? And what’s going to become of me and Ellie if she can’t beat this?

  Hobbies or passions? Drawing, I guess. But I don’t want to write about that. I’d rather just do it. Not that I have time for it now anyhow. Injustices? Plenty. Where you see your future going? At this point, wherever it’s going, it is not looking promising. I honestly can’t im­agine what I’ll write.

  “Jayce,” Amanda whispers to me from across the aisle. I glance at her quickly, hoping that Mr. Letts doesn’t call me out again.

  “Lunch?” she asks. I have no money again, and I just know that they’re heading back to a fast food restaurant. Ever since Amanda got a car, my group of friends goes every day. I shake my head no and Amanda’s lips purse in frustration.

  “Fine. Come to my house after school,” she whispers. That I can’t do for sure. I have to get home as soon as I can to pick up Joelle and get back to the hospital.

  “Lunch,” I decide, and she brightens up instantly. Already my stomach is growling and it’s nine in the morning. Sitting with my friends while they eat will feel like torture, but I can tell that Amanda is no longer irritated. Right now, with everything falling apart, her not being pissed at me just makes things easier.

  When the lunch hour rolls around, Amanda and I head to her car where Jenna and Danika are already waiting. They give me a polite smile, but seem irritated that I’m joining them.

  “Shotgun!” Jenna shouts. Danika pouts at her and reaches for the handle of one of the back doors.

  “Fine,” Danika says. “But I get it on the way back.”

  “J.J. gets shotgun,” Amanda states, and both girls groan. I smile at Amanda gratefully and feel proud that she’s chosen me over them. I mean, I am her best friend and everything, but I haven’t been around a whole lot lately. I slide into the seat and buckle my seatbelt. I spot a toonie on the floor near my foot. It’ll only take us a few minutes to get to the restaurant. Perhaps I could scoop up the money and use it for a cheeseburger — that way, I’ll be eating something, too. Maybe I could replace the money tomorrow, and just throw it back onto the floor and she won’t even know. We start driving, and it isn’t long before the telltale golden arches come into view.

  “You think Erika will be here?” Amanda asks us.

  “If she is, you should totally snub her off again,” Jenna says.

  Amanda laughs. “I mean, who does she think she is? I hope Luke is here. I’m wearing his favourite shirt.” Her T-shirt is fitted and low cut, accentuating her breasts and her petite figure.

  “You don’t really want him back, do you?” I ask. “He cheated on you, Amanda.”

  “Well, things weren’t going perfect. I made mistakes; we didn’t get a chance to work it out.”

  “So he can just go be with someone else?” I demand.

  “You just don’t get it, J.J. It’s not like you’ve ever been in love.”

  Danika and Jenna nod. They’ve had boyfriends. They support Amanda trying to get Luke back.

  Amanda’s got me there. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had a date. No first kiss. Nothing. My parents’ relationship wasn’t the norm, either, so what do I know?

  We pull into the parking lot. I look down at the toonie again, second-guessing what I should do, but then decide that I’ll leave the money in the car after all. We get in the restaurant and line up at the till. I tell the girls to go ahead of me and then distance myself from the line. Amanda orders and then turns to talk to me and sees that I’m across the room.

  “J.J.? What’s up?” she calls. I shrug and tell her I’m not hungry. She turns back to the cashier and waits for her meal. When she has her order, she walks over to me and I can’t help but stare at her food. She has two cheeseburgers, an order of small fries, and a medium drink, and her food smells delicious.

  “Let’s go sit,” she says. The other girls are still in line.

  “Should we wait?”

  “No, come on!”

  I follow her up the stairs to the seating area. Once she picks a table, she tosses me a cheeseburger.

  “Let’s share,” she says.

  I think of protesting and giving her another lame excuse, but I’m so hungry that I decide to take the burger. “Well, maybe I should eat something,” I reply, feigning indifference.

  Danika and Jenna join us with their trays of food.

  “You will not believe who is downstairs right now!” Danika says.

  “Who?” Amanda replies, absently. She’s shoving french fries in her mouth in quick succession.

  “Errriiikkkaaa,” Jenna pipes in, in a singsong voice.

  “No flippin’ way!” Amanda’s eyes grow large and suddenly angry.

  “Oh, yeah. And Luke’s there, too.”

  Amanda straightens in her seat, smooths her bangs, and fluffs the bottom of her hair.

  “Oh, we are so done here,” she announces.

  Danika and Jenna have barely opened their food, and Amanda is rising from her seat, clearly ready to leave. “Let’s go,” she commands. I look at Danika and Jenna, and they dutifully wrap up their meals to take with them. I’ve finished my cheeseburger, so I guess I’m ready to go, too.

  Amanda sips on her drink as we head toward the staircase. I want to ask her what the big deal is — why can’t we just sit and eat lunch together without worrying about Luke and Erika being in the same building? But apparently being in the same building outside of school isn’t allowed, because Amanda is hightailing it toward the front entrance and the food counter where customers place their orders. Danika and Jenna struggle to carry their meals in their hands. We turn toward the entrance, and there they are. Luke and Erika. Holding hands and kissing while they wait in the long lineup. Amanda makes a sound at the sight of them — almost like a squeak. Almost like she didn’t expect that they’d have their arms around each other, let alone be making out right here in plain view.

  I watch as she marches toward them, and before I have a chance to stop her, she flings her cup at them, sending her pop cascading down the sides of their snuggled bodies.

  They look up in surprise to Amanda smiling.

  “Oops,” she says sweetly. “I guess I tripped.”

  If looks could kill, Luke’s eyes would bury her in seconds. Erika just looks stunned and a little scared.

  I feel bad for them, even though I know Amanda is my best friend and I should be on her side right now. It’s just that this seemed … I don’t know … a little unneces­sary. A little mean. Danika and Jenna high-five her and laugh their heads off and head back out to the car. Amanda and I follow. I’m not laughing, and Amanda knows it. She looks at me pointedly and then says to Danika, “You get shotgun this time.”

  I climb in the back with Jenna and stare out the window. Amanda glan
ces at me periodically through the rear-view mirror. Even though I don’t meet her eyes, I can tell she’s staring at me. I glance out the window, thinking that, for once, I’m actually embarrassed to be with these girls. I know Amanda feels hurt about the breakup, but throwing pop on people doesn’t seem like a cool move. But then I remember how I almost took a toonie from her today so that I could eat, and how she ended up sharing her lunch with me, and I feel shame. Who am I to judge? Maybe I’m just taking everything a little too seriously. Maybe I just have to lighten up.

  During fourth period our class heads to the library. I snag a computer before they are all taken. Although we’re supposed to be working on our social studies assignments, I want to try looking up my dad again. I feel sick as I type his name and his band into the search engine. It’s been a long time since I’ve tried looking him up. Once again I’m met with the same pictures I remember studying when I was younger. I see that Raven’s Spell was nominated for a Juno Award in 2004. I see old tour dates until 2007, but nothing dated past that point. This can’t be right. Did the band change their name? Did he join another band? Why is there no current information for him? There has to be some kind of explanation. If he was as successful as he was made out to be, why can’t I find him?

  I see information for other Joe Loewens: one is a doctor, one is an accountant. I see that there are Facebook profiles I could search, but we’re not allowed to access Facebook on the school computers, and Mr. Mitchell, our social studies teacher, always keeps a close eye on the computer stations.

  I scroll through a couple more pages, hoping to come upon something that catches my eye, but nothing does. I don’t have time to write down all of the Loewens that are listed in Canada, but I try to copy as many as I can. The class goes by quickly; by the time the bell goes, I’ve only managed to write down the information for eight Loewens. It’s a start.