Читать книгу Tracker's Canyon - Pam Withers - Страница 7

When I shuffle into the barn at daybreak, my tracker instincts jerk to attention. Something’s wrong: the way the hens are cackling and dashing about the hen house.

I stride over to the hens and count. All five are alive and well, even if a little unhinged. Digging into the straw, I collect their eggs. One, two, three.

Two hens haven’t laid. Something’s up, for sure. Has a racoon or mink been circling around outside, making them nervous? Well, it didn’t get in or they wouldn’t all be here. Anyway, it’s a mystery that’ll have to wait.

I let the hens out and head back to the house. Placing the eggs on the kitchen counter, I grab a bun to stuff in my mouth and head out the door. Within minutes I’ve got rabbit tracks in my sights.

Following them, I pause to sniff the spring shoots, listen intensely, and scan the horizon. Left, right, down. Not far into the woods, my superior Spidey sense tells me again that something’s not right. The crickets, birds, and soft crackles in the underbrush have stilled, but only immediately around the tree under which I’ve paused. I scan again: left, right, down. Wait! It’s up I’m always forgetting. I raise my head, but a second too late. A blur of beige leaps down from a branch and lands lightly in front of me.

I shake my head at the boy in the beige T-shirt. “Yo, Dean. Why are you trying to scare me, you little jerk?”

Dean can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. “Just having some fun.”

“Well, guess what? Not funny. And don’t you know there are lions, tigers, and bears around here just waiting to eat you up?”

“Yeah? Then why are you here?”

“I’m tracking — following tracks. I’d know if there was a wild animal nearby.”

“You didn’t spot me.” He says it triumphantly as he produces a stick of black licorice from his pocket and offers me a piece. It’s not your average licorice stick; it has a diameter I could stick an entire finger into. Jumbo licorice.

“True,” I admit as I accept the offer. “So, how’s climbing club going? And what are you doing here? Does anyone know where you are?”

He shrugs. “What’s with the weird cave at your place? The one down by the stream?”

“Been snooping, eh?” I try on a stern tone. “It’s called the grotto — it’s a fake cave. My dad and I made it from stones and concrete when I was about your age. It’s not weird; it’s amazing.”

“Amazing how?”

“I’ll show you.”

Ten minutes later, we enter the damp, musty space. The size of a family tent, it resembles a concrete dome that someone inside punched his fist into a hundred times.

“Got lots of dents — er, cubbyholes,” Dean says, poking his fingers into some of the cavities in the walls.

“And half of them have a stone in them, all different sizes.”

“But what’s this cave for?”

“A cool place to hang out, make out, hear your voice echo, and avoid homework. And hide things.” I pass my hand over the wall. The rocks in the holes are like ornaments you can rearrange endlessly. “Move the rocks around, and the cave looks different every time. And the hiding spaces change.”

“Hiding spaces for what?”

“Easter eggs at Easter time. The marshmallow bunny was always behind the largest rock. Candies at Halloween. The chocolate witch was always behind the largest rock. Little presents at Christmas time. The best one was —”

“— always behind the biggest rock.”

“You got it,” I say.

He moves about the cave, eyes alight, till he spots the largest stone. It rumbles as he rolls it aside. He turns to me accusingly. “Nothing there.”

“Nothing,” I agree gloomily. Dad’s not around to do it anymore.

Dean rubs his stomach. “Got any food?”

“At home. But you’d have to do some chores for me if you want any.” I like how fast I think that up.

“Can you give me a ride to school, too?”

I cross my arms and pretend to consider that a while before I wink. “Lucky for you, my uncle is coming around to pick up my mom this morning. I guess we can stuff you in.” Better than having his moody sister show up at our house, if she has any idea where he is. “Come on.”

• • •

Dean has fed the chickens, stacked firewood, and polished off three toaster waffles smothered in maple syrup by the time Mom’s soft footfalls sound on the stairs. I always feel good seeing her dressed and downstairs, even if it’s only for doctor appointments.

“Well, who do we have here?” she asks, all friendly, lifting that numb face of hers and speaking so slowly it almost sounds slurred.

“Dean,” I say. “An escaped convict from a nearby prison.” I pause for effect. “Kidding. Friend from school.”

“Hello, Dean. Did you stay here overnight?”

My attempt at humour has floated right over her, as usual. And she doesn’t even seem worried I might have asked someone to stay overnight without her permission. That’s way different than the way she was before Dad’s disappearance triggered her depression.

He hangs his head slightly. “Yes, in the barn.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at all — more sly, like he’s testing her reaction.

“What?” I say. “So that’s what scared the hens. You cost us two eggs. That’s fifty-eight cents.”

He seems to be studying my mother more than paying attention to me.

“You two thought it would be more fun sleeping in the barn than inside?” Mom asks.

“He —” I start. I can’t believe she’s so out of it that she thinks I slept in the barn last night.

“Yeah, love sleeping in barn lofts,” Dean says.

“Your parents gave you permission to stay over on a school night?” She reaches for a mug and the jar of instant coffee.

He hesitates, then says, “Never had a dad. Mom died last year. Just have a sister.”

“Oh.” She looks at him with a sympathy that causes him to furrow his eyebrows.

Interesting. I never knew that about Dean, and don’t recall anyone in the climbing club mentioning it to me. But I totally understand why he’d hide that information at school.

Mom pours freshly boiled water into her cup and stirs, so slowly that I want to jump up and do it for her.

“You driving us to school?” Dean asks.

“Not me,” she replies. “My brother is driving me to the doctor’s. But he’ll drop you two at school on the way.”

“How come you don’t drive?” he asks her.

I kick his leg under the table, but he ignores me.

“Our car is broken down, and I don’t go anywhere often enough for it to be worth fixing,” she says.

It’s true.

As she heads down the hall to find her purse, he leans over the last piece of waffle on his fork. “How come she’s going to the doctor? Is she sick?”

“How about you shut up and stop asking questions?” I say it nicely.

“Okay, if you answer that one.”

“She’s — sad.”

He nods, like he has already figured it out. “Very sad. Better than mad.”

I stare at him. What a strange kid.

• • •

When Uncle Ted pulls up, I introduce Dean and motion him into the back seat beside me. My uncle steadies my mom’s arm as she seats herself up front.

The car has barely made it down the driveway when Dean leans toward me and whispers, “Ask her now.”

“Huh?”

“Ask her now.”

“Ask her what?”

“You know. Permission for the canyoneering trip with my sister.” It’s barely a whisper.

I grind my teeth. Did his sister put him up to this? Is that why he appeared out of nowhere this morning? I stew for a few minutes, then think, whatever. Mom’s going to refuse no matter when or where I ask her. I feel selfish even trying.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey.” She breaks off from chatting with Uncle Ted about the weather.

“You know school’s out this Friday, right? For the summer. And Uncle Ted doesn’t need me to start at the shop for a week.”

“Yes, dear, Elspeth reminded me.”

“Well, I’ve been invited to go on a hike Sunday. With” — I have to say it — “that group that does canyoneering trips.” I don’t name the company that competed with my dad when he was running trips from his shop.

“Yeah, my sister’s the guide,” Dean gushes. “She says she’ll take him into the Upper Canyon for free.”

What’s in it for you? I wonder, studying his eager expression.

“Ah, you’re Brigit’s brother.” Uncle Ted turns to Mom. “Brigit’s the new guide over there. I was chatting with Alex Carney, the boss. He says she’s good. A reliable type, very experienced, and qualified. Even if she is only nineteen. He has known her for years, since before she moved here recently. How about I spend a day with you, Mary, so Tristan can go?”

Uncle Ted’s on my side? Maybe he did hear me when I said I missed climbing club. But I shouldn’t have asked, and I shouldn’t take off for no reason and tie my uncle up for a whole day.

“Uncle Ted, it’s fine —”

“Tristan, I’m so glad you asked,” Mom says, though her voice comes out as weak and shaky as a stutter. “Elspeth has been going on about how I need to let you get outside more, about how you’d probably love to go canyoneering. I’m sure Ted and I can manage for a day. If you … if you promise you’ll be careful and stay safe.”

I can hardly breathe, I’m so stunned. And can only imagine how hard it was for her to say that. So what if it’s Elspeth’s influence and all to do with her crazy idea? Though, I’m sure she hasn’t mentioned her plan to Mom. Still, my mom’s actually letting me go? Into the canyon? Not the part of the canyon that took Dad, of course, just the easy part, but, hey, she’s giving me a break! Maybe just this once would be okay, if Uncle Ted —

“I agree, Tristan,” Uncle Ted says. “If you’ve been invited and there’s no cost, go for it. I’m sure you must miss your canyoneering. You were getting so good.”

“Your father said you are going to be one of the best.” My mother sniffs and lifts her handkerchief to her face.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, squeezing her shoulder.

“Told you,” Dean hisses beside me.

“Are you going?” I ask him.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he replies, turning away to stare out the car window.

When Uncle Ted stops outside the school, Dean lifts the door handle and shoots out of the car without a thank-you.

“Hmm,” Uncle Ted says. “How do you know Dean, Tristan?”

“Climbing club.” I peck my mother’s cheek. “Thanks for the ride. Have a good doctor’s appointment. See you right after school.” I turn to my uncle as I get out of the car. “And thanks, Uncle Ted.”

I’m heading for the school steps when Brigit appears out of nowhere, fingers locked on Dean’s left ear. She blocks my way but addresses her brother.

“Where were you last night?”

“In Tristan’s barn,” Dean says, squirming. “Ouch. Lemme go.”

Little brat’s trying to get me in trouble.

“And why is that?” she demands, looking from him to me.

“Just wanted to see where he lived,” Dean says.

“So now that you’ve seen our estate” — I speak up teasingly — “kindly wait for the gold-embossed invitation before you visit next.” I turn to his sister. “I didn’t see him till he dropped out of a tree in front of me this morning. He followed me from the barn after freaking out our hens so much they didn’t lay.”

“Only two of them,” Dean corrects me.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and her face relaxes. “He sneaks out a lot, but not usually all night, and certainly not trespassing on other people’s property.”

“And asking them for breakfast and a ride to school,” I can’t resist adding, since it doesn’t look like he’s in deep enough doo-doo.

Dean gives me dagger-eyes like I’m a traitor. Brigit’s frown returns.

“Tristan can go!” Dean says suddenly, brightening. “He got permission from his mom.”

I expect her to start in on him again, but she turns an unexpectedly warm smile on me. “Is that true? You’re joining our trip on Sunday? That’s great news.”

I shift from one foot to the other. Why is it such great news? I don’t even know this woman. She needs slave labour? Or maybe Dean’s coming and she wants a babysitter?

“I’m honoured to have Julian Gordon’s son along. You look a lot like him, you know.”

“You knew my dad?” I’m astonished. She moved here only two months ago from Lillooet, right? Barely enough time to have heard anything about my family. Obviously too late to have met him. Maybe she just saw a photo in the Lillooet newspaper at the time and noticed ’cause she’s a canyoneer, too.

“Anyway, don’t worry,” she says, like I haven’t spoken. “I won’t be putting you to work or anything. You’ll be a special guest. There are three others joining us: a couple and an experienced canyoneer on vacation from somewhere in Europe.”

“Dominik. From Poland,” I guess.

Her eyebrows rise. “Oh, you know him? Okay, all the better.”

“Is Dean coming?” He’s a good enough climber, I figure. But —

“Absolutely not. I’ve hired a babysitter for him.”

“Okay.” I wink sympathetically at Dean as he wriggles clear of Brigit’s hold like a salmon from an eagle’s claws.

I get a quick grin back as he disappears into the wave of students entering the school.

Brigit and I discuss what equipment I’ll need, and she gives me directions for when and where to meet up with the group.

“So glad you’re joining us, Tristan. See you soon.” She beams me one of the sunniest smiles I’ve had from anyone in months.

I turn and walk into school, both confused and giddy. I’m going on an adventure, and a professional canyoneering guide not only knows I’m alive, but also maybe respects me, has heard that I’m a good canyoneer. I feel myself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in ages.

“Phil!” I shout when I spot my friend. “Guess what!”