Struck Page 5
And then it struck me. Maybe that’s why I found the umbrella. If I hadn’t snatched it from the trash that day, what then?
I watched the three of them hugging for a second. Then I snapped open the umbrella and walked away, spinning it over my head.
chapter twelve
By the time I got out of the store with the ice cream, everyone was gone. Cars were whizzing past as if nothing had happened at all. It left me wondering if anything really had happened. The only proof was the skid marks that the sliding car had left on the road.
I stared at the spot for a second, shrugged and walked home with my umbrella in one hand and my ice cream in the other. I had been tempted to shove the umbrella into the trash can for someone else to find, but after hooking that kid by the hood, I’d changed my mind. It was a souvenir now—a reminder of life’s surprises.
And wouldn’t you know it, the phone was ringing as I walked through the door.
“Grab that, will you, Claire? My hands are wet,” Mom yelled from the kitchen.
What could I do? I dropped the bag and umbrella and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Claire?” Lucy’s voice was soft. She sounded so far away.
“Is that you, Lucy?”
“It’s me, Claire. Just wanted to say thanks for dropping by. And for the bear.”
She sounded half asleep, and I guess she was, after spending a week in a coma. I wondered if it felt anything like waking up after a long nap.
“How are you doing?” I said.
“Oh, not bad, I guess. Got some stitches in my scalp. They’re itchy.” Her voice was halting, with lots of pauses. “And I’m starved. I’d love a pile of poutine. Can’t have that right now though.”
A girl who’d just been on the brink of death, and she was craving poutine! Wow.
“I wish I could bring you some,” I said. “Um…I want to tell you something, Lucy, if you have a minute.”
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere soon,” she said and snuffled out a laugh. How could she possibly be laughing after what she’d just been through?
“Look, I want to tell you this before someone else does. I got the part of Ophelia. I didn’t want it, but I got it. I hope you’re not mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad at you? I can’t have a big part in the play now. And who says I would have gotten that part anyway?”
“Cool!” I said. And that gave me the nerve to say the next thing. “And just in case someone mentions it, Eric was coming on to me a bit, but I totally ditched him.”
“Really?” Another pause. “Did you kiss him, Claire?”
“What? Did I kiss him?” Help? I didn’t even know what to say to her. “Uh, well, he sort of kissed me, I guess. I’m not going to lie to you, Lucy. But trust me, it wasn’t my idea at all.”
“So? How was it?”
“How was it? You mean…um…I can’t even begin to describe it.”
“Well, I sure can. Nasty, huh? At least it was for me.” The she laughed again. “That guy’s tongue is just way too big!”
I snorted out a laugh myself, because it really was too hilarious.
“You’re right, Lucy. It was a total gross-out!”
“You know what’s weird, Claire. It was practically Eric’s fault, my accident. I saw him from my living-room window that day. He was running down the street in the rain.”
Lucy was talking slowly, almost in a whisper, taking her time telling the story. It was as if she were making sure that I heard every word. “So I ran out to the porch in my slippers to tell him to get lost. That’s when I wiped out and cracked my head on the railing before I hit the concrete.”
I gasped. “No way. Because you didn’t want him at your house?”
“That’s right. Had enough of him. My mom heard the bang when I fell. She ran out and found me lying there, so she called nine-one-one.” Then Lucy drew in a huge breath and sighed. “And guess what Mom told me today, Claire. Eric was nowhere in sight.”
“He left you there? He was gone by the time she found you?”
“That’s right. G-O-N-E.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Eric had abandoned Lucy. He left her lying on the porch after he saw her slip and fall. How much of a jerk could one guy possibly be? Then I thought of my dad and shuddered for a second. I’d come pretty close to making the same mistake as Lucy and my mom. Falling for a loser.
“You know what?” Lucy said after a moment. “That guy is a total fungus.”
“A fungus among us,” I said, trying to make her laugh again. It worked too.
“Look, I’ve gotta go now. They’re trying to get me to eat some gross mush. They say it’s cream of wheat. Looks more like cream of puke. You should drop by next week. I’ll be here a few more days, and I’m getting bored already.”
“I’ll do my best,” I told her. “Get better fast, Lucy.”
“Oh, I plan to. Maybe I can at least get a part as an extra in the play. And remember, Claire, beware the tongue,” she said and hung up. And I laughed all the way to the kitchen to tell my mom and Lydia about the call.
Lydia stayed until late afternoon. Then Mom and I decided we’d have “breakfast for supper.” I fried up some bacon nice and crisp, and she scrambled eggs, and we toasted English muffins. It was so yummy.
After supper we ate huge bowls of butterscotch ice cream and watched the local news. I was hit with another surprise.
A reporter was standing in the street talking into a microphone. Behind her, cars whizzed past. I recognized the intersection right away, because in the background I saw the supermarket where I’d bought the ice cream we were eating at that very moment. The supermarket where I’d found the umbrella. One week ago.
“Who is the Umbrella Girl?” the reporter was saying. “And where did she go after saving the life of Curtis Barclay today?”
I almost knocked my teeth out with my spoon.
“Hey, wait,” Mom said. “Isn’t that our neighborhood?”
“Looks like it,” I said through a frozen mouthful.
Then, there they were, right on the screen, Curtis and his mom and the driver of the car that had almost hit him.
chapter thirteen
I didn’t dare glance at my mom. I didn’t want her to see the shock on my face.
“Can you tell us why you’re looking for this girl, Mrs. Barclay?” the reporter said.
“Because she saved my little boy today,” Mrs. Barclay told her. “With the handle of her umbrella. She just reached out and snatched him from the street, in the nick of time.” There were tears in her eyes. “And I’d like to thank her personally.” Curtis tried to grab the microphone, and the reporter grinned.
“The girl deserves a civilian citation or something,” the driver said. “We really would like to meet her.”
“Can you describe the Umbrella Girl?” the reporter asked.
“No, that’s the strange thing,” Mrs. Barclay said. “All we saw was her umbrella as she was walking away. She opened it up for some reason. It was a lovely stained-glass pattern. If anyone knows this girl and her umbrella, we’d love to find her.”
“So there you have it, our good-news item of the day,” the reporter said. “If anyone knows who the Umbrella Girl is, please contact us at the station.”
When I slowly turned my head to look at Mom, she was staring at me.
“Wait a minute,” Mom said. “Isn’t there an umbrella like that”—she jumped to her feet, went out into the hallway and came back with it—“right in our house?”
“Where did that come from?” I said, trying to look surprised.
“I thought maybe you could tell me, Claire. I found it the other day, leaning against the wall in the hallway. And I opened it up. It has such a lovely stained-glass pattern. Doesn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes, and a smile bloomed on her face.
Then she snapped open the umbrella.
“Mom,” I said. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to open an umb
rella indoors?”
“Well, not this one, apparently. Aren’t you going to tell them who you are? I think they’d really like to meet you, honey.”
I scooped some melted ice cream into my mouth and stared at the tv. They were interviewing a politician now, so I turned it off and stared at the blank screen.
“Claire? Don’t you think you should step forward? Maybe they really need to know who saved Curtis. Wouldn’t you want to know if you were his mother? And that poor man who nearly struck him? They must all still be shaking.”
I sighed. I didn’t want to have this discussion. I’d already made up my mind. “I’m not telling them who I am, Mom,” I said.
Mom closed the umbrella and handed it to me. “Show me how you did it,” she said. “How did you save that little guy?”
“I just reached out the handle, like this, snagged his parka hood and yanked.”
“Good thing he was wearing a parka,” Mom said. “Or there wouldn’t have been anything to grab onto.”
“Good thing I found the umbrella in the trash a week ago, Mom. And that I had a craving for ice cream. Otherwise…well, you know…”
It was Mom’s turn to sigh. “Boy, life can be weird sometimes, can’t it?”
“No kidding,” I said.
“I still think you should meet with them, Claire. Don’t you think they deserve to know?” Mom sat down beside me and started running her fingers through my hair, the way she used to do during our mother-daughter moments. It felt good. “I mean, they think you deserve a reward!”
“I don’t need a reward for that,” I told her. “I just did what anyone else would have done. And let them wonder who it was. It doesn’t hurt to have a bit of mystery in your life, does it? You don’t always have to know how or why something happened. Sometimes you just have to smile and let it go.”
Mom cupped my chin in her hands and looked me right in the eye.
“You want to know something, Claire Watkins?” she said as she pulled me against her and hugged me hard. “You absolutely rock.”
“You want to know something, Anna Watkins?” I said beside her ear. “I really hope I turn out to be just like you some day.”
I hugged her back, even harder than she was hugging me, that amazing mother of mine. Because I knew right then and there that she was going to be okay.
We both were.
Deb Loughead is the author of numerous poems and short stories, as well as Chendra’s Journal and Mystery of the Serpent Ring (Scholastic, 2008) and Time and Again (Sumach, 2004). Deb lives in Toronto, Ontario.
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