Read Mud Girl Online

Authors: Alison Acheson

Mud Girl (30 page)

The shower feels good – not like sitting in the rust-tub – and she stands, head bowed, letting the hot water pour over her shoulders, loosen her muscles, until she thinks of Dyl. Then she gets out, pulls on a towel, then the sweats. On the counter there is a small dish of ponytail holders. Most of them look brand new and she wraps one around a ponytail. So that must mean there's a girl here, too. Mrs. Taylor's hair is short – “tidy” comes to mind.

She has breakfast waiting. A bagel with cream cheese, and sliced canteloupe.

“Usually everyone makes their own breakfast.”

Abi nods. She's probably supposed to take note of that. Dyl wakes up then, and she's glad she cut her shower short, because he looks around with his usual anxious look and then, when he sees her, he smiles. Before breakfast, she runs a warm bath for him, and helps him with the fleecy pants and
T
-shirt.

They share a blueberry bagel, and Mrs. Taylor sets mugs of warm milk on the table.

M
s. Harvey wears a dark green suit. Her shoes look brand new and stiff. It is exactly nine o'clock when she arrives, and she wastes no time. She sits at the table, and looks through her papers.

Stu has taken Dyl into the backyard to play on the swings. Again Abi has the sense of being alone that she had when she laid Dyl on the window seat the night before.

Ms. Harvey has a folder and papers and pen. The room doesn't feel like the same kitchen anymore. Ms. Harvey doesn't look at Abi. Well, she does, but her eyes slide past Abi's ear, then she looks back at her papers.

“You can stay here temporarily,” she says. “Until we find a placement. We've worked it out, and Rebecca and I have discussed it.”

Abi assumes “Rebecca” is Mrs. Taylor, but she wonders who the “we” is.

Ms. Harvey checks her papers, flips through. Check. Flip. Check. Flip. Then she continues. “The boy will go to a home in Richmond…temporarily.”

It takes Abi a moment to realize that she's talking about Dyl.

“No!” she says. “Dyl stays with me!”

Ms. Harvey finally looks at Abi, but there are no words in her eyes.

“You don't understand,” Abi says. “His dad doesn't want Dyl. Not really. He left him alone in the house. All by himself. That's how I found him. And Dyl's grandmother, who's taken care of him…she died yesterday.”

“Yes, his grandmother,” Ms. Harvey says thoughtfully.

“His mother left him. Went away.” Abi fights down her tears. She can't cry right now, she just can't.

Ms. Harvey writes on one of those pieces of paper.

“You don't understand,” Abi repeats. “His dad just
left
him.”

Again those wordless eyes look briefly at Abi. “Actually, his father has nothing to do with this,” she says.

Abi can only stare at her.

“Lily Arden – his grandmother – was his legal guardian.”

Abi is perplexed. Jude is Dyl's father.

Ms. Harvey goes on. “A little more than one year ago, Lily Arden legally adopted her grandson. Now she is deceased. That makes him a ward of the Province.”

Legally. Deceased. Ward. Province.
Abi takes in the words.

“But he needs me,” is all she can say.

Now there are words in Ms. Harvey's eyes. The words say, “This is my
JOB
!”

Mrs. Taylor speaks up with a soft voice. “Why don't they both stay here for now, Sal?”

“You have three.” Ms. Harvey still sounds as if she's saying
this is my job
.

“But Ron will be gone in less than a week,” Mrs. Taylor points out.

More flipping and checking. Ms. Harvey likes her papers. Abi can imagine her as a little kid, sleeping with a sheaf of papers, instead of with a teddy bear like a regular kid. Abi would smile, except the twist in her insides won't let her. She finds herself grimacing, and when Ms. Harvey does look up from her papers, she's surprised. She stares at Abi.

“All right,” she says. “While we work this out, then. For now.”

Abi gets up from the table so quickly that her coffee spills and she has to clean up before she can go find Dyl in the yard. She's still swiping at the table when Ms. Harvey leaves.

Mrs. Taylor hands her a cloth to dry it, and then she hauls a basket of clean laundry up from where she left it on the floor, and begins to fold.

“It's not much to hold on to, is it,” she says. “Those words
for now
. Still. It is something.”

She joins socks, tucks in a collar.

“What does Dyl mean to you?” she asks then.

Abi is happy to hear her use Dyl's name; Ms. Harvey
hadn't once. Abi reaches into the pile to help with a
T
-shirt. “He needs me,” she says. “He needs someone not to run away from him.”

Mrs. Taylor listens. “You need him, too, I think,” she says.

Abi nods.

“You're quite determined? That you should stay with him? He with you?”

Another nod.

Mrs. Taylor sighs. “Taking care of a child is hard.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well,” Mrs. Taylor says, reminding Abi a bit of Ernestine. “We have
for now
, don't we?” She begins to fold Abi's jeans, already washed from the night before. Something is in the pocket, and she reaches for it. “Missed this,” she says, and hands it to Abi. Abi has a sudden remembrance of the nurse handing this slip of paper to her.

She unfolds it. The paper is worn at the creases, and the ink has run slightly, but the message is clear.

My dearest Abi –

I'm hoping you'll consider taking care of Dyl. He loves you and I know you love him too.

She can hear Lily's voice through the words on the paper.

But you are young and this may not be the best for you, so please know that there are other options. My lawyer has my will and can discuss it with you. Thank you Abi, you have brought a light to my last days here –

Lily Arden                       

Mrs. Taylor doesn't speak as Abi looks up and hands her the paper.

“This might change the
for now
,” she says after she reads it.

“Yes, I think it might,” says Abi.

The sound of Dyl laughing floats in the open doorway.

Mrs. Taylor nods toward the back door. “Go,” she says.

Abi steps into the backyard. Grass that was probably brown yesterday is green today after the rainstorm. Leaves rustle in a wind overhead, and she looks up, then farther up, in time to see a short broken string of Canada geese overhead, practicing with a few young for the flight south. There's more laughter, and she sees Stu pushing Dyl on the swing. She's amazed because the rope of the swing is flat out and Dyl is flying. And he's not afraid. She stops herself from calling out to Stu to slow him down. It's beautiful, him swinging like that, and laughing.

This is my, my, my beautiful Sunday…

Acknowledgements

I'm grateful for the support of the British Columbia Arts Council.

And thanks to Gayle Friesen and Christy Dunsmore for the hours and evenings spent with each other's work – we are blessed.

All dictionary quotes are from
The New Oxford Dictionary of English,
ed. Pearsall, Judy, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1998. (With sole exception of definition for the letter “f ” and word “farce:”
The Houghton Mifflin Canadian Dictionary of the English Language,
ed. Morris, William, Houghton Mifflin Canada Limited, Markham, Ontario, 1982.)

Beautiful Sunday

Words and Music by Daniel Boone and Rod McQueen (c)1972
STIRLING MCQUEEN MUSIC LTD
.

All Rights for the U.S. and Canada Controlled and Administered by
COLGEMS-EMI MUSIC INC
.

All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured. Used by Permission.

About the Author

A
lison Acheson has published two previous juvenile fiction novels,
The Half-Pipe Kidd
and
Thunder Ice
, which was a finalist for the Geoffrey Bilson Award, and the Manitoba and Red Cedar (
BC
) young readers choice awards. She has also published a collection of adult short fiction,
Learning To Live Indoors,
and has had work published in several anthologies –
Carnal Nation, Write Turns
and
When I Was a Child
. Work for children has appeared in “Ladybug” magazine and the Scholastic Early Literacy program.

Alison Acheson is an instructor in the Creative Writing program at the University of British Columbia, having obtained
MFA
(Creative Writing) and
BA
(History) degrees from that University. Born in Tsawwassen, British Columbia, she continues to live in the lower mainland. To find out more about Alison Acheson visit her web site at:
www.alisonacheson.com
.

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