you think she got rid of him for another reason?” Linda asked.
“What did your mother think happened?”
“What does it matter?”
“I like trying to figure out where and how people get their opinions,” I began. “You for example were fifteen when this went down, right? What’s that Grade 10? Your mother and Mrs. Jones are roughly the same age, so I’m sure she would have had a great deal to say regarding Mr. Jones’ disappearance. And you being the only girl in the house - notwithstanding the fact that your brother Keith threw a baseball like a girl - would I be wrong to think you and her had many conversations about Cathy and Barry Jones?”
“We had a few,” Linda admitted slowly.
“So I’ll ask you again. What did your mother think became of poor Mr. Jones?”
“If I answer your question, it won’t go into your report, will it?” Linda asked uneasily. “Because I don’t want to get my mother into any trouble.”
“I assure you, this is off the record.”
“And just because I agreed with her back then, doesn’t mean I do today, okay?”
“Of course. You were just an impressionable school girl, right?”
“Right,” she said with a whimsical smile. “And I don’t want you to hold it against me.”
“What I want to hold against you isn’t your opinion,” I responded, flirting shamelessly. “Just spit it out.”
Linda took a deep breath and then exhaled. “My mother thought Mrs. Jones had chopped her husband up with an axe, after he found out she was having an affair.” Again she inhaled and exhaled deeply. “There I said it out loud, are you happy now?”
“Happy? I’m speechless,” I said. “How did your mother know?”
“Know what?”
“About the axe. How did she know about the pick axe? The police never released that information to the public.”
Linda sat dumbfounded. “I don’t know. I just remember her saying that one time.”
“Is it possible that your mother was part of this thing?”
“What do you mean?” Linda looked worried suddenly.
“What if the affair Mr. Jones found about was between Mrs. Jones and your mother? Or maybe between Keith and Mrs. Jones? The scandal would be incredible.”
Linda watched as I took out a pen and began to write on my paper napkin.
“What are you doing?”
“Just a few notes about your mother’s affair with Mrs. Jones.”
“You said this was off the record!” she said angrily, as she grabbed the napkin away from me and began to read.
I LOVE THE WAY YOUR EYES SPARKLE WHEN YOU’RE MAD
It took her a few seconds to figure out I’d been kidding around, but from the look on her face she was game enough to admit she’d been had fair and square.
Without a word, she threw the napkin on the table and stood up. She then mouthed the words, “I think it’s time for dessert,” and led me by the hand to her bedroom.
“I don’t have to dance again, do I?” I asked as we fell backwards onto her bed.
“Not vertically,” she said with a laugh. “But you will dance for me.”
As we continued our get to know each other better session long into the evening, I felt at peace with myself and completely at home with Linda. It was a feeling I’d rarely experienced during the past decade, and surprisingly I was now very glad I’d returned to Delta.
A few minutes before midnight, Linda and I kissed one final time and I promised to stop by the library the following day. I made my way to my van and as I drove off the lot I was happy to see her waving goodbye to me from her balcony. I quickly returned the gesture and smiled a huge smile, even though I was positive she couldn’t see it.
Heading uptown I thought that the evening had been perfect. The food was good, the company was great, and the dessert - ah, the dessert - was fantastic. (Linda’s homemade chocolate mousse was also quite incredible, I might add.) But as I turned onto Main Street, my assessment of the night began to darken ever so slightly. Two teenaged boys hanging about the bank sparked a memory I had long since forgotten. It was then doubts about any type of ongoing relationship with Linda started to take hold.
The summer before Maria and I started to go out, I had met a girl whose family had moved to Delta during the first week of August. Her name was Michelle Fuller and I remember her being slim, with short brown hair and being blessed with the face of an angel. I don’t recall exactly how we met (possibly at the ball diamond or maybe when I was cutting grass in her neighbourhood), but I do know that we hit it off immediately. The problem was her father was very strict and didn’t want his sweet fourteen year old daughter going anywhere with a seventeen year old boy. I reluctantly kept my distance and didn’t force the issue with Michelle or her father. Then just before school was to resume, incredibly he changed his mind. Of course, stern rules were set in place. Her curfew was ten-thirty and as we were going into Kelsey Lake to see a movie, we were to keep the ticket stubs, to prove we hadn’t gone to a restricted show.
To teenagers, parental rules always seem excessive, but Michelle and I didn’t care. We just wanted to have a good time.
And that we did.
At ten-fifteen I pulled into Michelle’s driveway and we both saw the slight movement of curtains in the front window. Being Mr. Responsible, I then opened Michelle’s car door and escorted her up to the front steps, where we were greeted by her mother who was all smiles. She invited me in and we talked in the living room for a few minutes about our evening out. Still there was no sign of Mr. Fuller.
At ten-twenty-nine, I said I should be going and both Michelle and her mother walked me to the door. Sensing Michelle wanted her to leave (if only for a few moments), Mrs. Fuller said good night and left us alone.
What followed was like a scene from the television show Happy Days.
“I had a real nice time tonight,” Michelle said.
“I’m glad,” I replied. “Maybe we can do this again.”
“Sure.”
Then the weight of the world was upon my shoulders. I was certainly glad that her first official date had gone well, but I was also aware that to kiss her might be just a bit presumptuous on my part. Yet as I looked into her eyes, I got the distinct impression that more harm would be done if I didn’t at least make an attempt.
In the end she set the tone for our farewell when she slowly turned her lips away from mine, compelling me to kiss her lightly on the cheek. As I straightened up we both smiled and I told her I would call the following Monday. But as you may have guessed, I never made that
