Crush. Candy. Corpse. (4 page)

“Do you know ‘You Are My Sunshine’?”

“Yes, I do. But you’re gonna have to sing with me.”

He began strumming.

“Oh, I can’t sing. You wouldn’t want me to —”

“Come on now . . .” He kept strumming. Cole started singing with him.

I winced as I finally joined in. I don’t like the sound of my own voice, but couldn’t hear it anyway. Like screaming at the airport when the planes land, I was drowned out by fake Elvis, the loud electric strumming, and the clatter of plates as they were collected.

Such a bouncy little song, but it made me sad. I could remember singing it with Omi. I was her sunshine, she had told me. She’s the one who started everyone calling me Sunny. But I didn’t think I was anyone’s sunshine anymore. Especially not my mother’s. I had to wipe tears from my cheek.

“You have a beautiful voice,” Jeannette told me when it was over. “What a gift.”

Wow, I couldn’t believe how a compliment from a slightly loony lady made me feel so much better. “Thank you!”

Her gift comment also reminded me about the presents I wanted to buy, so I asked Cole to help me find out the residents’ real birthdays.

“Grandma’s lands on your next visit, actually. But you’ll go broke if you get things for all of them. Come with me.” He took me into his grandma’s room and I sat on her flowered couch as he removed an envelope of money from her drawer. “Here’s twenty dollars. I wonder if that will be enough. I have something particular in mind.”

Right away the buzzard starts in on the receptionist. “What did you observe, if anything, about Sonja’s visits to Paradise Manor?”

“She didn’t like to pay attention to the rules. I had to remind her about signing in and out. She made a face when I asked her to use the sanitizer.”

The buzzard sniffs at his notes. “What exactly did she tell you when you asked her to wash her hands?”

“She suggested that the residents needed the sanitizing. That they would pass her their diseases, not the other way around. She also said that they would be lucky if she brought them some illness that would kill them off quicker.”

The lady in the kiwi-coloured sweatsuit cringes in her seat.

Okay, maybe I said that, I don’t remember. And I shouldn’t have — not out loud. I didn’t think everyone would be listening and storing my words to judge me with later. But I bet everyone who walks into the Manor thinks it. The residents are ancient and they sleep all the time anyway. Plus I was annoyed about using that sanitizer. I don’t think it really kills germs, just the moisture on your skin.

“No further questions. Counsel?”

My lawyer immediately stands up and tilts his head. “Can you tell me, did Sonja often forget to sign in?” His voice sounds bright and cheery, and he smiles as though he’s not defending an evil teen.

“She always signed in because she needed proof of her forty hours.”

Like that was a crime,
I think. Wanting to get my volunteer time counted.

“What about signing out? Did you have to remind her to do that?”

“Yes, most often she forgot to sign out.”

Michael nods in acknowledgement. There, great, now the jury knows that I forgot to sign out often. Not just when I supposedly killed someone.

“Were there any other rules she broke?”

“That I personally knew of?”

“Yes. Only those she broke in front of you.” He planned for at least one of my hostile witnesses to mention the gifts I gave the seniors.

“Um . . . I know she brought in a pair of sweatpants for one of the patients. But she refused to take them to laundry to label.”

Bingo! The chubby guy in stripes sits up.

“What was her explanation for this refusal?”

“She said she wanted to see Fred in new, clean clothing on his birthday at least, and she didn’t want to wait. She took out a pen and marked the label with his room number.”

The bearded guy with all the pins looks interested too. The guy with the taped-up glasses straightens his head.

“Do you remember whether she signed in on this occasion?”

“As a matter of fact, she said she was just ducking in for a minute and it wasn’t her volunteer hour. She didn’t sign in or out.”

Sometimes I went to Paradise Manor on my own. Truly volunteering. I liked the old people. My lawyer gets that. Only, does the jury? ’Cause I also brought Fred the old stick shift from my father’s Mustang. On another day, I brought Susan’s naked baby some doll clothes of my own. I had to reattach the doll’s head constantly, too, which really meant a lot of pushing and twisting. For Jeannette, I brought a new lipstick and for Cole’s grandma, I did something entirely different. Something I got into a lot of trouble over. But the buzzard doesn’t show any more journal entries. Maybe if I’d written how Cole begged me to do it, how he said it was the only thing that would make her happy, my lawyer could have used the fourth one.

The Fourth Visit — thirty-two hours left

I’m really making a difference volunteering at Paradise Manor. They celebrated five of the residents’ birthdays all on one day. How efficient is that? They hired a tribute singer, and I led the old folks in a few ditties. I also made visits on their real birthdays and did something special for Mrs. Demers. She really enjoyed it. It’s like I told you, Mr. Brooks, when you’re happy with your hair, it gives you a more positive outlook on life.

I asked my mother for fifty bucks so I could buy the seniors some birthday presents.

“You are very generous with other people’s money,” Mom said. Her words always sound stiff, disapproving even. Wolfie told me once it was because she had learned Oxford English in school back in Germany. That gave her that upper-crust tone.

“Nobody hires a sixteen-year-old without experience,” I grumbled. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Eat your toast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

I bit into an over-crisp corner of bread. I should have hit dad up for the money. Mom likes us to work for everything.

“We came to this country with nothing.” She straightened her neck as she poured herself another coffee. People say we look alike, but I didn’t see it. My hair is dark like Dad’s, though, okay, our eyes are the same pale blue. Mom hadn’t dyed her hair since the treatments and there were strands of pale yellow framing her short, curly ’do — exactly where my hair was pink — which made her seem more fragile.

I thought about cutting mine short like Mom’s, for Donovan’s grad. I’d leave my two long, pink strands. That would make a statement.

“You can come to the condo office. Work there like Wolfgang,” Mom suggested. My parents manage five condominium buildings, hiring and paying all the repair and maintenance people. They also attend all owners’ meetings and listen to plenty of complaints, as they tell it. “I can teach you to do the bills on the computer.”

“In between school, homework, and my volunteer hours, sure. Can I have the money now?”

“No. Tell me one hairdressing salon where the customers pay before they get their hair done?”

I sighed. There it was, her looking down on my job plans. It always came down to that. “You’re not a salon, and I need the money to buy the presents in time for a birthday.”

My mother just arched an eyebrow. “And then you will never show up to work.”

If she seriously needed me to, sure I would. But she didn’t seem to know this about me so I didn’t argue any further, just finished my toast and went to school. And after school, even without a contribution from Mom, I still went shopping . . . with Donovan. We browsed the men’s formal-wear shop in the corner of the mall. He wanted to really stand out for this grad, his third. Maybe a kilt?

I wrinkled my nose.

Maybe a white tuxedo instead of the standard, silky lapelled black one?

I shook my head. “You know what? Once I get a dress, we can try to coordinate your outfit, Donny. Let’s go look at track pants.”

“Why?” he squealed. “Who wears track pants?”

“My brother Wolfie when he works out. And it’s all the old guys ever wear at Paradise Manor. Look over there! The sales rack in front of Sport X. It’s a sidewalk sale, two for one.” I dragged Donovan over by the arm. “What size would you wear, Don?”

“I wouldn’t wear any.”

“Medium?” I held up a pair against him. “One black pair for Johann and one navy pair for Fred.”

“Do you have any money?” he asked.

“Ten bucks left from my allowance. Don’t you have any?”

“Oh, Sunny!” He rolled his eyes. “Go into the shop and look at shoes for yourself.” He laced his fingers through each other and stretched them.

The track pants weren’t for me, they were for the old people. Charity, not stealing, I reasoned with myself nervously. I drifted to the shoe wall. A clerk in a referee’s striped shirt approached.
Jacob
, his name tag read.

“Anything I can help you with?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t really jog.”

“Then these cross trainers might be for you.” He took down a pair of striped, red-suede runners. “They’re on sale, too.”

A sporty look without that industrial functionality jogging shoes always seemed to have. I couldn’t resist and tried them on. “They’re great, really.” I looked past him to the sweatpants rack. Donovan had disappeared already. “Sorry, I’ll have to come back for them another day.”

Jacob smiled at me “Sure. Want me to put them aside?”

I felt bad. If I’d had money, I would have bought them. But then I would have paid for those sweatpants, too. “No, that’s okay.” I walked away quickly.

Never again, I promised myself. That was the last time I even shopped with Donovan, just in case. For the final present, I needed to consult with Alexis anyway.

Alexis agreed to help me. So on Saturday, we walked together to the drugstore to buy the dye for Mrs. Demers. It was a perfect October day, warm but with none of that stickiness that makes your hair droop. On the way, Alexis told me about her volunteer placement at the shelter and how she was photographing all the animals there so that they could put their pictures on the Net and adopt them out faster.

“Cool. So it’s not all poopy-scooping for dogs. Do you keep some pictures for yourself? A souvenir?”

“No, I didn’t think of that. But next time I’ll download some on a memory stick now that you mentioned it.”

Then I told her about the mass birthday at Paradise Manor. “After the cake, this paunchy dude in a jumpsuit and a wig played all these songs and only Cole sang.”

“Back it up. Who is this Cole person? Is he cute?”

I frowned when I pictured him in my head. “Nah . . . at least not like Donovan. He’s more the sweet kind. He’s not volunteering for his graduation requirement. He’s just there to visit with his grandma. It breaks my heart.”

“Oh, now I get it. She’s the one you’re buying the hair dye for.”

I stopped walking for a second. “There’s nothing to get, Alexis. It’s her birthday on Monday, that’s all. You know I’m going to the prom with Donovan.” My voice came out sharpish.

She put out her hands like she was shielding herself.

Reaching the edge of the sidewalk first, I lifted my foot to step onto the street.

“Careful!” Alexis flung her arm across my waist. “There’s a car turning.”

Tsk.
“Talking on the cell phone. She should get a ticket.” When it was safe, we crossed the street to the super-sized pharmacy. “Then Cole more or less forced me to sing along.”

“With your voice?” Alexis lifted an eyebrow.

“Exactly! After I told him how tone deaf I was, too.” We walked to the first aisle where all the hair product was kept. I picked up a box of a dark red shade. “But I did finally join in.”

“You didn’t! Isn’t that red too dark, Sunny?”

“Not on white hair.” I frowned. “But it’s a permanent. There must be something else.” I picked up a copper-coloured can and checked the label. It was a mousse called Beat and the instructions said it washed out in eight to ten shampoos. “All those old folks made me miss Omi and I sang her favourite song. Jeannette said my voice was a gift.”

“I guess she’s pretty deaf too. What about this shade?” She handed me a can of Beat with Electric Cherry printed across the lid.

“Yup, that will do the trick.” We took the mousse to the front checkout. “Jeannette isn’t deaf. She just likes me.”

“Is that the one who always compliments your clothes? Ones you’re not even wearing?”

“So what? She’s confused. She really brightens when she sees me. Makes me feel good.” I handed the money to the clerk. “And now I can actually do someone’s hair. It’s not quite like co-opping at the salon, but it’s not bad.”

Back then I thought it was a lovely gesture, but now I knew it would be turned against me during the trial.

The next person the old buzzard calls up is Gillian Halliday. I relax in my chair. She thought I was a natural with the old people. She will be on my side. There couldn’t possibly be anything wrong that she would say about me.

Gillian has to swear in and state her occupation like everyone else. Today she wears her hair pulled back in a conservative bun, no happy-go-lucky braids and beads. Better for the fashion-dysfunctional jury anyway.

The buzzard checks his notes. “What kind of duties do you assign volunteers at Paradise Manor?

“Mostly feeding the residents and helping them with activities. The old people get lonely and they like the youngsters comin’ around and chattin’ with them.”

“And how did Sonja Ehret fit in with the duties?”

“She wanted to do everything just so. She liked to fix the old folks’ collars and make their sweaters straight. She combed some of the ladies’ hair for me.”

“Could you describe any other hairdressing activities she might have performed for them?”

“Well now, if you’re bringin’ up that hair-dyin’ incident, that was just a misunderstandin’. She was just bein’ nice to Mrs. Demers and didn’t know she needed to ask permission before doin’ anythin’ with her hair colour.”

“Would you explain exactly what she did to Mrs. Demers?”

“You have to understand that some of the ladies think they’re teenagers themselves and they all want to be cute like Sunny. Mrs. Demers liked the pink streaks Sunny has in her hair. She asked Sunny if she could have stripes like that too.”

“And what did Sonja do?”

“Well, she bought a temporary colour and combed some through Mrs. Demers’s hair.”

“Where would she have gotten the money, do you know?”

“Mrs. Johnson said she stole it from Mrs. Demers’s special drawer but —”

“Objection. Hearsay,” my lawyer calls.

“Sustained,” the judge answers. “The jury should disregard that last answer.”

Oh sure, you can tell them to disregard it, but don’t they all now believe that I’m a thief?

The buzzard continues. “Could you describe Mrs. Demers’s hair after?”

“Mrs. Demers really liked the pink. It was just her daughter-in-law who got angry. She thought Sunny was makin’ a fool of the old lady.”

“But how did you think it looked?”

“The pink on the white didn’t appear the way Sunny’s streaks do — she having the dark brown hair and all. Mrs. Demers looked like she had candy-cane hair.”

“No further questions.” The buzzard swoops back down into his seat.

“Does the defence wish to question Miss Halliday?” the judge calls.

“Yes, Your Honour.” My lawyer stands up and smiles at Gillian. “Miss Halliday, how would you characterize Sonja’s relationship with the residents at Paradise Manor?”

“They liked her, she bein’ young and pretty.”

“And how would you describe her attitude to them? You said she straightened their clothing? How did she react to their dementia, for example?”

“She treated them very seriously. If they asked her questions, she really thought hard to give them honest answers. She brought them little treats. And she wanted them to have choices. Her and Cole, they were always talkin’ about that.”

The jury member in the plaid shirt gives a nervous
heh
. It sounds like the first beat of a laugh. Did letting them have choices seem dangerous to him?

My lawyer ignores it. “You said she should have asked permission to colour Mrs. Demers’s hair. But Mrs. Demers asked to have pink streaks. What was Mrs. Demers’s grandson’s attitude and reaction towards the hair colouring?”

“He helped her because he thought it would bring his grandma pleasure.”

“So I’m confused then. Help me out with something. If her grandson and Mrs. Demers gave permission, how did Sonja come to be reprimanded for the incident?”

“Well, Mrs. Johnson insisted we had to inform Cole’s mother and when she saw the hair for herself, she blew up.”

“And how often would you say Cole’s mother usually came to visit?”

“That was the first time this year. She never visits.”

My lawyer frowns and rubs his chin. “So Helen Demers wanted her hair streaked and enjoyed the pink colour?”

“Yes.”

“And her daughter-in-law would have never known if Paradise Manor hadn’t called her. Is that correct?”

Gillian shifts in her chair as she looks towards Mrs. Johnson on the other side of the room. “Yes. That is correct.”

“No further questions.”

Cole’s mom called what I did to Helen’s hair vandalism. Cole said she’d yelled about it in front of his grandmother and got her all upset. “She can’t help herself, though,” he explained after I was lectured by Mrs. Johnson. “Mom overreacts to anything to do with Grandma’s Alzheimer’s ’cause she can’t cope.” He made me feel sorry for his mother so I let it go and just did what Mr. Brooks told me I had to in order to continue with the project. The jury could read how nicely I played along if they could just read my next journal entry.

The Fifth Visit — thirty hours left

I apologized to Mrs. Johnson for streaking Helen’s hair just as you told me to, Mr. Brooks. I promised her I’d never do anything like that again and she let me back to volunteer. As usual, Johann barely had anything to eat because I fed him slowly as she’d asked and he fell asleep in the middle.

Since it was warm enough, we took a few of the residents outside after supper. Not so many UV rays at that time of the day. It wasn’t easy to push Johann’s wheelchair out, but in the end I think he enjoyed his time in the sun.

No matter what Claudine Demers said, Helen’s candy-striped hair made her look very cool. Despite the hair perk, though, she had a very bad day. She suddenly couldn’t walk and Cole had to borrow the Manor wheelchair to get her to dinner. She didn’t talk much during the meal either, but when I noticed her staring at Johann’s brownie, I slipped it to her.

“You’re not supposed to give Mrs. Demers anything with sugar,” the goth cafeteria worker told me.

Helen had already taken two bites and smiled.

“I’m so sorry,” I lied to her. “I had no idea. I won’t do it again, Sheila,” I added, reading her name tag.

Sheila didn’t accept my apology even though I looked her directly in the eye and acted sincere. “Better not,” she grumbled at me as she collected the trays of half-eaten food.

As I wheeled the sleeping Johann back towards the hall, I met up with Cole.

“Do you want to take them into the courtyard?” Cole asked. “Maybe it will cheer Grandma up. She always liked fall.”

“Sure. Be nice for all of us.” Cole looked like he could use some cheering up too. “Want me to swipe some more brownies for her?”

Cole winked and shook his head. “Not now.” His eyes looked behind me and when I turned I noticed Sheila clearing the table close to us.

“Just kidding.” I grinned and winked back at him.

He led the way out towards the door that opened onto a rectangular court, protected by the four walls of the building. No wind reached us, and the air felt warm. Yellow and purple mums grew in the flower beds.

We parked the old people across from a wooden bench so we could sit too. Cole sprawled across the seat, his right leg touching mine.

I shifted away. “Too bad we can’t see the coloured leaves from here.”

“I could have tried for permission to take them to the front, but Mrs. Johnson’s not happy with us right now. She probably would have said no.”

I shrugged. “They’re both asleep. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Guess not.” His arm drifted across the back of the bench behind my head. There was nowhere left for me to shift. “No matter what, I’m glad you streaked Grandma’s hair. Made her happy for that moment.”

I leaned back against the bench, and his arm, closing my eyes to enjoy the last glow of summer. “Yeah, that was something.” I chuckled. “Jeannette wants me to do hers too now.”

“Me too.” Cole let his hand rest on my shoulder.

“You’re close to your grandma. It’s sweet.” I opened my eyes again.

He smiled. “She looked after me when I was little.”

“Mine did too.”

Cole played with my hair, lifting it so he could touch my neck. He leaned closer to me.

I looked into his eyes. Warm gold. He liked me, I knew he did.

His lips drew to mine.

Johann groaned in his wheelchair suddenly, startling me. I pulled away. What was I doing? Cole was kind and cute in a different way than Donovan. Still no reason to let him kiss me. His grandmother still slept peacefully. I took a breath. “What ever happened to her?” I asked him. “I mean, how did you know she had Alzheimer’s?”

Cole cleared his throat and sat up on the bench. “First she locked herself out of the house a few times ’cause she couldn’t find her key. We didn’t think too much of it.”

“Anyone can lose a key,” I agreed, putting my hand on his shoulder.

Cole nodded and frowned. “Only then it got worse. One day she tried to pay her bill at the restaurant with a plumber’s business card.”

“Oh! What did the doctor say?”

Cole shrugged. “He gave her some pills.”

“Did they help at all?”

He shook his head. “The next time she went to the store she couldn’t find her way home.” He kicked at the edge of the walkway. “When Dad and I found her, she cried and promised it would never happen again. But Mom couldn’t give up her job to look after her. And Dad wouldn’t take the chance.”

“So she’s here,” I finished for him.

“No. She went on a waiting list. She disappeared three more times. The last time, she was hit by a car. Mom refused to take her back home. Grandma stayed in the hospital till a spot opened up at Paradise Manor.”

I nodded. “She seems better than most of the others, though.”

“I don’t know. I think she’s slipping. Not walking is bad,” Cole told me.

“Really, you don’t think your mom’s fuss about the hair put her in a funk?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s the disease progressing.”

“I’m sorry, Cole.” I touched his arm. “But at least you visit her. There’s nothing else you can do.”

“Well, yes. There is something else. And she made me promise to do it when the disease progressed too far.”