Page 106 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

“You didn’t get caught?”

“Nobody noticed.”

“What?”

How was that possible? My parents would have discovered I was missing within hours, maybe even minutes.

“James, you’re up,” someone called from off to the right. I wanted to wave them away, stay in this moment with Char, but I could see it had already been shattered by the interruption. I took in the field, realizing I’d lost track of the game. The score was now tied, the bases still loaded, our worst batter having unexpectedly come through for us to squeak out a base hit. Now it was my chance to clear the bases and win this thing.

I stood, grabbing my favourite bat. Char was watching the pitcher, acting like she’d never revealed what I suspected was a secret. One she’d never told a soul. One where she’d learned just how invisible she was to the people in her life. It broke my heart and, when I faced the pitcher, I imagined the ball to be all the people who’d ever let her down, vowing to never join their membership.

CHAPTER38

~ Char ~

Iwoke with a start after having a horrible temping dream. I was working at Your Fairy Godmother, and Igor, the green ogre from accounting with those freaky long arms and short legs, was at the desk beside me in reception. I still didn’t know what was behind the different-sized doors, and I’d spent most of the dream watching him licking an envelope at a leisurely pace. I’d been mesmerized by the way his tongue would slowly duck out of his mouth to touch the envelope flap before sliding back in like a content lizard’s. Then reappearing, re-wetted, to touch another spot.

I shivered at the image.

I’d read a book once that explained that everyone in a dream is actually just a representation of ourselves. Did that mean that Igor’s slowness at licking an envelope represented the way I felt about the park?

Too slow?

Or was it one of the agency’s weird messages again, like when Paxi had stumbled into my dreams to tell me I’d owe money someday? If so, what was the message? That my final notice would soon be in the mail so I’d better get cracking on my karmic project so Igor didn’t have to come after me?

I crawled out of bed, the house spooky-quiet, the Backstrohms already away on their road trip. I missed Felipe’s morning chittering, Samantha’s lattes, and the smell of Tamara making an omelette. Living alone sucked. It was like being a teenager again. Alone, alone, alone.

Maybe this was why I liked adventure so much, because being home alone was absolutely no fun.

* * *

“I forgot Sally’s away.”

A woman I’d never met was looking stressed on the front step shortly after I returned from work on Friday evening. Considering that today was the start of the Calgary Stampede—an event that went on for nine days and drew over a million people into the city’s downtown Stampede grounds—the look of stress wasn’t that unfamiliar to anyone who lived or worked near the area. Especially since the opening parade had been this morning, drawing over 300,000 people into the core’s maze of one-way streets for several hours.

While getting to work on time had been trying due to all of the buses and CTrains being packed with parade goers, at least I hadn’t had to do anything over at the Everstone park today. The neighbourhood sat at the edge of the event’s swath of busyness, and crossing the downtown from where I now lived would have been nothing short of crazy-making.

James, deciding not to return to his position at the museum, had been helping the Stampede’s security team with some advisement and set up, and then would be on hand for the parade as well. I hadn’t seen much of him over the past few days, and it made the empty house feel all the more lonely.

“Yeah. Sorry,” I said, unsure why I was apologizing to the woman. “Did you want me to pass on a message?”

“No, no. It’s just that sometimes she takes my mom for an hour or two,” the woman said, rubbing her brow. “And I forgot she’s away.”

“Right.” Not Stampede related stress. I wracked my brain for the older woman’s name who lived next door. I’d only wondered in passing what would happen to her with Sally gone for several weeks. “That’s Mrs. Laven?”

The woman nodded.

“Um.” What was the word for it? “Respite care? Sally plays card games with your mom?”

The woman nodded again, and I recognized the look. It was one of being here, but not really. In her head, she was working out alternate plans, ways to make her life work.

“Would she be comfortable hanging out with me?” I asked, realizing as I made the offer that I was completely unqualified. Was I that lonely? Already that tired of being alone with my thoughts?

“Oh, I couldn’t.” The neighbour looked at me with an intensity that nearly had me stepping back. “It’s Friday. You’re young.”

“I’m just doing stuff around the house tonight. She could hang out with me for an hour or two. We could play some games. Would she be comfortable with that? Honestly, it’s kind of weird being here alone.” I laughed like it was a joke and not painfully true.

“Are you sure? No, I can’t ask that of you,” the woman added just as quickly.

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