“We’re on our way to visit a neighbor.”

“I’ll walk with you, then. Does your mother still work at Shoppers?”

“No. Floyd still sells cars, though, and we live in the same house.”

She grimaces. “I had to drive you home a few times. Your house always made me feel claustrophobic—dark shingles, trees crammed against the windows. I was hoping you’d have moved by now ... So, how’s life treating you, Brick? Tell me about yourself.”

I walk faster. “Not much to tell.”

But she’s persistent like Docker. Age, grade, sports, and books take us to the ATV.

“Good to see you, Kendra,” I say, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry I left the daycare so suddenly,” she says. “I didn’t even have the chance to say good-bye. Were you ever told what happened?”

“Mrs. Sanger said your mother was ill. Later, she told us she’d died.” And every day for weeks after that, I confidently waited for Kendra to come back to Happy Whale.

“My mother had a stroke that put her in ICU, so I flew to Winnipeg on a Sunday morning. At the airport, when I called your place, your father said you were out playing. Same thing when I phoned the following week. I stayed out West until my mother died six months later—I’d met Gary by then. We moved to Toronto and I never came back here.” She sighs. “Of all the kids, you were the one I missed the most.”

I cried and cried when you left. Floyd called me a sissy and threatened to lock me in the cellar if I didn’t stop. So I stopped.

“Oh,” I say.

“You used to come to daycare after school, remember? Some days you’d just follow me around, as if you needed something but you didn’t know how to ask or what to ask for ... I don’t know if I gave it to you.”

“You were good to me,” I say. You were my real mother ... If you give me another hug, I’ll be bawling like that six-year-old. “We gotta go.”

She hesitates. “Things have turned out okay for you?”

“Yeah.” What good would it do to tell the truth? She can’t fix Floyd’s clock when he’s in Hilchey Bay and she’s in Toronto.

Kendra takes a business card out of her wallet. “You can reach me by phone or e-mail. Let’s keep in touch ... please.”

“Sure. Sure we will.”

“Bye, Cassie,” she says. “Don’t eat too many gummi bears.” She rests her hand on my arm. “Take care, Brick. I don’t know if you’re ever likely to come to Toronto—but if you do, you could stay with us for as long as you want.”

I swallow hard. “Thanks. Let’s go, Cassie.”