know.â
âWell, do youâ¦â
âLook honey, why donât you just get on home.â
Just then Mr. Starke came to the door. He saw my dad waiting in the car and he told his wife to go back inside.
âYour friend doesnât live here anymore.â
âWhere is she?â
âI got nothing to say. Go on home.
At school kids were talking. The rumour was there was five hundred dollars missing from the office â money the students had raised for the trip to Quebec. Mr. Starke said he found it in Nakinaâs bedroom.
I didnât get it. Everyone knew Mr. Starke was a jerk. Why didnât Nakina just tell the police the truth? I was worried but Anna told me not to get my knickers in a twist. Said it would all get sorted out and Nakina would get in touch when she was good and ready.
I retreated to my basement studio and started a new painting. I took the painting of Nakina off the easel and laid it against the concrete wall. I put up a fresh canvas and began to paint the waitress from the Lorna Doone with a cigarette balanced between her lips.
***
By December I had three canvases done. The one of the clock tower wasnât bad. Like all the paintings it was mainly black and white, but the hands of the clock were red. I was happy with the one of the dance class but I was having a hard time with the one of Nakina in the Lorna Doone. I kept messing up her face and painting over it. And the reflection on the glass from the neon lights was hard to get. I wasnât happy with it but I thought it would have to do. I decided to give it to Nakina. Maybe I just needed a reason to go looking for her. Only problem was I didnât know where she lived. I went to the office and gave Mrs. Balcomino, the school secretary, the third degree.
âSorry, you know I canât give out personal information.â
âItâs not for me, itâs for my parents. They want to invite her for Christmas dinner. They said youâd understand and you wouldnât want her to spend Christmas alone.â
Bingo â that did the trick. I walked out of the office with âlast known address,â 761 Simpson Avenue, Fort McKay South.
I finished the painting and wrapped it up in brown paper. Got it done in time for Christmas Eve, which seemed like a good time to give her the gift. I didnât tell Mom and Dad about my plans, maybe because I wasnât sure I was doing the right thing.
âMolly, you ready?â Mom asked. âWeâre heading over to Uncle Harryâs in an hour.â
âNot going.â
âWhy not?â
âIâm going to hang out with Nakina.â
âNakina? You found out where sheâs living?â
âYeah.â
âWhere?â
âDowntown.â
âThatâs good, but canât you go another time?â
âNo, I already told her I was coming.â I didnât normally lie to my parents but it seemed easier than explaining. Still, it would have been nice to go with them. Mom had been in a good mood lately and we were having fun together doing Christmas baking like the old days.
I helped Mom wrap up the Noel Log â a thin chocolate cake rolled up with mocha cream inside, then covered with chocolate icing. I always made the bark pattern with a fork. It looked like real bark. Then weâd put a plastic holly berry thingy on top. Fort McKay tradition. Like George the Porter, whoâs this black railway porter guy who drives Santaâs sleigh. Seriously. George the Porter. In Fort McKay Christmas was a weird mess of Jesus, Mary, Santa Claus and George the Porter all mixed up like a tub full of guts.
âSo whatâs Nakina doing now?â Mom asked.
âNot sure.â
âIs she going to finish her grade twelve?â
âDonât know.â
âHere, put tinfoil over the cardboard.â
I wrapped the tinfoil around the cardboard so Mom could put the Noel Log on it. The kitchen