Free Days That End in Y by Vikki VanSickle Page A

reasons why Bill’s black car was not in any of the driveways we saw, but this doesn’t make me feel any better. It makes me feel stupid and at a loss for what to do next. Being a detective is hard. Especially on a bike.
    “Maybe we should try again, early in the morning before people go out for the day,” I say.
    “But still late enough that the sun is up, right?” Benji really hates the dark.
    “We still haven’t checked out the Lilac Motel,” I point out.
    Benji has a handful of pebbles that he is tossing one by one at the water, attempting (but failing) to make them skip across the top. “I know.”
    “I can go by myself, if you’re that scared.”
    “I’m not scared; I just think it’s far. We’d have to bike on the highway.”
    I resist rolling my eyes. Benji can be such a scaredy-cat sometimes.
    “Really, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I can make it there in less than half an hour, especially without you slowing me down.”
    “Don’t go by yourself,” Benji pleads, and he looks so pitiful I have to relent.
    “I won’t,” I say, but I don’t mean it.
    “We should probably go back now.”
    Benji and I bike all the way home without a word. We’re both too busy thinking. But before he goes inside, Benji turns to me and says, “That was nice, today. It felt like one of our old missions. Remember those?”
    I smile for the first time that day. “Yeah, I remember.”
    I’m glad I’m not the only one.

RAINY DAY
    It’s been raining for days. As happy as I am to not be melting into a puddle of human stink, I’m ready for the sun again.
    Business has slowed at the Hair Emporium, and I spend most of my days doing crosswords and stuffing wedding favours into gauzy gift bags.
    Originally the plan was to make donations to the Breast Cancer Society in each guest’s name, but Mom decided that they needed to have a take-away, too. So she is giving everyone a little sample bottle of her favourite moisturizer and a scented candle, along with a hand-lettered card that reads
A Donation Was Made to the Breast Cancer Society on Your Behalf
. My job is supposed to be writing the cards, but my handwriting is functional at best. Fancy lettering is really more of a Benji task, but he’s not around to do it, which leaves me.
    Needless to say, it’s a dull way to spend a day, so when the bell jingles at the top of the stairs, I practically leap out of my seat to greet the person who will save me from dying of boredom.
    “Is that Clarissa Louise Delaney or a starlet I see down there?”
    At first I don’t recognize the woman making her way down the stairs, shaking the rain from her jacket and smoothing her long, dark hair. I can tell by the way it’s puffing out that she has been flat-ironing her natural wave into submission. Someone needs to tell her you can’t winwhen rain is involved. Then I get a better look at her, and despite the rain my whole day brightens.
    “Tina!”
    Tina Cooper is probably the coolest of my mom’s friends. “Hey, girl! You’re looking better than ever.” She raises her hand for a high-five. She is the only adult I know who can get away with this without looking hopelessly lame. She is also the only white person I know who can call people “girl.” Unfortunately, she moved away years ago and only drops by a few times a year when she’s in town visiting family.
    “The boys must fall all over themselves when they’re around you. Have you got a boyfriend yet?”
    Before I can say anything, Mom emerges from the storeroom, her arms full of shampoo bottles. “Tina?” The bottles almost hit the floor, but Mom recovers, dumping them in the nearest styling chair, and rushes over to give Tina a hug.
    “Did I know you were coming?” she asks.
    Tina shakes her head. “Nope. I’m in town visiting my sister and thought I’d pop by and see if you could fit in a trim.”
    Mom gestures to a styling chair. “At your service!”
    “The word is you’re getting