Fiction

"Scribbles" is a safe haven for some of the fiction I have created in the past few years. A successful battle with colon cancer forced a change in lifestyle and no longer able to participate in my favourite hobby of community theatre, I turned to the pen.

These short stories are character studies, moments in the lives of ordinary people. Some surprised me by their harsh or sad nature, but most treat life with a sense of humour.

The Park Across the Street

It's a thin line between concern and intrusion when a senior citizen's home is threatened.

THE PARK ACROSS THE STREET
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall


The front door was never locked and there was no need to knock. After all, Jennie had grown up in this house. It was home and Dad would be happy to see her. How had the summer slipped by without her paying a visit or bringing the kids by? Teenagers live in their own world anyway and they definitely wouldn’t get the music. Jennie smiled as the sounds of the Glenn Miller Orchestra came from inside the bungalow. “Fools Rush In”, which she thought, she might take as a warning.
“That Carson and his old records,” a disapproving and familiar voice called from the walkway.
Jennie, lost in memories of sitting on this very porch sharing her dad’s love for big band music, hadn’t noticed her Aunt Imelda arriving.
“What are you doing out here, dear?”
“I was just thinking, Auntie, maybe this isn’t the right time.”
“Not the right time? Jennie, the hot market for this neighbourhood can’t last forever and your father takes no better care of himself than he does of this place. It’s practically falling down around him. The best feature is the park across the street. You know getting him to sell is the right thing for your father.”
You mean it’s the right thing for cousin Lou and his new real estate license thought Jennie. Why can’t I say that out loud?
“Oh, Dad” Jennie sobbed once inside. The smell of mould, grease and dust was overwhelming. Carson Long’s life was lived in the tiny front room. Unopened mail, dirty tea cups and, it seemed to Jennie, a hundred pair of slippers crowded a worn recliner and battered TV table.
“I don’t know why you should be surprised, dear,” said Imelda, “I’ve been telling you how bad things have gotten.”
“Yes, I know,” Jennie snapped. “It’s just that, oh, I’d hoped you were –
“You thought I was exaggerating. You thought I was being too hard on the old dear. Don’t look shocked. Carson is dear to me. He’s my big brother and it hurts to see him ending up this way.”
Jennie turned away. She had never been able to picture her gentle father and Hurricane Imelda as loving siblings growing up together.
“Where is he anyway? He knew we were coming.”
“He must be taking Chet for a walk.”
“That beagle is so old I’m surprised it still can walk. Why is this record playing?”
“Oh, Dad told me he likes to hear music when he comes back into the house and you can’t rely on the radio; all you might hear is a traffic report.”
“The older he gets, the stranger he gets. If that’s not a sign that we’re doing the right thing I don’t know what is.” Imelda rushed to open the door as Chet’s doggy toenails scrambled up the front steps.
“Imelda, dear, did I know you were visiting today? And Jennie too! What a treat. Surely your aunt won’t spoil your visit with her usual song and dance about selling.”
“Carson, you know that Jennie loves you and she is only concerned for your well-being. And I’m sure once you see Mill Park Village you’ll know we’re right.”
“We? Are you in on this too, Jennie? No. I know you couldn’t be. Now, let’s sit down and have a nice visit.”
“Sit down where, brother mine? This place isn’t exactly ready for company.”
“Oh, dear, yes, you’re right, it is rather jumbled. Mrs. Jeffers from down the street has been helping me out with the housework but I’m afraid I just can’t remember when the last time she was here or when to expect her again. It’s so kind of her to help that I don’t want to bother her if it’s not her time.”
“Do not get me started on that Jeffers crew. Honestly, the way some people take advantage of the elderly gets me so stirred up.”
“Well, you’re no spring chicken yourself, Mellie.”
“Really, Carson, if you’re going to be insulting –“
“I’m sure Dad didn’t mean anything, Auntie. Look, it will only take a few minutes to clear off the table here and then we can have a nice pot of tea and a visit.”
Jennie retreated to the sweet refuge of the kitchen. The cupboards were orderly and the tea things easy to find. The milk was fresh and there was an unopened package of shortbread. There were signs of recent scrubbing and the bathroom just off the hallway was gleaming. Apparently Mrs. Jeffers wasn’t the lazy schemer Aunt Imelda envisioned. The front room must be Dad’s territory. Well, you can’t fault a man for being messy, thought Jennie; most of them are born that way. He’s just like my boys; needs somebody to yell at him about picking up his stuff.
“Come and get it, everybody. Look, Auntie, isn’t this nice? Dad’s lucky to have Mrs. Jeffers taking care of things back here.”
“It seems to me she’s only doing half the job.”
“Imelda, quit grousing. I don’t pay the woman very much and she does exactly what I ask of her.”
“That’s just another sign that you don’t know how to care for yourself any more, if you ever did. Good heavens, did you go out in public wearing those slippers?”
“I like wearing slippers. There’s nothing wrong with wearing slippers. Most of the problems in the world today are caused by people having sore feet. If everyone wore slippers there would be peace in our time.”
“Really, Carson, you are so silly sometimes. You must be going senile.”
“No, Auntie, I really think Dad’s got something there. Maybe we should get you a nice pair of slippers for Christmas.”
“Look at the two of you there grinning. I don’t think you realize the seriousness of this situation.” “What situation?” snapped Carson.
“Your situation” Imelda snapped back. “You are old. You are feeble in body and I’m beginning to think feeble in mind. You need constant supervision. You are a worry to the entire family.”
“If you are so damned worried why don’t I ever hear from you except when you want to bedevil me about selling my home? I don’t have any problems, but I think you do. Jennie, are you in on this? Do you really want to do this?
“Well, Dad, I’ve looked at some brochures and Mill Park certainly seems like a top notch place. Not at all like a -- well, how we used to think of a –
“Of an old folks home. You just want to put Chet and me away. I don’t understand. What have we done that’s so terrible?”
“Carson, stop that right now. Nobody is doing anything but looking out for your best interests. Here you are trying to make Jennie feel bad when all she wants to do is see that you’re well looked after.”
“I’m doing all right here in my own home.”
“Oh, Carson, look at this place.”
“Well, I’m not very tidy but that’s no crime. If I’d known you were coming I would have had Mrs. Jeffers come over. Next time try calling first.”
“Dad, there’s no reason for you and Aunt Imelda to fight. Maybe Mill Park won’t live up to its publicity and we won’t talk of it again. All we’re asking is that you come and check it out for yourself. It might be even better than Auntie thinks.”
Why should it matter so much what Auntie thinks? Maybe I’m not giving Dad enough credit.
“A man works all his life and all he asks is a little peace and quiet; time to enjoy his music, his dog and the park across the street and you can’t let him have even that little bit.”
The arm of the stereo bounced against the centre of the recording.
“Isn’t anyone going to do anything about that? I guess, as usual, things are left up to me” said Imelda marching to the front room.
“Good heavens, Carson, these letters are addressed to Hilda and she’s been gone almost five years. How can you let this go on?”
“I find it comforting to get those letters. It’s almost like your mother is still here. You understand, don’t you, Jennie?”
Jennie shook her head and turned away from her father’s appeal for support. She didn’t understand at all. Mother had never been the comforting sort. She’d been built more along Aunt Imelda’s design.
“I suppose I am being rather silly, dear,” Carson sighed. “I suppose it won’t do any harm to look at the place, especially if it will get your aunt off my back. You say it’s near a park? That will be nice for Chet.”
Jennie knelt down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. It felt good. We should get a dog for the boys, she thought.
“I don’t think they accept pets, Carson. Look at the poor old useless thing. Don’t you think it would be wise to do the kinder thing? I’ll consult with a veterinarian on our way back from Mill Park.”
“Imelda, you wouldn’t!”
Jennie stood up and gave her dad the hug he deserved. Well now I know how far I can be pushed, she thought. Don’t mess with my dog.
“Don’t worry, Dad. Aunt Imelda doesn’t have anything to say about Chet, or about you. We’re not going to visit Mill Park today. We won’t even talk about it unless you want to. Come on, Auntie, I’ll walk you out. Dad, I’ll be right back. I’m going over to Mrs. Jeffers to talk about what more we can do to help you out around here.”
“Jennie, you’re making a mistake,” Imelda said, getting into her car. “What am I going to tell Lou?”
You can tell Lou to stand on his own two feet thought Jennie. Why can’t I say that out loud?

Operation Lunchbox

That "special" sibling can be a real pain in the neck.

OPERATION LUNCHBOX
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall


Deedee wanted to smash her cereal bowl into a million pieces. How could anyone eat out of a bowl like that? A shiny new dish with no memories. Deedee took a quick look in the mirror. She didn’t look like a cereal bowl smasher. She still looked like the girl from Nova Scotia, too tall and too slim. Her long dark hair was parted on the side. At least today was a good hair day. Deedee’s braces were blue this month. Her manicured nails at the end of long fingers were painted hot apple. She couldn’t run with the cool crowd, but she wasn’t an obvious geek and not a geek by association.
It wasn’t fair she should have to worry about making new friends. Her old friends understood about her growth spurt and about Steven. Maybe she didn’t count but how could her parents uproot an autistic kid from everything familiar? The party line was Steven’s disability wasn’t going to keep them from being a normal family and normal families take advantage of career opportunities and move to stinking Toronto.
Dad left for work with his usual, “Have a good day.”
“Had a good day,” Steven shouted in his usual response. “Nice lunchbox.”
There had been some scary moments unpacking when Steven’s Zorro lunchbox, a flea market find in near mint condition, hadn’t been uncovered until the last crate. Apparently “Rainman” could adapt to a new city, house and school if he could eat his crackers with the masked avenger of old California.
“Here’s your lunchbox, pest.”
Deedee hurried out the door before Mom could offer a drive. The special needs kids and eighth grade class were in separate parts of the school. There was no chance of crossing paths with banana brain boy.
“Here comes the glamour girl,” Sara Brackman said to her crowed, giggling near the classroom door, about Mrs. Lane. She was always being knocked by the smart set for her flat shoes and ancient sweaters. Deedee took those comments to heart. Mrs. Lane had quickly become her favourite teacher, a kindred spirit with a dry sense of humour.
Mrs. Lane had announced a new project and Deedee hoped it would be something that would make her stand out in her teacher’s eyes. Maybe something to do with her great love, art.
“As you know,” Mrs. Lane began, “West Toronto Middle School has an exceptional special needs program. Staff and students are interesting and motivated individuals.”
Derisive snickers greeted that description of the retard class. Deedee wanted to cry. She didn’t want to run with the cool crowd, just fly under their radar. This couldn’t be happening.
“This morning we’ll learn about the physical and developmental challenges faced by your schoolmates in the multi-handicapped class,” Mrs. Lane continued. “Today will be the first of many lunches shared with the class. I call the project Operation Lunchbox. Our goal is inclusion. You will be meeting Margaret, who has Downs Syndrome. Justin suffers from epileptic seizures. Kenneth uses a wheelchair. Steven, Graham and Carol are diagnosed with autism, a developmental delay that impedes the ability to communicate. Graham can sing in perfect pitch and Steven draws amazing pictures on the computer.”
I have to have a plan, thought Deedee. I’ll just stay in the back of the class. I’ll keep quiet and Steven won’t even know I’m around. Unless, of course, he looks up! Okay. Quiet and scrunched down. It’s the best I can do.
The multi-handicapped class was large and bright. Everything in the room was labeled with a picture symbol and the corresponding word printed in block letters: DOOR, DESK, CHAIR, WALL and so on. Some eighth-graders pointed and laughed at the signs. Mrs. Lane laughed, too. “They’re rather like the icons we use on computers. I’d call it a universal language of imagery.”
It was free time before lunch. Steven was engrossed at the computer. Deedee crossed her fingers. If she were lucky Steven wouldn’t look away from the screen for hours.
Mrs. Lane explained that the students had plastic baskets holding recent work and favourite items. The grade eight class was invited to look through the baskets to acquaint themselves with their new friends. Deedee stayed scrunched down in the corner while the rest of the class milled around the lockers. Maybe I can sneak out to the girls’ room, thought Deedee. The cool gang was gathered around their leader, Sara. Deedee could make out the word “dorky” amid the superior laughter.
Deedee was making her way toward the door when a high-pitched squeal she recognized as Steven’s response to frustration stole everyone’s attention. Deedee knew stamping feet would soon join the squeal and maybe he’d start throwing things.
Yes, there was Steven throwing his plastic basket on the floor, stamping his feet and squealing. Steven’s teacher, a sincere young woman in her first full year on the job, was trying to calm him.
Life, thought Deedee, sucks. She walked over to the reviled relation and took him firmly by the shoulders. “Steven,” Deedee prompted, “I want?”
Steven stamped his feet.
Deedee made an effort to forget that she and her brother were now the center of attention and future grapevine headliners. Again she prompted, “Steven, I want?”
Steven yelled, “I want nice lunchbox.”
Deedee stood to her full height and calmly said, “Sara, I believe you have my brother’s nice lunchbox.”
It seemed a long moment before Sara Brackman came forward and handed Steven his treasured Zorro lunchbox.
Steven smiled at Sara and shouted, “Had a good day.” Sara looked so shocked and Steven looked so pleased that Deedee couldn’t keep from laughing. Suddenly everyone was laughing.
“It’s no surprise this is your brother,” Sara whispered to Deedee.
“It certainly isn’t,” said Mrs. Lane, smiling at Deedee. Artistic talent seems to run in the family.”
Deedee took Steven by the arm. Alright, you little fiend, let’s eat crackers.”

Flip Side

How do you fill up free evenings? Why not try something entirely different!

FLIP SIDE
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall


“Blue Rondo a la Turk”. That was it. That was the Brubeck tune on the flip side of “Take Five”. Ellen had been trying to remember the title since morning. It was her challenge du jour. She could have phoned the music-of-your-life radio station but shuddered at the thought of speaking with some young receptionist who didn’t know about flip sides.
The Curling Club was back in action tonight and Dennis and the boys would be eating out with the gang. “It won’t be the same without you, Mom,” Graham, her baby, had declared. But that was just the trouble; it would be the same.
Ellen defiantly splashed Ranch dressing on her mixed greens without benefit of measuring. Life and salad dressing should not be experienced a tablespoon at a time she decided. She lazily flipped to the “Happenings” section in the community newspaper with thoughts of getting a head start on some of the better garage sales. The notice spoke to her in large, friendly letters:
“St. Genesius Players Information Night
Celebrate our 33rd year of excellence in Community Theatre
Join us at Maple Heights Library at 8 PM tonight to learn how you can get involved.”
It’s 7:30 now. Well, t’were done, t’were best done quickly thought Ellen. No harm in going to the library. I can check out the discard bin and look the group over at the same time. No harm in that.
A winding staircase led down to the newly renovated meeting rooms. A large sign with an arrow read ST. GENESIUS PLAYERS. Someone had drawn smiley faces on the sign. Underneath someone else had printed in a fine calligraphic hand “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” Ellen exhaled a deep breath and started down the stairs. Three steps down was the cue for the Players.
“Somebody’s coming” was announced in a loud stage whisper.
“Nice shoes” giggled a soprano. “I wonder where she got them.”
“Nice legs” from a rumbly baritone. “I wonder where she got them.”
“She’s still coming down the stairs” chimed in a fourth voice.
“Good sign” responded the baritone. “Obviously doesn’t scare easily.”
“Welcome.” This from a core of nine people seated at an oblong table. A nervous group of mostly young people were seated on library benches. Most had 8 x 10 glossies and resumes. This is the right place but is it my please Ellen wondered.
“I’m Lil MacDonald,” said a bouncy blonde. “President of St. Genesius Players.”
Smiley faces, thought Ellen.
“Only until the next coup” remarked a heavy-set fellow with a twinkle in his brown eyes.
“That’s Harve. Ignore him,” said Lil. “Would you like a coffee?”
That would be the abandon-hope-guy, thought Ellen. “Yes” she said, “black, please.”
Posters and pictures from the group’s productions were on display. Ellen remembered seeing some of the shows years ago and being impressed. Lil distributed handouts outlining the Players upcoming season. Harve took center court with tales of past glories and missteps told with such humour that Ellen joined in the laughter as if she had been around the group for years.
The enthusiasm of the St. Genesius Players was contagious. A petite dynamo named Janice pointed out that actors had to audition but no such indignity was pressed upon anyone desiring to become part of the best backstage crew this side of 42nd Street. Anyone who had ever looked at a sewing machine had a friend for life in a quiet fellow named Abe. T.C. Williams, the director of the season’s first show, “The Importance of Being Earnest” was an intense young man with long, curly hair. He encouraged everyone to reacquaint themselves with Wilde’s classic comedy and return next week prepared to delight him with heretofore untapped talent.
The next week was the quickest and slowest Ellen had experienced since waiting for Frank to be born. It had been fun to share scrapbooks and programs from her High School Drama Club days with the boys. Graham had seemed happy to act as audience to Ellen’s version of a Joyce Grenfell monologue. He didn’t look too bored while Ellen explained that Ms. Grenfell was Granddad’s favourite British writer and character actress.
“Just don’t get your hopes too high,” Dennis advised the night of the audition. “I think these things are rigged.”
A simple “good luck” would have sufficed thought Ellen, but I guess he’s just looking out for me. I wish he’d kept his mouth shut though.
The church basement where the St. Genesius Players rehearsed was the site of the auditions. Stage Manager Janice had made the place as comfortable as possible with the abandoned couches and folding chairs available to her. The actors sipped out of paper cups and went through their individual pre-audition routines. One apparent veteran of the group was talking and laughing loudly with Janice. Ellen decided the noisy one was either very confident or very nervous.
Ellen smiled in recognition at a few of the people who had attended last weeks meeting and sought a quiet corner to look over her lines. A young woman named Sally, dressed in early bohemian, didn’t take the hint.
“Is this your first audition?” Sally asked, distractedly tearing at the sheet of paper she clutched. “This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. I didn’t think I’d feel so scared. Are you scared?”
“I haven’t done anything like this in years so I am a little anxious. I’m sure you’ll do fine. We both will. There’s nothing to worry about, really,” said Ellen. “After all, what’s the worse that can happen?”
Janice’s voice interrupted the forced positive thoughts. “Next up, Ellen Minter. Break a leg.”
Lil, Harve and T.C. certainly looked as non-threatening as they had the week before but the room was uncomfortably warm and everyone seemed to be swaying.
“What are you going to do for us this evening?” Harve smiled.
Ellen was surprised to find her voice working as she launched into “Committee”, a gentle swipe at the political machinations of an arts group Board of Directors. She hoped it would find an accepting audience with this Board. The first laugh almost made her stop to see what was so funny. Each chuckle and smile added to her confidence, which doubled when she finished to a smattering of applause and a thumbs up from Lil.
“That was very good, Ellen. Could you do it again using a British accent?” asked T.C.
“That was my British accent!” blurted Ellen.
T.C. mugged eye-popping surprise while Harve started shaking silently. T.C. began “Ellen, uh … after all…that is…uh…
“Well,” supplied Ellen, “that’s showbiz.”
In another second they were laughing like old friends.
“I know Jan would love to have you on her team,” offered Lil. “I think we all would.”
“You can always try out for “Plaza Suite” in the spring” said Harve. After all, the theatre is like life, there’s nothing as exciting as the next show.”
The next show, thought Ellen, as she sought Janice’s sign-up sheet. What an exciting flip side.

Della

This is a picture book - waiting for pictures.

DELLA
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall


Della crouched nearer the stove lashing her tail. She heard the scratching sounds again. A mouse was trying to get into the kitchen. One of the tall, skinny boys switched on the light. He learned down and rubbed Della’s ears.
“Good girl. We’ll all sleep better knowing Della the huntress is on the job.”
The boy poured a glass of milk. He left the empty carton on the counter, took a bag of cookies from the cupboard and went back to his room wishing Della “happy hunting.”
The mouse was very lucky or very smart because Della stayed by the stove all night and did not catch the intruder.

Music and counting was heard from the big room with the television set. Della knew that the woman was doing her bouncing and stretching. Della did not like to bounce but she liked to show the woman that when it comes to stretching no one does it better than a cat.

Della decides that a nice drink of water is just the thing after exercising. The nearest water dish does not belong to Della. The water dish belongs to Perry, the basset hound, and he does not like to share his things.
“Woof.”

Della always ignores Perry. Della never ignores the smell of coffee and the sound of the man opening the morning newspaper. Everyday the man tells Della that he cannot read the newspaper while she is sitting on it. Della likes this game very much. Her favourite part of the game is when the man slides the paper along the table and Della goes along for the ride.
“Go pester someone else, Your Highness.”

Della decides it is time to check on the two tall, skinny boys. They share a room at the very top of the house. Della has fun in the room chasing golf balls, tennis balls, baseballs, basketballs and footballs. When the boys are asleep Della likes to jump on them to wake them up. The boys are very loud. They laugh and shout.
“Someday, Della, we’ll jump on you then see how you like it.”
“Don’t you dare talk to my kitty that way.”
The girl with the long hair picks Della up and glares at her big brothers.
“Della is a queen and you two are lazy loafers.”

The girl with the long hair practices her flute every day. When Della was a kitten and the girl’s hair was not quite so long the music was very squeaky. Now there are not so many squeaks and the songs are very long.

Della decides it is time to take a nap on the back porch in her favourite patch of sunlight. Today the chubby boy who likes to sing is sitting in Della’s special spot. The chubby boy always hugs Della too tight because he loves her very much.

Della sniffs at the brown paper bag the boy is holding. The boy whispers in Della’s ear that he is going to run away. He has a bag of jelly sandwiches and he wants Della to run away too.
Della follows the chubby boy down the street to a cool, green park. Della has fun chasing squirrels and geese. The boy sits on a bench and eats jelly sandwiches. He holds Della on his lap and sings a sad song.

Della does not like jelly sandwiches. She decides it is time for a proper cat meal. She leaps down from the bench and looks at the boy.
“Meow.”
The boy looks at Della and smiles.
“Meow.”
The boy follows Della home.

All the Things You Are

Sometimes we "find ourselves" by looking in the wrong places.

ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall


The piped in music could barely be heard above the machinery and shouting on the factory floor. The Archer Greeting Card Company’s attempt to boost employee morale was viewed as joke by almost everyone except Bobbie Davis. Bobbie was a twenty-year member of the card packers union. There had been no music when, at sixteen, her first summer job had been at Archer. Yes, it was a strain to hear, but the day seemed to go by more quickly knowing the “Showboat” medley was just before lunchtime. Bobbie’s mom taught piano from home and Jerome Kern was her favourite composer.
The lunchroom was always a mess by the 12:30 shift. Today was Bobbie’s turn to start the coffee and wipe down the microwave. She almost didn’t see the job posting on the bulletin board, the job posting she had been dreaming of for months: “Secretary needed for sales office. Pleasant self-starter. Knowledge of Dictaphone and spreadsheets required.”
What’s got you tied up there, Sunshine?” Kate was Bobbie’s supervisor, sister-in-law and best friend. Kate looked over Bobbie’s shoulder at the notice board. “You looking to move up?”
“Not up exactly. I’m just ready for a change.”
“Change?” Audrey asked. There was no such thing as a private conversation in the lunchroom.
Kate took her coffee to her chair at the head of the table. “It seems our friend here wants to join the nail polish and nylons set.” She threw the job notice on the table.
“Do you know how to do all that computer stuff?” Susan sounded awed.
“It’s not that hard,” offered Colleen. “We have one at home. My husband plays games on it.”
“Well?” challenged Kate.
“I’ve been studying at night school. I took secretarial and computer skills, marketing, accounting. It’s been really interesting and ---“
“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“Kate, I didn’t want to say anything when I started in case I didn’t go through with it. Like all those sweaters Audrey was going to knit last year.”
“Hey!”
“And then, well, it seemed silly to mention when there were no job openings.”
“There are plenty of office jobs around,” Kate countered.
“Sure. But I wouldn’t dream of leaving Archer.”
“So why do you want a change?” asked Susan. “You don’t like being one of us or you just want to be one of them?”
“It’s not an us or them thing. It’s a me thing. Last fall, the first parent/teacher night at Julie’s new school, I’d had to work late and rushed to the meeting in jeans and Craig’s old hockey jacket. I was my reflection in a window and I – well, I didn’t want to be that woman.”
“Did Julie say something?” Kate asked. “You know how kids are.”
“No.”
“Was the teacher a jerk?”
“No.”
“Has Craig ever said he wanted to trade you in?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s something I want for me.”
“They won’t let you in,” said Susan.
“What?”
“The office is another world. You’re one of us and they won’t let you be one of them.”
“Where do you get such ideas? I’m going to submit my application now. I bet I get an interview before the week is out.”
“You’ll get the interview because they’ll have to give you one,” called Kate, “but that’s as far as you’ll get.”
Craig and Julie were more supportive than her co-workers and by the morning of the interview Bobbie was feeling some of her initial excitement. Her one good suit, a navy Chanel-like skirt and blazer didn’t seem to fit as well as when purchased four years earlier but it felt right.
Archer’s office building was a pastel, air-conditioned heaven. Mr. Hillier apologized for keeping Bobbie waiting and offered her a cup of coffee. They eased into the interview on common ground. Last years’ Christ party, children – they grow up so fast.
Mr. Hillier glanced at Bobbie’s carefully prepared resume. How she had agonized even over which font to use. Mr. Hillier congratulated Bobbie on her accomplishment at night school. He had no idea she wasn’t happy in her current position. Management was more than pleased with her contribution and loyalty. Maybe someday she would be the company’s first lady foreman. Not to mention that tidy nest accumulating in her company stock plan. A plan, by the way, not currently available to administrative staff.
Somewhere in the middle of Mr. Hiller’s rambling Bobbie realized that he was trying to let her down easy. The job had never been hers. Mr. Hillier said something about looking forward to next years’ Christmas party and told her to take the rest of the day off.
The Eastside Mall had recently undergone a makeover from a discount strip to an upscale shopping center. That afternoon Bobbie made her first visit since the grand reopening. Where else would one shop while wearing a faux Chanel and uncomfortable shoes? Why not splurge on a foamy coffee? Who deserved a treat more? She could go for a decent cup.
The Coffee Pub boasted suitably outlandish prices and a clientele with time and money to spend. The owner was a sophisticated looking redhead who smiled at Bobbie, passed a warning look to an underling and concocted the order out of thin air.
That lady obviously has everything together, thought Bobbie. The only free chair was too close to the serving counter for privacy and comfort. How appropriate, the loser sits next to the kitchen. I should have asked for chocolate sprinkles instead of cinnamon. I should have stayed in bed this morning. Oh, it doesn’t matter what I should have done. What should I do?
“Look, this is ridiculous. We’ve been open less than a month and I’m two months behind in paperwork. I’ve got to be able to depend on you to cover so I can concentrate on this stuff.”
The redheaded boss lady was giving that young fellow more than a look this time. She’s looking at the situation backwards, thought Bobbie. What she needs is office help, not counter help. She needs to outsource her clerical work to a bright, energetic, motivated individual who graduated near the top of her class at secretarial school.
Bobbie almost laughed out loud. In the space of a moment she had gone from a loser to – what? Roberta Davis, entrepreneur! Why not? Her mother had a piano in the parlor. She could turn her pantry into an office. Okay. Maybe this is the woman I want to be.
First thing, type resignation, cash in stock options, take Craig and Julie somewhere special to celebrate, get business cards and talk to Red here. Okay. Slow down. First thing, finish this wonderful cinnamon coffee.

All the Love in the World

A young family is faced with the prospect of having a "special needs" child.

ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall


Lisa stopped outside the kitchen when she heard Charlotte asking again for a puppy. I’ll let Ray handle it this time. He knows how I feel about it.
“Sweetie, if I tell you a secret maybe you’ll understand why you have to wait a while longer for a puppy you can call Barnaby.”
What’s a secret? thought Lisa. There’s no such thing as a secret in this family. What was it with all those television shows with wives trying to find special ways to announce their pregnancy? Ray actually told me number two was on the way. He knows more about my cycle than I do. Now that he’s told Charlotte he’ll probably blab to his whole family.
“Mommy, can we call the new baby Barnaby?”
“Charlotte, what is that sticky stuff all over your hands? Young ladies do not run in the house. I don’t think Barnaby is really such a good name for the baby, do you?”
Honestly, I thought by the time Charlotte was in school fulltime she’d stop being such a baby. I love kids as much as anybody but there’s something to be said for a good night’s sleep and a living room decorated in something other than early childhood.
“Mommy has to see her doctor this afternoon. Maybe, if you’re a good girl, Daddy can take you for an ice cream while I have my appointment.”
“Hon, you don’t mind if I come with you to see Dr. Parker, do you? Charlotte can play in the waiting room and then we can all go out for dinner.”
“Yah!”
“Well, if you really don’t mind.”
These young doctors must take radio-announcing courses thought Lisa. Her voice is always so low and soothing even when she’s saying things like spina bifeda or Down Syndrome. Funny, I never noticed how hopelessly ugly the prints are in this office.
“You can’t be sure of anything at this point. The tests could be wrong or incomplete.” Ray’s voice sounded like it came from far away but Lisa knew he was sitting right beside her squeezing her hand.
“Of course we’ll arrange further tests and, you’re right, these results may very well turn out to be wrong. I don’t want to worry you needlessly but it’s just as important for you to be prepared.”
“Oh, we don’t care what the baby is as long as it’s healthy. How often did we say that when we were expecting Charlotte? Everyone says it. Do they really know what they are saying?”
“I’m healthy, Mommy.”
“You’re perfect, honey. Now why don’t you go over and play on the swings? Mommy and I will be right over here by the fountain.”
“The park is awfully quiet today.”
“You shouldn’t have said that in front of Charlotte”, Ray sighed. “We don’t even know if anything is wrong with the baby. Not yet. Not for sure.”
“We have to start thinking about our options, Ray.”
“Options?”
“That’s why Dr. Parker – that’s what she –
“Lisa, honey, I’m sure that’s not what the doctor meant. Look, you don’t have to worry. This baby already has all the love in the world going for it. Even if there are problems you know you can count on me.”
What? I know I can. Oh, you’re thinking about the MacKenzies. Frank leaving right after little Timmy was born. No. You’re not like that. I know.”
“Look at how well Alice handles things, and all on her own too. And Tim, he’s a bright kid and cute as a button. Charlotte loves playing with him Down Syndrome doesn’t bother her.”
I honestly think Ray believes what he’s saying, thought Lisa. Sure, Tim’s a cute kid but I certainly don’t want Charlotte continuing this friendship into their teen years. AS for the great way Alice handles things, doesn’t he have any idea – she lost her husband – and the battles she’s had getting Tim schooling. Everybody talks a good game but the bottom line is nobody wants these kids around but if I say so I’ll be treated like a villain. Ha. I’m the only honest one. I’ll bet Alice wishes Timmy had never been born. Late at night I bet that’s what she wishes.
“You know, Hon, maybe it would be a good idea to talk to Alice. Just in case. I mean, we don’t know anything for sure yet but it couldn’t hurt.”
“No. I don’t want the whole world in on our business. I didn’t even want Charlotte to know about the baby yet.”
“I think talking with someone like Alice is more what Dr. Parker had in mind.”
“I don’t want to talk about it now.
This has been the longest week of my life. Ray is trying way too hard with his looking at the bright side. Who does he think he’s kidding?
“Hon, are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself? We can cancel today.”
“Don’t be silly. Charlotte so enjoys the Fall Fair, and we promised to take Alice and Tim. I just am not up to roller coasters today. You understand.”
“I don’t feel right leaving you when you’re under the weather.”
“But, Ray, I’d rather be on my own. I’m going to sleep all day and everything will be fine.”
“We’ll cut the day short.”
“Don‘t you dare. Charlotte wants to see the fireworks. Now you two get going.”
“Bye, honey. Love you.”
I love you too. That’s why I’m doing what I have to do. It’s best for all of us. I know in his heart of hearts Ray will be relieved. After all, there wouldn’t be so many abortion clinics in the city if it was really wrong. Of course, Ray’s going to feel guilty about me losing the baby while they were out having fun. I can see it now. I’ll be smothered with kindness and Charlotte will be moping all over the place. They’ll have to be distracted. Maybe I’ll have to give in on that puppy business after all.

Alice Garden

A romance set at a cancer facility.

ALICE GARDEN
by
Patricia Nolan-Hall

Mrs. Alice Garden adjusted the name tag on her lavender smock. All the volunteers at the cancer centre were identified by their lavender smocks and their overtly friendly name tags. Mrs. Garden might have adapted more easily to the annoying smiley face on the badge if some dignity had been preserved by it proclaiming “Mrs. Garden” instead of only her first name. Some of the younger staff had taken to calling her “Ali.” The presumption was almost unbearable. But the color of the smock was a fortunate choice for Alice. It perfectly complimented her hair, which after the chemo five years before had grown back beautifully and gleaming silver. If left to grow, Alice’s hair would rival any of those retouched shampoo commercials on television, but she felt it would almost amount to gloating in front of the patients. So she wore her hair short, with curls her only concession to vanity.
Where was that girl with today’s schedule and where was everyone else? It was almost eight o’clock. Whatever happened to punctuality? Alice paced the cramped boardroom the hospital had designated for its volunteer corp. She paused by the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her prosthetic brassiere gave her body a
symmetrical shape she hadn’t had before her mastectomy. No one passing her on the street no one would ever guess she was mutilated.
The door opened and Alice’s image gave way to the six foot frame of Jack McDonald, or “Jackie”, as his smiley face tag declared.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Good morning, Mr. McDonald.”
Jack leaned against the door laughing. His voice was a smooth, deep baritone and the laugh pleasing. Alice Garden, however, was not pleased. She did not like being laughed at.
“I’ve been thinking about things and I have a proposal,” said Jack. “If you will deign to call me Jack, I will refrain from calling you Ali. How does that sound?”
“What about the sunshine business?”
“Oh, that stays. There’s a glow inside you, Alice Garden, and your trying to hide it won’t stop me from seeing it.”
Alice couldn’t keep from blushing while she tried to think of a retort. It wasn’t right. Jack was somewhere in his sixties. He was maybe fifteen years her senior. It didn’t matter that he flirted with everyone, or maybe it did.
“Where do you suppose everyone else is this morning?” asked Alice.
“It’s November 30th, Deck-the-Halls day. They’re hauling the trees and things out of storage. Speaking of which, I picked up these novelty pins for the gang.”
Alice looked in the shoe box filled with pins shaped like wreaths, snowmen, Santa and the obligatory Rudolph with a nose that lighted up.
“Rudy is mine but you get first choice, or aren’t you a Christmas person?”
“I happen to be a well-known Christmas person, mister – Jack. In my family I’ve always been considered somewhat annoying when it comes to December festivities. I’ll take this jolly Santa. Thank you.”
Alice turned away to add the jolly Santa to her smock. She hadn’t lied. She had always been a Christmas person, until the last year. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to try to get those holiday feelings back. She owed it to her children, grown as they were and Leslie expecting her first. But how do you get back feelings that have been stolen?
“I spoke with Liz on the way in and we’re in Chemo Daycare today. The boss seems to think we are uniquely suited to help our celebrity patient adjust to his treatment.”
“Celebrity patient?” asked Alice.
“Didn’t you see the headlines? Young Hockey Star’s Brave Battle with Cancer. Medal Winner Jared Burton Stricken. Out for Season.”
“Jared Burton!”
“Are you a fan, Alice?”
“I had Jared in my grade 10 and 11 English class at St. Thomas. My late husband was his coach. Such a nice boy and such a hard worker. Oh, he’s so young.”
“They’ve set up space for him on the 7th floor, worried people will bother him for autographs and such.”
“As if people don’t have enough on their minds.”
Alice thought of the 7th floor as the Civil War stop. The blue and gray color scheme extended from the wall paint and trim to the choice of prints and artificial flowers.
Jared Burton, his blonde hair fashionably gelled and wearing an over-sized jersey, looked no older than the sincere and intense student Alice remembered.
“Mrs. Garden!” Jared’s impulsive hug was accepted awkwardly.
“Please. Alice. Jared, I’m – I’m so sorry to see you here.”
“Well, it’s not everyone’s idea of a get-away but the company is first-rate. I’m Jackie MacDonald, Mr. Burton, and pleased to meet you. I’m a big fan.”
“Thank you. Please, just call me Jared.”
“Jared, I’m going to say something that I know I’ll be hearing you say someday. Next month I’ll be six years cancer-free.”
“Say, that’s great. Let me shake your hand, sir. Maybe some of your luck will rub off on me. You and Alice must be a real inspiration to everyone here. You’ll have to excuse me. I haven’t gotten used to the idea of being a patient. Everything happened so fast. The diagnosis and all. I’m supposed to be in New York now. First long road trip of the season and all.” Jared put his hands in his jeans pockets and turned to look out the window.
“Mister…I mean, Jackie, why don’t you get us some coffee? Some of the good stuff from the place next door.”
“Right you are. I’ll be back in a flash.”
Alice sighed as she closed the door behind Jack. She was almost three years cancer-free but couldn’t bring herself to brag about the fact. It might have been three weeks for all the relief it gave her. So many people still didn’t get to say those words.
“He seems like a nice guy.”
“Mr. MacDonald? Yes. Yes, he is nice.
“How do the girls like him?”
“Oh, all the girls like Jackie. He sees to that. Nurses, patients, volunteers – they all like him.”
“No. I meant your girls.”
“My girls? They haven’t met Mr. MacDonald. Why should – oh, you think – there’s no – nothing – well, my goodness. What makes you – ?”
“I just thought you looked like a couple when you came in. He seems to like you though. After all, it’s a couple of years since Coach, uh, died, and well, people do move on.”
“Move on. I imagine some people do, but it’s not that easy. Besides, I have other things to fill my time. I’m busy here and I’m going to be a grandmother any time now.”
“Really? Wow, that’s cool. Coach would have – Alice, did you see the paper today? They called me brave. I’m not. I don’t think I am. I don’t feel special but they act like I am. Coach was the strongest man I ever knew and he – what really happened?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Jared. I guess it starts with me. I’m afraid it starts with me. We had a rough time. You see, I always thought of it as our cancer, our fight. I was scared, just like you are now. All of us are scared but something keeps us going no matter how rough it gets, and boy did it get rough. Maybe that’s the thing people call courage. Well, I was pretty proud of us. We’d beaten this thing. When Les was diagnosed it was a blow but, well, I thought we’ve been here before and we’ll beat it again.”
“But Coach couldn’t face another battle.”
“He was tired, worn out. Maybe if he wasn’t tired he could have found the courage. I don’t – I still don’t understand. He was the one thing that kept me fighting, Les and the girls. Why couldn’t I be that one thing for him? It’s not as if he even gave up. He never even tried. Why? Why didn’t he think he could face the fight?”
Alice accepted the tissue box from Jared.
“You’re a bad influence on me, young man.”
“Not so bad, I think,” Jared replied.
“I try so hard not to think about it, but I guess it’s all I ever do think about. I’m still angry with Les for not finding his courage, or maybe he did – I don’t know. I’m even angrier at myself for holding onto my hurt.”
“Angry? I think I know what you mean. I’m angry at being sick.”
“Use it, Jared. Get angry and get fighting.”
“Maybe though, after a while anger will – well, maybe it won’t be so helpful.”
“Maybe you’re right, young man. Oh, I know you are right. It doing me no good to hang unto the anger. It’s just not so easy to get rid of.
“Home is the hero” Jackie announced.
“An empty-handed hero” Alice retorted as she slipped the tissue in the wastebasket.
“Our coffee will be here directly and personally delivered by the cutie with the freckles”, replied Jackie with a sink. “She’s dying to meet our young phenom.”
“Doesn’t that rather negate the whole privacy issue?”
“I don’t think so,” said Jackie.
“Well, wouldn’t you agree this is not the proper time to start playing matchmaker?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that, either.”
“Alice might be right, mister – I mean, Jackie.”
“Now, surely a young fellow like yourself isn’t afraid of meeting a little girl with freckles” Jackie laughed. “I’m not setting you up for marriage or anything like that; I just thought maybe you could help me out.”
“Help? How?”
“Well, you see there’s a Christmas Dance for volunteers coming up and I’ve been kind of shy about getting a date.”
“Jackie MacDonald, shy, that’s a good one.” Alice tried focusing on the flower arrangement, hoping her blush wasn’t too noticeable. She was thinking about a green dress she’d seen in a boutique window, and the fun she missed having at Christmas.
“What can I do, Jackie?” Jared placed one hand on the older man’s shoulder and the other hand around Alice.
“We volunteers can bring guests to the party and I think the lady in question might not object to a double-date. My idea is, you take the cutie from the shop, and this lovely lady here might give me a tumble. I think it’s worth a try. After all, faint heart ne’er won fair lady.”
A knock on the door announced the arrival of the special delivery.
“Well,” said Jared as he gave Alice a little hug, “no faint hearts around here. I’ll get the door.”