Mud Girl by Alison Acheson Page A

eyes, she tries hard not to see that man at the kitchen table. Instead she tries to wrap her mind around the moment that Jude kissed her…or the moment he said he wanted his friends to meet her…but the memory won’t stay still. Strangely, all she does see is Dyl settling into that chair, waiting for his grandmother.
    At last she hears Dad get up from the table and plod to his room. She hears the creak of his old metal-frame bed, then all is still. It’s very dark outside the window, with that alive stillness of summer night, the gurgle of the river water.
    T he sun wakes her again. Again, she sees the red of the scarf on the over-turned box beside the bed. She pulls her pillow up behind her, and sits and knits. It takes a couple of rows to feel comfortable, to find a rhythm. She likes how her breathing and thoughts follow the pace. From the living room, she hears the morning strains of “O Canada.” From under the house, she hears the river.
    Why did my mother leave?
    She puts the knitting down and pulls on shorts, leaves on the T -shirt she wore to bed.
    There’s a thunk at the front door, the phone books that are delivered every summer. The heavy white pages book thatincludes all the city listings and the slim local white and yellow. Here there are job possibilities.
    She sits at the table, with a bowl of Muffets and milk between herself and the book, and flips through the pages. She sees a full-page ad for the lunch place, Mack’s Coffee. It’s in the Industrial Park, walking distance. Oh well. Rule out that one. There are a lot of other businesses in the Park. Maybe she should just walk there and take the résumés. Dad used to work there, at the Milwood Homes place. Abi doesn’t like the idea of running into any of his old workmates. Hadn’t thought of
that
when she phoned the coffee shop. Maybe it’s just as well she never got to the interview. Still. There are only so many jobs around here, and if she gets something that doesn’t require bus fare, it’s like earning an extra half-hour’s wages.
    There’s the recycling place, the ice arena – they probably have a concession. How about driving the Zamboni? Ha! The tire store – can’t be anything there for her. All those auto places. RV rentals. She could work the desk and then, when she hears someone plotting a trip to the Maritimes, she could stow away.
Dreamin’!
Then there’s all those big windowless buildings with BIG orange or red names – words like BAMCO or LIDSCON . Who knows what. Does anyone actually like working in those places? Maybe they really enjoy the lunch break at Mack’s. Maybe she should go and talk to the manager,and explain to him about Jude, and having to look after Dyl. No, she couldn’t; it would be just too embarrassing.
    She plops her bowl and spoon in the sink, rinses them out, puts them in the dish rack. There’s a paper boat caught in the wires of the rack. She pulls it out.
    She crumples it into the garbage.
    Dad doesn’t notice Abi passing in front of his chair, going into his room, rustling through his clothes closet. There’s another skirt. Denim. Almost new. Here’s the white shirt. The juice stain still shows. She goes through the other clothes and finds a summer dress she doesn’t remember. It’ll do. It’ll have to.
    She takes it to her room and puts it on. Her mirror doesn’t allow her to see anything below her waist, so she can’t really see what the dress looks like, unless she stands on her tiptoes, close to the mirror. She’s suddenly conscious of her hair, untrimmed and longer than it’s ever been. She remembers how Mum always pulled it into a loose sort of ponytail, doubled up in an elastic, and she tries to do the same. It’ll have to do.
    She puts the résumés in the folder that the Career and Personal Planning teacher gave out, and slings the purse over her