City Pictures

Chapter 1

Moving into the Ugly House

THE HOUSE DAD had rented for us was the ugliest on the street. It was covered with fake grey brick siding, all two storeys. The upstairs windows glared over a sloping veranda roof.

The wire fence was bent, once painted white but now flaking. It leaned toward the sidewalk, pushed out of place by the overgrown caragana hedge.

Mom and Bonnie, my six-year-old sister, got out of the Chevy Silverado and walked through the space where a gate was supposed to be. Our dog Archie and I stayed in the back seat, staring at nothing. He whined, and I put my arm around him.

We had just moved to Calgary from Gardin, a small ranching town in southern Alberta. My dad had started a new job with Medallion Meats, a large international meat-packing plant. He was an account executive, but training to be a general manager, learning everything from buying cattle to selling the meat, and working in a different department every month. He already knew a lot about the packing-plant business because he’d worked in them since college, and had been marketing manager at the plant in Gardin, his last job. His training might last two years, but maybe less. My dad was smart, so it probably wouldn’t take that long. Then he would be sent to run one of the company’s branches in another city.

Mom, Bonnie, and I had remained in Gardin until school was out, while Dad had camped out in the new house in Calgary. Mom said that for once I was going to finish a grade in the same school. I had started Grade Five in Calgary, transferred to Fort McMurray, and then finished in Regina—three schools in two provinces. Somehow I’d managed to pass. Last year, I completed the entire Grade Six year in Gardin. Now, I was facing another school, but at least with a clean start in September, beginning junior high—Grade Seven—here in the city.

Dad had moved to the city at the end of May, and he’d rented this house near to our grandparents’ homes. He’d emailed us photos of another house, one that looked nice, but then had changed his mind at the last minute, choosing this historic one instead.

Dad’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Farquhar, lived in a big old house a couple of blocks away and I knew we’d visit often. This summer they were going on a cross-Canada trip in their camper with their RV club. Mom’s parents, Alison and Wynn, had tons of money and lived in a high-rise condo on the south side of the Bow River, near downtown, when they were in residence, as Wynn described being at home. They also had a condo at a golf resort in Invermere in the mountains, where they would be spending most of the summer, and another condo at a resort in Palm Springs for their winter residence, so we didn’t expect to see much of them. Still, having grandparents nearby made us feel like we really belonged here. I hoped Dad’s new job would work out. He’d quit a lot of jobs. He said this opportunity was his best ever, after being there for just over one month.

I opened the back door of our crew-cab. Archie jumped out, ran over to the gateway, sniffed, and lifted his leg. This was staking his territory in dog language, or so my best friend in Gardin, Lori Swenson, had told me. I suddenly missed her.

As soon as I’d known we’d be moving back to the city, I had texted and phoned Emma, who had been my best friend when we’d lived in Calgary before. She’d sounded happy to hear I was moving back, but said, Sorry, Sherri, I won’t be able to see you until the end of summer. I’m spending the holiday with Kayla. Her family has a cottage at Sylvan Lake. I’ll be learning to water-ski. See you when I get back!

Yeah, sure. Have a great time … I’d said. Send me some pictures.

Now, I glumly followed Mom and Bonnie up the sidewalk. The lawn was dried out, but at least there was a lawn, not like in Gardin where our front yard was all dandelions and couch grass. A peony bush lay splattered on the ground, its fading flowers too heavy for the stems. A few plants in a weedy flowerbed sprouted small blue, white, and pink flowers. Mom stopped and pulled a weed. I knew what we were in for.

A big veranda stretched across the front of the house. We can play out here, Sherri! Bonnie said.

She had to be kidding. I would be turning thirteen in three days, on July 1. I was not going to sit on this front porch playing games with my six-year-old sister.

The screen door bellied out, rusty and ripped along the sides. Mom lifted the doormat, found the key Dad had left and unlocked the heavy wooden door.

Bonnie stopped partway through the door. Oh! she said. I pushed her ahead and looked around. The entrance hall was panelled in a dark, rich wood. A staircase ran up to the right, its carved wooden banister dark and shining. I ran my hand over the smooth swirl. At the upper landing was a tall window with a deep sill, a perfect place to sit and read a book on a rainy Saturday.

It smells stuffy. This place needs a good airing. Mom paused in the doorway, sniffing like a health inspector. I followed Bonnie up the stairs, anxious to see our bedrooms.

Look, Sherri, Dad has put our names on our doors! I looked at little plaques that said SHERRI and BONNIE, and imagined Dad buying them, and then checking out each room to choose which one would be hers and which one would be mine. Dad had set up our beds and dressers, but our stuff was still in boxes.

My bedroom had two corner windows; one that overlooked our backyard, the other that faced the house and yard next door. I looked out to the neighbours’ yard and saw a girl suntanning in a pink-and-black polka-dot bikini. Her blond hair was pulled back in a French braid. Headphones clamped onto her ears were likely blasting cool music while at the same time she was busily scrolling or swiping at images on her iPad. I thought she might be fourteen, just a year older than me. Even from this distance, I could see she was beautiful.

I then checked out the window that looked into our back yard. A tree! A towering Manitoba maple tree filled one corner, its green branches sweeping the yard. Dad had hung a swing from a long branch, with a shining new rope holding up a bright red wooden seat.

Oh, Dad! I’m too old now! When we lived here in Calgary a long time ago, we’d had a yard with a tree and swing. I had talked about it when we first moved to Gardin, where the flat, treeless prairie had made me so sad. We’ll have a yard with a tree again, Sherri, I promise, Dad had said. Here it was, and I was too old to swing, or to play house or dolls or crafts, or whatever games were of interest to little kids like Bonnie, on the shady veranda.

I’ve got a secret panel in my closet! Bonnie burst into my room, grabbed my hand, and rushed me next door. Her room was identical to mine.

Bonnie, look! I pointed up to the light, but Bonnie had already disappeared into her closet. I hadn’t noticed if my light was the same as hers, and I ran back to check. Yes! I had angels, too: our ceiling lights were little chandeliers with brass angels holding three small candle-shaped bulbs.

I didn’t want to ever leave this house.

Sherri, come here! Oh, yes, Bonnie was still in the closet. She had lifted up a piece of different-coloured wood from her closet floor and found a secret compartment about the size of a large jewellery box. Cool. If I ever started writing in a diary again, that’s where I’d keep it. Maybe I’d leave notes, date them so they appeared to be a hundred years old, and, if we ever moved—no, I wouldn’t think of that—the next people who lived here might find them and think they’d found historical treasures. I could write anything: pretend I was in hiding like Anne Frank, or was the victim of an experiment of a mad scientist, like Frankenstein’s poor monster.

My closet did have a secret space. Although I never told Bonnie about mine, she turned out to be a cleverer detective than I’d thought a six-year-old could be.

The bathroom, on the same floor as the three bedrooms, had a sink shaped like a seashell, a toilet with a wooden seat, and a deep old-fashioned bathtub set upon short scrolled legs shaped like lions’ feet.

Mom had opened the downstairs windows and every cupboard door in the kitchen to air them out. When I went downstairs, she was busy pulling out the fridge shelves to clean them. The stuffy smell would get chased out real quick.

I’m sure glad this weird old house is ours, Bonnie said.

Yeah, me too. Even if it’s only for a little while … like all our other places, I added.

•

WHEN DAD CAME home from work that day, he picked Bonnie up and whirled her around. He seemed about to do the same with me, but stopped. I guess you’re too big to hug, he said shyly.

No, I’m not! I threw myself into his arms.

Tell us about your new job, Daddy! said Bonnie.

It’s going great, honey. The boss says he’s impressed. Pretty soon I’ll be ready to take over my own plant. Won’t that be nice?

I had to smile and look happy. But inside, I felt awful. Please, no! I didn’t want to move again!

Alison and Wynn have arranged a birthday dinner at the club on the evening of June 30, to celebrate Sherri becoming a teenager, Mom announced. All the grandparents are leaving for their summer vacations on July 1, so that’s the plan.

What? We all looked surprised, especially Dad. But then his look changed to a big smile. Anything for my girls! he said and cracked open a beer.

•

AS PROMISED, IT was certainly a big celebration dinner, especially for a thirteen-year-old’s birthday, but it was wonderful. Alison and Wynn had taken charge of all arrangements at the Glencoe Club, where they were members. The place was fabulous! Grandma and Grandpa Farquhar and Dad gawked as if they’d found themselves in Wonderland. Mom looked totally at home because she’d grown up here, taking figure skating and playing badminton and tennis. I had a fleeting image of a princess marrying a pauper, like in fairy-tale books, but quickly dismissed such images from my mind. Dad and the Farquhars weren’t peasants! Didn’t their coat of arms show a black lion on a silver shield? Dad looked very handsome in his dark suit, like the black lion, and when he was a general manager he would likely be making more money than most of the people here.

Dinner was excellent—served to us in an exclusive event room. Bonnie and I had fun trying to pronounce and figure out some of the menu items: Porcini-infused Mushroom Velouté with Prosciutto Grissini (that was a soup).

The dinner was Alison and Wynn’s gift, plus an invitation to visit them in the fall to discuss perhaps enrolling in some sport lessons through the club, eligible as the granddaughter of longstanding members. Wow!

Grandma and Grandpa Farquhar gave me a handmade throw for my bed and fifty dollars. Mom and Dad’s present was a membership to the YWCA, a funny contrast to Wynn and Alison’s offer. Nothing was said, but Mom looked a bit embarrassed while Dad grinned widely, saying I’d soon be in top physical shape with these two athletic memberships. Go, Dad!

Chapter 2

Hairy Harry

THE NEXT MORNING, on my birthday, a knock sounded at the door, and we turned to see Harry grinning at us from the doorway. Harry was my dad’s best and oldest friend. He was six-and-a-half feet tall, weighed two hundred fifty pounds, and had wild black hair and a beard. He looked like a wrestler. The bad one.

Uncle Harry! Bonnie ran to let him in. He ruffled our hair—come on! I’m too old for that!— and looked admiringly around the house.

Sure are getting it spruced up, Pauline, he said. Takes a woman to get things in shape.

He turned to me. I remember a little girl coming into this family thirteen years ago! He handed me a gift, wrapped in newspaper. I opened it to see a lovely china ornament of a prancing horse.

Your dad said you liked riding horses out there on the ranch, he said shyly, so I thought until you could get a real one, this would do.

Oh, thank you! I said, hugging him.

That’s very thoughtful of you, Harry. Mom said. Sherri did indeed love riding.

Harry had never married. His girlfriends, when he mentioned them, had names like Honey and Ginger and Babe. But Dad told us Harry had a new lady friend, and we were going to meet her in a