GOOD ENOUGH
A SHAY JAMES MYSTERY
BY BRENDA MCCREIGHT
Copyright @2010 Brenda McCreight
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Brenda McCreight at 229 Milton Street, Nanaimo BC Canada V9R 2K5.
Good Enough
A Shay James Mystery
Chapter One
Happy Birthday
Some kids have parents who are doctors or farmers. Other kids’ parents are mill workers or teachers. Shay James’ parents were drug dealers. As Shay learned very early in life, parents who use and sell illegal drugs don’t have a lot of time or energy for taking care of their children. In fact, they don’t have much time for anything but themselves. Still, Shay often reminded herself, they weren’t total wipe outs as parents; they had taught her some useful things. For example, they taught Shay how to wait. As a little kid, Shay learned to wait for her parents to feed her, or put her to bed, or to return to the dingy motel rooms they hid out in each time they ran from overdue bills or drug deals gone bad. When she was older, and the social workers took her away from her mom and dad and put her into foster care, Shay learned to wait for her parents on their scheduled visits and to wait for their occasional telephone call or email. Yesterday, though, she finally gave up waiting when they still hadn’t called to wish her “Happy Fourteenth Birthday” by the time she had to go to bed.
Shay shook her head hard, as if the motion could fling out the sadness that lived like a creepy little spider in the darkest corner of her mind. She reached her arm out from under the thick layers of warm blankets and squashed the alarm button before it woke her younger roommate, Larissa, who was still sound asleep on the upper bunk. Shay watched above her while Larissa’s mattress sagged and bounced with each turn and roll of the girl, the movements of the old, thin mattress making it look as if it had a life of its own. Shay could see Larissa’s outline as the girl once again rolled over, mumbled a few words in her sleep, and then snorted loudly. Larissa’s endless wiggling and her noises on the top bunk made Shay think of a giant freckle-faced, red-haired mouse, endlessly burrowing deeper and deeper into its nest.
The thought brought out a giggle in Shay that she quickly suppressed. She didn’t want Larissa to wake up just yet because this morning she yearned for just a few minutes to lie quietly and be alone with her thoughts without having to endure Larissa’s constant chatter. Shay liked the privacy of the early morning when her foster father left for the early shift at the shingle mill, and her foster mom made clanging noises in the kitchen downstairs as she bustled around cooking a big breakfast for the two foster girls. Shay felt comforted knowing that in this house there was always enough food and warmth.
Shay stretched her arms out from under the covers and then quickly retreated back inside the cosiness of the worn flannel sheets. She thought about the birthday party her foster parents had thrown for her yesterday. It had been okay. Not great, but okay. That was another thing Shay’s parents taught her – nothing was ever going to be really good for her – the best she should hope for was okay. ‘Okay’ at her birthday meant the foster parents gave her a cool cake with fourteen candles that all played a tinny-sounding “Happy Birthday” song when she flicked the little switch on their side. Shay had only been with these foster parents, Dave and Jolene Halliwell, for four months, but they were nice people even if they were kind of old. They had even given her a pair of pretty winter gloves and twenty dollars toward a bridle for her favourite horse.
The foster parents had invited Shay’s new social worker, Sue Osner, to the party and Sue had driven all the way out from her office in Nelson with a birthday present. It was a DVD of a movie that Shay had never heard of, but she knew that social workers couldn’t give anything too important or special in case Shay, or any kid, got the idea that the social worker actually liked her.
“I’m sorry your parents haven’t called yet, Shay,” the young woman had said as she seated herself in the overstuffed chair beside the crackling wood stove that helped to heat the main floor of the renovated farm house. “I’m sure you’ll hear from them before the end of today,” Sue smiled in an encouraging way as if she actually believed that her positive thoughts could make Shay’s parents sober up long enough to remember what day it was, or even remember that they still had a daughter.
Jolene put the tray down on the coffee table and stepped up beside Shay, putting her arm protectively around Shay’s shoulders. Shay didn’t like being touched by anyone, but she knew Jolene was just trying to be nice so she tried to be polite and accept Jolene’s attempt to comfort her. Still, before she could control herself, Shay felt her body flinch, as if her bones and muscles had a mind of their own. Sensitive to Shay’s discomfort, Jolene had gently pulled away and sat down to begin serving the coffee.
“How much have you got saved for the bridle, now?” the foster mother asked pleasantly, trying to change the subject.
“I’ve got fifty dollars with this money you gave me,” Shay answered, relieved at the change in conversation topic. “I’ll have a really good bridle by summer at this rate.”
Owning a bridle was a status symbol among the regular riders at Fletcher’s stables, because it separated them from the tourists and the occasional riders. Ownership of a bridle allowed the regulars the unspoken privilege of claiming a horse as their own, and always having first choice to ride it. To Shay, having her own bridle was even more significant than simply possessing a status symbol; it was a sign that she belonged to something--and for Shay James, belonging was the most desired and the most elusive feeling in the world.
“Doesn’t that man at that horse barn provide the bridles and the rest of the riding equipment for you?” the social worker asked.
“Yes, he does,” Shay replied. “Mr. Fletcher has everything there for the riders, but once he starts letting us ride for free, we have to use the older stuff. Anyway, I want my own bridle and since it’s my money I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Well,” Sue said. “It seems like you’re doing a lot of work for nothing over some horseback-riding, and you can’t even do much of that now that it’s winter,” she paused. “I should look into the situation at this stable.” Sue pulled her Blackberry from her purse and, jabbing at the plastic face of the electronic notepad, made a note to follow up. The social worker’s chewed fingernails hit each letter so hard that Shay began to think the small screen would break.
Rolling her eyes at the ceiling, Shay internally bristled at how little the social worker understood her own love of the horses, and how important it made her feel to be responsible for such beautiful animals. Brushing the horses’ coats for hours till they shone in the winter sun, and breathing in the rich smell of horse hide and hay that filled the barn were some of the best moments of Shay’s life. How could she begin to explain to this social worker how it felt to sit on the horse’s back, and how could she possibly describe the strength and wild feeling of confidence that rose within her as her horse cantered across an open field, or trotted along the mountain paths?
Shay knew the young woman couldn’t be expected to know about the horses, or even much about her client. She had only been assigned to Shay after the transfer to the Halliwells’ foster home, and Sue’s bi-monthly visits were often cancelled when emergency situations called the overworked social worker elsewhere. Still, Shay was annoyed at the worker’s nosey questions and she glared at Sue, who seemed oblivious to Shay’s mood as her fingers continued to work quickly over the small Blackberry keyboard. The woman clea
rly didn’t understand that Mr. Fletcher was easily irritated, and Shay didn’t want to give him any reason, such as a curious social worker, to stop her riding privileges.
“You really have to stay out of this,” Shay finally said, sharply, unable to think of any better way to bring an end to the discussion. “I like working there and it’s none of your business what I do with my free time, as long as it’s legal. Besides, Mr. Fletcher is a good guy. He doesn’t cheat and he doesn’t lie to anybody.” Everyone knew where they stood with Mr. Fletcher; he was gruff, but he had no secret plans or agendas, and he never talked about anyone behind their backs. Mr. Fletcher treated Shay far better than most of the other grownups in her life had; he never promised anything and nothing ever changed, at least as long as no one bugged him.
Sue looked up from her Blackberry, obviously surprised by Shay’s strong tone.
“Can I get you some more coffee?” Jolene asked diplomatically.
Sue nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but again Jolene interrupted.
“Old man Fletcher has been around as long as I have. We knew each other as kids. He was crabby and cheap then, and he’s crabby and cheap now, but he’s never hurt anyone that I know of and kids have been riding at his place for over forty years. For some reason they all seem the like him well enough. I think maybe he’s better with the kids and the horses than he is with everyone else.”
Sue frowned again. “It doesn’t seem like this horse riding thing would make the man enough of an income, especially when he lets so many kids ride for free,” she said suspiciously. Shay glared at her again, but neither Sue nor Jolene seemed to notice.
Jolene reached for the coffee creamer and poured a small amount into her cup. “The horses have never been about the money for him. His great grandfather was one of the original settlers in the area and his father was a very successful businessman, so old man Fletcher inherited a couple of the larger buildings in downtown Nelson and a good stock of properties all over the Kootenays,” she said. “Last I heard he still owns some of the big heritage buildings on Baker Street and a couple of apartment buildings, too, so he never had to actually earn a living. Heaven knows that man has always lived a frugal life. Material goods don’t mean anything more to him than people do as far as I could ever tell. I think the horses give him something to take up his time and a place to go every day that doesn’t demand anything of him. He keeps the place going with the help of kids like Shay, who do honest labour in exchange for the privilege of riding for free. Shay has taken a real liking to the horses. It’s a good way for her to spend her time, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think we should be interfering in something that makes her happy and doesn’t hurt her.”
Sue looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded her head in agreement as she slid the Blackberry into the large purse that doubled as her briefcase. “Okay, but I expect you to keep an eye on this riding place and especially on that old man,” she said to Jolene. “I should run a background check on him and make sure he doesn’t have any kind of history with young girls. Do you know if he’s had a criminal record check? I don’t want our foster children exploited in any way.”
“Do what you have to, but I bet you aren’t going to find anything to worry about on Fletcher. He’s no danger to any of these kids,” Jolene said patiently. “More cake?” she asked, smiling as she looked first at Shay and then back to Sue.
Shay gave Jolene a grateful smile.
Yes, yesterday had definitely been a good enough birthday. Now, as Shay stretched slowly under the bed covers on the second day of her fourteenth year, she felt the warmth of the waking household replacing the night chill of the harsh Kootenay winter. Shay had lived all her life in the small towns that dotted the rocky shores of Kootenay Lake, but she had never learned to like the long, cold winters or the shortened days that came early in the fall and lasted until late spring.
Shay pushed back her heavy quilts and shivered as the chilly air wrapped around her body. Larissa’s rumbling noises were getting louder and she was moving about more on the bunk above; the first signs that she was about to wake up. Time’s up, Shay thought, and she jumped out of bed and hopped on her bare feet across the cold linoleum floor so that she could be first in the large bathroom across the hall.
Reaching for her tooth brush Shay looked in the bathroom mirror above the sink and tried a couple of different smiles to use if someone said hi to her in the halls at school. She didn’t want to grin like an over eager goofball just because someone was nice to her, but at the same time she didn’t want to look too casual, as if she didn’t care at all. Everything in high school was a balance between looking like she cared and not looking like she was trying too hard. Shay knew she wasn’t ever going to be one of the popular teens-- that just didn’t happen to foster kids--but she knew she had already made a friend and Shay was pretty convinced that getting her smile right was part of finding acceptance by even more kids.
She stopped practicing her smile and stared hard at her reflection in the small bathroom mirror. Typical, Shay thought, like everything else in my life, my face is ‘okay’ to look at, but not great. Her eyes were dark brown. One of the less creepy friends of her father’s had once told her that her eye color matched a fresh chestnut just taken from its prickly green shell. Shay thought about that awhile and finally decided she liked that description, even if it was a little weird. She had started wearing make up last year, but Jolene was gently nagging her about how much eyeliner she was allowed to use. At first, Shay had fought her about this, but after a while she backed off and used less make-up. Shay was beginning to like her life at the Halliwell’s and she didn’t want to get moved to a new foster home for arguing over something as silly as eyeliner.
It was hard for Shay to admit that she actually liked much about herself, but she did manage to admire her thick, wavy, almost black hair that fell softly to the middle of her back. Most days she just let it hang loose, and she brushed it often so that everyone would see it shine and know that it was clean.
Shay hadn’t inherited much from her parents, except for her mom’s hair and her dad’s eyes. Her parents didn’t look like her now but she had seen some pictures of them when they were young, and she had been surprised at how beautiful they once were. When Shay was younger, she would look at her parent’s chalky, hardened faces after they’d had a particularly wild weekend, and wonder if the drugs could make them turn to stone. She knew that was a silly thought, yet it had haunted her. Shay shivered and shook her head again. Her looks were the only thing she planned to inherit from her parents.
“Hey,” Larissa called from the other side of the door. “Are you going to be in there all morning?”
The day began.