October 5, McKenzie Lake, Calgary, Alberta, 8:15 pm
Clara flowed down the stairs, a bowl overflowing with popcorn in her hand. She walked into the living room, where Clare and John lay on the floor in their sleeping bags, eyes glued to the TV. Clara placed the bow between the two as she glanced at what the kids were watching.
“Isn’t this a little scary for you guys?” she joked. The kids shrugged, their eyes not moving away from the screen.
“Vampires aren’t that scary, Aunt Clara,” Clare said.
“Yeah, mom,” John agreed, “werewolves are a lot cooler and scarier.” Clara glanced back and forth between Clare and John, wondering if it was one of those so called “height of the times” Elizabeth had mentioned.
“You kids are strange,” she teased, walking away, “bedtime is at nine.”
“But mom, it’s Saturday,” John complained.
“Alright, ten then,” she laughed, disappearing up the stairs. John and Clare looked back to make sure she was gone, then John reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a stack of paper and pencils.
“OK, so we should brainstorm what your mom and dad are up to, if anything,” John said. Clare looked at him blankly.
“Why the paper and pencils then?” she asked.
“Remember in English class?” John recollected, “We learnt that when we need to come up with something to write about we make a web-plot?”
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” Clare said. John drew a big circle in the center of the first sheet of paper and wrote Clare’s Mom and Dad: What are they up to? Clare shook her head.
“No, we need a better name than that!” she protested.
“But only we are going to see this,” John explained, “why would we need a better name if no one else is going to see it?”
“Ohhhhh,” Clare said. John made another bubble, titled Scenario 1, then stopped and bit the end of the pencil.
“Ummm,” he pondered, “what are things that your parents don’t usually want you to know?”
“A sin number,” Clare blurted out. John just stared at her.
“What’s a sin number?” John asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ve heard my dad talks on the phone about how no one else knows it.”
“Could it be something serious enough to have your parents on edge?” John asked. Clare thought for a moment and then shrugged.
“I guess not,” she said, going into a deep thought. John tapped his pencil up and down on the paper, thinking hard. “Oh, I got one!”
“What is it?” John said, excited and startled.
“You can’t laugh,” Clare said.
“I won’t laugh,” John promised.
“Birthday presents,” Clare suggested. The room fell quiet and John looked blankly at the paper.
“That’s a good one!” He yelled, and then wrote it down on the paper.
One and a half hours later
“Well,” John said, “if my mom saw this, I think she’ll say that we got carried away.” Clare and John stood surrounded by 20 pieces of paper full of brainstorming ideas.
“I think we can get rid of this one,” Clare said. John looked down to where she was pointing and nodded.
“Yeah, I doubt your parents are aliens, too,” He said, “besides, that’s kind of childish, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, let’s see. I’ll take this one…and this…” Clare said, rearranging each paper into two different piles. Eventually, she had a group of 6 papers on one side and the rest in a stack behind her. “I think these are the most believable.” John carefully looked at each individual piece and nodded.
“Let’s see; still insecure about the divorce, something to do with Grandma Ellen being sick….you put birthday presents in here?” John asked. Clare looked surprised.
“I think it’s possible,” she defended.
“OK,” John continued, “they still love one another, they’re fighting over you and there’s a secret about you they haven’t talked about.”
“Maybe we can get rid of that one, too. It’s too general, isn’t it?” Clare said.
“No, we can keep it, because we can add to it,” John suggested.
“You’re lucky,” Clare said, “your mom seems to tell you everything.”
“Not always, but she promises me that I will be told when I’m older, so I just have to be patient.” John said, the suddenly came to a realization, “Maybe your mom and dad are thinking the same thing and will tell you what’s wrong when you’re older.” Clare shook her head.
“I’m not patient enough,” she protested, “and this is so much more fun than waiting. John looked back down and examined the papers again.
“If my dad were still alive,” he started, “he could help us. He was a detective.” Clare’s jaw dropped.
“Really? I didn’t know that,” she squealed excitedly. The room fell quiet for a few moments; Clare twiddled her thumbs as an uncomfortable feeling clouded over her.
“Do you miss your dad?” she asked. John shook his head.
“I wasn’t born at the time he died,” he explained, “my mom misses him; sometimes she’s in her room crying, so I come in to cheer her up. She says I look and act a lot like him and that I make him proud every day.”
“”But isn’t he dead? How can he be proud?” Clare asked.
“I asked my mom the same thing, and she said he’s always watching over me, seeing all the things I do.” John continued, “He still loves me and one day, I’ll get to see meet him; that’s why I never get sad that I didn’t meet him, because I know he’s always here with me and will keep me safe, just like my mom says." Suddenly, the kids heard footsteps coming down the stairs. They rapidly gathered the individual piles and threw them under the sleeping bags, then stood side-by-side facing the stairs. Clara entered and stopped, staring back at the two kids.
“Why are you guys just standing there?” she asked. Clare and John said nothing. “You’re freaking me out a little, guy.”
“I, uh, um…” John stuttered.
“You were right, that show was too scary for us,” Clare said, “And we got scared by the creaking of the stairs.” John and Clare looked at each other and nodded. Clara laughed and gestured for them to follow her.
“Come up stairs, I made cookies.” She said. John’s face brightened and he dashed past his mom, closely followed by Clare. “Hey, wait…save some for me you rascals,” Clara joked as she chased them up the stairs.
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