Dancing in the Rain Read online

  Who decides when it's over for me?

  Jan. 17

  Who is in control of me or of this tiny new life?

  Me, or him?

  Control—does IT have any?

  No, IT depends on me.

  If you are not born, do you have a soul?

  Can you die?

  Is birth or conception the first moment of life?

  Tomorrow IT dies.

  Will IT forgive me?

  The ringing of her cell phone snaps Brenna back to the present again. She ignores it but pauses before turning the page in the journal. Had Kia really planned to abort her? What happened? She swallows hard and keeps reading.

  After a few more minutes Brenna closes the book and slides it into her night table. Kia has described, in detail, the night that she was conceived. How many people really want to know about that? Not her. And it was not what she expected to find in Kia’s journal either, the journal she wanted Brenna, her own daughter, to read.

  Brenna slides the shovel under the bear scat and dumps it into the black plastic bag she’s been hauling around the enclosure with her.

  “That looks like fun.”

  Looking up, Brenna sees Ryan standing on the other side of the fence. She gives him her best don’t-be-ridiculous look. He laughs.

  “Where are the bears?” he asks.

  “Probably having an afternoon nap somewhere in the shade.” She wipes her forehead with the back of her sleeve.

  Ryan takes a bite of the sandwich he’s holding. “I’m assuming you’re safe in there.”

  “Yeah. The bears like me. No worries.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “No!” She laughs, and it feels good. “They’re locked off on the other side of the enclosure. I triple-checked before I came in.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Ryan says, finishing his sandwich.

  “Lunch hour?”

  “Lunch half hour.”

  “Too bad the bears aren’t around.”

  “That’s okay. It was you I came to see today.”

  Brenna glances at him. “You want me to act like a grizzly bear?” she teases.

  “Ha! It is kind of weird seeing a human on that side of the fence.”

  She smiles, feeling shy again.

  “I was wondering, do you ever do the Grouse Grind?” he asks.

  “No, I’ve heard the trail is kind of steep.”

  “You’d have no problem with it.”

  “Climbing an entire mountain? I think I’d have a problem No, I know I would. You’re a grinder?”

  “Yeah, but not a serious one. I was hoping you’d keep me company.” He cocks his head.

  “When are you going?” She feels alarm rising in her throat.

  “Today, after work.”

  “Oh, I’m not really…” She looks down at herself.

  “You’re dressed perfectly. I’ll provide the water.”

  “I’m usually pretty tired after working here.”

  “Okay, how ’bout on a day you’re not working then?”

  “Okay.” What could she say?

  “Like tomorrow?”

  She laughs. “You’re persistent.”

  “It will be fall soon, you’ll be back at school, the days will be short…”

  “Okay, okay. What time?”

  “Four o’clock. We’ll meet at the trailhead, okay?”

  “All right.”

  Ryan waves as he turns and begins his walk back to the chalet.

  Brenna watches him and wonders what she’s gotten herself into. He turns and catches her staring at him. He waves again.

  Blushing deeply, she heaves another pile of bear scat into the bag.

  “What does he look like?” Georgialee asks, way too enthusiastically.

  Maybe it should be her meeting Ryan for a hike, Brenna thinks. She’s certainly in better shape. “Kind of average.”

  “And he’s from Australia? I love Aussie accents.”

  Brenna considers that. He does have a nice voice… and his looks are better than average, but she didn’t want to get Georgialee going.

  “What are you planning to wear?”

  “Whatever people usually wear when they hike… shorts, a T-shirt—”

  “You can’t wear any old shorts or T-shirt.”

  Brenna regards her friend. They’re sprawled out on the leather couches in Georgialee’s living room. “Listen, this isn’t a date or anything. We’re just doing the Grind together.”

  Georgialee cocks her head. “You are kidding me, right? He walks clear across the mountain on his lunch hour to find you and invite you to do the Grind? I call that a date.”

  “Lunch half hour,” Brenna corrects, smiling as she remembers their conversation. “He wanted me to hike after my shift today. I found an excuse, but then he asked about tomorrow, and I wasn’t quick enough with another excuse. So it’s not a date. It’s a hike.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t wear any old T-shirt and shorts.”

  “I’ll wear clean ones. For you.”

  “Brenna! You know what I mean. That pink tank you have, the one that dips pretty low—”

  “I’m not wearing that on a hike! Besides, he’s way too old. I don’t want him to think I’m coming on to him or anything.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Over eighteen. Maybe twenty? He’s finished school.”

  “That’s nothing. My dad’s ten years older than my mom.”

  “It’s too old for me. My parents…” Brenna pauses, realizing her blunder. “My dad would freak.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “No, you’re impossible.”

  They glare at each other across the room.

  Brenna had come over with vague hopes of talking to Georgialee about Angie Hazelwood’s Facebook message and Kia’s journal, but something made her share the news about Ryan and their hike first. Now she doesn’t have the strength to bring up the other stuff. Not today, anyway.

  Aug. 24

  It’s hard to read about Kia’s feelings…they’re so intimate…so intense. Maybe if it was someone besides my own birth mom it would be easier? Kind of like reading a steamy novel? I don’t know.

  Will I ever have feelings like that for a guy? Georgialee has. But how could you feel like that and then have it vanish so quickly? Poof. Gone. Maybe it’s because she was so young.

  I can’t imagine being pregnant. What would I do?

  “I’m climbing the Grouse Grind with a friend tomorrow afternoon.”

  Brenna’s father looks up from the newspaper he’s reading. “Who’s the friend?”

  “A guy I met at Grouse. He works there.”

  “He must be a special guy.” He cocks his head, eyebrows raised.

  “Why would you say that?” Brenna glares at him.

  “The Grind’s not an easy climb for an inexperienced hiker. I’m sure you know that.”

  “So?”

  “So…I don’t think you’d say yes to the Grind unless it was someone you really wanted to spend time with.”

  “Well, you’re wrong about that. He suggested it, and I couldn’t think of any good reason to say no.”

  He shrugs and turns the page of the newspaper. “At what point should I call Search and Rescue?”

  She sticks out her tongue before stomping out of the room.

  Despite what she said to Georgialee and her dad, Brenna finds herself trying on various combinations of T-shirts and shorts, trying to mask the little roll that is developing around her tummy. She decides on a pale-blue tank top and black Lululemon shorts. Checking herself in the mirror, she notes how the shirt brings out the blue in her eyes.

  Blue eyes! She remembers what Kia said in her journal: The ice-blue of Derek’s eyes. So that is where her blue eyes came from! That means he was probably Caucasian. She’s noticed that her aunt, Angie, looks at least partially Asian in her Facebook profile, so Kia is likely part Asian too. What do Angie and Kia’s parents look like—her biological grand
parents?

  Her mind returns to the ice-blue description of her biological father’s eyes. That didn’t make him sound very warm and friendly.

  Ryan has blue eyes too, but not ice blue. His are very dark, royal blue, and she remembers the pain in them when he spoke of his brother.

  She tosses a long-sleeved sweatshirt into her backpack. In the kitchen she adds a couple of granola bars, apples and water.

  Brenna chews at a hangnail on her thumb as she rides the bus up Capilano Road to the base of the mountain. What will they talk about for the entire hike? There’s only so much you can say about grizzly bears. Maybe she can ask him more about Australia and where he went to school. She’ll steer the conversation away from family.

  Forty-five minutes later, with leg muscles on fire and her tank top streaked with sweat, Brenna almost laughs at how misplaced her worries were. Ryan has stepped to the side of the trail many times to let her catch her breath, and she is dismayed at how many people, young and old, jog past her, straight up the mountain.

  When she thinks they must be nearing the top, they come across a sign that says ¼ mark.

  “Only one quarter? Are you kidding me?” she says, bent at the waist to catch her breath. “How many more stairs?” she asks, referring to the wooden steps that go straight up.

  “Lots.” He laughs. “All first-timers freak when they get to this sign. But if a hundred thousand people a year can do it, you can do it too.”

  “I’m not sure, Ryan. Maybe we should head back down. I really wasn’t prepared for this.”

  “We’ll take our time. There’s no rush.”

  Brenna struggles up another long set of steps. Worrying about what to talk about had been stupid—she’s breathing way too hard to even think about talking. But somewhere near the three-quarter mark she begins to relax, knowing that the end is actually within reach, and the trail is somewhat less steep here. Two hours after they left the base, they step into a clearing outside the chalet. The red tram pulls into the dock above them. Ryan gives her a high five.

  “You did it!” he says.

  She flops down on a grassy patch. “Barely!” Her breath comes in great heaves. She can’t believe she actually worried about what she was going to look like on this hike. Survival should have been her only concern. Her dad was right after all.

  “Let me buy you a cold drink,” Ryan says. “You deserve it.”

  “Let’s do it again sometime,” Ryan says as he steers his old Mazda into Brenna’s driveway.

  “I don’t know,” she says, climbing out of the car. “I hurt all over.”

  “It gets easier, I promise.”

  “I bet you could have climbed it, ridden the tram back down and climbed it again in the time it took me.”

  “Forget about the time.” He shakes his head. “You did it. That’s what counts.”

  After thanking him for the ride, Brenna tries to walk to her front door without showing how stiff she’s already become, worried that he might be watching. Should she take a yoga class in the morning to try to stretch out her muscles?

  In the house she warms up some leftover casserole. Her dad and Naysa are having dinner at her uncle’s. She sits at the table and finds she’s relieved to be alone. Being with either of them seems to intensify the ever-present ache. Is it because their grief inflames hers, or because she can’t do anything to ease theirs?

  Her first plate of dinner disappears in mere seconds, so she spoons out a second helping. While she waits for it to heat in the microwave, she does a quick inventory of the food in the freezer. It’s still well stocked with casseroles that their friends and family delivered to them when her mom was sick and then again following her death. If all these people had provided recipes with their meals, she could have compiled a cookbook, Comfort Casseroles.

  After she’s eaten, Brenna puts on pajamas and stretches out on her bed. The hot shower and big meal have left her fully relaxed. She’s feeling so good she decides to read more from Kia’s journal so pulls it out and turns to the page where she left off.

  Feb. 1

  I came to a bend in the road. I took the turn.

  My life is not ruined. It's only changed.

  Feb. 5

  I hate myself.

  I don’t deserve this family.

  Maybe I’ll wake up and find this was all just a bad dream.

  I wish.

  Feb. 6

  I have redefined myself.

  No longer the perfect child.

  I feel release.

  March 1

  This detour is full of pitfalls.

  What’s so great about that?

  I’m not even a real mom yet, but I’ve already had to give up so much.

  What’s the big deal about being a parent anyway?

  Brenna closes the journal with a snap. The euphoria of a few minutes earlier is gone. The front door creaks open as her dad and Naysa come into the house. Her dad pokes his head into her room.

  “How was the hike?” he asks, smiling down at her, but his smile evaporates when he sees her face. He glances at the journal on her lap. “Maybe it was too soon to give that to you,” he says softly.

  Brenna shrugs. She has no words.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?” Naysa asks, peering around her father, but after one glance at Brenna’s face she changes the question. “Are you okay?”

  With a huge effort Brenna pulls herself back to the present. “I’m okay,” she says, looking first at her father and then at Naysa. “The hike was really, really hard. You were right, Dad. I’m going to go to sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  “Are you sure?” her dad asks. “We’re going to watch a movie. It’s Friday night, after all…”

  Friday night. When her mom was alive they always stayed in and watched a movie together. Pizza, popcorn, movie. They hadn’t done that since she died.

  Brenna climbs off her bed slowly, stiffly. “You guys go ahead. I really am tired.” She hugs her dad and tugs Naysa’s ponytail. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and go to bed.” She squeezes past them in the hall. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Brenna can hear the drone of the TV as she climbs into bed. She shoves Kia’s journal into the night-table drawer and pulls out her own.

  Aug. 25

  Why did she want me to read her journal? Didn’t she consider how it would make me feel when I read that being pregnant with me sucked? That she would have to give up so much? I DIDN’T ASK TO GET BORN!! IT’S NOT MY FAULT THAT SHE WAS PREGNANT WITH ME!!!! So why do her words make me feel so guilty? Like I somehow wrecked her life? And I don’t want to know that my father was a jerk!!! (A hot jerk, obviously.) I am half him!! Does that make me half a horrible person? Right now I hate her. Maybe I do take after Derek. What I didn’t seem to inherit was his sex appeal. All that talk about

  ENERGY

  DESIRE

  HEAT.

  I seem to be in the camp that prefers to use words.

  Well, not lately. They seem to have dried up. Maybe this journal will help me find them again.

  Maybe not.

  I wonder what Derek is like now…16 years later. Is he still hot? Maybe he has a beer belly and a comb-over. Maybe he grew horns in that shallow head of his.

  What is Ryan doing tonight? Is he sore all over too? Probably not. I was such a slug today. How embarrassing. Did he regret inviting me? The hike sucked—I barely made it.

  But…

  At the top I realized I hadn’t thought of Mom the whole time. The physical pain made me forget for two full hours. Except for when I sleep, that’s the longest break I’ve had since she died.

  Brenna closes her journal and reaches for her laptop. She signs on to her Facebook page and rereads Angie Hazelwood’s message. Taking a deep breath, she types in the name Derek Klassen.

  five

  I know it aches, how your heart it breaks.

  You can only take so much. Walk on.

  (U2, “WALK
ON”)

  Six Derek Klassens appear on the screen. Brenna studies their profiles. One is forty. Too old. One is twenty-five. Too young. Three of them have brown eyes. The sixth lives on the other side of the country and, apparently, has lived there all his life. For some reason her biological father—blue-eyed, thirty-three-year-old Derek Klassen—doesn’t appear to have a Facebook page.

  Very reluctantly she types in Kia Hazelwood, but there are no results.

  Returning to Angie’s message, she rereads it once again, then hits Reply.

  Dear Angie,

  Thanks for your message. It’s been a very sad time. I miss my mom so much.

  I have to admit, hearing from you really took me by surprise. I have been told about my mother, Kia, but never anything about her family. You might be interested to know that after they adopted me, my mom and dad did end up having a child of their own, so I have a sister.

  Thanks again,

  Brenna

  Brenna rereads her note. Part of her desperately wants to ask about Kia, about her biological grandparents and even about Derek, but a bigger part of her is terrified at the thought of going there.

  With a deep sigh she presses Send.

  Brenna’s heart sinks as she steps into the tram the next morning. The operator is a girl, someone Brenna doesn’t recognize. She’d told her dad she was taking extra shifts at the wildlife refuge to cover for vacationing volunteers, but it isn’t completely true. She’s discovered that what she really wants is to see more of Ryan. He takes her mind off her mom, and, as he pointed out, school will be starting soon, and her shift will switch to a weekend day. She doesn’t know if he even works weekends.

  He could be operating the other tram, she realizes, but if he doesn’t know she is on the mountain, there’s no hope of him coming to visit her on his lunch break. As the two trams meet at the midway point, she tries to see who the other operator is, but there are too many people inside, and the two trams pass each other quickly.

  “Will the bears have babies?” a visitor asks Brenna. The mountain is busy with tourists, and Mark is checking the fencing, so she is left alone to talk to the visitors who have gathered around her. She stands on the bridge that divides the upper and lower ponds.