Bone Deep. Gina McMurchy-Barber

it’s Saturday. Remember, Aunt Beatrix?” She sighed heavily at me. What was that about? She was the one who couldn’t seem to keep the days of the week straight.

      “Peggy, please don’t say ‘nope.’ You need to speak proper English during your formative years; otherwise you will develop poor grammar habits.” I bit my lip to hold in the groan. “And dear, don’t you think you’d better put something else on?” She turned to Mom, whose cheeks had turned pink. “Really Elizabeth, you can’t approve of this. She’s worn that shirt two days in a row. And shouldn’t she do something with her hair?” I felt my mussed-up hair, then looked down at my Canucks jersey. It had only a couple of dirty smudges, but otherwise was perfectly fine.

      “Actually it’s the fourth day that I’ve worn this shirt, Aunt Beatrix. And unless something drastic happens to it today, I’ll probably wear it tomorrow too.” I watched her baggy eyelids widen. Aunt Margaret nervously brushed at the crumbs on the table and Mom quietly slipped out of her chair and took the dishes to the sink.

      “Oh, I see. Well, in my day, children were expected to be clean and dressed appropriately. But …” She sighed. “… those days are gone. You youngsters go around with rings in your noses and eyebrows, and your arms marked up with tattoos, and wear the most atrocious things.” She looked at my jersey with her nose all wrinkled … like it smelled or something. That was the moment when I figured out what Mom and Aunt Margaret were laughing about earlier.

      “Right, well, that’s very interesting. But I’m off to the library.” I saw my mom’s eyes widen. I bet she knew I was already working on how to get out of spending time with the old biddy. I needed to come up with a different plan to get those diving lessons. Just then Aunt Margaret opened her big mouth.

      “By the way, Aunt Beatrix, you’ll be pleased to know that Peggy is planning to spend some time with you this afternoon and on school days when she gets home. In fact, it was her idea. So now the two of you can get to know each other better. Won’t that be nice?” The look in my Aunt Margaret’s eyes told me I’d walked right into the quicksand and she had no plans to rescue me. I jumped out of my chair and headed quickly for the back door.

      “Gotta go,” I said, and whipped out the door. On the way out I heard the last of their conversation.

      “Well, that’s wonderful. I’m very sure with daily guidance I can set Peggy on the right course — just as I did when you both were girls.”

      Great! While I thought I’d come up with the perfect plan for softening Mom up so I could get diving lessons, in actual fact I had become an improvement project for my great aunt.

      I stayed out as long as I could. First, I stopped at the library to look for books on underwater archaeology. When the librarian couldn’t find anything she offered me a book on some old guy named Jacques Cousteau. She said he was famous because he explored the oceans and was like the father of scuba diving. I figured it was worth a look. My next stop was TB’s house to use his computer to locate the Reef Dive Shop and find out about lessons — it was the nearest dive shop to home, and the best part was they had beginner lessons starting almost every week.

      When I finally got home Aunt Beatrix was sitting at the kitchen table wearing her coat with the fur collar and some crazy-ugly brown shoes. On her head was a dorky feather hat. She must have been hot, which would explain the serious scowl on her pinched face.

      “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come,” Aunt Beatrix said curtly. “I was led to believe we would be going out this afternoon. If I’d known you were going to return so late I would have gone with your mother and Margaret. You know it’s very rude to keep people waiting.” She made an exaggerated effort to look at her watch. “I’m not even sure now if I have the energy for an outing anymore …” Brilliant, that suited me just fine. “… But I suppose I can muster the strength for a short excursion. Perhaps to that gift shop that sells antiques and aboriginal art. What’s it called?”

      “Real Treasures and Gifts,” I sighed.

      “Yes, that’s the place. Well, let’s get going then.” She shooed me out the door like a little kid with muddy feet.

      All the way to Beecher Street Aunt Beatrix nattered on at me like a cranky parrot. Mostly it was about the broken china. She reminded me it had been in the family for six generations and that one day it might be mine. “If there’s anything left of it, that is,” she said. After a while she moved on to my dirty fingernails and torn sneakers. She’d just started giving me tips about the best way to make a good impression on my teachers when we finally arrived at Real Treasures and Gifts. I was trying to estimate how much trouble I’d get in if I just dumped her off on Mr. Grimbal and ran for it. He was just as crusty as Aunt Beatrix so they’d make a great pair.

      “Hello ladies, come right in,” Mr. Grimbal said in his slick, used-car salesman voice. “And who is this charming lady with the elegant hat, Peggy?” Oh please, did he think that kind of goopy flattery actually worked? Then Aunt Beatrix giggled daintily. Hmmm, obviously he knew something I didn’t.

      “Good afternoon, sir. What an interesting shop you have. Now you must tell me about these objects — are they all made by First Nations?” I could tell Mr. Grimbal was already sizing up Aunt Beatrix’s wallet and wondering if he should start with the expensive stuff.

      “What a fascinating man Mr. Grimbal is,” Aunt Beatrix gushed as we walked back home. “Such a pity he doesn’t have a wife to help him. He’s just the kind of man I can relate to — educated, polite, and a successful businessman too. I do hope we’ll come visit him again, Peggy.” Gross! It sounded like Aunt Beatrix had something in mind besides shopping for souvenirs at Mr. Grimbal’s store.

      All through dinner Aunt Beatrix chatted on happily about Mr. Grimbal, his store, and the ancient Coast Salish — she didn’t even mention that I was late picking her up. I was actually impressed with how much she’d learned and remembered. And I could tell Mom and Aunt Margaret were pleased with her chipper mood. That meant serious brownie points for me.

      “Aunt Beatrix seemed thrilled with her outing today, Peggy,” said Mom at bedtime. Maybe this was all going to work in my favour after all. When she was finished gushing her appreciation I’d bring up the topic of scuba diving lessons. “It might well be the highlight of her trip. And it was a big help to Aunt Margaret too, as she had some important errands to get done.”

      “It was my pleasure,” I lied. Then with a soft tone and as little eye contact as possible I added, “Mom, ah, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Mom didn’t have a lot of extra cash and we were always on a tight budget — one that I’m sure didn’t include diving lessons. “TB was thinking since he lives right on one of the world’s most beautiful coasts it would be a cool thing if he learned to scuba dive. His mom really likes the idea and thought if I took lessons with him it would give him more confidence — you know, because he’s not as good a swimmer as I am. I told her that you probably couldn’t afford it, but that I’d ask you anyways.”

      I twisted the details of my story as though I was tying a back hitch knot. I knew Mom was proud and didn’t like others to think she couldn’t afford to give me all the same advantages in life that kids with two parents got. So in a way I was doing her a favour.

      “I wish you wouldn’t tell people that I can’t afford things. It gives a wrong impression.” Then she gazed up to the ceiling like she was calculating something in her mind. After a few minutes of silence she looked at me. “How important is this to you, Peggy? It has to be something you want to do for yourself and not just because TB is taking scuba lessons.” I jumped up and down on the sofa excitedly and held out my arms wide.

      “I really want to learn to scuba dive, Mom.” Then I settled myself back down on the sofa and put on my pious face again. “But not if we can’t afford it.” Nailed it.

      “Well, I have been saving some money for a new computer, but I guess I can get along with the old one for a while longer. I don’t mind as long as you’re sure this is something you’d really benefit from.”