The Auction Trilogy

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I went fossicking through the kitchen cupboards, searching for a wire whisk to beat the eggs. As I touched the sturdy wooden framework, my hand tingled. It had a sense of permanence about it, this house which had sheltered four generations of Adam's family. My own parents' kitchen had initially been this shade of blue, but my mother had gutted it out, swearing 'you need to keep updating it so you can trade up for a better house.' Though we never did trade up, I'd never felt at home there because, every time I'd start to grow attached, my mother would announce we should sell it.

I located a wire whisk in the cupboard next to the microwave, along with an ancient blue cookbook titled Australian Cookery of Today. It was nearly nine centimeters thick, copyrighted 1943, with an impressive index which included explanations of how to prepare every food I could think of, family budget planning, ingredient substitutions, and how to increase or decrease a recipe for guests. A page captioned Common Cookery Failures: Reasons and Remedies caught my eye. Amongst the illustrations was a charred, black pikelet, along with an explanation of too-high heat. I marked the page with a slip of scrap of paper. The next time Adam was home, I would 'accidentally' leave the cookbook open on the counter.

Thunderlane came in, his nails click-click-clicking on the beige linoleum, followed shortly by the sleepy scuffle of My Little Pony slippers with pink puffy pony heads on the toes. Both kid and dog stared at me with hungry, expectant eyes.

"Good morning, Nipper," I said. "Would you like to break the eggs into the bowl?"

"What are you making?"

"Just scrambled eggs, but maybe tomorrow we can try something fancy?"

"Grandma used to let me cook muffins all by myself," Pippa bragged. "She said I'm a competent chef!"

"Then perhaps you can teach me, because somebody around here needs to know how to cook."

Pippa giggled. I gave her the daily little yellow pill, and then warmed up the frying pan while she broke eggs into a bowl. I handed her the wire whisk and she beat it into a yellow froth. As soon as the butter sizzled in the pan, I checked twice to make sure I hadn't turned the heat up too high, and then coached Pippa to dump in the mixture in to cook. The toaster dinged and I slathered the toast with butter. Within minutes the eggs solidified into a decadent pillow of fluffy, pale yellow clouds.

We sat down to enjoy our meal. Eggs. Toast. And a hefty serving of homemade strawberry jam which, by my estimate of the store in the pantry, would outlive Pippa's grandmother by at least seven months. It was a simple breakfast, and yet compared to the cold cereal I'd subsisted on at college, it was a luxurious feast.

"What are we doing today?" Pippa asked.

Four days had passed in comforting sameness. But today, Linda Hastings would show me the town.

"First I'll test you in mathematics. And then Mrs. Hastings asked if we could drive her to the hairdresser."

"Can I get my hair cut?" Pippa asked. "I've always wanted a bob."

I scrutinized her long, platinum tresses, so pale and silky it framed her face like a radiant burst of starlight. Many a movie starlet bleached their hair blonde, but few could achieve the white-blonde pigment Pippa had been born with. The girl on the white horse who kept visiting my dreams had golden hair, more like a sheath of wheat.

"I think your father will be angry if I cut your hair."

Pippa's face fell.

"But maybe we could ask the hairdresser to trim your bangs?" I compromised.

Pippa's pink mouth curved up into a cheerful grin. She didn't seem depressed. In fact, the kid seemed to be perpetually happy, though perhaps that was a side-effect of the little yellow pill? I made a mental note to dig through my psychology textbooks in the barn.

We finished our breakfast, got dressed and struggled through her math lessons. My first glimpse of her underlying depression came when we moved into fractions and Pippa burst out into tears.

"It's okay, sweetie," I said. "Just add up all the numerators, and then we'll go back add up all the denominators on the bottom."

"I can't do this!"

"It's only addition. You just have to do it in two separate steps." I sketched out a problem on a piece of paper.

"I told you I can't do it!"

Pippa grabbed the paper and threw it onto the floor. She burst into tears, a pathetic ball of sobbing pigtails.

I bit my tongue before I said something stupid such as 'but your father's a geologist … why didn't he teach you how to do basic fractions?' I backtracked to some nice tame addition problems and worked on those while I searched for a way to make her add up fractions without making it look like I was asking her to actually add up fractions.

At last I ceded defeat. I'd taught many children during my teacher training who'd exhibited math-phobia, but never so severely that the kid became paralyzed. Pippa's grandmother, I suspected, had focused on teaching the subject she knew well, lots of reading, because in that area Pippa was years ahead of her grade. Sometimes, accelerated learning in one subject could make it frustrating for a child to learn a topic where they struggled.

"Let's go eat some lunch, Nipper? And then we'll bring Mrs. Hastings to the hairdresser."

We made cucumber sandwiches, a moral imperative as otherwise there was no way we could use up the cucumbers Linda begged us to take off of her hands. Pippa dug out her grandmother's heart-shaped cookie cutter and cut slices out of the middle. I allowed it, even though it was a waste of bread. Thunderlane didn't mind the crunch of cucumber buried amongst the bread crusts and goat cheese.

I buckled Pippa into the back seat of my Falcon and bumped up the driveway to Linda Hastings house. Linda's barn was set away from the main house, a shedrow barn, just large enough to give her sheep a place to bear their lambs. Every time I visited, I found myself fantasizing about how much Harvey would have enjoyed grazing alongside the alpacas.

Linda appeared on the small entrance porch. I helped her down the steps. In less than a week I'd grown rather fond of our elderly neighbor.

"You don't have to do that," Linda said.

"No, I don't," I said. "But if you go tumbling down upon your head, you're too heavy for me to carry back inside."

I helped her in, and then we were off to explore the town. The scrubby Condamine River floodplain gave way to fields of neatly tended wheat, sorghum and barley which stretched as far as the eye could see. The farms which had access to water still looked green, but the further we got from the river, the more the fields displayed that faded shade of green indicative of plants under stress from drought.

"Why don't you grow cover crops such as these?" I asked Linda.

"We grew grain while my husband was still alive," she said, "but after he died, it was too much for me to handle alone. Adam's father convinced me to switch to hemp and sheep. He said it would be easier on the land, and the land, in turn, would be easier on me."

Linda directed me off the main drag, to a length of street with shops on either side. I pulled into a slanted parking spot. While tiny, there was the usual mix of small town businesses, including the hair salon which was our destination.

I stepped out of the car into downtown Nutyoon and circled around to help Linda get up out of her seat. As she walked, she leaned heavily on a four-pronged cane, but as soon as she caught her balance, she waved away my helping hand.

"Stop hovering dear," Linda said. "You're worse than Dumpty."

"How are Humpty and Dumpty today?"

"Complaining that I left them alone," Linda said. "They hate it when I lock them in my bedroom so the cat can't get them.

We went inside the nondescript grey building which advertised itself as Cuts & Curls. Inside a hairdresser finished up a 'set' for a middle aged woman while the chair next to her stood empty.

"G'day, Linda!" the hairdresser greeted my neighbor in the thick, broad dialect of a working-class woman. "I'll be right with you, hon. I see you brought me some new friends?"

"G'day Julie!" Linda greeted her right back. "This is Rosie. She's taking care of Pippa. Rosie … Pippa … this is Julie. Julie Peterson."

"Pleased to meet y'mate," Julie Peterson said.

She looked to be early thirties, pretty and perky, with a halo of carrot orange curls which curved around her face like a pixie from A Midsummer Night's Dream. She was only 150 centimeters tall, with a smattering of freckles and an endearing little nose that curved up at the end. While by no means fat, she had a bit of plumpness, the kind that made a woman always swear, 'if only I could lose 15 pounds,' but then say, 'aw shucks! I'd really rather just enjoy myself.' While her clothing was tasteful, it had a wee bit of cleavage, and a skirt cut just far enough above the knee to show off a pair of shapely legs. She moved energetically, devoting all of her attention to her middle-aged client as she finished combing out and hair spraying her set.

"You got that book I told you to bring?" I asked Pippa.

Pippa reached into her bag and pulled out the latest installment of Fairy Realms.

The other customer got up from her seat, paid, and chatted with Linda before she floated out the door, full of smiles. Linda grimaced with pain as Julie led her over to the sink to wash her long, silver hair, and then led her back to the salon chair.

"How's your hip doing?" Julie made the usual chit-chat.

"Still hurts," Linda said. "But the doctor said he doesn't think there's any permanent damage."

"So who's your friends?" Julie smiled at Pippa.

"That's Adam's little girl, Pippa Bristow," Linda said. "And this is her teacher, Rosie Xalbadora."

"Oh?" Julie Peterson's auburn eyebrows raised in surprise. She eyed Pippa with a speculative look, but her gaze was friendly, not hostile. "I'd heard Adam stayed on after his mother's funeral, but you know how those gossips are—" she waved her hand. "Long on speculation and short on fact."

"Well, he stayed," Linda said. "But he'd appreciate it if word didn't get around. You know how Adam is."

"Yes," Julie laughed. "I know Adam about as well as he ever let anyone get to know him."

My interest perked up.

"Julie went to high school with Adam," Linda said. "They were in my science class together."

Julie combed the wet tangles out of Linda's long hair.

"If it wasn't for Adam," Julie said, "I don't think I would've passed Linda's science class. I was okay with the hands-on experiments, but those tables of elements? Why, I was ready to just throw in the towel."

"Adam tutored you?" I scrutinized her body language and, sure enough, her pale, pixie skin turned a guilty shade of pink beneath her freckles.

"Adam tutored a lot of people. Didn't mean anything." She turned to Pippa. "Rita finished up early today, so you can sit in that empty chair if you like. Just don't touch her scissors."

Pippa skittered over to the big grey hairdresser's chair with an enormous grin and spun it around, just to make sure it would. Julie gave the height bar a couple of quick pumps so Pippa could see herself in the mirror.

"You got kids?" I guessed.

"Just one," Julie said. "Emily. She's due here after school in about, oh, maybe twenty minutes?"

Julie and Linda chatted as Julie trimmed her hair and then rolled it into curlers, the gift all good hairdressers have to put their clients at ease and pry out of them tidbits about their personal life. Every now and again she shot me a question, mostly innocuous stuff such as how I liked Nutyoon and did I have any family hereabouts. I dodged the latter question with a vague 'no … my family lives far away.' I had the feeling that, if I sat in Julie's chair, before I knew it she'd have me pouring my heart out about my dilemma.

The door chime pealed. A girl about Pippa's age came in with dark auburn hair, elfin curls, and far more freckles than her mother. She wore a royal blue skort and matching blue and gold polo shirt with a Nutyoon primary school logo just above her heart. She greeted her mother warmly and eyed Pippa with curiosity.

"Emily, this is Pippa Bristow. Pippa? This here's my Emily. She's about the same age as you. What grade you in now?"

Pippa's expression grew guarded. "Fifth," she said. But it came out more like a question.

"Ahh, so you're both in the same grade," Julie said.

Emily had the same disarming nature as her mother. "Hi."

"Hi," Pippa said warily.

"You just visiting?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

The friendly, outgoing Pippa I had come to know retreated behind a clumsy wall. I noted the way Linda frowned. There was a story here, one I had not yet learned.

"Emily," Julie said. "Why don't you take Pippa into the back office to play?"

Pippa rose from her chair and, while Emily was the more self-assured of the two, Pippa's tall, slender frame towered over her by a good twenty centimeters. Emily gestured for Pippa to follow her into the back room.

Linda and I breathed a sigh of relief at the exact same moment. We looked at each other. Julie Peterson looked between us, and then took a guess.

"I see Pippa is shy just like her Daddy?"

"He's not shy anymore," Linda said. She qualified that statement. "Not that he runs headlong into a social situation. He just takes a long time to warm up to people, that's all. Wants to get to know them before he decides to trust them."

I thought of the tall, handsome man who helped without being asked, but if I started to pry, he grew taciturn and wary. Yup. That sounded like Adam. I filed this insight into the back of my mind. The sooner I figured out his likes and dislikes, the more smoothly this summer job would flow, especially in the close confines of living under the same roof.

"What's he been doing the last ten years?" Julie asked. "I saw him once here in town. Waved at him, but I don't think he recognized me. I kept hoping he'd stop by the salon, but word is he keeps to himself?" Her expression grew pensive as she stared at her own reflection in the wall of mirrors. "Dang, he got hunky. For a moment, I thought he was Jeffrey."

Julie pulled out the blow dryer and silently dried Linda's hair. Most women her age liked to cut it short and dye it, but our neighbor kept it long and her natural silver. At one time, Linda Hastings had been a beautiful woman; still was, if you redefined your definition of 'beauty' to include lots of laugh lines. Julie finished up and set Linda's hair with a bit of hairspray.

"There ya go!" Julie said, perky once more. "You'll be the belle of bingo night."

Linda paid and tipped her as they chitchatted about one of Linda's passions, Saturday night at the church bingo hall.

"Pippa!" I shouted. "Time to go."

Pippa came skipping out of the back office with Emily at her heel, her earlier wariness vanished. She skidded to a stop in front of me."

"Rosie! Guess what! Emily has a horse and his name is Polkadot!"

"She does, does she?"

"Yes! And she wants me to come and ride him!"

I glanced at Julie and gave her that inquisitive eyebrow that meant 'is this something you want to encourage?' I noted the way Julie gave her daughter that exact same look.

"Yeah, Mummy! Can Pippa come over?" Emily said. "She said she went to riding camp all last summer. She rides English style. Like Sarah Colbert does."

"Sure, honey." Julie turned to me. "Emily loves to make new friends. Here…" She reached for a business card. "Here's my mobile number. Why don't you give me a call and we'll set up a playdate after school."

"Why can't Pippa come over this weekend?" Emily asked.

"You're at your father's," Julie said. "I don't think Pippa's daddy will want her staying three towns over."

So Julie is divorced? Getting to know Emily might help Pippa make her own adjustment?

"I'll speak to Adam," I said. "But his job takes him away too much as it is. I'll call you next week to set up a playdate if you don't mind?"

That would be great." Julie gave me a disarming smile.

My hand tingled as I took the business card from her. Warm. Friendly. Genuine.

We said our farewells and stopped off at the IGA. While Linda instructed Pippa to go fetch the items on her shopping list, I checked my mobile, but the darned thing only had two bars. Not enough to check my voicemail or get a call through without being dropped. Besides? Who would I call who cared?

I shoved the phone back into my purse, and then drove Linda back to her beautiful little house with its big, beautiful pastures and precious little barn.

Home...

I had eleven more weeks to figure out what the heck I wanted to do with the rest of my life now that I wasn't about to become Mrs. Gregory Schluter, find a post-summer job, and figure out where the heck I was supposed to live.

Why was it that everybody had a home but me?