Cyndi Sand-Eveland - A Tinfoil Sky

Text copyright 2012 by Cyndi Sand-Eveland

Published in Canada by Tundra Books,
75 Sherbourne Street, Toronto, Ontario M5A 2P9

Published in the United States by Tundra Books of Northern New York,
P.O. Box 1030, Plattsburgh, New York 12901

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011923469

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency is an infringement of the copyright law.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Sand-Eveland, Cyndi
A tinfoil sky / by Cyndi Sand-Eveland.

eISBN: 978-1-77049-294-3

I. Title.

PS8637.A539T55 2012 JC813.6 C20119014505

We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and that of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporations Ontario Book Initiative. We further acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.

v3.1

For Mel, wherever you are.

There was promise in your eyes,
and you left me wanting to write that possibility into existence.

I hope I have done you justice.

Many thanks Kathryn Cole, Kelly Jones, and Kathy Lowinger at Tundra Books for your editorial feedback and encouragement! I am very grateful, Kathryn, that you gave this story not only one chance, but three.

I am deeply indebted to Morty Mint, my agent, and Verna Relkoff and Sharmaine Gray, editors extraordinaire, who read, listened, and offered sage advice.

My dear friends Robyn, Heidi, Val, Anne, daughter Kohe, sisters Sharrie and Jackie, and niece Ashley read and gave feedback on early drafts. Thank you!

Thank you also to Lisa Menna, whose magic and long walks infused the early work on this story.

Philip, Celeste, Sharrie, Sandy, and Mary Ann all willingly shared their experiences and valuable insights. Thank you.

This book has taken time lots of it and that has meant that I have, once again, needed the support of my family, Todd, Kohe, and Mclain.

A promise of more time to walk by the river I owe to Patches, our beloved family dog. He, more than anyone, has listened to this story unfold, and his sweet desire to be with me on this journey, whatever the hour I wrote, never wavered.

Ann McDonnells students at Trafalgar Middle School read my first effort. The afternoon we spent with all of you passionately sharing your opinions, insights, hopes, and dreams for Mel, kept me rewriting. This book is also dedicated to you.

Lastly, but most importantly, I want to thank you, the reader. A story and its characters are nothing more than simple keystrokes inked to a page. It is the reader who breathes life into the characters, allowing them to truly live.

Cyndi

Girl, Cecily said as they sped away from the curb, were going home!

Mel turned and stared at Cecily, not quite believing the word had slipped so easily from her mothers lips.

And the way that Cecily said the word home left Mel wondering. Cecily said it like she meant that place you can always go back to, that kind of home. Mel knew Cecily wasnt referring to the last place theyd lived. She always called that place The Dive.

And so Mel repeated the word out loud. Home?

Ive been thinking it just might be the right time to go back home to Gladyss in Riverview, Cecily said.

Mel sat in a mixture of shock and silence. It was the eleventh time theyd moved in four years. But this time they werent being evicted, or finding a new place with cheaper rent, or moving in with a friend of Cecilys. This time they werent just leaving with nowhere to go. They were going to her grandmothers.

Mel didnt remember what Gladyss place looked like, or, for that matter, what Gladys or Tux, her grandfather, looked like. The last time Cecily and Gladys had spoken, Mel was four. She only knew that Tux had died. That was almost nine years ago, and, for as long as Mel could remember, Cecily had refused to tell Mel much about anything that related to her grandparents, the city of Riverview, or the first three years of Mels life.

As Mel stared out the car window into the dark, vacant streets, she thought about the events of the last hour. Shed woken to Cecily and Craig arguing again. Only this time, it seemed louder and seemed to go on longer than usual. Then the front door slammed hard. The yelling continued in the street until finally she heard Craig tear out of the driveway on his motorcycle. Cecily had raced back into the house and stormed into Mels room. Mel had sat straight up in bed. Cecily had grabbed an armload of Mels clothes from the floor and piled her blanket and pillow on top of Mels lap, and then she ordered Mel to go and get in the Pinto station wagon.

As Mel stood in the doorway leading into the living room, she looked at the clock that sat on the floor next to the TV. It was 3:39 a.m. She watched as Cecily raced around in a frenzy, gathering her things and stuffing them into a black plastic garbage bag. Mel kept glancing at the front door while Cecily rummaged through Craigs jacket, digging out a pack of cigarettes and some loose change. Then she went into the kitchen and grabbed what was left of a loaf of bread and a jar with the last little bit of peanut butter.

It wasnt until Cecily was trudging out the front door herself, one hand dragging the bag, the other carrying her guitar case, her handbag clenched between her teeth, that she noticed Mel.

Letting her handbag fall to the floor, Cecily yelled, I told you to get in the car! Now!

Mel ran. And, as she ran, she had to keep gathering up the unruly heap of clothes, blanket, and pillow that seemed determined to fall from her grasp.

She was glad to be leaving Craigs place. Theyd only been living with him for two months, but it was the worst two months Mel could remember.

They hadnt driven more than ten blocks and were just pulling onto the highway when Mel realized that her journal and small collection of books were still in her room.

We need to go back! Mel shouted.

Cecily gave Mel a quick look as she merged the Pinto into traffic. Cant do that, kiddo, she said.

No, you dont understand. My books and my

Listen, Mel, Cecily said without taking her eyes off the road. We cant. Craig is probably back at the house by now.

Both the book set and the journal had been a gift from Cecily for Mels twelfth birthday. It was one of the few times Cecily had been able to afford to get Mel the gift that she had wanted. It had felt too good to be true. In the weeks since her birthday, shed read all of the books except one, The Last Battle, the final book in the series. Shed been saving it.

What Mel also knew was that with the pillow and blanket now off of her bed, anyone walking into the room would see the outline of her journal under the sheet that covered the mattress. What Cecily didnt know was that the journal had become a place for Mel to express things she couldnt say to anyone else.