Out of the Box by Michelle Mulder

away?
    I look up the address that was in the envelope: 78 Oak Crescent, Victoria, British Columbia. Google Maps tells me it’s up near the university, but I can’t find out who lives there now, never mind in 1976.
    I look around at the other computer users— travelers with huge backpacks propped up against their chairs and older people who peer at screens over their glasses. Beyond them, Sarah makes her way toward me, loaded down with books. I quickly flip to my email and log on. Three messages, all from Mom. Subjects: Miss you, Love you and Frustrated .
    I open the last one first. She sent it last night.
    To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Frustrated
    Dear Ellie Belly,
    Sorry we never get to finish our conversations lately. All three times, I’ve asked Jeanette to pass me over to you when we’re done, but she hasn’t, always making up excuses. I’m jealous that she gets to spend all that time with you, and I don’t even get a proper conversation these days!
    My stomach twists painfully. Mom probably thinks I don’t want to talk to her, and I had no idea. All my life, she’s been afraid I’d turn against her some day. I read on.
    Things here aren’t going very well. Like I was telling you, your father’s all but disappeared into his office since you left. He comes up for meals and to watch tv , but other than that, he might as well not be around. I get home and want to talk to him, and he just tunes me out. It’s like the television is all that matters these days. I have to say I’m getting pretty fed up. If he doesn’t pull his weight around here soon, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe you could call to talk to him. You’ve always been good at drawing him out. If anyone can get him to shape up, it’s you.
    Work has been pretty terrible too. So many clients who expect the earth no matter how many other projects I have. I imagine you’re having a wonderful time with Jeanette, being a tourist and going on day trips and whatnot. Thank goodness she finally got you a dentist appointment. Sometimes she gets too caught up in having a good time to remember the basics. I wanted to ask you, too, to please work on your math at least a little bit this summer. You know it will help you in September.
    I love you, and I miss you. Please call when you get this. I need to hear your voice, and I’d really appreciate your help with your father.
    XOXO Mom
    I let out a long breath.
    â€œEverything okay?” Sarah asks.
    I nod. Tears prick my eyes. I shake my head. “Things aren’t so good at home.”
    â€œWhat’s up?” She shifts her stack of books to one hip.
    â€œI’m afraid my parents are going to divorce before I get back,” I blurt out, stopping myself from saying the worst part: if they divorce, it’ll be my fault. They’re always telling me how much they need me, yet this summer all I’ve been thinking about is myself.
    Back at Jeanette’s, I call home. No one answers. I leave a message saying I got Mom’s email, I love them and I hope to talk to them soon.

T EN
    â€œB efore we begin,” Frank says, “tell me what got you interested in the bandoneón when most people don’t even know what one is.”
    We’re sitting in his living room. A stack of music books rests on the canoe, Frank has his accordion out, and my bandoneón case is unopened at my feet. Outside on the patio Jeanette and Louise are drinking lemonade, and occasionally their peals of laughter carry through the closed door. I tell him about Alison, her thing for tango and the Basement of Wonders. He listens without saying a word.
    When I’m finished talking, he says, “I never imagined sitting in my living room talking to a thirteen-year-old about Ástor Piazzolla.”
    I shrug. “Just because most kids have never heard of him doesn’t mean nobody