Somewhere In-Between by Donna Milner Page B

difficult to drive to, and far enough away from town for privacy. But it was dangerous. A few years ago two teenage boys, emboldened by alcohol, had played chicken, wading deeper and deeper into the swirling river in the darkness. They were both swept away by the treacherous current, their bodies not found until the following day.
    â€œDarla would never go there,” Julie had reasoned as they bumped down the steep narrow road leading to the river valley. “She knows it’s out of bounds. She promised… she promised.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Ian or herself.
    â€œShe’s a teenager,” Ian said, braking on a sharp turn. “But let’s hope you’re right!”
    She wasn’t. As they came to a skidding stop, their headlights illuminated the group of teenagers milling around a huge bonfire, scrambling to hide beer cans. She immediately located Darla’s shocked face in the crowd.
    All the way home a hysterical Darla swore it was the first time she had ever gone there. She had just wanted to see what the big deal was. She’d only had a few sips of beer. She would never be invited anywhere ever again after her parents had barged in and broken it up. “How could you do that to me?” she had wailed. They grounded her for a month.
    Despite her whining protests, the punishment stood. Except for school, play rehearsals and performances, she was confined to the house for one full month. She had a week to go.
    While the audience filed back in, Julie turned once again to check the landing to see if Ian had come in during intermission. Beyond disappointed, she was closing in on furious to see no sign of him. Two aisles over she spotted Kajul’s parents, reclaiming their seats. Acknowledging Mrs Sandhu’s wave, Julie couldn’t help noticing the bouquet of flowers that overwhelmed the woman’s lap. Their daughter Kajul, whose name always sounded like ‘Casual’ to Julie, was anything but. The dark-haired, doe-eyed teenager, playing the part of Frenchy tonight, had taken on the role of the beauty-school-aspiring, high-school drop-out, as if the character was written especially for her. The proud bouquet suited her.
    Julie glanced down at her own small offering and smiled inwardly. It too was just right. The single rose marked a special occasion in their family. Ian had brought one to the hospital the day Darla was born. Every year, along with the yellow candles, Julie placed a single yellow rose—Darla’s favourite colour—on her birthday cake.
    At the end of the performance, after the final curtain call, the cast formed a reception line in front of the stage. Darla gushed over her flower, accepting it with a formal curtsy, and then throwing herself into her mother’s arms and jumping up and down as if she were ten years old again. “Wasn’t it wicked, Mom? Did you like it?”
    â€œLike it, my God, I loved it,” Julie shouted to be heard above the din. She stepped back and held her daughter by the shoulders to look into her eyes. She knew her own were filling up but didn’t care. “You were so good... so… so wonderful… I’m so proud of you.”
    â€œThanks, Mom.”
    â€œI’m sorry your dad didn’t make it, he must…”
    â€œIt’s okay,” Darla said offhandedly, her gaze straying beyond Julie’s shoulder. “I knew he couldn’t make it tonight. He called before you got home. I thought you knew.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œHe’s coming tomorrow night,” Darla said, reaching past Julie to grab a white leather sleeve, and pulling Levi between them. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered something into his ear, and he nodded a silent reply.
    â€œMom,” she said, turning back to her, “there’s a cast party after we’re cleaned up here.”
    Julie raised her eyebrow; she didn’t want to have to say it out loud.