CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 01 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
All-American, he guessed that was how he was viewed, sitting
in the cafeteria at his table, listening to his friends go on about the game
the night before. He was half-interested-after all he had been there playing
along side them, hell he'd even scored a couple of goals-but his mind was
drifting away from it as he looked about him.
The school was pretty much the same as any other. South Carleton
High School was the only English high school in the small town, built on a
series of steep hills that swept down towards the mill that fronted the whole
town and provided work for eighty percent of the town's entire population.
Everyone at the school was connected to that mill in one fashion or another-either
their parents worked there, or their parents worked to provide services for
the people that worked there.
His grey eyes glanced out of the tall window behind him, looking
out across the deep valley that separated the plateau the school sat on from
the one of the two main roads out of town. Due to Merrickville's geography
and steep hills there really were only two ways in or out of the town. It
seemed sometimes that the same was true about people.
You either graduated school and went to college, joined the
army, or you stayed. And West had no intention of staying. He guessed that's
why he had his sights set on the army; technically he qualified now, he could
up and leave school, drive to Ottawa and the army recruiting station there
and be in uniform before you could blink. But his father had done that, and
for all the pushing the man did to steer his son towards that future, he made
it clear West was to finish school, graduate and take a military scholarship
to university.
Officer in training. He smiled, his father's way of wanting
something better for his son than he had himself, he guessed.
"You coming, West?" Matt asked him leaning down, his
palms flat on the table as he gave West a funny look.
West roused himself, realizing he hadn't even heard the school
bell, and pulled on his team jacket as he followed his best friend to their
lockers. They wound their way through the main lobby, other teammates in their
distinctive yellow and red jackets up-nodding to them as they went past as
they continued to chat up their girlfriends, who for their part continued
to play hard to get, even though from the talk in the locker rooms they weren't.
"You okay, man?" his younger friend asked, tapping
his arm with his closed fist.
West glanced down at the shorter winger, too small to be a first-string
player but damn fast on a pair of skates. He had his typical Boston ball cap
pulled over his short coarse black hair, framing his eyes with its perfectly
curved visor. The slight darkening of his skin belied his native heritage
that he was very proud of. West respected that, his father always taught him
to be proud of where he came from.
"Yeah, I'm fine," West replied as he found his locker,
turning the combination on the lock and pulling the battered metal door open.
He rifled through to grab his books for his next class, pulling them out and
tucking them under his arm as he closed the door.
"West!" Brad called, loping down the corridor. As
the captain of the team, Brad was top of the food chain, and while West was
a damn good centre, he was still only the assistant captain.
He grinned and tilted his head to Brad, "'Sup?"
"Nothing much," Brad said, walking alongside his two
teammates. The three of them headed for their next class-French with the indomitable
Mrs. Terriault, the short, ancient Parisian who tried desperately to teach
them how to conjugate verbs despite the fact they had no desire to learn it.
"You getting the Bronco tonight?" Brad asked as the
three of them stopped just before entering the classroom. Once they crossed
that threshold the only language spoken was French, and none of them wanted
to try to plot a Friday night out stumbling in French.
"Sure," West replied confidently, he always had the
Bronco on a Friday night. So long as he drove his brother to Ottawa to hang
with his friends, and brought the kid home before his curfew, West had the
truck as long as he wanted.
"Cool," Brad said clapping him on the shoulder as
he walked past West and into the classroom. West shrugged glancing down the
hall to where a pair of big eyes were watching him from the doorway of another
class. They blinked twice, realizing West had seen him, and ducked back into
the class. West chuckled to himself shaking his head, Peter was always doing
that. The quiet artist guy from his year who was always sick, and entirely
too shy for his own good. West often wondered what it was going to take for
the guy to come out of his shell.
"Monsieur Harding, dans la classroom, tout de suite!"
Mrs. Terriault's shrill voice cut into his thoughts, shocking him into entering
the classroom with a sheepish grin, as his two teammates grinned at him from
their place in the back, joking about him being in trouble.
"En francais!" Mrs. Terriault snapped as she began
to hand out the pop quizzes to the groans of her students.
* * *
West was Wesley Theodore Harding on his birth certificate, but
nobody ever called him that, it just didn't suit the six-foot-tall athletic
guy with his naturally highlighted brown hair, thin features and sparkling
eyes. The rakish grin and natural self-confidence that he seemed to be imbued
with suited the image his name conjured up. He was supposed to be everything
'West' summed up.
He came through the back door to the kitchen of the small farmhouse,
dropping his book bag beside the shoes on the floor and taking a moment to
tussle his eight-year-old sister's hair as she sat doing her homework at the
kitchen table.
Sammy glanced up, a petulant look on her face at being disturbed
from her arithmetic; she hated math about as much as everyone in the family
seemed to, it must be genetic. West glanced about to make sure no one was
looking before he leaned down to whisper, "The answer's four."
"Don't help her!" his mom said, coming up from the
basement freezer carrying a bag full of pork chops she intended to cook up
for supper and setting them to defrost in the microwave. "She's already
had her father helping her earlier, she's never going to learn to be independent
if you boys keep giving her all the answers!"
West grinned and stood up, pointing to the next one, "Five."
He shot his mom the sweetest smile, as Sammy frantically scribbled in the
last answer, getting up from the table finally done her homework and rushing
off to the television in the den.
His mom rolled her eyes as she set about preparing vegetables.
West came up and took the knife from her hands as he sliced the carrots, freeing
her up to prepare the potatoes.
"You're in a good mood today," she observed looking
over the rims of her glasses. "Going out later?"
"Yep," West replied, chopping swiftly with a keen
eye. "I'm supposed to pick up Brad and Matt and we're going to cruise
downtown."
His mom rolled her eyes as she set the potatoes on the stove
and turned on the heat, "You boys, what do you do on a Friday night,
anyway?"
"That is for him to know, and you to sweat over,"
West's father stated, banging in from the yard, kicking off his boots and
stopping long enough to kiss his wife and grin at his oldest son before he
hung up his jacket. "I take it you want the Bronco tonight?"
West nodded as he swept the carrots into the pan and poured
water over them, "If that's ok?"
"You see he's always good on a Friday night when he wants
the truck," his dad said with a teasing smirk over at his mom as he walked
through to the living room where Sammy was watching her cartoons. "You
can borrow it as long as you drive your brother."
"Done," West called back, as the back door banged
again as his brother stomped in. Joey looked about him as he grinned, tossing
his book bag down and starting to head towards the television.
"Table!" his mom called, gesturing at the kitchen
table with her wooden spoon.
Joey skidded to a halt, flashing her an unimpressed look as
he stomped back to the table and set about setting out the knives and forks.
West shook his head at his brother. Joey took after his mom, while West was
most definitely his dad's son. He was short and wiry, with glasses stuck on
the end of his nose that made him look like a geek, even though Joey's marks
were nowhere close to what they needed to be to make him a geek.
West shrugged as he trotted back through the old farmhouse to
his room. He was lucky enough to have his room on the main floor. It had once
been the dining room, but they had converted it to his room after Sammy had
been born, which was a bonus for West, as the room was bigger than his old
one had been. Plus, his dad had hauled the old sofa in there and tucked it
up against a wall; with his own television, it gave him a bit of his own space.
He flopped down, knowing he probably should do his homework.
He had a hockey practice the next day early, and if his friends dragged him
out on a Saturday night, the only chance he would get would be on Sunday night
when he baby-sat Sammy. As good a time as any to get his homework done, he
guessed.
He scooped up a remote and clicked on the stereo above his bed,
cycling through the CD's till he found something he liked and leaned back,
closing his eyes. It had been a long week, which meant it was great to finally
decompress. Between games and practice, school and his chores, it was going
to be great getting into the city and not think about stuff for a while, just
drive.
There was a knock at the sliding glass door, and he sat up as
his mom poked her head around the door. "Do you need me to iron anything
for you tonight?" she asked, not coming into his room. She was always
very respectful of his space, a fact he was always grateful for.
"No, I'm just gonna wear my navy polo shirt and maybe a
pair of levis," he said getting up and turning down the music. "It's
just me and the guys."
"All right," she said with a smile. "Dinner should
be ready in half an hour." She stepped out and closed the door.
West grinned as he tugged the thick mesh curtain back into place.
The disadvantage of the dining room was the glass panelled doors; if he didn't
keep the curtains sitting right anyone could see inside, though he had nothing
to hide so it didn't really bother him much.
He wandered back to his desk and flipped on his computer, waiting
till it booted up as he logged onto the net checking his email.
MSN trilled its familiar warning as Brad messaged him: You get
the truck?
West chuckled as he spun the leather office chair his dad had
gotten him for last Christmas and sat down, resting his feet on the tower
case that sat under the desk as he balanced the keyboard across his knees.
Yep, have to chauffeur the kid, but shouldn't be a problem,
he typed back.
Kewl, Brad always spelled it that way, I got Matt on the phone,
we're all psyched for tonight man, we're going to 'phods.
West grinned as he shook his head, They're gonna card us if
we bring Matt, you know that.
He's got his brother's id, it's all good relax man. We'll get
in just fine.
West shook his head, Dude you're a bad influence on me.
You're a goodie two shoes anyway bud. See you at eight.
See you then.
West shook his head as he got up and fished through the drawers
under his bed where he kept his clothes. Picking out the shirt he wanted and
the jeans, he set them out ready for when he went to shower after supper.
Absently picking up the basket ball that sat on the edge of the bed, and bouncing
it once...
"Not in the house!" Mom called loudly, causing West
to wince as he put it back on the bed.
"Sorry Mom!" he called, grinning up at the wall that
separated his room from the kitchen, taking a moment to flop down on the couch
again. He looked mildly irritated as the phone on his desk began to ring.
Reluctantly he got up and answered it, "Hello?"
"West, it's Jenny, what are you up to tonight?" came
the pretty voice down the line.
West carried the phone back to the couch with him as he sat
down, rubbing his temple, "Uhh, I'm going out with the guys, we're hitting
Ottawa, probably 'phods."
"Cool," she said sounding excited. "Mel and I
are planning to go, maybe we can meet up or something?"
"Sure," West said magnanimously. "Brad'll like
that."
"Oh," she said pausing, "yeah. Well I have to
go, I'll see you tonight, okay?"
"Sure thing," West replied spreading out a bit on
the couch. "It should be fun."
"Yes," she replied before hanging up.
West stared at the phone and smiled again shaking his head.
Brad had been after Jenny-Lynn for as long as they were in school. Maybe they'd
actually get together tonight but it wasn't likely. Brad would try and Jenny-Lynn
would shoot him down yet again and Mel would just offer another sarcastic
comment about him crashing and burning.
He chuckled shaking his head over the same old pantomime that
played out every Friday night they went out. It was becoming a great pattern,
and he had to admit, in the time they had left for their senior year, it was
going to be one of the things he missed when he went off to university and
joined the army.
"Dinner!" His mother's call had him up and joining
the hungry stampede through to the dining room, Sammy desperately racing Joey
to get there first, both the younger siblings seated and looking expectantly
at the bounty being laid out on the table in front of them.
West stopped long enough to help his mom carry through the plate
of pork chops and set them close to where his dad sat at the top of the table.
He sat down on his side, facing his sister and brother, both of whom were
eyeing the same big pork chop hungrily, knowing that they were both going
to make a race for it the second Dad selected his.
West shook his head as he reached out and scooped potatoes onto
his plate. His money was squarely on Sammy, she was getting quick in these
types of races.
Dad lifted his fork, noting the two eager little eating machines
as they both eyed the chop, and he smirked across the table towards Mom, as
he speared the one they were after and applied it to his plate.
West grinned, game set and match to Dad; sometimes it helped
being alpha male.
Sammy and Joey were staring in shock at their pork chop, allowing
West to lean forward and snatch the next largest and pass the platter down
to Mom. The two younger siblings responded with baleful glares as they were
stuck with the leftovers. Sammy tossed an accusing glare at Joey, blaming
him totally for the situation.
"So Joey, need a ride tonight?" West asked tucking
into his supper.
Joey nodded as he poured himself some juice from the pitcher,
"Can I get a ride to the Rideau Centre?"
"Sure," West said. "You want to be picked up
there after?"
"Yeah, around midnight?" Joey asked.
"Your curfew's at midnight," Mom reminded sternly.
Joey made to complain; he was sixteen and felt that a midnight
curfew was horrifically unfair on him.
Dad swept in to the rescue. "He'll be on his way home,"
he said, "and it gives West a bit more time to be out; it's not fair
on him if we make him come home for midnight because of Joey's curfew."
West glanced at his mom, she was contemplating it carefully.
At least Joey knew enough to keep his mouth shut, he knew well enough to not
say anything and let her make up her own mind. She often got stubborn when
she was triple-teamed by the men in her life.
"All right," she caved after a few minutes of mulling
it over. She sounded reluctant, but she was trying to seem cool with it. "Just
don't get into trouble," she said, tossing a warning over at Joey. "And
I want him to carry a cell phone when he goes out," she said looking
over at her husband.
He rolled his eyes dramatically, exaggerating her concern, smiling
as he fished his off of his belt and handed it over to Joey, "Take this
with you, we'll get you your own when we go shopping tomorrow."
Joey grinned, eyeing the phone as he ate, entirely too excited
by having one.
"No long distance calls," Dad stated firmly, catching
the look and shaking his head, "or you will be paying for them out of
your allowance."
"Speaking of which," Mom said with a smug smile, getting
him back for putting her on the spot earlier.
Dad winced, and she knew she had hit him right where it hurt,
the pocketbook. He shot her a dark look as he pulled out his wallet grumbling
and pulling out the bills, slapping a five down in front of Sammy, who grinned
and swiped it. A ten slipped across the table to Joey, and a twenty went across
to West.
"Fill the Bronco while you're at it?" Dad commented,
pulling out another twenty and adding it to the first.
"Sure," West replied pulling out his wallet and adding
his allowance to it. His dad was only teasing, he made sure they earned their
allowances; chores out on the farm, work around the house and babysitting
all contributed to make up their allowance. Nothing came free in their house,
and West supposed it was his dad's way of teaching them the value of money.
They finished their plates, West rinsing his and loading it
in the dishwasher as he went off to get ready. The main bathroom was opposite
his room on the main floor. It was an old farmhouse, the bathroom being an
extension that had been built onto the side of the house. His father had modernized
the bathroom, but hadn't managed to finish it so the walls were bare plaster
and bare floor boards were covered with rugs.
He shook his head, eight months and it wasn't even close to
being finished, maybe he should offer to give his dad a hand on Saturday afternoon.
He ran the shower, slipping out of his clothes, stuffing them
into the hamper as he tested the water, ensuring it was nice and hot before
he stepped in. He enjoyed the cascading water as he closed his eyes and let
it run over him washing away the day's grime. He reached out and poured a
little shampoo into his hand as he began to scrub it into his hair, using
the excess to scrub his skin. Soap was soap in his mind; it all did the same
job. He heaved a sigh as he leaned against the cold tiles and let the water
rinse over him.
He drew the face cloth down over his smooth skin, glad of the
development he trained so hard for. He didn't work out in a gym, it came from
the constant practice and games, training under Coach Thorburn who wasn't
about to let the reputation of his Storm falter because of lazy players.
Finished he climbed out of the shower and dried himself off,
wiping the mirror clean of condensation as he began to shave, grinning at
himself as he mused about how he would look in a beard. The triple-bladed
razor scraped away the fine blond hairs in well-practiced long strokes; his
father had taught him that was the way to get a closer shave, never rush,
take your time and only lift the blade when you reached the end. He cleaned
it off and drew another long stroke, his grey eyes sparkling back at him.
He was handsome, cute probably, but handsome was more masculine. A small nose
with well-proportioned features and a dazzling smile he got straight from
his dad.
Yep, he felt good. He applied some hair product to his hands
as he deliberately messed up his hair into the carefully crafted mess that
he loved to walk about with. Running a hand back through it he nodded in satisfaction
as he tightened his towel around his waist and set off back to his room.
He got dressed, pulling on his loose-fit jeans and polo shirt,
checking himself again and fixing his hair one last time as he scooped up
his can of Axe. He shook it absently as he glanced at his computer, spraying
a little of it down his shirt front; somehow he preferred to do it that way.
He was ready to go and it was still early. He shook his head
as he clicked on the TV and waited till he was due to go.
