Dormer Window

By Pat Reddekopp

As a teenager, Vincent loses his mother and finds himself struggling to find his place in this big world. When the Hastings family moves into the vacant house Vincent has been squatting in, a friendship blossoms between Vincent and the Hastings’ son, Cory. But Vincent has to be careful about sharing his secrets or he may lose everything he still manages to hang on to.

Herta, an elderly widow living next door, makes life difficult for her neighbors and frustrates her son Robert. Her “roller coaster” shifts from clarity to confusion and back have him concerned for her safety.

When a tragedy brings upheaval, hurt, and anger, the road to healing is fraught with pain and danger. But hope may come when they least expect it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Word Alive Press
• Release date: Jan 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781486611355

Book preview

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you Kirby, EMT at Quappelle Health, for your kindness and patience letting me know where I was on the right track and where I would need to change things. Taking the time to let me ask my questions was tremendously helpful.

To Marilyn, long time nurse, for filling me in on the details about injuries. You gave me the information I needed.

My thanks to Walter for advising me on the procedure of adoption. Your real life career experience clarified what needed to happen in the story.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Dawson, a young skateboarder, who very willingly corrected and enlightened me about skateboarding.

Thank you to the team at Word Alive Press for all your hard work, dedication, and patience.

The most thanks goes to my heavenly Father for creating my mind to use words.

Chapter 1

She was in too big of a hurry to marry again after Willard died. It was her own fault she got into the pickle she did. Mavis wouldn’t be dead if she hadn’t been in such a rush. She didn’t know anything about Dudley.

I’m sure she only did it because she wanted to have a father for Vincent and the baby.

Some father. He didn’t know how to discipline himself, never mind any children. She would’ve been better off putting the baby up for adoption when it was born and looking after Vincent alone.

She shouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place. Then she wouldn’t have felt she needed to get married.

And when she knew she was having problems, she should have gone to the doctor sooner.

Vincent lay on his grandparents’ family room couch, covering his ears so he didn’t have to listen. But the critical voices in the kitchen came through anyway. It was the same discussion his aunts had been having every day since his mother’s funeral. Why did they hate his mother so much? She didn’t plan to make Dudley so mad when he came home drunk. All she did was ask him to take her to the hospital because she was in so much pain. It wasn’t her fault the baby was coming too early. Dudley was the one that beat her up so badly that she and the unborn baby died. The tears began to flow down Vincent’s cheeks. He brushed them angrily aside. He wouldn’t be a wimp. He just wouldn’t.

Girls, Vincent’s grandfather’s voice interrupted their discussion, stop it. Nothing is going to change the past. So your sister-in-law made a mistake. Maybe you don’t know how lonely she was when Willard died and left her alone in the first place. But that is the past too. We’re here to talk about what to do about Vincent.

I can’t take him, Aunt Rhoda said. My house just isn’t big enough.

Our place only has one bedroom, Grandfather pointed out, even though all of them were aware of that fact. Mavis’s parents aren’t alive anymore, and she has no siblings, so there’s no one there who could take him.

Now that’s stating the obvious, Vincent thought.

We can’t look after him. We wouldn’t have the energy. Vincent’s grandmother’s whining voice joined their debate. So what do we do?

I won’t even consider taking him, Aunt Leah added. If Mavis felt Dudley was good enough for her children, let him be a father to Vincent now.

I agree, let Dudley be a father, Aunt Rhoda joined the discussion again. I say we take Vincent back there in the morning and make Dudley own up to having had a wife and child and take responsibility for his son.

Stepson, Vincent corrected her in his mind. I was never more than his pain in the side stepson.

Leah, maybe you could …, Grandmother began, only to be interrupted.

Let it go, Mom. Neither one of us is going to do it. You and Dad will just have to accept the fact that Vincent isn’t your concern. Willard shouldn’t have married Mavis in the first place. She …

Enough! Grandfather’s voice was loud and stern.

Everyone was quiet for a few seconds before Aunt Rhoda spoke again.

Which one of us is going to drive him over? Dad, you’ll have to be the one to do it. Leah and I have to go to work in the morning.

Sure, Grandmother’s voice was harsh. You two make the decision and want your father do the dirty work.

It’s okay, Mira, Grandfather responded. I’ll do it. I just want to have an end to it. Maybe I can convince Dudley to do a good job.

Vincent lay without moving when his grandfather came into the room.

Vincent, you awake?

Vincent didn’t answer.

Vincent. His grandfather came up to the couch and touched his shoulder. Here’s a blanket and pillow. We’ve decided I’ll be taking you back to Dudley’s in the morning. Your grandmother and I are too old to look after you, and your aunts can’t do it. I hope you understand.

Vincent looked at his grandfather without saying anything. Oh, he understood all right. They didn’t care about him one bit. They’d never liked his mother and seldom hesitated to put her down. Well, he could look after himself. Dudley wasn’t going to treat him the way he’d treated his mother.

* * *

The October morning was cool and misty as Vincent and his grandfather got into the car. Vincent looked at his grandparent’s house as they drove away. He had no plans to ever see it again. When his grandmother waved from the living room window, he didn’t wave back.

As the car came to the first intersection, Vincent reached over and switched the radio on, turning the dial to a country station and raising the volume. He knew it would irritate his grandfather, but he didn’t care. Sure enough, a second later his grandfather switched if off.

Vincent, I know you don’t much care for what’s happening. I wish things were different, too, but at least let’s be civil with each other this morning.

Vincent slumped down in the seat and turned his head to look out of the side window. It would be a long, quiet drive, but he wasn’t going to give his grandfather the satisfaction of conversation when they were tossing him aside like a pesky fly.

Chapter 2

Herta pressed her hand onto the soil over the last dahlia bulb. She looked over the area thinking about how pretty the flowers would look with all the reds, yellows, and burgundies of the blossoms. Then leaning on her hoe for support, she pushed herself to her feet. Reaching for the watering can, she doused the area where she’d planted the bulbs, then set it back on the ground. Putting her hands on her hips and stretching her back, she looked over at the house next door.

Such a shame, she muttered. "It can’t be good for a house to stand empty so long. It must be sold, though, she thought. The For Sale sign had been gone quite a while.

The yard was beginning to look horrid, too. Weeds almost as high as the fence, and the lawn like a farmer’s hay field—except that by now a farmer would have cut and baled it. Disgraceful! It negated all her hard work to bring beauty to the neighbourhood.

Bending once more to retrieve her watering can and pick up the bucket of small gardening tools, Herta moved stiffly toward the garden shed and set both inside. After closing and latching the door, she went toward her back porch. Running her fingers through the tangled gray strands of her hair, she settled herself into the patio chair, immediately regretting not having gone into the house for a glass of iced tea first. Now she would have to decide if it was worth it to get up once more and get the tea, or to just sit for a bit and then go into the house. She looked out over the garden and wished again her old bones were more willing to work in the soil without protesting so much.

After sitting for a short while, the early spring breeze began to increase and get a bit cool. Not good for my aching bones, Herta thought, getting up from her chair and turning to go into the house. As she did, she heard the annoying sound of the top branches of the big tree scraping across the roof beside the attic window in the vacant house. Why couldn’t someone cut those back? Or a bolt of lightning snap that branch off for a change. Perhaps even start the whole house on fire so it would have to be torn down. No, not quite that drastic, she countered the scheme hatching in her brain. Some of the sparks might start her house on fire too.

Herta let the screen door slam behind her and went to wash her hands at the kitchen sink. Now for some tea, she thought. Shivering a little she decided to make it a hot cup instead of the glass of iced tea she had planned a few minutes ago. She set the kettle of water on the stove and reached for a mug and the canister of tea bags. Just as she opened the pantry cupboard to get the container of sugar, she heard shouting in the street.

Not those skateboarding hooligans again! Forever racing up and down the sidewalk, making a huge racket. Just because the street was on a bit of a slope, they felt the sidewalk in front of her house was their personal raceway.

Stomping to her front door, Herta opened it with a jerk.

Hey, you kids, she hollered. Can’t you race somewhere else than on my street?

Our street as well as yours, old lady, one of the boys yelled back over his shoulder.

Go back to your whistling teapot, another called as he sped past. He did a sharp turn just past her yard and then pushed back to where the slope began a few houses up the block.

Oh, my. My tea. Herta slammed the door and hustled back to the kitchen. What good was yelling at them anyway? No matter how much she protested, they just kept coming back. Herta put a tea bag into her mug and filled the mug with hot water. The only relief she got was when they were in school during the week. Saturdays were the worst. It was like every kid in the neighbourhood gathered on the sidewalk in front of her house.

Herta was almost finished her mug of tea when the front doorbell rang. She set her mug on the counter and went to answer it. When she opened the door, all she saw was two broken pickets from her fence lying on the step. The fence beside the gate looked like the mouth of a six year old who has just lost two front teeth. The gaping hole made her feel sick. What in the world had happened? She kicked the pickets off the step in annoyance and went to look if there was any other damage. Sure enough, a little further down a couple more pickets leaned into the yard. She looked down the street and caught two of the skateboarders peeking out from behind a lilac bush at the corner. She shook her fist at them, only to hear them laugh and skate away.

Arrrggg, one of these days….

Chapter 3

Vince, go get the paper and bring me a beer from the fridge, Dudley shouted from the family room.

Vincent put his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

Vince get my paper, Vince get my coat, Vince get my beer, he muttered. Should he respond? Was it worth it not to respond? In the six months he had been with Dudley, the debate within himself had been the same and always ended the same. Not responding could lead to a bruise somewhere, depending on how energetic Dudley felt when he was making his demands.

Hey, Vince …you hear me, boy? The harsh no-nonsense tone told Vincent it would be better to respond.

Yeah, Dudley, I hear you.

Pushing his desk chair back, Vincent rose and went down the hall from his room toward the front door. Once again the paper boy had flung the paper on the step instead of putting it into the mail box. The sections were loose, and before he even gave it to Dudley, Vincent knew he would be blamed that it had come apart. On the way to the family room he stopped for the requested beer and took a can of pop for himself.

Did I say you could have a pop? Dudley questioned when Vincent handed him the paper and the beer.

I was thirsty too, Vincent replied.

Well, pop costs money. You can just go put it back and get a glass of water. Dudley waved the newspaper at Vincent. Just once, can’t you bring me the paper without messing it all up?

Vincent turned back toward the kitchen without replying.

Hey, I was talking to you. Dudley grabbed Vincent’s shoulder and spun him around. Funny how he didn’t have the energy to get his own drink, but when he wanted to be rough he could get up pretty fast. Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.

Sorry, Vincent muttered, hoping that would be enough.

Remember next time. Dudley pushed Vincent’s shoulder roughly and then went back to his chair.

Vincent glanced over to see if Dudley was watching and then took the pop along to his room instead of getting the water. Mom, what did you see in Dudley anyway? Vincent thought for the umpteenth time. He sat down at his desk again to finish his essay before he got ready for bed. Was there a time when the guy seemed like he cared, or were you so desperate for someone to be with you settled for a jerk?

* * *

Vince, get in here!

Vincent rolled over and squinted at his clock. It was six o’clock in the morning.

Vince! What could Dudley want at this hour?

Vincent swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, but not before Dudley opened his door so fast it slammed against the wall.

Didn’t you hear me, boy?

I couldn’t help but hear you, Dudley. I’m sure the whole neighbourhood heard you.

Don’t sass me, Vince, Dudley snapped, coming toward the bed. When I call you, I want you to come. I don’t want to waste my breath.

Now that you’ve wasted it coming to my room, why don’t you just tell me what you want and save me the breath of coming to you?

Dudley lifted his hand to hit Vincent; Vincent ducked and Dudley’s wrist smacked into the iron bed post. With a loud howl of pain, Dudley used his uninjured hand to grab Vincent’s pajama front. He yanked him off the bed and onto the floor.

That’s it, Vince. You’re going to be a ward of the court. I’m finished coddling someone else’s fourteen year-old offspring. Get dressed. I’m going to go to the doctor to see if this arm is broken like I think it is, and then I’m going to call the police and charge you with assault.

Vincent slowly rose to his feet as Dudley slammed the door against the wall again on his way out of the bedroom. What you don’t know, Dudley old man, he thought, is that you’re doing me a favour. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.

Vincent picked up his clothes and went to the bathroom to shower. No point in trying to get back to sleep now. What Dudley had wanted of him at six in the morning was still a mystery.

Chapter 4

Steve Hastings slammed the receiver down and hit the desk top with the palms of both hands.

Steve, is everything okay? his wife, Bess, called.

Oh, just hunky dory, Steve said, sarcasm filling his tone. Another delay! To think these renovation guys came highly recommended and I fell for it. Some recommendation! I must have misunderstood. They must have been recommended as the most at rest instead of one of the best.

What happened to delay things this time? Bess asked, coming into the office. She came around the desk and began rubbing Steve’s neck.

Steve let Bess rub for a bit, then got up and began pacing back and forth in the little bedroom turned home office.

Some fool they hired part time to try and catch up left their tools out in the yard and didn’t set the alarm, so they were stolen.

Can’t they get more tools?

Yeah, but it will take more time. It wasn’t the first incident of being irresponsible with tools, so Waldo fired the guy. Now he’ll have to hire someone or wait until the other workers get back into town.

I’m so sorry, Steve. Bess spoke softly, but somehow her quiet words just irritated him.

We’ll never get into that house at this rate. We’ve been waiting since fall for the work to get done. What a steal it seemed to be when we bought the house. Even with the renovations it was supposed to be a bargain. I wish someone would’ve told me how much aggravation the delays would cause.

Bess reached over and picked up the pictures of the stately two story house they had purchased.

It will be worth it in the end, Steve. It has all the features you always dreamed of in an older house. The big front veranda, the mini veranda off the second floor master bedroom where we can sit in the evening and talk, an extra bedroom for a bigger home office—all things you loved about it.

I know, Bess. I still like the house, but it’s just so frustrating not to be able to move into it. I’m tired of this little rental. I wish I was more of a handyman; I’d do the work myself.

Bess smiled. You’re certainly between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you? You have a large staff to build big buildings, but no one to do this renovation in your own house.

Don’t tease me right now, Bess, Steve growled. I’m not in the mood. You know I don’t take on residential jobs like that.

I was only trying to steer you out of the funk. Bess turned and started toward the door. I’ll come back when you’ve cooled off.

Steve watched Bess walk out of the office, and then sat back down at his desk. He knew he’d need a pretty bouquet with his apology later.

Purposefully turning his attention