We Find What Is Lost: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 1)

Chapter Forty-Eight: Rachel, Spring, 1981

Rachel found herself once again in the embarrassing predicament of crying in front of Mrs. Anderson.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," the older woman said as they sat across the table from each other in the gazebo, during what was likely their last tea together. "I wish there was something I could tell you that would make you feel better. For what it's worth, I'm heartbroken you're leaving, too."

"Why would she do this?" Rachel cried in exasperation. "Why would she take me away from the only home I've ever known?"

Mrs. Anderson cleared her throat and said, hesitantly, "I thought it was your father who found a new job in Burnaby."

"Yeah. Sure." Rachel furiously wiped her eyes. "And I'm sure it's just a coincidence that this job happens to be close to where Mom's place of work is? And how would he have even found out about it if she hadn't told him?"

"Rachel, your father isn't a stupid man," she said, and Rachel felt bad that she'd implied it.

"But why would he want to leave?! I thought he was happy here!"

Mrs. Anderson sighed in resignation. "Well, Rachel, as dismaying as it might seem to everyone on this street, your father and mother have lived together as a married couple for over a year now, and, unless I'm not seeing something, relatively successfully. You're well fed, have good clothing, your grooming is better... I can't ignore that it's because of your mother's influence."

Rachel sighed in frustration, partly because Mrs. Anderson was right. Could she tell her, though, that she in fact didn't see something? For example, the way Mom talked to Dad as if he were a child, or the way she ordered his life as if he hadn't done for himself and his daughter for eight years?

"And," Mrs. Anderson continued, "When I talked to your father about it, he mentioned that he and your mother are finally able to buy a property, that you don't have to rent anymore. I know that doesn't mean anything to you now, but it's always better to own than to rent."

"Why couldn't they have bought something here?! I think the Trybeks' house is still empty..."

Mrs. Anderson's eyes widened in surprise, and Rachel immediately regretted what she'd said. It was wrong to want to live in the house in which she'd been hurt so badly, even if it would keep them in Queensborough.

"Maybe you can visit from time to time like your friend Al does," Mrs. Anderson said. "Maybe I can more formally give you piano lessons."

Rachel silently thought that if she came back to visit, the last thing she'd want to do was practice piano, not when she could spend every minute she had with her friends. Instead, she betrayed her mother by saying, "I don't think my mom likes me taking piano lessons from you."

"I think your mother..." Mrs. Anderson paused, struggling with the right thing to say. "I think that she thinks she has a lot of time to make up for. She wants to be the woman you look up to, and who can blame her?"

"But she doesn't even know piano, and we don't have one, so what's the harm?"

Mrs. Anderson put her hand over hers. "I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"I don't care what your mother has told you about this move; frankly, I don't think she likes me, why, I have no idea, and I can't do anything about that. But I do like your father. He's a good man. I want you to trust your father on this move. He would never lie to you. If he says he got the new job on his own, then believe him. When you move to your new house, just see how it goes for a while. See if you like your new room, see if you like your new school. Give it a few months. If you're still sad, or mad, just call me. We can chat. You can tell me anything, and I'll tell you everything about what's been happening here."