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explain the serious scowl on her pinched face.
    â€œI was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come,” Aunt Beatrix said curtly. “I was led to believe we would be going out this afternoon. If I’d known you were going to return so late I would have gone with your mother and Margaret. You know it’s very rude to keep people waiting.” She made an exaggerated effort to look at her watch. “I’m not even sure now if I have the energy for an outing anymore …” Brilliant, that suited me just fine. “… But I suppose I can muster the strength for a short excursion. Perhaps to that gift shop that sells antiques and aboriginal art. What’s it called?”
    â€œReal Treasures and Gifts,” I sighed.
    â€œYes, that’s the place. Well, let’s get going then.” She shooed me out the door like a little kid with muddy feet.
    All the way to Beecher Street Aunt Beatrix nattered on at me like a cranky parrot. Mostly it was about the broken china. She reminded me it had been in the family for six generations and that one day it might be mine. “If there’s anything left of it, that is,” she said. After a while she moved on to my dirty fingernails and torn sneakers. She’d just started giving me tips about the best way to make a good impression on my teachers when we finally arrived at Real Treasures and Gifts. I was trying to estimate how much trouble I’d get in if I just dumped her off on Mr. Grimbal and ran for it. He was just as crusty as Aunt Beatrix so they’d make a great pair.
    â€œHello ladies, come right in,” Mr. Grimbal said in his slick, used-car salesman voice. “And who is this charming lady with the elegant hat, Peggy?” Oh please, did he think that kind of goopy flattery actually worked? Then Aunt Beatrix giggled daintily. Hmmm, obviously he knew something I didn’t.
    â€œGood afternoon, sir. What an interesting shop you have. Now you must tell me about these objects — are they all made by First Nations?” I could tell Mr. Grimbal was already sizing up Aunt Beatrix’s wallet and wondering if he should start with the expensive stuff.
    â€œWhat a fascinating man Mr. Grimbal is,” Aunt Beatrix gushed as we walked back home. “Such a pity he doesn’t have a wife to help him. He’s just the kind of man I can relate to — educated, polite, and a successful businessman too. I do hope we’ll come visit him again, Peggy.” Gross! It sounded like Aunt Beatrix had something in mind besides shopping for souvenirs at Mr. Grimbal’s store.
    All through dinner Aunt Beatrix chatted on happily about Mr. Grimbal, his store, and the ancient Coast Salish — she didn’t even mention that I was late picking her up. I was actually impressed with how much she’d learned and remembered. And I could tell Mom and Aunt Margaret were pleased with her chipper mood. That meant serious brownie points for me.
    â€œAunt Beatrix seemed thrilled with her outing today, Peggy,” said Mom at bedtime. Maybe this was all going to work in my favour after all. When she was finished gushing her appreciation I’d bring up the topic of scuba diving lessons. “It might well be the highlight of her trip. And it was a big help to Aunt Margaret too, as she had some important errands to get done.”
    â€œIt was my pleasure,” I lied. Then with a soft tone and as little eye contact as possible I added, “Mom, ah, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Mom didn’t have a lot of extra cash and we were always on a tight budget — one that I’m sure didn’t include diving lessons. “TB was thinking since he lives right on one of the world’s most beautiful coasts it would be a cool thing if he learned to scuba dive. His mom really likes the idea and thought if I took lessons with him it would give him more confidence — you