In a strange way, the tradition of taking school photos in the autumn alters history. A lot can happen between September and June yet the record is set. On that crisp day thirty years earlier, Joan” greatest concern was whether she should wear her hair in a ponytail, as she did most days, or down and straight, which was hipper. She couldn” ask Gabe Theissen, who was in line ahead of her. Her best friend had no patience for vanity. He” only lecture her about all the cancer patients in the world who had no hair.Joan wrinkled her nose. Someone was wearing too much candy-scented perfume. It mingled with the sweat of three hundred teens. As the line shuffled forward again, Joan drifted into a daydream, imagining what message she” sign into the yearbooks of others when they were issued in the spring. Those words and this photograph would be how people remembered her for eternity. A flash of white light brought her back to the moment. Her photo had been snapped. There” be no second chance.As the spots cleared from in front of her eyes, the principal entered the gym. A teacher pointed in her direction. Joan” first thought was that one of her brothers had done something wrong. Anthony had started tenth grade this fall and she” been waiting for embarrassing repercussions.When she reached the office she could see her mom through the large glass window. Their eyes met and she knew that something had happened to her dad. Vi Parker fell into her daughter” arms. Joan worried that the wracking sobs would shatter her mother” fragile frame. At that moment Joan became the caretaker of her mother. In her darkest hours she” wonder if her dad” heart gave out because he could no longer cope with having a child for a wife.Leo and Vi had both been twenty-two when they married and he had adored her wide-eyed wonderment at the world. She never lost that awe but it also meant she seldom bothered with the responsibility of adulthood. It had been Leo who had made sure that the three kids got off to school on time, that there were groceries in the house and the utility bills were paid. Vi cooked dinner, occasionally did laundry and never broke a fingernail over dishes or yard work. And she always, always looked beautiful when Leo arrived home. Despite the demands on the home front, he managed to build a successful roofing company. Vi never had a day of worry. When Leo died, that all changed.At eighteen Joan was planning her father” funeral. His brother, Uncle Nick, came from Waterloo for the service. Her mom” two sisters and their husbands arrived a day early from Vancouver to fuss over Vi, their youngest sibling. Neighbours left casseroles and cakes. Then, after a week, the circus was over and the bomb dropped. Vi had no idea whether or not Leo had had insurance. It was as irrelevant to her as gas bills and house payments. Joan turned the house upside down looking for a policy. She went through boxes, drawers and his overstuffed, disorganized filing cabinet but it soon became obvious that her father had made no provisions for this to happen. Leo didn” expect to die. And he had lived life large, spoiling Vi and the kids to the point where Joan had thought they were well off. When he had a big contract, he” spend big. But in roofing there are slow times. What none of them had known was that the house had been mortgaged to their own roof to keep the business going. There was nothing in the bank and Leo owed salaries that would never be paid. Their life had been an illusion.When the cupboards were down to cream corn and luncheon meat that smelled worse than dog food, Joan found a cashier gig at the gas bar owned by Dan Prychenko. His daughter, Marlena, was one of the popular girls at school. The job started as a part-time position at night but the bills were mounting quickly and more hours became available. By Christmas Joan had stopped going to school altogether. She wasn” around to pick up her diploma the following June. Over the years she” sometimes wonder if her photograph had made it into the yearbook.?” driving to Madden this weekend.?Joan watched for her mother” response. Vi lived in the basement suite of her sister” house. It had been her home for over twenty-seven years now. Name-brand lemon cleaner didn” completely mask the underlying mildew and it was always in a state of colourful disarray, made worse by ceramic nick-knacks and garage sale treasures; the type of dust collectors that gave Vi pleasure and drove Joan crazy. A nook off of the sitting room made space for a hide-a-bed so that her grandchildren, Joan” young nephews, could stay overnight. The living situation had been a godsend for Vi. She had had free rent in exchange for babysitting her sister” children when they” been young. It had been crowded at first, with Joan” brothers, Anthony and David still living at home. Now that Vi” sister, Rose, was widowed, the elderly women were good company for one another.?hat” nice, dear. Do yo