Chapter Nine
“SERIOUSLY? THAT’S IT? A hundred dollars?”
“A hundred dollars is a lot, miss. You’re lucky the rate for gold is so high,” says the man at the counter.
Behind his desk, the exchange is filled with bags of vegetables, a couple of bicycles, broken hockey sticks and just about every other random piece of garbage you could imagine.
Workers pull crates using everything from wagons to proper pallet jacks.
All these goods are headed for the resale store down the hall, including my mother’s earrings.
If I agree to sell them.
Sid mentioned something about other avenues, but I need money now. I can’t bring April home without medicine and this will cover it for a month. Hopefully, in that time I can find a job. Tom said something about sanctuary seekers being allowed to apply for jobs, so it doesn’t seem impossible.
“Okay, I’ll take it.”
The man counts out five twenty-dollar bills, all emblazoned with the signifiers of the long-fallen Canadian government.
The plastic-coated banknotes outlasted the empire that printed them.
I’m flexing one back and forth when he sweeps the earrings behind the counter.
With that, another piece of my mother disappears.
I’m almost relieved the perfume bottle turned out to be worthless.
“Can I help you with anything else?” he asks, his tone suggesting I’ve stood here too long and am holding up the line.
“Oh. No… well, maybe?” I point at the people pushing around palettes and wagons. That looks like the kind of thing I could be competent at—walking back and forth carrying heavy goods. “How do people get jobs here?”
“We hire periodically. Usually, we run an ad in the weekly newspaper, letting people know we’re open to applications.”
Applications. More paperwork, then. This damn island has a love affair with the stuff. Still, it might be worth it if it means I can afford April’s medication. “And do people get paid money for working here?”
“Of course. Standard wage.”
“Standard wage? How much is that?”
The man cocks his head, putting the information together. “You must be new to the island.”
“Sure.” I’m surprised it wasn’t obvious sooner.
“Standard wage is ten dollars a week.”
“Ten dollars a—are you shitting me? That little?”
“Well…” The man looks deeply uncomfortable. There are people muttering behind me, but what do I care? There’s no way this is ruining their days more than mine. “It’s in line with local standards. No one uses cash for essentials anymore.”
The words Tom spoke to me when he issued my papers come back.
As a sanctuary seeker, I’m entitled to housing and rations.
How is medicine not essential? If you have the power to save someone’s life, why wouldn’t you?
Of course, Tom had a line for that, too.
Medicine is scarce. To him, April and I look like opportunistic leeches.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, ma’am?” asks the man.
“What kinds of jobs make more money? Like, a lot more?” Twice as much would be the bare minimum.
Unless April and I both work—but no, Tom already made it clear that she has to go to school and if she doesn’t, we’ll be in trouble all over again.
I can’t imagine what a fifteen-year-old as clever as April could possibly need more education for.
The clerk’s answer sheds some light on the situation. “Doctors. Scientists. Government officials, maybe? Perhaps you should have this conversation with your sanctuary host?”
“Thank you. Yes. I will.” But I’ve got the gist. Fancy jobs.
The kind that require a lot more know-how than schlepping heavy boxes around a warehouse.
I haven’t attended school since Astolia and even then, it was nothing but basic reading and writing.
Maybe it’s a good thing April is being forced to go to school.
If only her future self could pay for her current ailing body.
I’ve taken up more than my share of time.
With the money in hand, I head out of the exchange, then trudge uphill toward the hospital.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to use the Emergency entrance now that April is already inside, but if I’m in the wrong place, the Desk Lady doesn’t make a fuss of it.
She gives me a cheerful hello. “Doctor Tremblay was about to send news to the acreage that your sister is ready for discharge, but look at you! Here already.” She scribbles notes on some paper.
“Now, there are some costs we need to resolve before we send her anywhere.”
“I brought money.”
“So prepared! Let’s get you sorted, hon.”
The knives, axes, and other weapons I surrendered at the border count towards payment for April’s hospital visit, so that’s good news.
Still, by the time I’ve covered the cost of an IV, a night of observation, and Doctor Tremblay’s time, plus enough medication to last April a month, I’ve barely got ten dollars left.
Doctor Tremblay comes out to meet me. When Pat tells him I managed to cough up the cash for April’s first supply of insulin, his face breaks into a surprised smile.
Of course, I don’t say that I have no idea where the money for next month’s dose is going to come from, but why sow doubts in his mind?
He leads me to her, giving a long lecture about all the ways she’ll need to monitor her condition. I try to pay attention, I really do. But all that helpful information vanishes from my brain the moment we enter April’s room and I see I’m not her only visitor.
Tom Sullivan sits in front of my sister, scribbling away in a folder, interviewing her without me to oversee the interaction. That son of a bitch.
“Get away from her!” I fly to April, who goes rigid in my arms.
Tom straightens in his seat. “Pardon me?”
“You don’t talk to him without me. Understand? Don’t talk to this man!”
“Kayla, what are you doing?” April tries to shove me off, but that only makes me tighten my grip.
“He’s trying to get us in trouble—”
“He’s our immigration officer!” April shouts. I knew it. He’s already getting his hooks in her. “It’s his job to help us!”
“It’s his job to protect this island from people like us. Don’t let him lie to you.”
Tom snaps his folder closed and rises from his seat, his usual hard scowl in place. “Two things can be true at once, Ms. Hollins. For instance, this meeting has been both surprising and entirely predictable.”
“So you admit it? You’re trying to get rid of us?”
“No, I am not.” He slides his folder into a bag, the calm of his movements all the more enraging than yelling would be.
“This sorry state of affairs requires no effort on my part. It’s a shame, Ms. Hollins.
Upon meeting your sister, I wondered if I was mistaken in my estimation of your character.
She’s been raised well, by some miracle.
However…” He gestures at me. “It would seem my years of experience haven’t failed me.
The fact that you rushed in here, assuming an adversarial situation when—”
“You locked me in a hospital room yesterday! You threatened to send me to jail! Don’t you bullshit me that you’re the good guy—”
“I don’t care what you think of me. I truly wish I knew how to help you, Ms. Hollins. But while some people are built for civilization…” He nods toward April, before looking back at me. “Some, tragic as it is, are not.”
“Fuck off! You have no idea who I am.”
“Please. This kind of stress isn’t good for your sister,” says Doctor Tremblay, rushing in belatedly. I glower at him. Yeah, I’m the problem here. Raising a fuss, trying to protect April, that’s the problem. Not the bastard undermining us at every chance he gets.
“Please be aware that every demerit you receive will elongate the citizenship process by one year, Ms. Hollins,” says Tom. “And that should you obtain a third, your sanctuary status will be suspended and subject to review.”
“A third?”
“A third.” Tom puts his hat on and heads for the door, limping against his bad leg. “This conversation counts as your second.”