Chapter Eleven #3
I’m so taken aback by the accusation; I don’t have a rebuttal.
Does she have any idea how difficult just surviving is?
Things might seem easier now that we’re on this island, but our position is still precarious.
We’re living in someone else’s apartment, eating someone else’s food and have no guarantee that we’ll be able to pay for her insulin when she runs out in a couple of weeks.
Her life hangs in the balance more than anyone’s. She should be thrilled with survival.
“I’m going to bed,” she announces.
I make a move to follow her, but Sid places a hand on my shoulder, halting me. “Hey, do you have a minute?”
“Um… sure.” My eyes are fixed on April as she marches away with her nose in the air.
“Great. Duck pond?”
I sigh, annoyed to be pulled in the opposite direction, but it’s better than hanging around the fire with all the other guys.
They seem like nice enough boys, but there are so many of them.
Two of them—Dominick and Albert—are brothers and they look so damn similar I still can’t keep straight which is which.
The bench is wet tonight, having soaked up the rain that fell earlier this morning.
Still, Sid sits on it, silent as he takes out a cigarette.
I see him most evenings at dinner, but this is the first time we’ve been alone together since when I first arrived.
I hesitate, telling myself it’s because I don’t want a wet butt and not because I still feel uneasy next to him.
“So how did the interview go?” he asks.
“Oh! Fine. Maybe?” I decide to sit and while the damp does seep through my pants, it’s not as cold as I thought it would be. Probably because Sid radiates nearly as much heat as the firepit through pure body mass.
“Maybe?”
“He called me a Wildling.”
Sid rolls his eyes. “Asshole.”
“Exactly. But you got a job guarding the border, didn’t you? Don’t they take Wildlings?”
“Yeah, you’ve got rights. Employers can’t discriminate against sanctuary seekers due to citizenship status,” says Sid. “There was a big court case about it a few years ago. Hawkins vs. Cuthbert Composting. It set a precedent and now everyone appeals to it.”
I snort. “That’s oddly specific. Do you sit around reading court decisions for fun, Sid Charles?”
His cheeks flush. “Sometimes.”
“You’re just a big nerd under all those muscles, aren’t you?”
His brow furrows. “I can’t tell if I’m being insulted or not.”
“Hmmm. Not as smart as I thought, then.”
At that, he descends into a scowl and I grin like a feral cat.
Then, as if reluctantly taken in by my antics, the corner of his mouth lifts.
Soon, we’re both laughing. I can’t remember the last time I harassed someone like this other than April and there’s something delicious about it.
My chest warms as a strange thought seizes me.
I could do it. I could be friends with this man.
That realization is terrifying. I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about, aside from April.
My mother, my father, and Curtis were the most gutting, but the list is far longer.
Unbidden, someone comes to mind who I hate dwelling on even more than Mum or Curtis.
Beth-Anne Reed—my best friend during the years we lived in Astolia.
She and Sid have a lot in common: blonde hair, blue eyes, far more serious than me.
But most unsettling? Both were “assigned” to make me feel welcome in the community.
“Anyhow, I’m sure it’s fine.” I switch the topic back to safer ground, unwilling to probe the feelings he roused in me—good and bad. “He seemed to warm up to me by the end of our conversation.”
“I’m sure it went great. They’re pretty desperate for hires right now. I can put in a word for you.”
“Thanks.” I give Sid a genuine smile. I don’t like owing him, but this also matters so incredibly much. I need it to work out. “Was there anything else we needed to talk about?”
“No, I just wanted to check in,” he says.
“Then I better get back to April.” I hop off the bench, dusting my pants, though it doesn’t do much to get rid of the wet patches.
“You sure? I got the impression she wanted to be alone.”
“Why would she want that?”
“Well, everyone does sometimes.”
“No, they don’t. Nobody wants to be alone.”
Sid laughs outright. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You avoid people all the time.”
“Not the people I trust,” I say. “Nobody likes to be alone.”
His smile vanishes. “Kayla, you don’t have to live that way anymore. You’re safe here.”
“Sure.”
Easy for him to say. He’s the size of an ox and has seven people he can rely on.
That’s probably the closest anyone comes to the villages and cities of earlier generations.
Community building was wired into us by our ancestors, who lived during a time when it was still safe to reach out to other people.
Evolution is a slow process, which is why humans managed to outrun it, right into our own destruction.
Now, we survivors have got all these left over inclinations that make us join cults.
Sid Charles might have started his life in Salt Spring as a sanctuary seeker, but he’s one of them now. He’s bought into whatever dream it is they’re selling.
“Good night, Sid. It was nice chatting with you.”
And it was. It hurts more than usual to walk away, safe in the solitude that protects me.