11. Mike
MIKE
C ontrary to what I said to my dad, I work that morning, getting everything sorted for the day before I leave. I also check on that new variety. There’s a touch of yellow on some of the fruit. Bring on the sun.
I turn onto Queen Street that afternoon, intending to pick up Sierra and Sylvia at the café as planned, and find a bustle of activity outside the Odéon theatre. The doors are open and there are teams of workers going in and out, along with a bunch of dust.
On a Sunday . I slow down and can hear hammering from inside. I make a U-turn and stop in front of the café, where Sierra and Sylvia are waiting.
“Road trip!” Sierra shouts with enthusiasm. I go around to open the passenger door and she hops into the truck, claiming the middle spot of the bench seat and bouncing a bit.
Sierra seems younger today and I’m glad. I had wondered how Rupert would deal with a jaded teen, but she’s cheerful and enthused. He’ll love that .
I’m still looking across the street at the theatre and my confusion probably shows.
“It’s Luke,” Sylvia says.
“I don’t understand.” What I do understand is that she’s wearing a dress and it’s a better plan for the moment for me to keep my gaze averted. Otherwise, I might want to touch in a way that friends don’t touch. Well, I’ll still want to touch, but I’ll be able to stop myself.
Sylvia’s dress is simple and red, faded a bit and hugs in all the right places.
A favorite then, and it looks just right with her flip-flops.
Summery. Carefree. Her hair is in a ponytail and she’s not wearing any make-up.
She smiles up at me, her eyes alight, and it could have been just yesterday that she left town.
She is adorable, and having her smiling at me – in a dress – is temptation squared. She didn’t even try to cover her freckles today. I could pick her up and carry her off without a second thought.
She seems to be oblivious to my reaction, or maybe she doesn’t care. “Luke bought the Odéon from Nate Thompson. He’s going to restore it.”
“Why?”
“Evidently, he wants to make the world a better place.” She shrugs, indifferent to Luke’s whims, and I try to do the same.
Seems to me that restoring the theatre, which has been sitting empty for a while, quietly deteriorating, is a good way to get rid of a lot of money.
It’s not as if there are lines of people coming downtown to watch movies anymore. That’s why it closed.
But maybe Luke is richer than I thought. Maybe he’s trying to spend every nickel. Maybe his plan is to make work for a lot of independent contractors. I can’t figure it, but I’m glad that Sylvia doesn’t care.
Because I don’t want to talk about Luke today .
But there is one thing I want to know before we abandon the subject of my half-brother.
I get in the truck and start it, then head past the busy theatre. “He owns the diner, right?”
“Right,” Sylvia agrees. “He’s given Merrie a lease with really easy terms.”
There’s another question I’m not going to ask. “Who paid for the leasehold improvements?”
“Luke. Why?”
“Because I’m wondering about this greenhouse.” That’s the tip of the iceberg, but no one calls me on it.
“I talked to Merrie about it already,” Sylvia says then takes a breath. “She was thinking of asking Luke for a loan. She has this idea of making it a subsidiary business, since no one is growing herbs locally.”
“But she doesn’t have the capital,” I guess as we head out of town.
It’s a great day, clear blue skies and a little bit of wind.
I have my window down and Sylvia lowers hers, which means that two long ponytails are flying loose in the cab.
I know that Sierra is listening to every word.
Her attention is as sharp as a knife. “Is Luke maxing himself out?”
Sylvia laughs, maybe confident in the depth of Luke’s pockets. “Maybe. I have no idea what his plan is.”
“Then I’ll back the project,” I find myself saying. I like the idea of having something in Sierra’s life that isn’t under Luke’s influence, and I don’t want to ask him for anything.
“Awesome!” Sierra says with quiet heat.
“Why?” I ask.
“That means it will happen,” she says with a conviction that pleases me.
Sylvia is frowning. “You don’t have to do this, Mike.”
“No, but it’s a business I understand. You don’t need anyone cutting corners where it won’t pay off in the long run.”
“I don’t think Luke would cut corners,” Sylvia replies. “He was great with the leasehold improvements.”
“I do have a few connections.” I give her a look. “But it’s up to you.”
“Mom.” Sierra sounds annoyed. I’m not sure why she’s in my corner on this, but I’ll take her support. “I think it would be great if Mike helped with the greenhouse.”
“It would be, but he has a lot of other responsibilities. You can’t be taking all his time.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, even as I wonder how I’ll juggle one more thing.
“And I know some people who will be able to help out.” Come to think of it, there’s one sales rep who has been wanting to install a small greenhouse for me at the house.
I guess a lot of customers go for that, but I don’t want to add anything to a property that’s never going to be my home.
That greenhouse now has a potential site, on the roof of the bistro. I nod with satisfaction.
“See? He has a plan ,” Sierra says and Sylvia laughs a little.
“You can guess how impossible it is to say no to her,” she says to me and I smile.
“Well, she is right.” We exchange a glance over Sierra’s head and Sylvia’s smile lights a flame deep inside me. She’s not angry with me anymore, so I guess that was the perfect gift.
“Mom is using the old storeroom for her studio,” Sierra informs me, as if she read my thoughts.
“I didn’t know there was one.”
“Upstairs, facing over the back alley.”
“Northern light,” Sylvia provides. “It’s wonderful. I’m so lucky that Merrie offered it to me.”
“She won’t tell me what she’s going to paint.”
“Maybe I don’t know yet.”
“They say artists need to be inspired,” I tell Sierra. “What does your mom usually paint? ”
“She doesn’t,” Sierra says, to my astonishment. “Well, she puts drawings in my lunch sometimes.”
“They’re just doodles,” Sylvia protests.
I look at her in shock. She stopped drawing? Sylvia holds my gaze steadily, so it’s true. I realize that Sierra is watching me. “Maybe your mom just needs a chance to think about it, then. Some time and space.”
Sylvia parts her lips as if she’s going to say something, but doesn’t have a chance.
“Space is something we don’t have,” Sierra retorts and Sylvia turns to look out the window. “Una’s house is cute and all, but it’s too small for three people. There’s only one bathroom.” She tells me this with an outrage that is undisguised and I find myself smiling. “Why is that funny?”
“Because we had two when I was growing up, and my sister, when she was about your age, thought it was intolerable. My dad and his wife had their suite but there was only one other bathroom for the rest of us.”
“Your dad and his wife? Isn’t that your mom?”
“No, my mom died just after my sister Abbie was born. My dad married Candace then. She already had a son, then they had another son and a daughter pretty quickly afterward.”
Sierra pivots to stare at me in horror. “How many of you were using the same bathroom?”
I count quickly. “Seven.”
“Omigod.” She shudders. “I couldn’t stand it. I would die .”
“That’s pretty much what Abbie said. She seems to have come through it all right, though.” I can feel Sylvia struggling to keep a straight face and can’t even risk a glance her way. We might both burst out laughing about this first-world problem of such dire magnitude.
“I don’t think I’ve met Abbie,” Sierra says.
“No, you wouldn’t have. She lives in Vancouver. ”
“What does she do there?”
“She has a flower shop.”
“Why couldn’t she do that here?”
“She probably could. I always assumed she didn’t want to.” I shrug. “Maybe she likes the weather better.” That’s not it and I know it, but Abbie’s reasons are her own business.
Sierra chews on that as we drive west on the little road I love so much. “Mom said you run the greenhouses at Cavendish Enterprises.”
“Sierra. This isn’t an interrogation,” Sylvia protests.
“I don’t mind. Curiosity is natural.” Sierra beams. “I do run the greenhouses, since I’m head grower.” It’s strange in a way to be having this conversation with Sierra, knowing that Sylvia is listening.
“Are you the boss?”
“No, my dad is.”
“How big is the greenhouse?”
“Enormous,” Sylvia contributes and I nod.
“We have eight greenhouses in total. They’re all pretty big.”
“Is it complicated?”
I shrug. “In some ways. In others, it’s simple. Just math, really. How many plants. How many people. How much yield. How many trucks.” I shrug again, aware that she’s interested.
“How did you learn to do it?”
“Working there when I was a teenager. Then when my dad started to upgrade and expand, I went to University of Guelph for my undergraduate degree. I completed my Masters in Sustainable Agriculture there.”
“Why? Because you had to?”
“Not exactly. My dad had expectations of us, for sure, but I like greenhouse growing. It feels like the future to me, a way to produce food for a lot of people in a comparatively small area. We had some research projects about growing food in space, too.”
“I guess astronauts have to eat something.”
“You’ve probably heard you should eat your fruits and vegetables, no matter where you are.”
She rolls her eyes. “More than once.”
“A friend of mine is working on greenhouses in Nunavut, creating a longer growing season there.”
Sierra thinks about that. “So you went to school, then worked here in the summers?”
“Not every year. I went to grad school in the Netherlands for two years, including the summers.”
“So, you got to Europe after all,” Sylvia says quietly. My heart glows that she remembers one of those old dreams.