Chapter Six
I’M SO CONSUMED by thoughts of money and custody and citizenship that I’m completely caught off guard when I spot Sid Charles brooding next to the potted plant. He doesn’t bother sitting, preferring to loom over the waiting room like an ill-tempered gargoyle
I’m supposed to go to that man’s home.
For someone who takes up so much physical space, the stillness of his posture is disconcerting.
I want him to fit neatly into some category so that I can anticipate his next move, but his brutish size doesn’t match the calculating man I met on the beach.
It’s difficult to trust someone who is clearly capable of violence, if it suits him—but this is also the same man who stood up to Tom for me.
I grab hold of that fact and step forward.
At my movement, his head whips away from the window. “You ready to go?”
“Right. Go…” I clear my throat, looking for some excuse to delay the inevitable. “Where are we going, again?”
“My place. I’m putting you up.” He moves towards the door, obviously ready to be done with everything that’s happened today.
When I don’t move, he gives an exasperated grunt.
“You don’t have to worry about that. No one’s going to bother you.
You’ll have a separate room. Maybe even a separate unit, if I can talk some of the guys into sharing. ”
“We will?” Despite the circumstances, hope flickers in me.
“Oh, yeah. We’re making sure this is down the line, above board, all that shit. Can’t give Tom more to make a stink over.”
“Uh… thanks?” So the thought has crossed his mind. But he’s done the calculus and decided endangering me isn’t worth the potential blowback. This guy is ruthlessly logical.
“You need any help carrying your stuff? Is it just the two packs?” Sid asks.
“Only the packs, but—” Before I can make any further objection, he turns the door handle. The cheeky tinkle of the bell over the door is the final straw as my good humour boils away. “Can you wait for just a second? My sister is back there.”
“Is she coming with us?” He is undeterrable. Clearly, patience isn’t his strong suit.
I turn my back on him. “Give me five seconds.” Ignoring the frustrated huff behind me, I flash Desk Lady the biggest smile I can muster. “Hi! Pat, was it?”
“That’s me, hon.”
“Great. Are there any forms or papers I should be taking with me?”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I gave those to Mr. Charles.”
Of course. “Well… thank you. And when can I see April tomorrow?”
She goes over visitation hours, including a tangent where she exhaustively describes what time she takes her lunch break, in case I come in and there’s no one to help me at the front desk.
“Okay, great,” I say, when there’s a break in her ramblings. My next words are whispered. “And… where do I go if I want to trade something for cash? I’ve got some valuables I don’t need anymore.”
“The exchange. It’s right next to City Hall,” she answers at full volume.
“Perfect.” I want to ask where City Hall is, but she doesn’t seem to understand my need for secrecy.
When I turn back to Sid, his brow is furrowed.
I walk toward the door, trying to hide the tremor of my limbs.
Outside, I’m relieved to see there aren’t any men with guns around, though I suppose they would be redundant.
Sid Charles is holding all my worldly possessions hostage and I’m no better equipped to fight him than a bear.
As we walk beyond the hospital, I get my first real look at Salt Spring Island.
The hospital is on a paved street, the cracks in the concrete recently repaired.
Across the road, small wood cottages sit stuffed between the old stucco homes of pre-Quake days.
I spot one man riding a horse, but most people speed by on bicycles.
“Careful.” Sid pulls my arm when I wander too close to their path.
I shake him off with a scowl. “I can tell when they’re coming.”
“Sorry. You just seem preoccupied. Why do you want to go to the exchange?”
“What do you mean?”
“Pat told you to go to the exchange. What are you trading?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Does your sister’s treatment cost a lot?”
“Do you think maybe I don’t want to talk about this with you?” I whirl towards him. “That maybe this is personal and has nothing to do with you?”
A muscle strains in his neck as, for a beat, we engage in a staring contest. I don’t know why I want to push back against everything he says, but I can’t help it. The people I want to lash out at, like Tom, are far away, but this poor sucker is here and so, so easy to yell at.
Right now, he’s not so much menacing as confused, as if I’m a bit of sap stuck to his fingers that he can’t rub off.
I notice new details—like how neatly his pale hair is combed backward and the fact he’s clean shaven.
It’s a style I’ve seen in pre-Quake magazines more often than on real men.
My father always wore a beard. It’s as if Sid Charles is trying to resemble the respectable gentlemen of yesteryear, but it’s not a look he can pull off.
He’s too hulking. His nose is too crooked.
No matter how perfectly he tucks his shirt, he radiates wildness.
Something about his earnest attempt to appear unthreatening, coupled with such abject failure, makes my chest hitch with pity.
I wonder what he sees when he stares back at me. Look at her, Tom. What about looking at me did he think would change Tom’s mind? My unbrushed curls? A body that is unavoidably female?
He clears his throat, and I blink, unsure how long we’ve been glowering at each other.
“The exchange,” he says slowly, “will give you the government rate for any items you want to trade. It’s a decent option, but they always take a cut.
You might have better luck using other channels, if you’re trying to get the best value for whatever you’re trading. ”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“But… well, we can talk about how legal those buyers are when we get home. Just please, stop walking so close to the bikes. You’re freaking me out.”
“Really? You scare easy.”
He rolls his eyes. “Turn here. I need to grab my bike before we head to the bus.”
“Bus? Where are we—”
“A few kilometres outside town. On an acreage. Most people do.”
“Do what?”
“Live.”
Acreage. Living on an acreage. It sounds pleasant. Unbelievably so.
It’s probably more cult propaganda. Though I have to admit, this place doesn’t look like a cult. I haven’t seen any signs with slogans plastered on them. And since leaving the hospital, no one has been openly carrying firearms. Not even Sid.
“Hey. Where’s your gun?” I ask.
“Back at the ferry terminal.”
“You—you just left it?” I can’t imagine having the power of a gun—or ever giving it up if I did.
He laughs. “It belongs to the base. Whoever’s on guard duty will be using it.”
“Then how is—where…” As I continue to look around, I still don’t see any signs of surveillance.
In fairness, I can’t imagine it’s easy to keep everyone under constant supervision here like they did in Astolia.
The compound there was small enough that we were never out of sight of one of the watchtowers.
What do the people here do with all this space?
What do they do while no one is looking?
“Everything okay?”
“I… sure.” I force myself to walk normally. “Everything’s great.”
I follow Sid east, and a view of the ocean opens up in front of us. Wisps of this morning’s clouds blow overhead, taking their rain to a distant island. It must be another of the Gulf Islands, though I don’t know which one.
At the centre of town is a long, narrow harbor. Numerous sail boats are anchored along the pier and beyond them, massive iron barges have been rafted together to block the entrance to the inlet. Along one, the words BC FERRIES are
written in faded blue paint. The stockade must pick up somewhere beyond there, but the walls are so far away, it’s tempting to forget they exist.
“If you want, you can check the rate at the exchange tomorrow,” he says suddenly. “Then I’ll see what my guys can find for you, and you can pick your best option.”
“You don’t have to solve this for me. I can take care of myself.”
“Sure, but it’s my job to help you. That’s the whole point of a sanctuary host.”
“It isn’t help I wanted or asked for.”
“Actually, you kind of did. When you applied for sanctuary—”
“Look, I know!” I’m so tired of people reframing what I did or didn’t do today, I can’t take his know-it-all tone anymore.
“I said what I had to. My sister was sick so I said yes to whatever the hell would get her through those hospital doors. You know that’s true, so don’t be an ass and act like it isn’t! ”
“Fine! You’re right, but… can you maybe try not to make this any more difficult than it already is?” We’ve arrived at his bike lock-up; he wrestles it open with far more aggression than a little key like that needs.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot.” I clasp my hands together and put on the most obnoxious, high-pitched voice I can muster. “Thank you, thank you, Sid Charles! You have saved me! Without you I would never—”
“I’m not asking for thanks! I get that you’re scared as shit right now, but this place has rules.
Ignoring them doesn’t make them go away.
It just makes guys like Tom think you’re going to lash out and kill everyone.
He’s your immigration officer. He can ruin your life.
Mine too, actually.” He locks me in place with a pleading look that is undeniably arresting, thanks to his sharp blue eyes.
“So chill out. Please. You want to help your sister, don’t you? Can you play along for her?”
“I… fine. Whatever.” Bringing up April is a dick move, not least of all because it makes me realize how often I’ve had some form of this conversation with her.
Yes, April. Those are wolves you hear howling.
But can you stop freaking out? Can you fall asleep anyway?
The predators aren’t going away, but it’s better not to let them know where to find easy prey.
“Thank you,” he sighs.
I lean against an old lamp post that no longer has lightbulbs in it and watch him wheel the bike a few feet to where there’s a wooden sign with BUS painted on it.
“I am grateful, by the way.” I say suddenly. He gapes at me, as stunned by this admission as I am. “You didn’t have to defend me to Tom, but you did anyway. I’m very, very grateful. Without you, things could have…” I take a shaky breath. “I could be—”
“It’s gonna be fine. We’ll get you through this.”
We. He says it so easily. What’s it like, being able to trust a stranger? I haven’t given him a single reason to help me. In fact, I’ve made his life demonstrably worse.
Maybe this is just the sort of man he is. Maybe he’s just… kind?
“Oh, and… I’m sorry about the slingshot.” Should have said that ages ago, too. “Did it hurt?”
He snorts. “Of course, it hurt. Rocks hurt.”
“So why didn’t you arrest me? If there was a law and it hurt…”
He gives me another long stare. I wish I could read his emotions, but unfortunately, all his expressions seem to be some variation on a scowl.
“Honestly? It just seemed like a shitty thing to do. And you only shot at me because you were trying to protect your sister. To me, that means you aren’t dangerous. Not really.”
“Not really?”
“Well, you obviously could be if you wanted.”
“Damn right. I could mess you up good, Sid Charles.” At that, his eyes go wide and my heart sinks. Oh, shit. Does he think I’m being serious? “That’s a joke, by the way. You can tell that’s a joke, right?”
“Yes. I can tell.” He collects himself and even gives a faint smile.
Okay, maybe he isn’t always scowling. All too quickly, it vanishes, like the real world has just caved in on him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about Tom. I thought if I didn’t report it, it would be like it never happened. But now…”
A wave of shame hits me as he trails off. He deserves this crappy situation even less than I do.
“I’ll get out of your hair. I promise. I’ll figure out this medicine thing, then April and I won’t bother you again. It will be like you said. Like it never happened.”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
I have to admit—well-intentioned as my promises are—they sound incredibly na?ve.