Chapter Thirteen
SID IS SO damn practical. We clearly need to talk.
I should explain myself after that little display, but while I would prefer to blurt everything out and be done with it, he insists I need to eat first. Everyone else has already finished dinner, but there are leftovers.
It’s only the usual stewed beans and potatoes that make up so many of our meals, but even if the food here is growing familiar, I’ll never stop being amazed at how abundant it is.
“Where’s April?” I ask.
“Already back to studying,” says Wendell as he ladles the stew into a bowl. “Where were you?”
“Nowhere. Just went for a run.”
“Told you it was nothing. You’re paranoid, man,” Young Tom tells Sid, with all the confidence of a nineteen-year-old boy. Sid only shrugs.
And that, right there, is why I trust him. He could have said, “Actually, she showed up a sobbing mess, so suck it,” but he doesn’t.
Trust. The thought is freeing, and terrifying.
Once I’ve finished wolfing down my portion, Sid and I head for the duck pond.
The bench creaks as his bulk settles next to me.
The scent of him hits me again and heat floods my cheeks, so I look away.
It’s silly, because there wasn’t any special meaning to the hug we shared.
Sometimes, a person just needs to crash out on the first friend they can find.
And that, I realize, is what I have started thinking of him as.
For all I’ve fought it, Sid Charles is my friend.
“So.” His voice is a low rumble.
“So.” I swing my legs, not ready to meet his eye.
“What was the letter about?”
“I didn’t get the job.” With every word, I can feel my world collapsing like a rotted-out building.
“The border guard one?”
“That’s the one.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. But there will be others, right? You’ll find—” When I let out a sharp laugh, he cuts himself off. “No?”
“April’s got days left before she runs out of insulin. I need to find almost a hundred dollars before then. Anything less is a death sentence.”
His eyes about burst out of his head. “One hundred bucks?”
“Yep.”
“How’re you supposed to—how is anyone supposed to do that?”
“Well, getting a job would have helped.”
“But nowhere is going to pay you that kind of money other than… Kayla, I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” At that, he pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. “Maybe I can talk to Bill again.”
“Who’s—”
“Minister of Homeland Security and all that other stuff. He’s a reasonable guy. I don’t know why—”
“The letter said it was because of my demerits.”
“That’s bullshit,” he says, striking a match aggressively. “You’ve only got one. I’ll talk to Bill and—”
“Two. I’ve got two, Sid.”
The match goes out as he stares at me, dumbfounded. “What?”
“I got a second one.”
“How did you… Why didn’t you tell me about this?!”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It’s a demerit! Of course it’s a big deal.”
“Well, I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know?”
“It’s in the word. Demerit! That’s a bad word!”
Despite the situation, I can’t help laughing. “You are such a goody-two shoes.”
“Yeah, it’s hilarious. So funny!” Sid shouts. “Now would you like to tell me what you did to get yourself written up again?”
“I… may have told Tom to fuck off.”
For a beat, Sid stares at me, like he’s in awe of what a shitshow I’ve created in so little time.
Then, the shock abates, and he lets out the deepest, sincerest belly laugh I’ve ever heard.
It’s so loud, it’s vaguely terrifying, like all Sid’s big emotions.
I’ve met quieter moose. But a grin spreads across my face all the same.
“Wow. At least you spent it on something good.”
“Did he do this kind of shit to you when you were in immigration?” I ask.
“Yeah—well… no, actually. I was well behaved. James got written up once because, like you, he hasn’t got a clue when to shut his mouth.”
“Rude.”
“Rude, but true. Tom likes me. Even stuck his neck out for me a few times. But it took a few years before he was willing to do that. It was like with you. I had to prove myself before he would trust me.”
His words are ambiguous in a way I don’t think he intends.
Am I like Sid in that scenario, or Tom? I almost ask which he means, except the answer doesn’t matter.
Both are true. I’m untrustworthy and untrusting.
I hate that I have anything in common with Tom Sullivan, even though it shouldn’t surprise me.
Sometimes, it feels like he’s the only person on this island who’s properly paranoid about outsiders.
“Enough about me. When did he give you the extra demerit?”
I tuck my legs into my chest. “He was at the hospital when I went to pick up April.”
“Damn, that was weeks ago. Too late to appeal it.” Sid pulls another match from his pocket. This time, he manages to light his cigarette. “Though he probably wrote you up for aggression, which is tough to dispute. It’s your word against his. Court almost always sides with Tom.”
“Honestly, if I had to argue with Tom in front of a court, I would probably end up strangling him right there,” I say. “But he would deserve it.”
“Just don’t let him hear you say that.” Sid takes a drag on the cigarette.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the demerit. Will it get you in trouble? As my sanctuary host?”
He exhales smoke, clearly mulling over the question. “I won’t lie. It’s not great for optics. We might have a harder time getting future sanctuary cases. But overall, it’s fine. Lots of newcomers get demerits.”
“Still. I am sorry.” I get the sense he’s minimizing the situation, trying to protect my feelings. He probably doesn’t want me sobbing all over him again. “If I ever can do anything for, um, optics? You just tell me.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Maybe not, but I’d like to,” I say. “I mean… you worry about me.”
“I worry about everything. Just ask the guys.”
“You broke the rules for me.” I reach out and touch the scar on the back of his hand. His fingers tighten around the cigarette, as if he’s startled by this tiny gesture. “And I’m beginning to realize that’s a pretty big deal for you.”
For a beat, we hold each other’s eyes. I think he feels the shift between us. Ever since I came, he’s been diligently offering his help, and I’ve thrown up walls every time. I’ve certainly never offered anything back before. My cheeks grow warm, so I speak out of a need to break the spell.
“You’re a citizen, right? If I surrendered April, could you adopt her?” I ask.
“Surrender her? Why would you want to do that?” Sid straightens in his seat.
“Well, wouldn’t that mean she would belong to Salt Spring? They would have to give her medicine.”
“What? Did Tom tell you that?” Sid thunders, and I wince. Even if he’s angry on my behalf, it’s more than I can handle. “That piece of shit! He knows better! If he’s playing me—”
“Woah! No, it wasn’t Tom. It was the doctor.”
Sid falls silent as he takes a long drag from his cigarette.
When he blows out the smoke, his voice is calmer, but a hint of rage still shimmers beneath the surface.
“Right. Okay, new piece of shit. The doctor shouldn’t have said that to you, Kayla.
That’s not how safe surrender laws are supposed to work. ”
“Safe surrender?”
“It’s a law that allows Salt Spring to accept unaccompanied minors as citizens. Or—just as important—kids whose guardians want to drop them off with us.”
“Want to drop them off? What does that mean?”
“So, imagine this not-so-hypothetical scenario.” Sid’s gaze grows distant.
“Lots of people out in the wilds don’t trust us.
They don’t want to live with us. That’s fine.
That’s their choice. Now, imagine someone out there gets pregnant.
It’s not what she wants. No safe way of terminating it out in the bush.
She ends up carrying the child to term, and instead of abandoning it after birth, she comes to Crofton and lights the signal fire.
We show up. We let her surrender the baby.
No questions asked. She leaves. The baby grows up here, a full citizen. ”
“That’s happened to you, hasn’t it? You’ve taken babies at the border?”
He nods; his eyes still fixed on the inky darkness beyond the duck pond.
“And I’ve brought over a pregnant girl who gave birth in the hospital a week later.
She left on the next ferry off the island.
It’s a shitty situation. But the whole end-of-the world thing is kind of shit.
That law isn’t supposed to be for fifteen-year-olds with diabetes. He shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe he’s right. I mean, it’s not like I can take care of her.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I don’t even want to be here. At least April does.
” A part of me understands the women who made the choice to leave.
There’s something tempting in the idea of letting April live her life here, while I’m free to go back to Vancouver Island and everything I know.
But what would be the point? With no one to love, why bother clinging to survival?
“I’m sorry, Kayla. You’re caught in a stupid government oversight,” says Sid.
“Most of the laws about the hospital and citizenship are designed that way because we can’t hand over our stash of pain meds to any random person coming from off the islands.
But April isn’t going anywhere. The legal framework should be different for chronic conditions.
If you talk to Tom about it, maybe he could raise the issue with Council. ”
“I’m not talking to that son of a bitch about anything.”
“Fair enough,” says Sid. “It wouldn’t solve the problem soon enough, anyway. You need citizenship now.”
“So if I surrender her, then you take custody of her—”
He shakes his head. “No. You shouldn’t have to do that.
Plus, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t pick me.
I’ve never hosted a sanctuary case before, and I’ve got no blood relation.
They’ll send her to someone with a stronger track record.
Children’s immigration is super strict. The only way you could legally share custody with me would be—oh, shit. ”
He stops so suddenly, I’m sure he’s spotted something on the pond, but when I look, there’s nothing but the moon’s dim light reflecting off the surface. Yet Sid—pale as he always is—has somehow gone translucent.
“There’s a way I could share legal custody?”
“It’s two demerits, right?” Sid asks. “So, three years until you can apply for citizenship?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” He sets down the cigarette so he can crack his fingers against each other. “You could share legal custody with a citizen, get access to the medical system, all that garbage, if…”
“Just spit it out.” I grab his arm, amazed he’s thought of something. “I’ll do anything.”
He laughs, though not like when he found out I cussed out Tom. This laugh is chilling and hollow.
“We could share custody if you married me.”