Chapter Twenty-Three
IT TAKES A good minute for us both to stop laughing. It’s not the best-case scenario, but at least Amy didn’t clock us as people who have never slept together.
After her departure, we both agree we’re tired of playing pretend and want to get home. But I still hold his hand as we walk to the bus stop, just in case. Amy could pop up at any second, so there’s no sense in ending the charade yet.
“You told her I’m not though, right?”
“I did, but I’m guessing I looked guilty as sin.”
“Who, you?” I snort.
“She sighed and said, waiting until there’s no risk of miscarriage?”
“Holy shit! So she actively thinks this is true?”
“So it would seem.”
“Fake married and now fake pregnant. I am building quite the life here.”
If it was a lie we could keep up indefinitely, I would be all for it.
It’s such a convenient explanation. Unplanned pregnancies are easy to stumble into.
But things will look suspicious a few months from now when I don’t start showing.
Of course, we could tell her we had a miscarriage, but…
no. My blood chills at the idea. There are some things I can’t make light of.
There is another solution, of course. Sid could knock me up for real. So what if the baby comes a month late? It might even convince Tom that we like each other. But while I would do almost anything for April, everyone has a line and creating a whole ass human being to support a lie is mine.
A wagon pulls up. Sid helps me into the carriage and soon we’re being whisked back towards the acreage.
I allow myself to slump against his sturdy frame, because why not?
I’ve concluded that so long as we’re in public, it’s safer to fasten myself to him than not.
It keeps our lies consistent—but also, it feels better.
While I enjoyed our little friend-date—especially the restaurant—going into town is still overwhelming and Sid’s physical presence creates a nice barrier between me and that chaotic world. Thank goodness it’s over.
Except… it isn’t. Amy wants to parade us around town to get herself in the newspaper. Even if we don’t do that, I promised Sid I would help him with his campaign.
“Sid?” We don’t usually talk much on the bus, but we need to sort this out before we get home. “Are we asking April about that tour Amy wants to do?”
“You don’t want to do it, do you?”
“I mean… she’s your ex. Isn’t it weird for you?”
He shrugs. “We broke up ten years ago. I don’t think we’re functionally the same people we were back then. She only dated me because it pissed off Tom.”
“What?” I crane my neck so that I can look at him better. “I thought Tom liked you.”
“He does now. But I was an angry, messed up kid from TNS back then. He didn’t want that around his little angel. Maybe it would be different now. I don’t really care. Amy is a kind, capable woman. I would love to work with her. But that’s where it ends for me.”
He glances at me, as if he knows I’ve been worrying.
I find myself thinking, give it time. Underneath his stalwart skin, Sid Charles is a tender person.
He would fall in love easily, if someone only gave him affection in return.
It’s tragic no one is trying to love him—which is probably why I keep imagining Amy doing just that.
Someone should love him, but I’m here getting in the way.
The least I can do is keep up my end of our bargain. “Well… if you really want to campaign with Amy, then we can ask April what she thinks.”
“Thanks.” Sid smiles. “I think it would be a good test run, before we do larger campaign events. A smaller, more controlled crowd full of people already on our side.”
“You figure Tom is still on our side, then? Even if you don’t divorce me?”
Sid sighs. “I hope so. But I could ask Amy to leave him off the guest list, if you really want me to.”
“No. That will tip her off that things are bad between us.”
There’s a pause that lasts long enough, I think we’ve fallen into our typical bus silence. But then Sid says in little more than a whisper, “She would understand.”
That’s what I was scared he would say. I’ve got nothing against Amy herself, aside from that she didn’t finish her salad. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s guilty by association, even if no one can choose their family. Anything we tell her could worm its way back to Tom.
“I need to get used to being around him, anyway.”
“Okay,” says Sid, squeezing my shoulder, which gives me a pleasant buzz. We really are becoming the team we hoped to be.
Secretly, I’m praying April objects to this whole plan before it gets off the ground.
* * *
WHO DO I think I’m kidding? April is thrilled by the idea. Unlike me, she has heard of the Reinventor’s Guild already. It’s come up during her science classes.
“Kayla, we’ve got to do the tour!” Her eyes are massive. “They do so many cool things there! Everyone else got to go on a field trip last year, but I missed it. I’ve missed everything! But if I can get a tour with one of the directors—”
“Don’t worry. She seemed super keen on it.”
“This is so amazing! Thank you!” She hugs me and then, to everyone’s surprise, throws her arms around Sid.
Afterward, April goes spinning off around the empty living room and Sid and I stare at each other, no doubt wondering the same thing.
Does she even know how incredible what she did was? What it means?
She’s safe. My sister feels safe.
It takes a while for Amy to work us into her schedule, but a week or so later, the special day arrives.
She sets up the tour on a weekend so that April can come without missing school.
The three of us get off the bus just before we reach town, then follow Sid up a gravel path strewn with a carpet of maple and oak leaves.
As we crest the top of the hill, we come face to face with a large barn.
A high-pitched whining noise alerts me that something more than cows wait inside.
“What the hell is that?” I ask.
“Power drill, probably,” Sid says.
“Power? So electric?”
“Yup. The Reinventor’s Guild is one of the few places on consistent wiring.”
“Amazing!” April crows.
I spot Amy standing by a shed adjoining the main barn.
A small crowd is gathered behind her, but her red hair stands out.
She’s wearing the same, sharp black dress as before, but this time I also notice the polished high-heels on her feet.
Next to her, a woman holds what looks like an old cellphone.
I can’t imagine what it’s for—until she holds it up in front of us as we march up the hill. “Say cheese.”
Is this the camera Amy was so excited about? I guess it’s impressive that there’s enough spare electricity on Salt Spring to run a cellphone at all, but how do they get the photos off it and into the newspaper? They can’t still have working printers, can they?
“You’re here! And this must be the lovely April I’ve heard so much about,” says Amy, offering hugs and handshakes as we join the circle.
“You’ve heard of me?” April goes slightly white.
Amy nods. “Kayla says you’re doing very well in school.”
“I mean, I try to. I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“There’s no shame in that. Sid, have you met the Wongs? They’re hosting another sanctuary case.”
Amy deftly moves through the crowd, forcing everyone to shake hands and smile at each other.
It isn’t a large group. People who immigrated within the last year have been invited, along with their sanctuary hosts, if they have them.
There are two families who have recently immigrated from the San Juan islands and a woman who moved here from Penelakut.
Only one other person is a sanctuary case—a skittish, white-haired man who eyes both April and I with suspicion.
A small part of me wants to grab his hands and whisper, “Same, old timer,” but for obvious reasons, neither of us do.
The Wongs seem to be the people hosting him.
They shake Sid’s hand as Amy tells them all about how our chance encounter at the restaurant inspired this whole afternoon.
I’m a little surprised there are so few of us.
Amy’s talk of making it a big event convinced me this would be a huge production, but I guess this is a more realistic view of what immigration would look like thirty-two years after the end of the world.
Sid has mentioned that ten or twenty years ago, it was a lot more people.
Whole groups showed up begging for refuge at once.
But we’re far enough out now that people are either settled within their own nations or dead.
I don’t mind, of course. A smaller group suits me. Best of all, there’s one face I don’t see.
“Where’s Mr. Sullivan?” April asks, invoking the devil’s name.
“He’ll be here soon. Bradley is driving him up,” says Amy.
“Bradley?” Sid says. “Bradley who?”
“Patterson.”
I can’t help noticing that Amy is no longer meeting Sid’s eye.
“Bradley Patterson? Is he hosting a sanctuary case?”
“No, but I met him for drinks, and he said he would drive Tom. You know how his leg gets.”
“And then is he leaving?”
“Sid… he wants to form a coalition.”
“No. Amy, you already know how I feel about this.”
“But why not?” She grabs his arm, pulling him away from the larger group. I drift in their direction, curious. Not that I understand what they’re talking about. “We’ve already started one. We’ve got you and me and Uncle Tom. If you can stomach that—”
“Patterson is different. You know he is.”
“How? Why? He doesn’t have to be.”
I would very much like to know that, too.