Chapter Thirty
ON THE BUS, I realize I can’t go home. That’s where he’ll expect me. He’ll come to my door and make me talk to him and then I’ll have to explain that it’s over. We can’t be friends. We can’t be lovers. We can’t be anything to each other. And I am not brave enough to face that conversation yet.
I hop off when I reach Ganges town. Nothing is open, but I think I like it better that way.
A large moon hangs overhead and it’s so quiet, I can pretend the city is abandoned.
This could be another ghost town like the ones I used to wander through on Vancouver Island.
The night is mild for so late in autumn and so I decide to just walk the streets like I might have before coming here.
It’s easy enough to stay awake through the night.
Gradually, everyone else wakes up and ruins my perfect solitude. But even as the city comes alive, I keep wandering. Eventually, I end up at the exchange, rubbing my eyes and pretending it’s because of the dust.
A table in the back features a recently discovered jewellery cache. Everyone ooohs and aaaahs over a gold choker, a silver bracelet, and a matching set of garnet earrings, necklace, and ring. I check for my mother’s pearl earrings, but I don’t spot them. Maybe they’ve already sold.
I drift to the furniture section of the hall and stare at a red velvet sofa with a hasty patch job on each cushion.
I still don’t have any money besides what was left over from April’s first batch of medicine, but I find myself testing it, seeing how I like it.
Irrationally, I want it. I want to take it home and shove it into one of the barren corners of the apartment.
I try to imagine what it would be like to snuggle close to Curtis on it, and then I’m crying, because I can’t picture it.
I don’t remember what he felt like anymore; in so many ways, Sid has already overwritten him.
I’m sick with guilt. Would it be better for me to bid Curtis goodbye?
To truly move on with someone else? I’m so miserable right now; is there anything left to ruin if I take my chances and tell Sid I want to be with him?
Because I do. I would give anything to have him here on this damn couch with me.
“Everything all right, ma’am?”
I brush away tears to find a salesman with a pinched brow standing a few feet away.
“Oh… yes, sorry.” I rub away the evidence of my breakdown. “I… um… I like this couch. I think I’ll bring my husband by to see it tomorrow.”
“Would you like us to hold it for you?”
“Yes. Yes, hold this couch.” I don’t care if he does, but I need some way out of this conversation. I hop up and speed walk away from the furniture as fast as I can, the salesman’s voice chasing me.
“Ma’am! Under what name?”
Well, that went terribly. I could visit the library, but I didn’t bring any books to trade in for new ones. I wrack my brain for something else I could be doing, but what even is there?
I hate to admit it, but Sid’s right. I’ve been living my life afraid and as a result, I don’t have a life outside of April or the acreage. Nothing has prepared me for making choices based on anything other than survival. Everything about me faces backward toward the past.
I shouldn’t go anywhere important with my eyes red from crying.
But something about standing in the middle of dozens of busy people, buzzing about the exchange on their own personal missions while I have no idea what to do with myself, makes me snap.
Who knows if it’s bravery or desperation?
After a bit of asking around, I get directions toward Mrs. Buckerfield’s café.
The porch is built from bits of driftwood. Strings of seashells rim the roof, and the outdoor seating area has a view of the ocean. A chalkboard near the front door advertises a daily special of goat cheese omelettes.
Garlic and dill perfume the air inside. The place is like a dream.
There’s a high counter like the ones I saw inside of abandoned mall food courts, and displayed on it is a tempting array of scones, slices of pie, and cheese sticks.
Mrs. Buckerfield must have some way of purchasing wheat, because our rations don’t allot enough for all the goodies on display.
This could be a picture book. A memento of the world at its best.
A bright faced girl steps up behind the counter, smiling at me. “Can I get you anything?”
“I… I’m not sure. Is Mrs. Buckerfield in?”
“She takes Thursdays off, but I can tell her you came by. Is there a name I can give her?”
Thursday. Right. I know what that is, I think.
“Tell her Kayla came by. Kayla…” I almost say my real last name, before realizing it will mean nothing to her. “Kayla Charles. And, um… Carlos said I should try one of the scones.”
He did. A long time ago. He said he could never get the batter as fluffy and light as hers.
“Carlos? Oh, well then, you’ve got to try his favourite!”
The girl picks out one decorated with the last of the summer blackberries and I pay an exorbitant dollar for it. But within my first bite, it’s worth it.
It’s hard to justify spending resources on something that brings only pleasure.
Eating this scone has not increased my odds of survival.
But it’s beautiful, in the same way a sunset over the ocean is, or the smell of rain on raw cedar.
And unlike so many things that make me happy, nothing about it conjures up dark memories of those I lost in my past. It’s new and remarkable and entirely rooted in this place.
I savour every crumb, chasing the traces around my plate with my finger. When I return the dish to the girl at the counter, she flashes me the kind of grin that can only come from someone who already knows the answer to their question. “Good?”
“It was wonderful.” My heart thuds. I know I need to say something more. But I’m not bold enough to ask. I’m so beneath this place—a wild girl tasting the best civilization can offer her. “Does… Mrs. Buckerfield offer cooking classes?”
“Sure,” says the girl. “I’m not sure when she’ll run another set, but maybe when you come by again you can ask her? And you should bring Carlos. She always says yes to Carlos.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.” A hopeful bubble lifts my heart. The classes might cost something, but I’ll cross that bridge later. For now, it’s enough to know they exist. Maybe April isn’t the only one interested in going back to school.
“Thank you,” I say to the girl. “Truly. I needed this today.”
“Aw, it’s no problem.” She has the sweetest, prettiest smile. “You’re Sid’s wife, then?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“That’s so great. I’m Becca. Say hi to James for me!”
Why am I not surprised? She does look like one of James’s girls.
He always goes for these delicate beauties, slinking up to the acreage with him for who-knows-what carnal nonsense.
It’s a minor miracle there aren’t a million copies of him running all over the island, but that’s James for you. Lucky bastard.
I feel miles better as I leave the café.
Nothing about this fixes my situation with Sid, but at least I can go home and say I did it.
I talked to someone and started planning something new.
I practically deserve a second scone for my bravery.
Except I have to save my money. Until I’ve got my own income, I can’t be silly with it.
April might grow out of her current clothes and need something new and how would I take care of that?
At the thought of April, I think of one more thing I could do.
We got a letter a couple of days ago saying she’s due another batch of insulin which Sid or I can pick up when it’s convenient.
I haven’t been back to the hospital since we first came to the island, but I find it easily enough.
The same Desk Lady who helped me on that day so long ago is seated at the reception. She perks up when she sees me.
“What brings you to Emergency today, hon?”
“Oh… sorry, I’m just here to get a prescription. Should I be somewhere else?”
“It’s fine for now. We’ve got a pharmacy at the other end of the building, but I can take care of you,” she says, with a wink. “Isn’t this a treat for me! I haven’t seen you in an age.”
“I’m surprised you remember me.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s the most excitement we’ve had here in a while.
” She beams. Excitement is not the word I would use to describe my confused rampage through the hospital, but I’m grateful she found it entertaining rather than terrifying.
“And then I heard from Doctor Tremblay you got your sister’s medication under Sid Charles’ name! ”
“Um… yes.” Doctor Tremblay sure does love to gossip about my business—one more bit of evidence of those privacy breaches Tom told us about.
“I always wondered why no one snatched him up sooner. Those border guards come in an awful lot, but it’s been a while since he’s been around. Heard he’s running for office, so I guess he’s moving up in the world! That’s attractive. Shame about the broken nose, of course, but—”
“There is nothing wrong with his nose.” An objectively untrue statement, but I can’t help feeling protective of Sid.
“Gives him character, doesn’t it?” Desk Lady leans in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “By the way, this is where you come when you find yourself on the nest. We’ll set you up with a midwife real quick.”
“Is there any chance you can get me April’s medicine? Please?”
“I’ll just tell Riley you’re here. You wait for me.”
The hospital is quiet, with the occasional person passing as they scurry between hallways.
Nurses with clipboards. Doctor Tremblay.
He gives me a quizzical glance as he hurries by and I smile back, daring him to say anything.
Of course, nothing happens. That sneaky bastard is too much of a coward to mess with me in public.
Eventually, a nurse comes out with a tall man following her, his fair hair thinning in the back. He’s clutching a paper bag, much like the one April’s insulin comes in. He has a star tattoo on the back of his hand. Something about him is so familiar, the hair on my neck stands on end.
“If you have any issues with your dosage, come back as soon as you can,” the nurse says. “I know it’s difficult to make the trip to the island, but—”
“God willing, I’ll be here,” he says with a laugh and again, there’s the grating sense of familiarity. Did I see him at the town hall? Or maybe at the Reinventor’s Guild? I can’t think of anywhere else I’ve met people on Salt Spring.
Then his gaze swings round and we lock eyes. His brow furrows, as if he’s experiencing that same déjà vu, unable to place me. Face to face, he crystalizes into someone I know all too well.
My eyes drop as he turns back to the nurse. I’m trapped inside a hallucination. This can’t be real. My mind refuses to interpret this as real, even as he continues talking, his voice growing more and more recognizable. “Does Pat need to sign me out?”
“She should. I don’t know where she went.” The nurse cranes her neck down the hall. “Oh! There she—”
“Pardon me, hon. I was getting something for Mrs. Charles. Oh, that you, Gord? Leaving us already?”
Gord. I grip my seat to keep from tilting out of my chair.
It’s such an ordinary name; it tumbles through my mind like a stone.
Gord. Gordon. I focus on breathing evenly, so that I don’t draw his attention again.
I can’t give this man another reason to look at me.
All that’s protecting me are eleven years and the fact that Pat used Sid’s last name, not mine, when she brought the medicine out.
Funny, how we’ve both hidden behind false names.
I never knew him as Gord. I never knew him to dress in a sweater and jeans, either. His hair is a decade greyer since the last time I saw him. He shouldn’t look so ordinary. He shouldn’t be named Gord.
The Grand Astrologue stuffs his prescription into his bag. “Do I owe you anything?”
“No, Astolia’s accounts are squared away already,” she says. “The goats you turned in last May should tide you over for a while.”
Goats. The goats we had to give as sacrifice to show our commitment to his mission?
The goats he said represented the constellation Aries and also tied back to the old law of Israel?
He really did pick and choose from whatever tradition he wanted, but it was supposed to prove something —that we were obeying the old ways of the Earth, which all secretly agreed, when you thought about it hard. Agreed that goats were worth something.
No shit they are. They’re worth medicine.
“Perfect. Thank you, Pat.” He gives a slight bow, like an old-fashioned gentleman.
He tries to look at me one more time, but I keep my head ducked, playing with my hair as if I’m lost in thought.
The nurse says something to Pat, which is a relief, because it keeps them busy until Gord—Grand Astrologue of Astolia—is out of the door and beyond earshot.
By the time the nurse leaves and Pat calls me over, no one else is there to hear my name.
“Kayla, I got that insulin.”
“Thanks.” I rise from my seat on tilting legs. “So… that man said he was from somewhere?”
“Oh, yes. Astolia.” Pat passes me my bag.
“Astolia,” I repeat, hoping to sound like I’m trying to familiarize myself with a new word. “I’ve never heard of it. Is it like Penelakut or America or…?”
“Oh no, I don’t think that place is half as big,” says Pat. “They’re a smaller colony. Campbell River area, I think? It’s really something they’re still around, considering how TNS runs amok on the big island.”
“Wow.” There’s a small chance this isn’t bad news.
Maybe there’s some non-ominous reason for the Grand Astrologue coming here.
Maybe the time they attacked him was all a big misunderstanding and they’ve all made up.
Then he realized how stupid it was locking people off from the modern conveniences of Salt Spring.
I left over eleven years ago. I was what…
fourteen? Things could change in that time.
But goats. Things could still be the exact same.
“Has that colony been around a long time?” I ask. “I never ran into them in the wilds.”
“Rotten luck for you. I think they’ve been around a while.” She scrunches her face, considering my question. “Been coming by the hospital as long as I can remember. And I’ve been working here for over twenty years.”
Twenty years. The entire time my family was there, he was nipping off here whenever it suited him, warning us all that if we ever met these people, they’d kill us. And no one on this island did a damn thing to stop him.
“Thanks for the medicine.” I take the bag and retreat toward the door.
“See you in a month!” says Pat merrily.
No, she won’t. Because no place that lets that man in can possibly be safe.