Chapter Thirty-Seven
I WISH I could say that I wake up the next morning and march straight into town, ready to storm Astolia. I wish change came that easily.
I start by walking April to the road and sitting with her before she takes the bus into school. As we wait for the wagon, I give her a shortened version of the story Sid told me about TNS and how that led into our discussion about Astolia. And for the first time, I tell her about Beth-Anne.
April takes it all in with a frown. “Do you really think we’ll get in trouble?”
“We?”
“I mean… we both lied to them.”
“Shit.” I forgot about that. April still has a demerit on her papers for lengthy unknown affiliation, too. Would telling someone we lied put her access to insulin in jeopardy? “If you don’t want me to, then—”
“No,” she says firmly. “For once in your life, don’t worry about me.”
It’s so hard not to, even facing her steely gaze. Why does she have to be so desperate to grow up? But maybe she’s right. The greatest gift I can give her is letting go.
“Okay.”
“Good.” She nods sharply, not the least bit afraid. Trusting Salt Spring’s promises always has come easier to her than me. “I’m glad you and Sid finally talked about everything. It definitely explains a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly why James is such a cocky bastard.”
I burst with laughter. “You’re right. He must love rubbing in the fact that he was never a true TNS kid.”
“I wonder why he stuck around with Sid and Silas once they got here.”
“I don’t.” I look down the path toward the comfort and safety of the farm. I’m growing antsy, sitting out in the open so long, but I’m also proud. It’s more than I’ve managed to do for a long time. “I don’t wonder about it at all.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think James was shagging either of them. Granted, I don’t know for sure,” says April. “But your case seems a little different.”
I shrug. “Maybe it is.”
“Maybe?”
I’m unsure how April will react to the next thing I need to tell her.
She might scream at me for being irresponsible, but hopefully, with time she’ll realize how deeply I’ve considered my choice.
“Sid and I… we’ve decided that whatever happens with this demerits situation, we’re not splitting up once you and I get citizenship. I’m staying with him.”
“And am I supposed to stay here as well?” she asks. “Forever?”
“You…” There’s an excellent chance she’s testing me to see how quickly I freak out at the thought of her having independence. “Once you’re legally an adult and have a job, that will be entirely up to you.”
A smile plays on her lips. “I thought you were supposed to get a job.”
“I am a grown ass woman with a whole acreage to care for,” I remind her. “But… maybe. I would like to find something here that’s just mine.”
“Yeah. Me too. Maria already knows she wants to be a teacher.” April looks down at her shoes. “I’m just trying to survive this school year.”
“Hey. You’re going to be a scientist, remember?
No selling yourself short.” I nudge her arm, and she flushes at the reminder of her real ambition.
I’m never letting her forget what she promised herself.
She deserves to live a life as brilliant as she is.
“What did you get on that math test, by the way? The one Maria helped you study for?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Kayla, that was weeks ago.” “Well, I apologize for being wrapped up in my own shit back then. So, how did you do?”
She flicks her ponytail behind her shoulders. “I got an A. Of course.”
Finally, the bus comes, and I’m free to head back to the acreage.
I spot Sid and Silas chopping back the last of the dead tomato plants.
Wendell and Dom are tossing a football back and forth.
James is gathering eggs while one of the hens pecks at his shoelaces and Carlos is by the herb garden, picking sage leaves for tonight’s stew.
His new kitten is perched on his shoulders, rubbing her face into his ear.
A word I’ve rarely used for the places I’ve lived sings through my bones. Home.
* * *
“THERE ARE PROVISIONS for abuse survivors.” Amy scribbles in a pre-Quake spiralbound notebook. “No one is expected to disclose abuse upon applying for sanctuary, so Tom can’t assign you demerits for choosing to do it now. What you’re describing seems to qualify, but…”
“There’s a but?” I ask.
For a brief second, the law seemed sane to me. Sid and I agreed it would be best to get another opinion before I approach Council with what I know about Astolia. Amy was the safest person to tell, since she already knows a few of our secrets and—most importantly—isn’t Tom.
The three of us sit together around a very ugly table Sid picked up from the exchange.
It’s hard, plastic patio furniture, misshapen on one side due to melting against a fireplace at some point.
He admitted that he chose it “because it was cheap”; I’m suddenly glad he never bought much furniture before I came here.
He promised we could return it in the morning if I come with him.
I’m starting to wonder if the table was a ploy to get me into town with him again and damn it, it might work.
Still, it’s easier to talk with somewhere to set our mugs, papers, and Amy’s large collection of pens. They’re all black. I have no idea why she needs so many.
Amy pushes one pen back and picks up another.
“The issue is that we have a long-standing relationship with Astolia. Or thought we did. They’re not a major trade partner, but they passed the human rights check years ago.
” I open my mouth to protest, and Amy holds up a hand.
“I know! I know they faked it. Sent a whole bunch of people away before we could see how cramped the living conditions were. I’m not saying your accusations aren’t true. They add up, if you ask me. But…”
“But it’s our word against theirs?” Sid says.
“Exactly.” Amy sweeps a hand out.
“Hmmm.”
“And it could hurt your platform, Sid, if people think you’re throwing accusations around but can’t substantiate them. Not to mention, you’ve built a lot of your campaign on working closer with foreign partners and immigrants.”
I know we invited her over to give us the brutal truth, but I struggle not to resent her for it. There shouldn’t be problems. I know what I experienced. I turn to look at Sid, arms folded tightly over my chest. “So… do you want me to shut up about it?”
“No,” he says, but I can hear the worry in his voice. “But… it would be nice if we had evidence. Is there anything you can think of that might help?”
“Help do what? If no one wants to believe me—”
“Trigger an investigation of the colony,” says Amy. “Convincing Council to do something like that will require reasonable doubt that they’re the ones lying. Not you.”
I wish I was facing demerits instead. A slap on the wrist for hiding my past sounds easier to handle than people doubting my story. Evidence? All the scars I carry are internal.
“I didn’t bring anything from there,” I say. “But I can give names. I can list whole families of people who should be there.”
“That would be a start.” Amy adds another note.
This black pen produces a thinner line than the one she was using earlier, giving her notes the illusion of headings and subheadings.
“Though they could easily deny the existence of those people. I think it would help once we’re investigating them, but triggering the investigation is the issue. ”
“Well… I don’t know. What do they do when they visit the island?” I ask.
Sid shrugs. “From what I understand, not a whole lot. They’re technophobes.”
“Ugh, we had one come by the guild and, like, sprinkle holy water on our door.” Amy shivers at the memory. “He was given a warning. Haven’t seen him since.”
“And that’s not weird enough?” I ask.
“Well, not if they stopped once they were asked. So long as they aren’t harassing anyone, it’s all personal belief,” says Sid.
“But they use the hospital. They never let us touch modern medicine, but they use the hospital.” I fume with frustration. “That shows they’re inconsistent, doesn’t it?”
“Like I said, I think your story makes sense,” says Amy. “But the hospital is about the only thing they do use, and I can understand making an exception from their standpoint.”
“The hospital…” The one place on the island with regular contact with the Astolians. If there’s any dirt to be had on them, it’s there. “Do they keep records there? Of the people who visit them from outside Salt Spring?”
“Legally, they’re required to keep documentation for all their patients,” says Amy.
“Then that’s it! If there’s something shifty going on, won’t it show up in their records?
Maybe there are patterns.” I’m not sure what we might find, but we have to start somewhere.
“They couldn’t bring any obvious medicine back to Astolia, like April’s needles.
What if there are conditions they let go untreated? Stuff like that?”
“There might be, but isn’t it going to be the same problem as with the government?” Sid says, looking between me and Amy. “Those records are private, so without a good reason to look at them, no one is going to—”
“Pasteurization.” Amy’s eyes have gone wide. “I know what we can tell the hospital. Or at least, if we combine it with Kayla’s story, we might have a compelling case.”
“Really?”
She sets her pen down, flaring her fingers out in excitement. “A few years ago, there was a salmonella outbreak in Astolia. We must have had half a dozen cases come over, all at once. Afterward, the hospital concluded it was due to unpasteurized goat’s milk.”
“It would be goat’s milk,” I say.