Chapter Thirty-Eight
THERE IS ONE more person I have to tell the truth to before we put our whole case in front of Council. Tom Sullivan. Immigration officer and asshole extraordinaire.
Of everyone I’ve trusted with this secret, he is the one who has the most power to make my life hell.
Amy promised me that disclosing abuse was not required when I applied for sanctuary, and Pat assured me of the same thing.
If he’s a prick about this, I can contest any demerits he tries to assign.
But with a demerit on my papers already, the thought tickles in the back of my brain: who would the judiciary believe?
“Maybe you should knock me up first,” I say to Sid three days before Christmas, as we’re hanging evergreen branches around the acreage.
A letter has arrived from the hospital and with it, we think we have what we need to convince Tom.
But there’s still so much at stake, it’s hard to rest easy. “Then I would have a clean record.”
“Don’t you dare.” April calls from the bottom of the ladder, while Sid throws me a skeptical look. “If you do something that stupid—”
“I don’t think these are the right circumstances to—” Sid starts.
“Holy shit, guys! I’m kidding!” I drop a branch on Sid’s head, then slide down the ladder.
“Are you, though?” comes a distant voice.
“Not helping, James!” Sid and I shout back in unison.
All we get is a cackle from the other side of the farmhouse, where James is setting up a tree for us to decorate with painted pine cones and seashells.
He’s put the Lady Liberty crown on top, because of all his silly hats, that one looks the most like a star.
The next day, Sid and I head into town. The hospital was one thing, but I decide I would rather have him with me to face Tom.
Complaining about him is one of the great, unifying creeds of our marriage, so it only feels right walking into City Hall together and heading toward the immigration department for our appointment.
It’s awful how open the area around Tom’s office is.
I wonder if this is really what Sid wants—to pore over papers in a renovated grocery store.
It’s not a glamorous place, and I try to let that give me courage.
The people in charge of this island aren’t lounging in luxury like Bradley Patterson.
They’re overworked, ordinary people like Tom.
He fetches a couple of chairs for each of us and then extends his hand to shake, though neither of us take it. Sid, because I’ve got a vice grip on his right hand, and me, because I have not forgiven Tom for anything.
Sid cracks first, putting out his left hand, which Tom switches hands to receive. “Good to see you, Tom.”
“Yes. Very nice.” He gives us both a false smile. “To what do I owe the visit?”
“Kayla wanted to talk to you.” Sid nudges me forward, but I don’t relinquish my hold. The solid mass of him is the only thing keeping me from bolting.
“Does she? Then why don’t you take a seat, Ms. Hollins.”
As we sit, Tom opens the files that govern my life here on Salt Spring.
“So, what brings you here today? I should let you know, I received a note from the secondary school about a month ago that your sister had served detention for an altercation with another student. You’re not worried about her, are you? ”
“No. I think she’s okay.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I…” I look down at my hands, which slide against each other in my lap. “I need to update something on my papers. The line about last known zone of origin. It wasn’t Port Alberni. It was eleven years ago, in Astolia.”
Tom straightens in his chair. “Astolia has provisional ally status. You can’t put that on sanctuary papers. You would have to immigrate through some other mechanism or—”
“And has anyone ever done that?” I ask. “Have you ever had immigrants from Astolia?”
“Not to my knowledge,” he says. “But that isn’t to say—”
“It is.” I pull a document from my bag, signed by Pat Moore.
I hold it out to him, while I rattle off the monologue I memorized.
“During the twenty-three years Salt Spring Island has had contact with Astolia, the hospital has only seen twenty-six individual patients and never treated anyone of Astolian origin with Salt Spring citizenship. Nineteen of these patients have been adult men. Three were adult woman. Four were infants below the age of three. There has never been a child old enough to remember a visit to the island who has checked into the hospital.”
“How did you get this?” Tom flips through the multipage document, his face rippling with shock. “This should be confidential information—”
“All names and private information have been removed. So it isn’t.
” I lean forward and point out the line on the document stating exactly that.
Right before the signature of Doctor Levy, who luckily hasn’t retired yet.
Once Pat heard my story, she knew immediately which physician would be the most likely to help us.
“Surveying legal records of our alliance with them, they’ve also been assigned provisional allyship for longer than the recommended ten years, as outlined by the charter.
But they’re yet to agree to a more thorough evaluation of the colony, which would be required if they wanted to advance to full participation in the League of Gulf Nations,” adds Sid.
That’s been his job for the past couple of weeks—gathering whatever legal backing he could find through the library and City Hall records to bolster our case.
“I’m aware of that,” says Tom. “We’ve been trying to arrange a day with them, but they’re a superstitious bunch. They keep going on about choosing a spiritually meaningful day to—”
“Superstitious? They’re a cult!” I can’t hold it in any longer. “They’re a cult and my family had to run away from them when I was fourteen so they couldn’t marry me off!”
Tom does a double take, looking between Sid and me. “And how did that turn out for you?”
“Oh, go to Hell, Tom!” Sid shouts. “Do you trust me or not?”
“When it comes to your judgment around this woman? Not remotely,” says Tom. “But… I am looking at something signed by the hospital. It does give one pause. What makes you say they’re a cult?”
“Well… they’re probably spewing propaganda about this place right now,” I say.
“That’s why the hospital hasn’t seen any children.
That’s why they don’t bring many women in.
Only the people the Grand Astrologue trusts get to come here.
The numbers shouldn’t look the way they do.
The moment the hospital pulled the information, they knew something was wrong.
Doctor Levy recommends pulling services to Astolia until a thorough investigation into the living conditions and size of the population can be conducted. ”
“And you want me to… to what?” He shuffles the pages of the medical recommendations between his fingers. “Instigate an international incident?”
“No. I’m going to do that.” I don’t think my words reassure him. “What I’m asking is for you to listen. So that no one can think I’m lying when they ask you.”
He lowers the papers and looks at me, eyes no longer squinting and critical. “Well. Go on, then.”
“I… I guess I’ll start when Port Alberni fell,” I begin.
Tom never interrupts. He might prompt me, if my pace slows, but none of his cutting remarks shorten my story.
Of all the times I’ve told my tale, this is by far the worst. It’s like I’m rattling off statistics, my whole life reduced to numbers.
If I try to gloss over something, Tom’s questions are to the point.
How old was I when they measured the girls at school for reproductive fitness?
How old was April when we left? How many individuals do I remember?
At least with him, I get to end before I reach the death of my mother and Curtis. I let the story trail off with my family wandering the woods, with the implied addendum that only April and I survive.
A long pause follows as he rifles through the pages from the hospital, reviewing Doctor Levy’s statement again and again. Finally, he sets it aside and picks up his copy of my sanctuary papers. My heart is in my throat as he begins writing notes on it.
“Congratulations, Ms. Hollins,” he says. “I’m amending your application. You will be free to apply for full citizenship in January, once you’ve reached the four-month anniversary of coming to the island.”
I straighten in my chair, sure I misheard him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m recommending you for a fast-tracked path to citizenship, which I suggest you take.”
“You can do that? This whole time, you could—”
“Yes and no.” Tom throws a hand up in the air. “It’s my department. I can make exceptions in exceptional circumstances. But fast-tracking the wife of someone I endorsed for election in the newspaper? Someone might think I’m handing out political favours. That’s a risk we must take.”
“But why would you—”
“Because I believe you.” He locks eyes with me. For the first time, I notice that they’re almost as blue as Sid’s. “If what happened to you is still going on, this needs to be dealt with swiftly.”
“Oh.” I should say thank you, but I’m too overwhelmed.
“So come January, we’ll finalize your citizenship.
Following that, you can speak to Council about this situation and the hospital’s findings.
That way, if this stirs up any trouble from Astolia, they’ll be unable to request your repatriation.
” He passes back my files from the hospital and the amended papers, all demerits struck and marked as resolved.
“And you two can finally free yourselves from this… situation.” He gestures vaguely at where Sid’s hand is resting on my knee. “If it pleases you.”
“It does not,” says Sid, sourly.
“Bloody hell. I knew it.” Tom squeezes his eyes shut.
“Tom, thank you, I…” I gaze at the words printed at the top. Exemplary participant. Recommended for immediate admittance. “I don’t understand. I lied on my papers.”
“Everyone lies on their papers. Especially Wildlings.” Tom shrugs, as if this is the most obvious component of his job.
“I didn’t,” says Sid.
“Yes. Neither did Silas. It was the most disconcerting thing about dealing with you,” says Tom with a laugh. “Everyone else lies. Not everyone admits it. You aren’t the first to grovel in my office over some secret you kept when you first arrived here, Ms. Hollins.”
That spikes my anger again. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I tried asking you once. For my trouble, you told me I was worse than the doctor who wanted to see your sister taken from you.”
“Oh.”
Tom’s face pulls into a thin smile. “I decided to wait and hope you came forward of your own accord.”
Was that the right approach? I’m sure he could have done better in some regard.
People always can. But for the first time, it’s clear that he never had a vendetta against me.
Even when he wanted to throw me in jail, I had—admittedly—shot a friend of his unprovoked.
Maybe he isn’t even an asshole. Maybe it was just easy to imagine him as one, because every time I saw him, I was reminded of all the lies I was telling.
He never bought my bullshit. Of course that scared me.
In a strange way, that makes him a lot like Sid.
“Thank you, Tom. Thank you for everything.”
“Of course.” He nods appreciatively, and I realize, I finally managed to do that thing Sid told me the islanders wanted: be grateful.
The thought disgusts me, except when I think about it…
I am. I’m happy to be here. I’m on an island with medicine for my sister, a bureaucrat who wants to protect me from Astolia, and a man who loves me.
As Sid and I leave City Hall, the chill of outside surprises me, and I pull my coat tight. My breath clings to the air in a vaporous puff as the rain thickens to snow. Great, globby flakes of it fall from the clouds to melt against the pavement.
And it’s beautiful. Here, where it’s safe, for the first time in my life, snow is beautiful.
“Look at it,” I whisper.
“This is gonna mess up the roads,” Sid grunts, and a laugh bursts out of me.
“Grumpy much?”
“Well… no. I don’t think so. We’re on the same page, right? About your impending freedom?”
That tiny hint of doubt makes me love him even more. He’ll never take me for granted. I’m too wonderful to him. I hope he knows I feel the same way about him.
But I am nothing if not obnoxious, so I swoop in and place my hands against his chest. “Of course. I promised not to leave until you get elected.”
“Very funny, Kayla.” He takes my hands in his and bends over me, so that his height and wide shoulders shelter me from the cold.
Bicycles whisk by us, as ordinary life goes on in all its incredible complexity. I can’t move, too overwhelmed. The gratitude I felt back there wasn’t so much for Tom and his policies, but for the man in front of me. For him.
I kiss his fingers. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I mean for everything. For standing by me when they asked about the slingshot. For marrying me. For…” I choke as I think of those awful first days on the island and then again, when I was too broken to leave our home. “For wanting me when no one else did.”
“Kayla.” He threads a hand behind my neck. “That was all you, too.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You…” He isn’t a crier. But something is caught in his throat. I understand the feeling all too well. “You trusted me. No one’s ever looked at me and expected me to be the good guy before. No one until you. I don’t know how I can ever deserve—”
“Don’t talk that way. You don’t have to earn me.
” At that, I go up on my toes and kiss him.
He holds me like he’s trying to make sure I don’t escape.
Like this is a dream we could wake up from.
When I rock back on my heels, I slide my hand into his so I can pull him toward our bus stop. “I’m here for good.”
He grins. “That’s all I wanted to hear you say.”
“Come on, worrywart.” I tug him forward, anxious to be back in the quiet and familiarity of the acreage. “Let’s go home.”