22. Luke
22
LUKE
I don’t sleep. Even the music isn’t haunting me. All I can do is review that moment when Daph slid away. There’s something truly brutal about feeling that you’re on the same proverbial page, that everything’s coming together, then having the rug pulled out from under your feet.
What’s worrying her?
What did I do or not do?
How weird is it that what I hoped would be a great date at Merrie’s will have me eating dinner with Daph and two other women? That’s seriously not what I had planned, but her friend is coming and making a fuss isn’t going to win me any points.
I get up early because I’m not sleeping anyway and do a workout in my room but it’s not enough. There is no music in my brain to tease me. I dig out the pair of running shoes I bought at the thrift store and go for a run. Merrie has equipment arriving this morning and I promised to help out, but first I need to think.
Daph strategizes. I don’t. What issue would a planner have with our relationship?
That’s so obvious that I could kick myself. I have no plan for the future, and Daph would be the first to realize as much. Plus I told her I was leaving Empire ASAP.
She’s trying to protect herself—from me.
What does my future without Daph look like?
Not promising. I’m not interested in that prospect.
What does a future look like with us together?
That’s tougher. It looks a lot like Empire for the long haul. Daph has a house. She has a commercial building now and will be building her own practice. She’s staying, which means if I want to be with her, I’m staying.
No wonder she’s concerned. I could kick myself again. I get so lost in the now, and in her, that I forget completely about tomorrow. Enough of that.
Time to lift my game.
I think about the music and the band, how ambition once drove me to greater heights. I remember a year of desolation after Taylor’s death, a year with no plans or goals, a year of languishing with no objectives or energy. It was sheer hell. I don’t want that again.
I run to Port Cavendish and stop on the pier, looking out across the silver mirror that is Lake Erie. The sun is rising and there are a few other people out, mostly walking dogs. One lab is leaping into the lake, despite being called back to the beach.
I think of how coming back to Empire was like being hit by lightning. Or maybe that was meeting Daph again. I think about how much I’ve enjoyed the last few weeks, the sense of purpose, the conviction that I was a part of something bigger than myself.
It’s like the band but better. Much better.
It matters more than the band ever did.
I want more of that, too. And that kicks my brain into gear. What does the future look like with both Empire and Daph in it? What could I do here? What would feed my sense of purpose and fulfillment?
My first idea is so perfect that is seems inevitable, but I let it simmer while I consider the variables. Taylor, Taylor, was this your plan all along?
When I eventually jog back into Empire, I give Queen Street a hard look. Merrie’s going to have a hard time building success here.
Maybe my quest has only just begun.
Maybe the challenge of invigorating Empire is what I need.
I am, if you must know, excited by how huge this idea could become.
In front of The Golden Lotus, Phil is helping his mom into a mobility van. I stop, stretching while I wait to talk to him. He waves as the van leaves and comes over. “It’s her day at the seniors’ centre in Havelock,” he explains, waving again as the van passes the gas station. His mom is at the window, waving her heart out. “They have programming for people with dementia, and I get a chance to run some errands.”
“It’s great that you could come back here for her.”
He’s watching the van fade from view. “I’m glad I can do it. My brother’s going to come down for some weekends this summer and help out.” He turns and gives me a smile. “You’re up early.”
“Thinking.”
“Running is good for that. I love when I can get out.” He tells me about a couple of new trails, including one built along the old railway line in Port Cavendish, where the tracks were taken out.
“Can you tell me what isn’t owned by Patrick on Queen Street?” I ask.
Phil exhales and his gaze goes to the end of the street. “Jim’s Antiques, and now the Carpe Diem Café.” I follow his finger as he continues down the north side toward us and Big Red. “The post office. The churches, both of them. The thrift store and the convenience store rent from him.” He skips past the Foreman place, but I know it’s Daph’s now. “The Legion. The Grand Hotel. I own The Golden Lotus.” He turns to look down the street to the right. “The Odeon Theatre. Richard owns his law office. The Petro Canada station. Oh, and Bruno owns The Maple Leaf Motel.”
“Who owns the Odeon?” I have the inescapable sense that everything is coming together. I don’t want to spook the universe so I try to disguise my interest.
“Nate Thompson inherited it, wanted to sell it but couldn’t, then refused to sell it to Patrick.”
“I like him already,” I say in an undertone and Phil laughs.
“Don’t you remember him?” Phil continues without waiting for a reply. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t. He has to be five years younger than you. It was his older sister I knew a bit.”
“And where do I find him?”
“Mountain View or Cupertino. Somewhere in California anyway.” Phil nods. “He was a genius boy wonder and big tech called his name. Why?”
“Think he’d sell me the theatre?”
That gets his full attention. “You’re staying then.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
Phil nods once, then pulls out his phone. “I think I have his deets from organizing the reunion two years ago. Yeah, here he is.” He gives me Nate’s contact info. “Let me know how it shakes out.”
“I will.” I turn to run back to the motel. “Oh, and don’t tell anyone anything yet. I want it to be a surprise.”
Phil grins and waves. “You got it.”
I jog backwards. “See you at Merrie’s on Thursday?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Mom and I have an early dinner reservation. Merrie is going to slide us in at five, before it gets busy.”
I give him a thumbs-up, and head back to the hotel, ideas sparking like quicksilver. I need to start making lists and calls and soon.
I catch up to Sylvia’s Subaru just as she parks in front of the café. Sierra is in the passenger seat, her backpack slung into the back, and I remember Merrie saying that Sierra was going to be commuting back to Toronto each week to finish up the school year there.
“What’s up?” Sylvia asks when she gets out of the car.
“I want to talk to Sierra.”
Sylvia gives me a look. “I told her already.”
“I figured that, but I want to tell her something, too.”
Sylvia looks between us, undoubtedly noting that Sierra looks disinclined to listen to me, and heads into the café. Sierra gets out of the car with obvious reluctance, her earbuds still in.
“I don’t have to talk to you,” is her opener.
“No, you don’t.”
She is as prickly as a hedgehog. Her expression is mutinous and she’s poised to flee. She doesn’t want to talk to me and that message is received, loud and clear. “So, you’re not my dad after all.”
“Nope.” I come around the car and lean on the front quarter panel while she glares at me.
“Are you sure?”
“No, but I believe your mom.”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why aren’t you sure?”
“Do you really want me to give you a TED talk on the perils of excess alcohol consumption?”
That makes her smile, grudgingly, but I’ll call it a win. “No.”
She’s not satisfied, though, and I get it. “I’ll take a paternity test if you want to be sure.”
“You would?”
I nod and she studies me intently. It’s so weird to see an echo of myself in her, all the defiance and fury. I really want to make her story different from mine, though I’m not sure how to do that.
“Why?” she demands.
“Sometimes it’s good to know things, even if it isn’t going to make any difference to anything.”
“But why? If you’re not my dad, why would you care what I want?”
“Well, I’m probably your uncle.”
Her lips tighten and I cede that it’s not a very compelling argument. You don’t believe in the power of family when half of your kin would like you to vanish from the face of the earth.
I try to save it. “More importantly than that, I know what it’s like to grow up in Empire, looking like a Cavendish but not being acknowledged as a Cavendish.” She peers at me then, intrigued despite herself. “I’m the one person here who knows what it will be like for you, and so, I think it would be good for us to be friends.”
“Friends?” Ah, the lip curl is so artful that I smile.
“I know. Impossible with an old man like me.”
“Creepy,” she says, stepping around me. She doesn’t leave though, just folds her arms across her chest, waiting.
“Allies, maybe,” I offer.
She shrugs. “Maybe.”
“The thing is that I don’t know anything about being a dad, seeing as I didn’t ever have one. And I don’t know much more about being an uncle, for the same reason.” I hold her gaze. “But I know how to be a friend.”
She gives me a side-eye. “You and me, friends? Don’t you think some people would assume that was a little twisted?”
“I suppose, though I don’t have any nefarious intentions. Do you really worry that much about what other people think?”
“Don’t you?”
“I worry about the opinions of people I care about. The rest of them can go to hell.”
She purses her lips, considering me and the possibilities. “You could be my non-dad.”
“Like a dad, but not quite.”
She nods. “Nothing twisted.”
“A Norman Rockwell non-dad,” I say and she nods. “All right. That works for me.”
She smiles, but she’s not amused. She’s showing me her snaggle tooth and points to it in case I miss it. “I need braces, non-dad.”
“Just jump right in and speak your mind,” I say and this time she really laughs.
“Well, why not? I have exactly nothing to lose.”
And now I grin because I know that feeling. “There is that.”
“Mom said you used to be a bad kid.”
“More like a rebel without a cause. Although come to think of it, I did have a cause.”
“Do you know who your dad is?”
“Yes. I’ve always known, but it never made any difference to anything.” I stop then correct myself. “Not any good difference, anyway.”
“Because he never admitted that you were his.”
“That’s it.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Kind of like my dad.”
“See? Common ground.” I offer a fist and to my amazement, she bumps it with hers.
“Tell me something bad you did.”
“What, I’m supposed to inspire you?” I feign indignation and she giggles, looking younger than she has thus far.
“I need to calibrate you, on a scale from scumbag to guardian angel.”
“Right. Of course. Is this a non-dad credential?”
“If it isn’t, it should be.”
I like this kid. I like her enough that I wish she was my kid.
Because of that, I tell her.
“Okay, when I was in high school, we were supposed to play team sports. I didn’t mind soccer, but I hated hockey.”
“They can take your passport away for that,” she deadpans.
“God, don’t tell anybody then,” I reply and we grin at each other.
She comes to lean beside me. “Why didn’t you like it?”
“I like my teeth right where they are, thanks, and my brains unscrambled. I like hockey when it’s not about enforcers, the way Gretzsky played.” She nods agreement. “But I had this coach who really wanted me to play, who insisted on it, so I composed a letter.” I have left out the bit about always getting thumped on the ice, either by a Cavendish or a friend of a Cavendish. I was targeted and no one intervened.
Is there a more lonely place to be?
Is there a better way to learn that you can’t rely on anyone but yourself?
I doubt it, and I don’t want Sierra to learn that lesson.
“A letter? How is that bad?” Sierra frowns and shakes her head, not understanding.
“Well, it wasn’t just any letter. I stole some letterhead from Cavendish Enterprises and I wrote up a letter as if it was from someone else.” I raise my voice as if quoting said letter. “ To whom it may concern: My son, Luke Jones, is hereby excused from the playing of any team sports, including hockey, by my express stipulation. If he is compelled to do so, I will ensure that all co-op education opportunities between the school system and Cavendish Enterprises are eliminated immediately. I will also embark upon legal proceedings as appropriate. Cordially, Patrick Cavendish. ”
“You didn’t?” Sierra says in awe and I nod.
“I did. It was a really good copy of his signature, too.”
“He’s your dad?”
I nod again.
“What happened?”
“What didn’t happen? Everything went boom. There was a lot of yelling. I was expelled for a term and when I came back, I had to play hockey, after all.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“Well, I was fifteen, so I didn’t know crap, but I thought maybe if I called him out, Patrick might contribute something in terms of support.” I also leave out the bit that he married another woman, when my mom was pregnant with yours truly. “You see, my paternity was the great unspoken secret. Everyone knew he was my dad, but no one talked about it, and he never admitted it. I was tired of being invisible.” I take a breath. “And I was tired of the way people talked to my mom. It takes two to make a baby.”
“Huh.” She thinks about this. “Was it worth it?”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t say it, but I loved pissing off Patrick. It didn’t make any difference in the end, but I am—or was—sufficiently petty that I enjoyed that bit.”
She considers me for a long moment. “Do you think it’s worse to know who your dad is or to not know?”
“I don’t know. Both suck.”
“Dad’s breakfast,” she mutters. “Days when we talk about our parents’ careers. Days when parents come to school for whatever. Graduations. All those times that you’re supposed to have two parents, not one. They all suck. At least if he was dead, you’d have that.”
I get it. “So, okay, a non-dad can step up, if you like.”
“Really?”
“Really. Been there and done that. If I can make sure you don’t have to, that’s all good.”
“Even though you’re not my dad.”
“A non-dad kindred spirit.”
She snorts but there’s a glimmer in her eyes that means I’m wearing her down. “How does that work since you’re not staying here?”
Trust Sierra to call me on that.
“I might stay.” There. I said it out loud and the world didn’t end.
“And if you don’t, what? I call you in Berlin when I need a hand?”
“You could. Not everything is urgent. There are tech solutions.”
I can almost hear the wheels turning as she weighs the possibilities. “And what else do non-dads do?”
“Talk. Listen. Share experiences.” I shake my head. “You do know that I am making this up as we go along, since I’ve never had the honour of being a non-dad before.”
That makes her smile. “Teach me to ride your motorcycle.”
I laugh, because she’s a born negotiator. “That’s up to your mom and probably has to wait a few years.” I think of a counter-offer. “I can teach you to play the guitar, though.”
“All right,” she says, to my surprise. “But I’m staying with my friend Lila in Toronto each week until the end of classes, then she’s coming here.”
“Aren’t you coming back on weekends?”
“Yes. On the bus. It’s kind of cool.”
I know she means taking the bus alone, because there’s not much cool about the old bus that limps from Toronto to Havelock and back a couple of times a day.
“Saturdays then,” I say on impulse. “On Una’s front porch so someone can watch over us and make sure there’s nothing creepy going on.”
Her eyes light up. “Deal.”
“You have a guitar?”
“No.” She’s wary again, suspecting that I’ll renege.
“I’ll lend you one of mine, but if you bust it, you’re buying it.” This is nonsense. I’ll buy another guitar, and if she has any interest, she can keep it.
“Okay!” For a heartbeat, I see a little girl, all optimism and excitement, then the jaded teen is back. She bolts into the restaurant, moving a little too quickly to disguise her reaction. I’m getting up to leave when I realize that Sylvia is hovering inside the door. From the look on her face, she’s been listening.
“Thank you, Luke,” she says softly and I nod. “Maybe what you’ll be is a mentor.”
I look at her, surprised but liking the sound of it. “Maybe. And if you ever want me to talk to Mike, let me know. It wouldn’t be the first time we disagreed about anything.”
“It’s my war, Luke, but thank you.” And she gives me a hug, a sweet platonic hug, and I know irrevocably that we’ve never been this close before. My body is indifferent to the feel of Sylvia and the scent of her, and that’s a good thing.
Instead of one-and-done, I’ve become a one-and-only guy, and that suits me just fine.
I’m also a man with a mission.
Stand back.