Safe Harbour

by Christina Kilbourne

  There are only two things that really matter to me in the world. I’ve got Tuff in my arms, but where’s Dad? Cold fear has been scratching at the bottom of my stomach for days and no matter what I tell myself, I can’t make it go away.

  Tuff tucks his tail between his legs when I reach over to untie the leash. He always knows when I’m upset and this makes me feel worse. I need him to stay upbeat. For a split second all I can think about is running down the street and disappearing into the ravine, tumbling down the steep slope and hiding among the tangle of thick vines. I want to hide away and worry in private. But for the moment I can’t make myself walk. It takes every ounce of control to keep breathing and to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks. Instead of escaping, I sit down at the base of the tree with the dog food on one side and Tuff on the other. I have no idea what’s happening, but I know something has gone wrong. Dad’s missed two Sunday calls, he’s weeks past his arrival date and now the credit card has been declined. Tuff lies down beside me and rests his chin on my leg with a quizzical whine. I rub his ears absently while I try to think. But it’s hard to concentrate on anything beyond the trembling that has taken over my limbs.

  Suddenly Tuff lifts his head. I look up to see a man standing beside us. He’s a young man — older than me — but I can tell by the way he’s leaning against the tree trunk that he’s not exactly doing the adult thing yet, either.

  “You okay?” he says with so much concern a lump jumps up the back of my throat.

  I nod and swallow, trying to clear a path for the words to come out.

  “You don’t look all that okay,” he says, then kneels down. He has a gentle way about him and it isn’t long before Tuff stretches his nose forward until he’s almost touching the man’s fingertips. Tuff sniffs his hand and takes a step forward.

  “Are you a good boy? Are you?” The man croons until Tuff is wagging his tail so hard his body looks like it’s going to turn inside out. Then, like a total traitor, Tuff rolls onto his back for a belly scratch.

  “I have a dog at home who looks just like this,” the man says, glancing at me and smiling. He has smooth light-brown skin, soft brown eyes, and a smile that transforms his face into boyish mischief.

  I try to smile back but it’s hard with tears threatening to overflow my eyelids. Instead I dab at my eyes with my fist and I tug Tuff back to my side. The man eases himself casually to a stand, opens his wallet and offers me a twenty-dollar bill. I want to protest, explain that I’m not panhandling, that I just happen to be sitting on the sidewalk. But the words are elusive and despite the shame burning in my cheeks, my body betrays my intentions. I watch in horror as my hand reaches up to accept the money.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, while looking down at a piece of gum flattened on the sidewalk beside me.

  The man doesn’t move away, but digs a scrap of paper from a nearby garbage can and writes on a crumpled green flyer for Best Piano Lessons with Wing Chong.

  “I don’t know what sort of trouble you’re in, but you look like a nice girl and I hate to see you upset. If you ever need help, just call me. Or text. My name’s Brandon. I always answer. Day or night. And I live close by.”

  He hands me the paper and I glance down to see he’s written his name and a phone number, and drawn a cartoon dog with a big smile and its tongue hanging out.

  “So, what’s your name?” He tilts his chin upwards as he asks me this.

  “Hillary,” I say instinctively and offer a soggy smile, hoping to hide my lie.

  “Well, Hillary. It’s been nice to meet you and your dog. I hope we meet again.”

  He walks away a few steps before stopping and looking back. “Don’t lose that number,” he says and winks. Then he mimics holding his phone: “Text me.”

  I flutter the flyer in front of my face. “I’ve got it.”

  Tuff watches him go, but I stare back at the flyer in my hand.

  When Lise finds me I’m lying in front of the tent staring up at the sky, refusing to think about how I caved, how I went back into the grocery store with that twenty to ease my cravings. I’ve eaten a quarter jar of peanut butter, as well as all four bananas, so at least I’m not hungry. She sits, then leans back and stretches out in the sun. I like when she comes down in the afternoons before her theatre district shift. It’s nice to have the company and she always brings something to share. One time she brought a big bottle of Coke and another time she had a bag of oranges. They had brown spots and were a bit withered, but they were still juicy and sweet inside.

  “How was your day?” she asks.

  Tuff comes to greet her and wriggles between the two of us. He licks Lise’s face. She giggles and tries to push him away.

  “Not great. How about yours?”

  “Excellent, actually. Look what someone gave me.”

  She pulls a twenty out of her pocket. I swallow my shame and brighten my expression.

  “Seriously? Someone gave you that?”

  “Yep. It was some old lady. She said she sees me all the time sitting on the street and it makes her worry about her granddaughter who’s my age and lives in Vancouver. And that’s not all. She gave me a sandwich and a chocolate milk, too.”

  She reaches into another pocket and hands me a foil-covered packet. “I saved you half the sandwich, but I drank the milk.”

  I sit up and take the sandwich. It’s homemade with thick slices of bread and triple layers of ham and cheese.

  “I can’t remember the last time I ate cheese.”

  “I know, right? I almost went out after and bought a whole block of it.”

  When I’m finished, I hand the last bite to Tuff. I can never refuse those brown eyes. Lise chuckles when he takes the bite of sandwich away to inspect. Suddenly her eyes widen.

  “Is that peanut butter?”

  I hand her the jar. “Help yourself.”

  She twists open the lid and scoops out a finger full.

  “There’re crackers in the tent,” I remind her.

  “It’s better this way,” she says and pops the glob in her mouth. “God, I love peanut butter. Where’d you get it?”

  “At a grocery store. I had to buy some dog food and I couldn’t resist.”

  I think about the four bananas and vow to be a better friend. I mean, if she can save half a sandwich for me, the least I can do is save her a banana.

  She looks at me with a question in her eyes. I’ve never explained how I acquire things and she’s never asked, but I feel a sudden need to tell her about my day.

  “The awful thing, though, is that my credit card got declined.”

  I want to tell her about the twenty dollars, too, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to admit that I bummed money from a stranger, even if it was by accident.

  “Wait! You have a credit card?”

  “I had a credit card, until this afternoon. For essentials. Like dog food and minutes for my phone. Dad wanted to make sure I could get what I needed until he got here. But it got declined today. I used my last cash to buy the dog food.”

  “Your last cash?” Her back stiffens and her eyebrows dip.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I just …”

  “I know. You wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to murder you in your sleep and take off with your canned tuna.” She laughs and I feel even guiltier thinking about the small stash of bills in my secret pocket. I only have a hundred dollars left, but I have no idea how long it has to last. Still, a hundred dollars would feel like winning the lottery to some people.

  “I promise I’ll make it up to you when Dad gets here.”

  “I know you will,” she says and lies back down in the sun. She lets Tuff lick the last of the peanut butter off her finger and stares at the clouds floating overhead.

  “So where does your dad get the money to pay for the credit card? I mean, it doesn’t sound like he has a regular job and someone has to pay the bill?”

  “My grandfather owned some radio stations in the sou
thern states. Florida and Georgia mostly. Dad inherited them before I was born. They make enough for us to live on.”

  Lise glances over at me and starts to laugh. It’s a deep uncontrollable laugh that bubbles up from the pit of her stomach. I replay the conversation in my mind to figure out what’s so funny but the expression on my face makes her laugh even harder. After a couple of minutes she’s holding her stomach and trying to catch her breath.

  “Are you messing with me?”

  I shake my head. “They’re just small. Except for WEDM in Miami. But most of that went to my stepuncles.”

  Lise becomes still all of a sudden. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? Just when I think you can’t get any stranger, you up and tell me your family owns a bunch of radio stations. What else you got to hit me with?”

  “My great-great-grandfather was the governor of Georgia. Like, back in the 1930s? Before that my father’s family was just a bunch of Georgia crackers.”

  “Georgia crackers?”

  “It means they’ve been in the south forever. I’m descended from one of the families who first settled Georgia. Mostly they were farmers. Grew corn, herded cattle. That sort of thing.”

  “And your mom’s family?”

  “I don’t know much about them. She died when I was little.”

  “The most notable person in my family was an uncle who owned a corner store in Fredericton. Until some big chain came along and put him out of business. Then he ended up on welfare like everyone else.”

  We fall into silence and watch the clouds thicken and build overhead. It feels like hours go by before one of us shifts our position. Every now and then Lise chuckles and shakes her head like she’s about to ask me another question, but then falls silent before it can slip out of her mouth.

  “Why do you think the card got declined?” she asks finally.

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe dad lost his phone so he can’t pay the bill.”

  “That would explain why he hasn’t called in a while.”

  Dad’s terrible with phones, it’s true. He won’t even try texting and I can’t count the times I’ve seen him lose one over the side of the boat. I mean, it happens a few times a year. He either leans over to tie off a rope and it falls out of his front pocket, or he fumbles it when he’s dialling and it ends up overboard. The part I don’t tell Lise, though, is that he’d have no way to replace it if he did lose it. Dad never goes ashore. I haven’t seen him on land for over four years. I’m the one who runs his errands, but now he doesn’t even have me.

  “Do you ever look for things in the clouds?” Lise asks unexpectedly and brings me back to the moment.

  “Every day,” I say and feel the cold scratching in my stomach again.

  “Look! See that clump over there?” Lise points to the far right where a band of cirrus spissatus has merged with an approaching mound of cumulonimbus.

  I look over and nod. I haven’t been able to see much in the clouds lately. In fact, I haven’t seen Mom’s face for three days. But I know it’s my mood getting in the way, not that she isn’t there to find.

  “Don’t you think it looks like your dad with his ukulele?”

  The ravine at night is a different creature than during the day. I like how darkness scrabbles down from the neighbourhoods and spreads across the valley floor, seeping into every crevice and nook like ghost crabs hiding in the shadows. What I don’t like up top is how the street lights mask the darkness, cloaking people in a sense of purpose while they scurry and scuttle from place to place.

  To me the ravine is more real than the streets; it’s gritty and primal. Every night I hear creatures scratching in the undergrowth around our tent. At first these noises bothered Tuff and frightened me, but now we know there’s nothing to fear. The rustling leaves and chirruping raccoons are just part of the backdrop of noise, along with the car engines and sirens.

  I feel lonely lying alone in the dark and wonder about texting Brandon, just to say hi. He was friendly, approachable, and having a conversation with an actual person, even by text, would take my mind off things, for a few minutes, anyway. I dig the coloured flyer from my pocket and start to write a text, but then I delete it and flick to my music files instead.

  What I really need to cheer myself up is a dose of Dad. Tuff perks up when he hears Dad’s voice singing “You Are My Sunshine” and I try to show him the screen, but all he wants to do is lick it. By the time the song finishes, the jitters I felt earlier in the day disappear and I chastise myself. How could I doubt him? Dad is a survivor. I know he’s closing in on Toronto, motoring on the still days and sailing when the wind co-operates. Any day my phone will ring and I’ll hear his voice telling me to pack up camp and get my butt moving. I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait to introduce him to Lise and move back into my forward cabin. It might be small, but it’s mine and I feel safe tucked up under the bow of Starlight.

  I’m still lying in the tent with the front flap open and flicking through pictures of Dad when a scream splits the night. I drop my phone and sit up. Not far away I hear a girl swearing and the sound of a struggle unfolding in the fallen leaves. Tuff growls and I grab a leather bundle tucked at the bottom of my backpack. All I can think is that Lise is in danger and bolt from the tent after Tuff.

  It’s easy to find my way to the commotion, even in the dark. As my eyes adjust, I see a broad, hulking figure dragging something off the trail into the bushes, but that something is writhing and twisting in protest. Tuff rushes forward, growling and snarling. I had no idea Tuff could sound so fierce, but the rage in his throat raises the hairs at the back of my neck. He snaps at the hulking figure and the man’s anger turns. He kicks and swears while Tuff darts in and around his feet. He has his arms wrapped tightly around Lise’s face and body, so as he twists and turns she gets flung about like a rag doll. Above the sounds of Tuff’s attack and the man’s defence, I also hear Lise whimpering. I’m not sure if the man is aware of me watching but I know I have to do something and I have to do it fast. I pull out my Glock 17 and shout as loud as I can: “Let her go now, you scumbag, or I’ll shoot your balls off.”

  Startled, the man stops moving. He stands completely still and for a minute all I can hear is Tuff snarling in the darkness.

  Then he sneers. “What you gonna shoot me with, bitch?”

  Dad always tells me not to let my temper rule any situation. He also tells me not to let stupid people make me do something I’ll regret later and that name-calling is a symptom of weakness. But all his good advice is forgotten when I hear the word bitch. Of all the names I can tolerate, bitch makes my pulse spike. That’s why I do the only thing I can to fight back. I raise my gun and fire.

  The shot shatters the night and just about shatters my eardrums, too. Tuff yelps and the man drops Lise. He sounds like an elephant crashing through the undergrowth and I know he’s not going to look back.

  The next thing I hear in the darkness is Lise’s outrage.

  “What the hell was that?”

  I rush toward her, but she kicks away, deeper into the brittle undergrowth.

  “It’s okay. It’s me, Harbour.”

  I try to find her in the dark but she crawls away on all fours.

  “You just shot an effing gun at me!” she shouts. “You could have killed me.”

  Her breathing is ragged and the adrenalin is making her lash out whenever I get close.

  “I shot in the air. It wasn’t anywhere near you.”

  I stop moving for a minute. Trying to get close is making her retreat faster. Finally I approach again, slowly. She’s panting and half crying when I finally get close enough to put my arm around her.

  “C’mon. Let’s go back to the tent.”

  She lets me help her up and I guide her down the slope in the dark. We stumble together over fallen trees and wipe leafy branches from our faces when they reach out to grab us.

  “Are you okay?” I ask as we trip up over a hump of dirt, possibly a ro
tted stump.

  “Of course,” she says in her tough-girl voice. “But I almost shit my pants when you shot that thing.”

  I track the rim of the ravine and the lights of the cars flickering on the highway below in order to get my bearings, then I steer us farther right. With all of the commotion I didn’t pay attention to where I was heading. When I feel Tuff back at our heels I’m relieved because if I get us lost, he can always find his way home.

  “Shhhh.” Lise stops and listens.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I want to tell her not to worry because I doubt that perv will be back to mess with us anytime soon. But she shushes me again and stands dead still. She leans her face close to my ear.

  “The cops are gonna be down here any minute. We should put some distance behind us fast.” Her breath feels hot on my neck.

  When we finally stumble across the trail that winds like a scar along the bottom of the ravine, we turn south toward the lake. She half pulls me behind her, but she doesn’t need to worry about me keeping up because I’m in no mood to talk to the cops. After twenty minutes of running, we find a bench and sit down to catch our breath. If anyone questions us, we can say we’re taking the dog for a walk. It’s a reasonable story.

  “Where the hell did you get a gun?”

  “Dad gave it to me.”

  “What father in his right mind gives their kid a gun?”

  “He wanted me to be safe. He taught me how to shoot when I was little.”

  “You can’t just carry a gun around.”

  “Why not? It’s our constitutional right. You know, the second amendment? The right to bear arms?”

  “Dude, the second amendment doesn’t cover Canada. Handguns are illegal here. You can get in serious trouble being a homeless kid with a gun. You’re lucky they didn’t catch you bringing it across the border.”

  I think about the border crossing and a slight shiver scrabbles up my spine. Thank God for Tuff. But I don’t say this to Lise. In fact, I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t really thought about gun laws in Canada and I wonder if I need to take a trip back to the library to brush up on the basics. I’m sure Erica would be happy to point me in the direction of a good law book. I imagine her standing at the front counter, still waiting for me to arrive with a piece of mail so I can prove my place of residence. I also don’t know how to respond to Lise because I don’t think of myself as homeless. Instead of speaking, though, I rub my hands together and stare at a streetlight in the distance. It shines a cone of orange light onto the trail. Lise slumps over her knees in the thickening silence.