Safe Harbour

by Christina Kilbourne

  By now there are three people behind me and Erica is definitely looking uncomfortable. She glances past me to the next person in line.

  “I’ll be back with that piece of mail soon,” I promise.

  When I step away from the counter, I’m angry at myself for lying, for failing, and for being stuck in a situation I can’t control that makes me lie and fail. I want to go back and tell her the truth about everything, including that I don’t really live at 9 Amelia Street. But instead I make my way through the front entrance and find Lise sitting off to the side of the doors with Tuff, a coffee cup on the pavement in front of her. I slouch down beside her.

  “She lives in an apartment,” I mutter. “No pets allowed.”

  Lise softens and rubs Tuff behind his left ear.

  “Hey, it hasn’t been a total waste of time.” She picks up the coffee cup and dumps the change into her hand. “Two dollars and seventy-five cents. Not bad, for what? Like, fifteen minutes?”

  Tuff wiggles over and noses my hand until I rub his head. The clang of change landing in the cup makes me stand up in a hurry. The last thing I want is for Erica to think I’m bumming change in front of her library.

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  Lise stands up reluctantly. I know she’d be happy to spend a couple of hours sitting on the pavement, but I can’t get away fast enough. I lead us around the corner to the back of the building.

  “So who’s this guy, Brandon?” she asks, trotting a few steps to catch up.

  “I met him the day I got the peanut butter.”

  “How?”

  “I was on the sidewalk with Tuff, upset about my credit card. And he stopped to talk to me.”

  I also remember the twenty-dollar bill he gave me, but I can’t force myself to tell Lise the whole story.

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “I have his number. He said to call anytime. Or text.”

  I pull out my phone and show Lise the number, as if to prove to myself, as much as to her, that I’m not a complete liar, and also to prove I don’t need her as much as I actually do. We stop and lean against the wall of the library. Lise holds on to Tuff’s leash and watches people walk by as I type: Hey Brandon. It’s me, Harbour. From the other day out front of Food Basics.

  I hit send and feel a nervous ball of heat churn in my stomach.

  “Let’s take Tuff to that park,” I say, pointing across the street. “He can have a pee while I wait to see if Brandon answers.”

  The park is small. There’s a bench, a patch of shaded grass, and just enough shrubbery to keep Tuff’s nose entertained. We walk him around the edges of the garden beds and he stops in front of a cluster of tall green plants with pink blooms that are being investigated by two monarch butterflies. I breathe in deeply and recall with a sharp pang of nostalgia the fragrance of jasmine on the inky night air, a smell that reminds me of being home.

  My phone vibrates and I take it out of my pocket: Hillary?

  My face flushes hot. Another fib and one I forgot about telling. There’s no way he’ll want to help me when he realizes I’m an ungrateful liar.

  “What’s wrong?” Lise asks, reading my expression.

  “I didn’t give him my real name when I met him.”

  “You’re smarter than I thought you were,” Lise says. Her approval takes away some of the sting.

  I stare at the phone, trying to figure out what to text when it vibrates again. Lise reads over my shoulder.

  LOL. Whatever name you go by, how r u? Was hoping to hear from you.

  “Tell him you have a favour to ask,” Lise coaches.

  “Shouldn’t I text a bit more first? To be friendly?”

  “Nah, just bite the bullet.”

  I type: I’m okay but have a bit of a problem. Wondered if maybe you could help?

  Brandon’s text arrives so fast I wonder how he even had time to type it. Anything. What’s up?

  I need someone to watch my dog for a night. I have something I have to go do.

  Sounds mysterious. But sure. I can dog sit. Where are you?

  A little park on Church St. Near Yonge. Do you know it?

  Sure do. Be there in 15. Hang tight.

  The exchange takes only a few minutes. We continue around the perimeter of the park and then sit on the bench. Tuff lies down on the grass and dozes.

  “So who’s this guy again?”

  “Just someone I met. He started talking to me on the street. Tuff seemed to like him.”

  “But you only met him once for a few minutes?”

  I nod.

  “Why do you trust him with Tuff if you didn’t trust him with your real name?”

  I shrug. I don’t know how to answer this. Maybe because he helped me out once already when he didn’t have to. He was sweet and seemed genuinely concerned when I was upset. And he was well-dressed, even cute. But there’s no way I’m telling any of this to Lise.

  “Probably because he wasn’t homeless,” she says spitefully.

  I bristle at the suggestion. “It’s not that. But Frankie and Josh aren’t very reliable. You can’t argue with me there.”

  “Whatevs,” Lise says, turning slightly away from me.

  We sit for ten minutes without speaking before a black car pulls up in front of the park. A heavy beat of music comes from inside, but stops when the engine cuts off. Brandon steps out and lifts the sunglasses from his face.

  “Harbour!” He calls out, then opens up his arms as if we’re long-lost friends.

  I stand up and walk toward him with Tuff while Lise stays on the bench.

  “You’re even more gorgeous than I remember,” he says, then wraps me in a big hug. I’m surprised by his warmth, but I can’t lie, it feels good to be held tight and he smells really clean. He pushes me away and drinks me in with his eyes. “So what sort of jam you got yourself into?”

  “Not a jam, really. Just need someone to watch Tuff for a night. I’ve got to leave town and I can’t take him on the bus.”

  He squats down and rubs Tuff’s ears, talks to him like they’re best bros.

  “Tuff, my man. How’s things? You want to come to Chez Brandon for a sleepover? We can watch some Netflix and get takeout sushi? I got a pretty sweet condo with a million-dollar view.” Brandon laughs at himself and glances up to see my reaction. I smile broadly, but a beat too late.

  Brandon turns back to Tuff. “She looks a little freaked out. Have you been taking good care of her …” He pauses and looks past me to where Lise is still perched on the bench looking pissed, then adds: “… and her friend?”

  I turn and motion for Lise to come over and meet Brandon, which she does. But she saunters over slowly like she has all day to make the distance. I’m confused by her reaction. I know she trusts Frankie, but I didn’t expect her to totally ice Brandon.

  “Brandon, this is Lise.”

  Brandon stands up and gives Lise a quick up-and-down assessment. Then he holds out his hand to shake.

  “Any friend of Harbour’s …” he says.

  Lise offers him a limp hand and mutters, “Nice to meet you,” almost under her breath.

  “So when you need this dog-sittin’ favour?” Brandon asks, trying to sound all gangster, but failing to pull it off.

  “Next week,” Lise pipes up. “We’ve got a funeral in London. We just found out our grandmother died.”

  I hold my expression still and avoid looking at Lise so I don’t accidentally contradict her peculiar story.

  A look of disappointment washes over Brandon’s face, then confusion. He studies Lise carefully, narrows his eyes, then turns back to me. “You two are cousins?”

  “My dad was adopted,” Lise offers. “Her dad was the real kid.”

  Brandon falls silent while he recovers from the sudden change in direction.

  “Well, I’m sorry about your granny.” His tone has changed slightly and I’m confused about what’s going on, why I’m on the fringe of yet another conversation.

/>   “She was pretty old,” I offer. “Lung cancer.”

  “Still, I loved my granny. It was tough to say goodbye.”

  Brandon takes a couple of slow steps toward his car, then turns back. “My schedule’s free all next week and Tuff’s always welcome. You two want to come and check my place out? To make sure it’s suitable?” He opens the door of his car like an invitation.

  Again, Lise is quick to answer. “We have a few calls to make. A couple of cousins in Montreal to get hold of still. Maybe we can come over in a couple of days when we have our bus tickets and everything.”

  I’m so angry at Lise for dissing Brandon that I want to apologize before he leaves. But something in the set of Lise’s mouth keeps me quiet.

  “I’ll text you the details when I know more,” I say politely. “I sure appreciate you helping out like this.”

  “No probs,” Brandon says. “You got my number.”

  With that, he climbs into his car and starts the engine. The heavy bass music pumps again and vibrates into the pavement. I can feel my insides pulsing to the beat. When he pulls away I turn to Lise.

  “What the hell? Why were you being so rude?”

  Lise turns to me and narrows her eyes.

  “That guy’s trouble. I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out before. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long without your dad.”

  My pulse sputters, then picks up speed.

  “Are you that pissed because I don’t want to leave Tuff with Frankie?”

  “Absolutely not. But you let Brandon do one favour for you and I guarantee you’ll be paying him back for the rest of your life.”

  “Are you jealous?” I stare hard at her, shocked that she could be so openly bitter about some random guy I met one time.

  “I swear, you’re more naive than I thought. Harbour, that guy just wants to use you.”

  “Use me how? By taking care of my dog? By letting me come and check out his place?”

  “God, Harbour. Open your eyes. He’s trying to charm you. He’s being sweet and generous just to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy. Then when you’re in some sort of trouble he’ll swoop in and rescue you so he can prey on your gratitude. There’re guys like that all over the place.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating. He’s just trying to be helpful. That’s all. He cares about people.”

  “Trust me on this one. Okay? I came to Toronto with a guy just like Brandon. So I know a bit of what I’m talking about.”

  Lise reaches over, rips the phone out of my hand, and presses a few buttons.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, trying to grab it back.

  She pushes my hands away. “Deleting his number. So you can’t be tempted to text him.”

  When she’s done, she hands back my phone and I stare at it in my hand as if it’s betrayed me.

  CHAPTER 7

  WHENEVER THE DOOR to the theatre opens I catch a waft of warmth on my face and drink in the smell of indoors. It’s a smell that reminds me of hotels and shopping malls, a smell that takes me back to when Mom was alive and we took family trips to Walt Disney World and SeaWorld, and one time to Universal Studios. It reminds me of being clean and safe and sure-footed. I used to feel like I could do anything. I used to feel like my confidence was about to spill over into the world. But now I feel it slipping away, draining a little bit at a time the way a bathtub empties when you pull the plug. How much longer until I’m sucked down the drain?

  Smiling people and golden light spill through the glass doors. Shoes clack hastily on the pavement in front of us. The hems of suit pants and dresses swish past as if they don’t have time for our puny problems. I pull Tuff across my lap and bury my face in his fur. He helps keep me warm and hidden. Lise pulls the blanket up over her shoulders and then reaches across to make sure my back is covered. It feels like I’ve been cold forever, and I’m afraid because, according to Lise, a chilly fall evening like this does not begin to compare to a cold winter’s day. Moment by moment I feel more unprepared for what lies ahead. What was Dad thinking when he decided we would winter in Canada? Nobody heads north in the winter. Even the geese have started gathering and taking practice flights over the ravine, honking above the highway in search of a more hospitable climate. If I had wings, I’d hurry to catch up.

  “It won’t be long till the rush, and then we can call it a night,” Lise promises.

  I nod and wince when I hear the sound of coins hitting the bottom of the coffee cup in front of us. I’ll never get used to the sound of shame.

  “I’d guess we’re at twenty-eight dollars so far. Not bad for a couple of hours.”

  Lise has an uncanny ability to tally the take in her head by the sound of the coins landing. She’s impressively accurate. I haven’t seen her make an error in two weeks.

  “Thank you, sir,” she says in response to another clatter of coins. Then to me she mutters under her breath, “Three dollars. Nice.”

  Lise cups Tuff’s face in her hands and whispers in her baby voice. “This partnership thing really pays off. It must be this cute as eff dog.” He whines in appreciation and thumps his tail on the pavement.

  “What do you wanna do with this haul? I think we should celebrate.”

  She’s talking to me, but because she’s still holding Tuff’s head and using her exaggerated tone it feels like she’s asking him.

  “I dunno.”

  But Lise persists in trying to spark my imagination — and my hunger. I know she’s trying to keep me from slipping further into the shadows of the alley behind us.

  “Fruit and bread?” she suggests, trying to lure me into her game of fantasy.

  “I guess.”

  “C’mon. What’s the one thing you’d order in a fancy restaurant? Like if we were sitting at a table with a tablecloth and candles? And real silverware? And a waiter was standing in front of us right this minute?”

  “French onion soup,” I say, giving in finally.

  I’ve been craving hot food ever since the first frost slithered into the ravine and took me and Tuff by surprise. And don’t get me started on fruit. If only I could get back all the papaya peels I didn’t scrape clean or all the mangoes I tossed away before sucking every last juicy drop from the fibrous pit.

  Dad always scolds me for being wasteful. “You never know,” he says reproachfully. “You never know when you won’t have it and really want it.”

  “French onion soup?” Lise asks.

  “Yeah. I wonder if anywhere does it takeout?”

  “What makes it French?”

  “I dunno? The way they serve it with croutons and cheese, I guess.”

  “So it’s, like, soup made out of onions and toast and cheese?”

  “You’ve never had it before?”

  “Nope.” Lise shakes her head. “If it doesn’t come from a can, you can pretty much guarantee I haven’t had it before.”

  “Add it to the list,” I say.

  We have a running list of all the things we plan to do together once Dad finally arrives.

  “Learn to sail, play a game of chess, anchor overnight by the island, make sushi and try French onion soup. Did I miss anything?”

  “Catch a fish and eat it fresh.”

  “Yes, eat fresh fish cooked in the galley and use the head to take a piss. But be careful not to use more than six minutes of water per day total.”

  Despite feeling cold and humiliated, I can’t help but smile.

  Another clattering of coins makes me look up at a woman who has paused in front of us, the toes of her shiny yellow pumps nudging the flattened box we’re huddled on. Normally people toss a few coins in our cup and shuffle forward without getting too close and without making eye contact. But this lady is considering us with a quizzical expression.

  “Thanks,” Lise says brightly.

  The lady doesn’t speak but our eyes meet and for a fleeting a moment it feels familiar. Then a man is suddenly at her side and they move forward on the cr
est of the crowd that surges down the sidewalk. This is the theatre district rush that Lise swears makes her more in a couple of hours than she can normally make in a whole day downtown.

  It doesn’t take long for the stream of people to thin until there’s only a trickle of theatre employees straggling home after a long evening. Lise and I fold up our cardboard and tuck it behind a Dumpster in the alley. Then, with the blanket draped over her neck and the coffee cup rattling in her jacket pocket, we head east toward the ravine.

  “You wanna get something before we go back to camp?” Lise asks. “I mean, I know you’ve got your tuna and crackers, but we did good tonight. We can afford a couple of subs.”

  “A hot pizza sub sounds good.”

  “Let’s hit a Subway, then. It’s not the fancy soup you were hoping for, but still, it’s something hot and we can warm up while we eat.”

  On the way back to camp, Lise and I make a pact, sort of. She promises to spend another cold night in the ravine with me if I give her shelter a try.

  “Just for one night. Just to see how it goes.”

  I grunt a response that can’t technically be considered a yes but doesn’t come across as a no, either.

  “Listen, I’ve just done a week straight Harbour-style and it’s been cold as shit. The least you can do is one night, one measly night, Lise-style.”

  Again, I grunt ambiguously.

  “In case you think you’re being clever, you’re not. You’re making it sound like you’re saying yes but you probably have your fingers crossed behind your back or some other stupid thing so you can back out tomorrow.”

  “Whatever,” I say into my hoodie, which I’ve pulled up around my face to conserve the heat from my breath.

  The farther we descend into the ravine the darker and colder it gets. It’s a damp cold that seeps under my clothing and wraps itself like seaweed around my bones; the clinging kind of cold that takes forever to shake. As soon as we get to camp, we head straight for our sleeping bags, the ones I bought in the summer before the credit card got declined. Lise snuggles deep into hers and calls Tuff to lie between us for more heat. I climb into mine and shiver myself warm.