Safe Harbour

by Christina Kilbourne

  “It’s a good place to see stingrays.”

  “Stingrays?”

  “You don’t know stingrays? They’re amazing. They fly through the water the way birds soar through the sky.”

  It’s true. I do miss snorkelling and kicking around in the warm, turquoise ocean. I miss the fish. And the statue is my favourite place to snorkel, along with about a gazillion tourists every year. But these details are so superficial compared to the ache lodged deep inside my chest, the ache that catches every time I inhale too deeply.

  “Why did you guys want to come to Canada in the first place? If I was from Florida, I’d never leave. I’d be warm all the time. I’d never have to put up with frozen feet again.”

  I sigh and try to remember exactly why Tuff and I are sitting in a cold damp ravine in the middle of Toronto in October. Six months ago, when Dad first told me his idea, he made it sound fun, like a new adventure. And staying in Florida wasn’t an option, anyway. But my stomach sinks with the realization that we’ve made a huge mistake.

  “I can’t tell you why. It would put you at too much risk.”

  “Does it have to do with the microchip stored in Tuff? The one with all the top-secret Homeland Security stuff?” Lise snorts, as if she’s just heard an off-colour joke.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. People have no idea what’s really going on. They go about their lives as if getting a deal on orange juice is important. Or that having the newest iPhone or fastest laptop or whatever is meaningful. If people only knew the truth.”

  “What’s the truth?”

  I stare at Lise. I want to tell her so much I have to swallow the words bubbling up my throat. I hate carrying the burden alone, being the only person in the whole stupid city who knows what’s coming. I hate knowing I’m never going to feel the Florida sun on my face again, or see the palm trees waving in the breeze. I’ll never feel the soft, white sand of the Keys under my toes or watch another spectacular sun sink into the ocean in a blaze of red. I don’t know how it’s going to work, but I’ve come to accept the fact that Toronto is my forever home and somehow I have to figure out how to survive not just one winter, but seventy of them.

  I shift close to Lise and whisper into her hair. “There isn’t going to be a Miami much longer. Or a New York or San Francisco or Chicago or Atlanta. They’re all going to be blown up and millions of people are going to die. It’s the beginning of the end.”

  I pull back and study Lise carefully. The emotions shift across her face so fast it’s like watching the clouds build on the horizon before a thunderstorm.

  “What the hell are you talking about? You sound like that lunatic in front of Union Station. The one with the bugged-out eyes who swears whenever anyone comes too close.”

  I lean close again, just in case someone is nearby. I don’t want to tell Lise, and I know Dad wouldn’t approve, but keeping it to myself makes my insides feel like they’re being corroded by battery acid.

  “There’s no such thing as ISIS or Al-Qaeda. It’s all fiction. Propaganda. The whole thing is an invention of the U.S. government. Even nine-eleven was just a training exercise. They’re going to start blowing up all the cities, every single one of them, one by one. The chip in Tuff’s neck, it outlines the whole plan. When, where, how, and who.”

  Lise stops eating her cracker and stares at me blankly. A crumb is caught on her lip and trembles when she speaks. “How exactly do you know this?”

  “Dad told me. That’s why he sent me and Tuff here. So we’d be safe.”

  “Let me get this straight. Your dad knows about some government plan to blow up every city in the United States? He’s the only guy in the world who has this top-secret information. And the best thing he could think to do was to send you and Tuff to Toronto?”

  “He’s not the only one who knows.”

  “So he’s the only, what? He’s the only civilian to know? And all he does is send you to Canada? Think about it, Harbour, why wouldn’t he tell someone if this was true?”

  Lise stares at me so intently my hands begin to sweat and I have to unzip my coat.

  “Who’s he going to tell? And even if there was someone to tell, who’s going to believe him? It sounds crazy.”

  “It doesn’t just sound crazy, it is crazy. Why would the government blow up its own cities?”

  Dad always says people choose to be blind. He says people don’t want to see the truth because it means they’d have to change and most people are too lazy or too complacent. I’m suddenly worried that I’ve made a mistake confiding in Lise, that she’s going to be one of those people.

  “To make money.”

  “How does blowing up cities make the government rich?”

  “So they can blame the oil-producing countries and call them terrorists. Then they can declare war and take over their lands and resources, and nobody will stop them.”

  “And who’s going to need oil when everyone is blown up?”

  “Not everyone will die. People in rural areas will live. And people in Canada will survive.”

  “This is a joke, right? You’re messing with me.”

  “I’m completely, absolutely serious.”

  “You’re serious that you believe this crap or you’re serious that your dad believes it?”

  “Both.”

  “What the hell, Harbour? If they blow up the major cities in the U.S., you’re not safe in Toronto, either.”

  “Why not?”

  Lise points south. “You know that big lake, down at the waterfront? What do you think is on the other side of that lake? I’ll tell you what — the United States. Rochester, Buffalo, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, Milwaukee. All those cities are on the other side of the Great Lakes. If they blow those cities up, we’re all screwed, too.”

  I feel my temper rising when Lise makes fun of what I’ve told her, but I try and keep my pulse from racing by breathing in deep. Inhale, two, three. Exhale, two, three.

  “I swear, Harbour. Sometimes I don’t know who’s weirder. Your dad — or you.”

  “Neither of us is weird,” I say hotly.

  I’m so upset I want to stomp down a hall, slam a door, or throw a glass and shatter it against a wall. But none of these options are open to me. When I got mad at Dad on the boat, which happened more when I was younger, I would stomp to my forward cabin, slam down the hatch, and lock myself in so he couldn’t come in with his ukulele and sing his apology song. I can never resist his apology song or his big, sad eyes.

  “Okay, okay. Relax. I don’t think you’re weird. Or your dad, I guess. I mean he looks normal enough in your videos. But you have to admit he does some strange things.”

  “There’s no crime in being different. If anyone might understand that, I thought it would be you. You’re hardly mainstream.”

  Lise crumples up the plastic sleeve from the crackers. “Point made. But answer me one thing. Where did he come by all this top-secret information?”

  Something shifts inside me and for a moment I wonder why I never thought to ask him this one critical question. Where did his information come from? But there’s no way I can tell Lise I don’t have an answer and instead of telling the truth, I say: “It’s a long story.”

  “It always is with you,” she says.

  CHAPTER 10

  DESPITE ALL THE serious warnings Lise gave me about the approach of winter, the one thing she forgot to tell me about was second summer. So when I wake up one morning in my winter coat and snow pants, soggy with sweat, I’m confused. I claw the sleeping bag away from my face and for the first time in weeks I can’t see my breath. My nose isn’t cold and the air doesn’t bite at my fingers or cheeks. There’s no condensation dripping from the top of the tent. I crawl outside behind Tuff and the grass is dry. There’s no dew, no frost, no ice on top of the water dish I found in the Dumpster behind the Sally Ann.

  “Was that it?” I ask. “Is winter over?”

  Tuff cocks his
head, the closest thing he has to a human shrug, then barks.

  My heart warms at the thought of Lise coming back to join me in the ravine and the leaves growing on the tree branches. I ache for my campsite to be hidden again and spending lazy afternoons lying in the sun with Tuff watching the clouds.

  I pick up my phone and text Lise: Summer is back!

  She replies: Wont last. Gotta make the most of it. Meet me at the waterfront.

  I throw some supplies into my backpack, hide my tent as well as I can with leafless branches, and head south along the bottom of the ravine. The trail is busy with cyclists, joggers, and people walking their dogs. Tuff trots along happily and stops to meet each dog with a friendly sniff and tail wag. I haven’t seen him so upbeat in days. The people I pass also seem different. They’ve shed their winter coats and scarves. There are more smiles than I’ve seen recently, more hellos and comments like gorgeous day today, eh? It’s the kind of day when people would be happy to throw spare change at homeless kids, maybe even a few bills. I don’t know what’s going on, but the city is happy and warm again, and I feel alive.

  I find Lise sitting with her feet dangling over the side of the bridge, the one that spans the little harbour by the bandstand. I knew that’s where she’d be without having to ask. There’s only one boat left, a lonely yacht tied up to the dock, rocking gently in the soft sunlight. My heart contracts with the enormity of all that I’ve left in Florida.

  “What’s going on?” I call out as I approach the bridge.

  “Second summer. Comes in the fall like this every year. A few warm days before the serious cold sets in.”

  “Oh,” I say, a little disappointed. I didn’t really believe winter could be over, but it was a comforting fantasy while it lasted. “I meant, what’s going on today. Why are we here?” I sit down beside her and swing my feet in the empty space below the bridge.

  “We should go over to the island while the weather’s good,” Lise nods out at the lake. “I’ve never been, but Liberty has and she says there’s a beach over there. And a lighthouse. Like Toronto’s version of Boca Chita.”

  “You got a plan for getting there?”

  “I got a plan for everything,” Lise says and hoists herself to a stand. “Follow me.”

  Tuff and I trail Lise along the waterfront. The sidewalks are quiet, a startling contrast to the summer when vendors and tourists swarmed like seagulls behind a fishing trolley. The ferry terminal is equally quiet. There’re only a scattering of passengers waiting to depart and everyone stands in a puddle of sunshine.

  “What about tickets?” I whisper.

  Lise hands me a sheet of paper. “There’s a guy at the shelter who’s a genius at this sort of thing. He told me exactly what to do. Just follow me.”

  I’m nervous as we approach the ferry behind a handful of other passengers, afraid the codes on our counterfeit tickets won’t scan properly and there’ll be a scene. But everything goes smoothly and soon we are on the top deck, overlooking the bow.

  “Do you know what a relief it is to be on the water again?”

  When Lise doesn’t reply I look over. Her eyes are narrowed and her lips pulled tight. She’s staring at the water with an uncharacteristic intensity.

  “I’ve never been on a boat before,” she says finally.

  “Not even a little boat?”

  “Not even a paddleboat.”

  She stumbles when the ferry surges forward and I reach out to steady her.

  “Maybe use the railing until you get your sea legs.”

  She flips me the bird, then leans over the railing. Two seagulls hover overhead and Tuff raises his head to watch. But they don’t hold his attention and he rests his nose back on his paws. I wonder if he’s missed being aboard as much as I have. I wonder if he misses Dad as much as I do.

  The ferry ride is short and soon we’re disembarking into another world. I glance at the jagged skyline to remind myself we’re across the harbour from downtown.

  We walk along a narrow street flanked by mismatched houses. Some are painted in bright colours and abstract designs, but others are clad in the muted earth tones I’ve noticed are so popular in Canada. Some houses are surrounded by tidy but empty flower beds, while others are huddled on cluttered lots covered in dry brown leaves. Most of the homes are compact by Toronto standards. A few are rundown, and others are trying to catch up to the sophistication of their cousins on the mainland. There’s a peaceful breeze and the noise of the city is far away, a faint echo over the water.

  “It feels like a small town in New Brunswick,” Lise observes.

  A lady on a bicycle rides past us, followed by three children on smaller bikes. She smiles and nods in greeting and as I watch their backs they remind me of a family of ducks winding down the empty street.

  “There’re no cars!” I realize suddenly. “Or buses. Or streetcars. Or horns.”

  We turn up a side street and study the houses as we walk by. There’s comfort in their modesty: front gardens that have been put to rest for winter, wagons parked on front porches, an empty patio swing giving credibility to the island’s chill vibe.

  “Do people live out here all winter?”

  Lise stops and peels off a layer of black clothing. “Some do. The ferry runs all winter.”

  I look around and think, this island is a place where I could live, even if it’s on land and in Canada. I let myself imagine what it would be like to live in one of the houses we pass, only crossing into the city for supplies. The silence is seductive. Maybe Dad would even come ashore, I think hopefully, and curl up by a fireplace with me to read on the cold winter days.

  It doesn’t take long before the street dead-ends. But instead of turning and following a new street, we cross over to an empty lot covered in untamed grass and naked trees. It feels as wild and abandoned as the ravine, like nobody has placed demands on what it must be, or how it must look and behave.

  “There’s the beach!” Lise says as we come into view of the lake again and a ribbon of sand that stretches in both directions. Beyond is an endless reflection of blue sky so wide and deep I’d think it was the ocean if I didn’t know better.

  I plop down and yank off my shoes.

  “I haven’t been in bare feet in months,” I explain as I dig my toes in the sand.

  Tuff spies a goose flying overhead and speeds away, barking. Freedom.

  The sand is not white and soft like the sand in the Keys, but it feels good to have it between my toes. I shed my sweater and pants and stretch, spread-eagle, in my T-shirt and underwear. The sun is so hot on my face I close my eyes and imagine I’m in Florida, and that Starlight is bobbing on the water nearby. The waves ripple at the edge of my consciousness and I remember a time when Tuff and I waded ashore to explore while Dad scrubbed barnacles off the hull. We had that island to ourselves, except for a few hermit crabs scuttling among rotting coconut husks.

  The daydream shatters when a shadow crosses my face. I crack open an eye to see Lise staring down, her face framed by blue sky.

  “Wanna go for a swim?”

  I sit up. Tuff is already paddling after a flotilla of ducks.

  “Won’t it be cold?”

  “You bet. But we won’t get another chance until June.”

  In a flash she sprints toward the water, flinging a dare over her shoulder and leaving a pile of tangled clothes in the sand.

  I jump to my feet and race after her, then stop short.

  “Holy shit!” I screech. “It’s freezing.”

  “Don’t be such a baby,” Lise calls out from where she is already waist-deep in the water.

  I’ve never felt such cold water in my entire life. The line where the lake and air meet burns my shins and my feet feel numb. Lise sneaks close and splashes me.

  “Stop!” I scream. “STOP!”

  But Lise doesn’t stop and instead launches herself toward me, grabbing me around the waist and taking me down into the frigid water until we’re both submerged. I gl
impse her face under the grey water, her eyes squeezed tight, but her mouth smiling wide. When I manage to break free, I explode into the air, sputtering, sure I’m about to succumb to hypothermia. I scramble back toward the beach, but Lise catches me by the leg and drags me deeper.

  “You have to get used to it, then it won’t feel so cold,” she says.

  “I won’t feel anything at all,” I gasp, still struggling to free myself from her wiry grip.

  Tuff abandons the ducks and swims circles around us, barking and snapping at the water.

  “Please, let me go. It’s too cold,” I beg.

  But my pleading falls on deaf ears and before I know it she’s dragged me out to where I can’t touch. I have to tread to stay afloat.

  “Just breathe,” she says. “Give it a chance.”

  That’s when something shifts and I notice the water does feel good. I’ve never been in fresh water before. It feels soft and thin compared to the thick, salty ocean. The water is cold, bitingly cold, but slowly the pain becomes bearable, almost sweet, and I feel my heartbeat return to normal.

  Lise dives under and I follow, kicking hard and gliding like a stingray through the crisp water. It’s so cold my temples ache in response. We dive under again and again, then roll over and float on our backs. I’ve never felt so alive.

  When we get back to the beach we strip off our wet shirts, shivering and laughing while we struggle to pull sweaters over our clammy skin. Then we lie down on the sand to soak up the sunshine. The air becomes still and the heat of the day melts the goosebumps on my legs.

  “Canadians are crazy,” I mutter and turn my face to Lise. Her dreads are coated in sand.

  She smiles, but doesn’t open her eyes. “We truly are. Sometimes people cut holes in the ice and jump in, like, in the middle of winter.”

  “Why would anyone want to swim in a hole in the ice?”

  “Why not?” Lise laughs. “It’s just mind over matter.”

  Tuff shakes himself dry, then stretches between us. He rests his head on my leg and closes his eyes. The three of us doze in the sun and listen to the faraway sounds of the sleepy island: a seagull crying overhead, a boat motor droning in the distance, the echo of someone’s hammer.