But as I get closer I see that Lise isn’t reading a magazine. She’s talking on the phone. I overhear bits of her one-way conversation.
“Where are you calling from? … Yes. In the bathroom … Are you serious? … Lise. I’m her friend … Who did you say this was again? … Can you hang on a minute?”
Lise looks up and sees me coming toward her. She points at the phone and gestures for me to hurry. She looks panicked and confused, and that’s when I realize she’s talking on MY phone.
I leap the last few feet and grab the phone from her hand. “DAD?” I scream. “Where are you?”
A guy sitting a few tables away shoots me a dirty look and I want to flip the bird at him like Lise would, but I don’t. My heart is pounding so hard that my rib cage is vibrating and the echo in my ears makes it hard to hear.
“Dad?” I shout again.
Then the world gets quiet, too quiet, and my brain registers the fact that the voice on the other end of the line is unfamiliar. It’s not Dad speaking. My mind scrambles to order my thoughts and words at the same time as it tries to make sense of the information flooding at me from a stranger on the phone.
The voice says something about Starlight. Adrift. E.D. Mandrayke. An accident. Miami-Dade Police.
I drop the phone onto the floor and stomp hard with my foot. Lise watches me, her jaw slack with horror.
“What the hell, Harbour! Stop it!”
She tries to push me away, but I use the heel of my winter boot to stomp again and again until there are only crushed pieces of circuit board and plastic lying on the carpet.
“Why did you do that?” She hisses when I stop finally, satisfied the phone is never going to ring again.
The guy at the nearby table makes a noisy show of getting up and moving away. He sighs and glares before he disappears.
“They said it was the police,” I say.
“I KNOW that. They had information about your dad.”
“But it wasn’t really the police.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Of course they’re going to say it’s the police to get me to talk. They were trying to intimidate me into giving up information.”
“I don’t think so. Before you came and smashed the phone they said your dad was in some sort of boating accident.”
“That’s what they say. But Dad knew they’d try the it’s the police trick. He made me promise that if a stranger ever called on that phone to destroy it immediately. It’s happening. They’re trying to find Tuff and me so they can get that microchip. We’re screwed if they track us down. You didn’t tell them where we were, did you?”
“I don’t know,” Lise stammers.
“Think. Think! Did you mention anything about where we were?”
“Uh, not the library exactly. I don’t think. Maybe Toronto. It happened so fast.”
I pull on my coat and sprint for the stairs, even though it’s awkward running in boots. Lise calls for me to wait up, but I don’t stop, or even pause or turn around. I have only one thought — I need to get to Tuff.
Lise follows me down the stairs, stomps across the vast open lobby of the library and out into the cold, damp day. She catches up to me when I’m struggling to untie the leash with my trembling fingers. Tuff is happy to see me, of course, but I don’t stop to rub his ears. I grab my sweater from the bushes and head down the street. Lise puts her hand on my shoulder and I spin to face her.
“What?” I scream.
“Harbour. They said they found your dad’s boat adrift near Miami.”
I stare at her and blink.
“That’s why he hasn’t made it to Toronto yet. Your dad didn’t even leave.”
I see her lips moving, but I don’t register what she’s telling me.
“Yours was the only number on his phone. They didn’t have contact information for anyone else. They weren’t even sure who he was.”
Words finally stumble out of my mouth as my brain processes what Lise is saying.
“You shouldn’t have talked to them. It’s my phone. I never said you could use it.” I’m so angry my voice sounds as sharp as a crow’s on a frosty, still day.
“But you’ve been waiting months for it to ring. And then it did and you were gone. I had to answer!”
I’ve never seen Lise so frustrated. Her eyes are like nuggets of charcoal.
People on the street stare at us as we argue. A group of girls our age stop to watch the drama unfold.
“You had no right!” I shout.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done. I answered. I’m sorry.”
The expression on Lise’s face shifts and her anger disappears behind a cloud of pain. She reaches out to touch my shoulder as I step back. Her voice softens.
“They said he’s dead, Harbour.”
I shake my head and hold up my hands to stop her from saying another word. I squeeze my eyes and clench my teeth, then concentrate on breathing so I can speak.
“He’s not dead,” I spit at her before stomping away.
CHAPTER 12
I’M SCRABBLING AROUND in the cold ravine, scraping slush and wet leaves from the ground in search of the exact log that is hiding my gun. In the summer the forest looked so shaggy and full, I’m not sure I’m even in the right spot. I stop and get my bearings again. Three paces north from the tree stump and six paces west from the maple tree with the crooked limb. I look up the side of the ravine, then down, to be sure I’m sizing up the right stump and the right maple. But I’m not even sure I’m standing by a maple tree at all. For all I know, it could be an oak or a poplar or some other tree altogether. I’m not exactly an expert in Canadian flora identification.
My gloves are wet and muddy and my knees ache from crawling across the litter of sticks and branches. I can feel the sting on my face from where I walked into a stand of raspberry cane. When I touch my cheek and pull back my hand, there’s blood on my glove, which is mixed with mud. I must look like a lunatic.
I perch on the log and kick at the ground. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m in the right place, but no matter how many holes I dig, or how deep, I can’t find the gun. Why did I let Lise talk me into hiding it?
“C’mon, Tuff. Help me look,” I say as I get back down on my knees to continue digging. But Tuff just watches warily from beyond the log, like my erratic desperation is too much for him to handle at the moment.
“Some help you are. I get that you didn’t much like it in the first place, but we need it now. I promise I won’t shoot it unless it’s self-defence,” I plead, but Tuff keeps his distance. His eyes never leave my face, but he doesn’t budge no matter how much I whine. Why won’t he help me? Normally he loves to dig a good hole.
Finally his ears perk up and I turn to see Lise crashing toward us, waving naked branches out of her face and kicking through the fallen leaves.
“Is this the right spot?” I call out. “I triangulated the crooked tree, the stump and the log, but I can’t find it anywhere.”
Lise drops her butt onto the log and looks at all of the holes I’ve dug. “You work fast,” she says. “Maybe you were a groundhog in a previous life.”
I glare at her and she holds up her hand.
“Okay, I get it. You’re not in the mood for sarcasm. Yes, it’s the right spot.”
“Then where the hell is it?”
Lise takes a deep breath and exhales.
“If I tell you where it is, do you promise not to freak out?”
The hairs on the back of my neck turn to daggers and my lungs start to ration oxygen.
“Where is it?” I try to sound threatening, but it has no effect. The more riled I act, the more chill Lise becomes.
“Promise me you won’t freak out,” she says calmly, slowly, as if there is no urgency to the situation.
“Just tell me where it is.”
“Promise me first.”
“Lise!”
“Promise!”
I slouch in defeat. “I
promise.”
Lise stands up and positions herself directly in front of me. She takes a long, slow, exaggerated breath and encourages me to do the same by moving her hands up and down with her chest. My heart feels like it’s going to explode with anxiety, but the sudden intake of oxygen buys me time.
“Remember your promise,” she says and pauses to see if my temper is going to spike. When I continue taking slow, steady breaths, she continues.
“I took your gun to Frankie. He hid it in the garage under his bed. I didn’t want you digging it up and doing something stupid.”
“What?” I jump up and shout. “You trust Frankie over me? Have you completely lost your mind?”
Lise pauses to consider my questions.
“Now that you put it that way, well, obviously not. But maybe back then I trusted him more. And right now you aren’t exactly acting like someone who I’d want to have a gun.” She waves her hand across the scene in front of her as if to say: I present to you exhibit A.
“My father gave me that gun to protect myself!” I scream. “It was a gift. For my birthday. You had no right to touch it.”
I’ve never felt such a flood of anger in my life and the intensity scares me. I don’t know what to do with the excess energy coursing through my body — zaps of electricity followed by bouts of nausea. I lean over and catch my breath, and press the bile back down into my stomach.
I cycle through the same series of emotions until I feel spent, but still cannot bring myself to speak to Lise. When I finally catch my breath, I whistle for Tuff, then head off at a brisk pace. I’m moving fast, but it doesn’t take more than a few yards for him to catch up. He trots at my side, looking up at me. I know he’s trying to figure out what’s happening. He can almost always gauge my moods and provide the appropriate response. Tears require cuddles, happiness calls for an ear-licking. For rage, the best thing he can do is stay nearby and look concerned. Good ol’ Tuff.
“Please tell me you’re not going down there to get it back? Like, right now?” Lise chases after me.
I don’t respond. I don’t look at her and I don’t slow down. Finally she gets close enough to put her hand on my elbow, but I yank my arm clear.
“Harbour! Look at yourself. You’re wet and covered in mud. You have blood on your face. If anyone sees you they’re going to think …”
I don’t let Lise finish her sentence. Instead I whip around and shout. “They’re going to think what? That I’m homeless?”
Lise shrinks away from me.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks. Do you get that? I just want my gun back. I want to be able to protect myself when the Secret Service guys come to get me and Tuff.”
“I thought you said it was the Homeland Security agents you were worried about.”
“Homeland Security, Secret Service. It doesn’t matter what you call them. They want me and Tuff dead just like they want my dad dead.”
“Please don’t get the gun. It’s getting late and it’s going to be dark soon. It’ll be a long walk to the Port Lands and back. You’re angry and you could do something you’ll regret. What if you kill someone? What if you end up in jail? Huh? What will happen then?”
“At least I’d be warm,” I say, just to be stubborn.
Lise continues to follow me south. “What happens to Tuff if you land in jail?”
“You have to take care of him.”
“I can’t take care of a dog. I can barely take care of myself. And you know I’m not the camping type. I like having a bed at night.”
Lise keeps a good pace but I’m moving at such a rate she has to jog every few steps. A light snow starts to fall from low grey skies and I trudge through the darkening day.
“If something happens to me, you’re all Tuff has. And I know you won’t let anything happen to him. You love him as much as I do.” I say this with more conviction than I feel. The truth is that when I look down at Tuff trotting beside me, my eyes fill with tears and I have to work hard not to let Lise see me wipe them away.
The Port Lands also look different in the winter. The tall grasses have been flattened by snow, and the leafy undergrowth that once hid piles of old bricks and used lumber is now just scraggly branches. The wind picks up and I pull the hood over my head. Lise was right and I regret not turning around when she begged me to. If I’d kept my temper in check, I’d be in my tent already, snuggled up with Tuff. I might not be warm, exactly, but I wouldn’t be so far from the only bit of comfort available to me. By the time I get back to camp, I realize, my hands and feet are going to be like blocks of ice. They might never warm up. I wipe my nose and stop to get my bearings. Lise and Tuff pull up beside me.
“Am I in the wrong spot?” I look around at the desolate brick and block structures hunkered down amid the wide-open, snow-covered spaces. The sky has darkened and the distant streetlights do nothing to help illuminate the blackness.
Lise steps toward the tall chain-link fence in front of us and peers at the pile of rubble on the other side. There are large machines strewn across the lot, along with a mountain of freshly dug dirt and a mound of old tires, broken lumber, and metal barrels.
“Holy shit, Harbour! They’ve demolished the garage.”
My brain is slow to process the unexpected information, but my heart responds immediately. The threat of danger feels so close and real I can barely control the panic radiating from the pit of my stomach.
“I was down here, like, two weeks ago and everything was normal. Frankie showed me the wood he had stockpiled in the garage and everything.”
I walk the perimeter of the fence but it’s secure and the gate is tightly locked. I pull off my gloves and start to climb, but Lise tugs me back to the ground.
“Don’t even bother. Either Frankie has it with him or it’s under that pile of rubble. You’re never going to find it. Not tonight. Not in the dark.”
I slump to the ground and lean my back against the fence. I can feel the wet ground soak through my pants, but I don’t care. I suddenly don’t have the energy, or the will, to move. Tuff lies down beside me and puts his head in my lap.
Quiet desperation calls for unconditional loyalty.
I rub the fur on his head and feel calmer, despite the circumstances.
“I’m sure Frankie has it. He wouldn’t have left it behind,” Lise offers. There’s an apology in her tone, if not in her words.
“Do you think they got kicked out?”
I imagine construction men in work boots and hard hats, forcing Frankie and Josh from their makeshift home. If they were sober, it would have been a sorry sight. But if they were wasted, it could have gotten nasty. They would have freaked out; especially Josh, who is unpredictable at the best of times. Did they get a warning? Did they get time to pack? Where did they go? In the face of what has obviously happened to Frankie and Josh, the anger drains out of me.
Lise doesn’t sit on the ground, but leans up against the fence beside me. “I guess they got told to move along. Hopefully they got a chance to get their stuff out.”
“Where do you think they went?”
“I can ask around tomorrow. Someone will know something.”
“I hope they’re okay.”
“Don’t worry about them. They’re survivors. They might have to hit a shelter for a couple of nights, but they’ll figure something out.”
“They had such a sweet set-up.”
“Oh, come on. It was a dive.”
“But it was their own,” I say and start to sob.
Lise waits for me to settle down before she nudges my leg with her boot. I wipe my sleeve across my nose and rub away tears with the back of my hand.
“There’s no sense hanging out here. Let’s get back to camp.”
She reaches down and takes my hand, then leans backward to help me up. “You’re going to catch pneumonia sitting on the wet ground like that.”
Our pace on the way back to camp is considerably slower, even though the air temperature is dropping fa
st. I’m wet, cold, and beyond sad, but I can’t make myself move any faster. We don’t take the valley trail but instead walk through the orange-lit streets, quiet because of the falling snow and late hour. People in Toronto, I’ve realized, stay inside when the short, dark days arrive.
“I’ve been thinking about something lately,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“About this one time, years ago, when Dad and I docked at this place for like a month. It was somebody’s house, you know, right on the Intracoastal, near Jupiter. Dad said the owners were friends of his and they were away on vacation. They wanted us to stay and keep an eye on the place.”
Lise doesn’t respond, but I know she’s listening.
“We docked there, tied right up to their jetty and used the yard like it was ours. They had a pool so I got to swim in it every day. We even used their barbecue and sat on their patio furniture. It was pretty cool. Dad talked to the neighbours and the guys who came to keep the gardens. It felt like living on land again. Like we did when Mom was with us in Stuart.”
When I look up Tuff is out of sight so I whistle and he bounds from behind a row of garbage cans. I lean down and click on his leash. I shouldn’t have him loose near the street, especially at night.
“There was a kid next door and I got to play with him in the afternoons when school let out. His name was David. He was about my age and I liked having another kid to play with for a change. Dad didn’t mind, but I wasn’t allowed to go over to David’s house. Dad didn’t have many rules so I thought it was odd, but I didn’t make a big fuss. Besides, David liked coming over so he didn’t have to include his stepbrother in our games. His stepbrother cried whenever he didn’t get his own way.”
“How old were you?”
“I dunno. Like nine. Or ten. It’s hard to remember. It was the year I was obsessed with Pokémon cards. Do you know them?”
Lise nods and smiles. “Everyone knows Pokémon. I used to watch the cartoon on TV.”
“I’ve never seen the cartoon. Is it any good?”
Lise shrugs. “I guess.”
Safe Harbour Page 13