Hit the Ground Running

by Alison Hughes

  “You taking off already? Slacker! Leaving it all to the grown-ups, eh?” The officer laughed good-naturedly, but Dee thought Gord would be exhausting if you worked with him every day. He wasn’t bad, but he was already getting on her nerves.

  “Know what?” Gord asked them. “You two don’t need to sit here. We got a nice lounge where you could hang, as the kids say, while I make a couple of calls. Hold on.” He got to his feet and stumped down the hall, yelling, “Gail! Gail!”

  As soon as he was gone, Dee got up and darted over to Gord’s desk.

  “Dee,” Eddie hissed, staring at her with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

  “Shh. I’m looking at these papers. Which are about us. Which are practically ours.” She leafed quickly through the pile, peeking at them sideways so as not to disturb them too much. Her heart pounding, Dee flipped through photocopies of their passports, partially-filled-out forms, a missing-children’s clearance printout, and came to notes in what had to be border officer Wilfred Crow’s neat, cramped, neurotic printing.

  Home phone not in service. No cell phone.

  Query license plate number.

  Query school and children’s services Santacino, AZ.

  Criminal record check and missing person status negative (underlined twice) on James Edward Donnelley.

  Query Mexican authorities.

  Query antique sellers, hospitals, morgues—Yuma, Tucson, Phoenix.

  The word morgue made Dee feel cold. Of course they were considering that, but the word, written out like that, hit her like a slap. Morgue was an ugly word, with cold, ugly connotations. She had a sudden, vivid mental image of her father laid out in a chilly room, his face waxy white—

  “What do they say, Dee?” Eddie whispered.

  “Not much. They don’t know much. Looking for Dad.”

  “Good. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Finding him would be even better.”

  Before they had left, in the weeks after her father had gone missing, Dee had done some detective work of her own from the pay phone down the street, but she hadn’t found any answers. Eventually she’d tried the hospitals. She’d gotten nowhere, no leads at all beyond Jim Dunford’s saying he was going to see a man about some teak. After Jim and he separated, James Edward “Jamie” Donnelley had apparently vanished. Maybe the police could have some cop-to-cop talks and find a lead that she hadn’t.

  “Dee,” Eddie whispered. He was standing, pointing urgently at the open door. He had heard the footsteps just before she did. She slipped across the room and was safely back in her seat, rummaging in her backpack, when Gord and another officer came into the room.

  “…it’s not here, Eddie. Must have left it in the car,” she said to cover.

  “Oops, we missing something?” boomed Gord.

  “Just a pack of mints.” She turned to Eddie. “I’ll get you some more when we see another vending machine, okay?”

  “Sure,” Eddie whispered, looking nervously at Gord. Too obvious, Eddie. Must coach the kid on lying.

  “Well, I can tell you where another vending machine is, my friends. In our super-luxurious, exclusive lounge. And Gail here will take you on down there.”

  “Hi, guys,” Gail said cheerfully.

  “Gail has three little ones of her own, so she knows all the tricks,” Gord warned. “How are the little terrors anyway, Gail?”

  “Terrible!” She laughed. “All sick. One stops puking, another one starts. I was so glad to be coming in to work tonight. Like a vacation.”

  Another long beige hallway with industrial carpet and generic framed prints of Alberta-themed things. The bridge. The mountains. Derricks. Big blue skies and green-and-yellow fields. It eerily resembled the border services offices they had just left. Everything is still repeating itself, Dee thought, rubbing her eyes, exhaustion creeping over her. They turned the corner into an empty, not particularly super-luxurious lounge area. But it had couches and a TV. Gail motioned to a small shelf of DVDs.

  “Eddie, any of those worth watching? May as well settle in.”

  Eddie sprang into action, turning his head completely sideways and running a dirty fingernail over the titles.

  “Is there a washroom…?” Dee whispered to Gail. Why am I whispering? Yes, world, I, Dee, must pee.

  “You bet. Women’s locker room is right through there. Do you want to freshen up with a shower or anything? You’ve had a long drive, I understand, and a car breakdown…”

  Gail rummaged in a cupboard. Clothes packed in large, sealed ziplock bags were stacked according to size, gender and season. Gail pulled out a girl (teen) and a boy (size 6-8) pack from the summer pile.

  “Here, we have extra stuff for emergencies. Any of this help you out?” she asked.

  Dee looked at the packages, flushing. Girl (teen) clothing from a police station. Why would girls need clothes from the police? When theirs were ripped during an assault? When the clothes they were wearing had to be taken as evidence? Dee shied away from the scenarios. She would leave the girl (teen) clothing for the girls who had even bigger problems than she had.

  “Thanks,” she said, “but I’ve got my own stuff. I’ll take this one for Eddie though”—she peered at the new T-shirt, shorts and underwear—“because he seems to have left most of his clothes in the car.” Her grubby little brother stank, there was no getting away from it. He’d worn the same underwear for three days, possibly much longer.

  She half-turned to the locker rooms, then hesitated. Eddie should be completely safe. We’re in a frigging police station.

  “Eddie, okay if I…”

  “Kung Fu Panda 2!” Eddie cried triumphantly, waving the DVD at her. “I’ve been wanting to see this!”

  “Pop ’er in,” said Gail, smiling. “I’m just going to do some work at this table,” she said to Dee. “Not going anywhere.”

  The locker room was, mercifully, empty. The thought of a shower was irresistible, and Dee grabbed a small towel, locked herself in a stall and stripped down. A two-minute shower, she thought. Two minutes. He’ll be fine.

  It was one of those showers that drills angrily, almost painfully, at shoulder height and doesn’t reach anywhere else. But it was private, and the water was hot. It was heaven. Dee washed her hair twice and scrubbed herself wherever she could reach, cupping the bulleting water in both hands and rinsing her legs and feet. She rummaged in her bag and found a pair of clean underwear and a semi-clean blue T-shirt. The crumpled shorts would have to do. She brushed her hair hard, shoved her perfectly clean feet back into her smelly sandals and bundled up the wet towel.

  Eddie was eating Goldfish crackers out of the bag and watching the movie when she went back into the lounge.

  “Feel more human?” Gail called.

  “Yeah.” Dee laughed. “Thanks.” She was warm and relaxed as she collapsed on the couch beside Eddie. For the time it takes to watch this movie, for the whole time Po and the Furious Five are kung fu fighting, I’m not going to worry about where Dad is or what Gord is finding out or what’s going to happen to us. Not going to worry at all…

  Gord called Dee over during the movie’s last scene.

  “Sorry, do you want to finish…?” He gestured to the DVD.

  “No, no, it’s okay,” she said. “Back in a sec, Eddie.”

  Her heart started to pound as she followed Gord to a table by the window. Darkish outside now.

  Is this where our cozy little vacation comes to a screeching, messy end? Is this where good old boy Gord drops his gloves and official RCMP Gord takes over?

  “So how’s it going? Gail taking care of you?” Gord leaned back in his chair.

  “Yeah, she’s nice,” Dee said, swallowing nervously. Enough with the small talk, Gord, just tell me…

  “Good stuff, good stuff. Yeah, we got a pretty good crew here.”

  Dee nodded. How long is the chitchat going to take?

  “Like family, you know?” Gord clasped his hands together to show how close th
ey all were.

  Heartwarming. Would you just frigging tell me…

  “So, Dee—” he said, clearing his throat.

  Here we go…

  “—when’s the last time you saw your dad? Can you remember the exact date?”

  “Not the exact date, no. It was several weeks ago when he went to antique-hunt in Yuma.”

  “Several weeks. Like, two? Three?”

  “Closer to three, maybe four. Can’t get a hold of him? Have you tried my aunt here in Canada?”

  “Um-hum. Just a voice mail there.” Dee felt a small pang. Even Jake was gone. “Now, I don’t want you worrying, you hear? We got calls out. Feelers. We’ll track these frustrating folks down. Just take a little time, that’s all. Anything else you could tell us that might help?”

  Dee shook her head slowly, looking, she hoped, helpful and perplexed. Helpfully perplexed.

  “Because we got to have all the facts to do our due diligence—” He broke off as a vehicle screeched into the parking lot. “What the hell—pardon my French—is that?”

  Dee looked out the window to see what appeared to be a van pull in near the entrance and park haphazardly under a tree. Is that actually a van? It’s an odd shape. An odd texture. She stared out the window. The whole thing is covered in grass. A grass-covered van. Huge bunches of artificial flowers bloomed along the roof of the van and trailed down the back, rustling in the evening breeze.

  “What on earth,” murmured Gord.

  A door slammed and a tall figure loped around the back of the van to the detachment’s front doors.

  “Okay, whatever,” said Gord, shaking his head and picking up his pen. “We’ll let the folks at reception deal with that one. We get all kinds,” he explained.

  Oh, no, Gord, Dee thought, almost laughing with relief, you’re going to have to deal with this one. Because though she’d never seen that van before, she knew it. She remembered a phone conversation with Auntie Pat from about a year ago.

  “He’s gone and Astroturfed the van,” Auntie Pat had said, referring to Uncle Norm. “Glue-gunned flowers everywhere. You oughta see it, Dee. It’s tacky as all hell. Ridiculous. But Norm loves it. He calls it the Rolling Garden. Rolling Wood’s Rolling Garden. He says the advertising will be good for business, pay for itself. I told him, fine, whatever. But I drive the truck.”

  Dee grinned, looking out at the Rolling Garden. It was a preposterous vehicle, but Uncle Norm had been right about the advertising. It had made the six o’clock news in Calgary and two national magazines. The Rolling Garden had put Rolling Wood on the map.

  But the person who had sprung out of the van wasn’t Uncle Norm.

  “Gord?” An intercom voice came from the speaker in the police lounge.

  “Yep, here,” said Gord, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Got a young fellow here that says he needs to talk to you asap. Name’s Jake Matheson.”

  Jake Matheson, I think I love you. You came. You drove that ridiculous Rolling Garden all the way down here to help us out. Dee sat very still, an absurd feeling of pride and relief flooding over her.

  Gord sighed, getting to his feet. “Never heard of him,” he said to Dee. Then, louder, to the intercom, “Okeydoke! Coming! ’Scuse me for a minute, Dee.”

  Dee went back to sit with Eddie. He was smiling, holding both fists to his mouth as he watched a gripping action sequence. Dee grabbed her backpack, ran her brush through her hair and surreptitiously squeezed the last bit of lip gloss out of an almost-flat tube.

  “Okay, folks, the more the merrier!” Gord marched back into the room, gesturing to his companion. Jake was probably no more than seventeen, but he was as tall as Gord, an almost-man in a T-shirt and board shorts, his large feet shoved into battered flip-flops.

  “This is Jake,” Gord said, “who says he knows you.”

  Jake stood calmly, his hands in his pockets, his eyes coming to rest on Dee. Was that a zing! that passed between them? Even a small one? Dee never knew. Her friend Theresa was a firm and vocal believer in zing!—an electric moment of instant attraction.

  “It’s like—zing!—a shock that zings through your body just by looking at each other. Eye electricity,” she had explained to Dee. Theresa was always feeling zing! with somebody. Also buzz! which was similar but involved touching. Dee had never had a zing! moment, other than maybe that time in tenth grade with Dylan Larson, but that had fizzled. Maybe it was only a half zing! anyway, a partial one. Because how could you ever know if the other person was zinging too?

  “Hey,” Jake said. “I think I know you.”

  “Hi, Jake,” Dee said, feeling shy. “Thanks for coming.”

  It was an odd feeling, knowing the voice but not the face. He had a nice face, dominated by a big bony nose and bright brown eyes and framed by rumpled, shaggy brown hair. Thank God he’s not perfect. Dee smoothed down her crumpled shorts.

  “Eddie, this is Jake. Jake is—” She tilted her head at him. “What are you again?”

  He laughed. “Norm’s cousin’s son. Hal’s my dad.”

  “So, Jake,” said Gord wearily, “are there any actual adults around that I could talk to in this big extended family of yours?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Jake, turning to Gord. “I called the guy who runs the general store out at Shuswap where Pat and Norm fuel up and buy their groceries. Caroline, the greenhouse manager, told me where they usually dock. Anyway, I left a message with this guy for them to call as soon as they could. Told him it was urgent. He knows them and radioed to some of his friends’ boats to look out for their boat. Apparently it’s kind of distinctive. Old-style.”

  “Well, if their taste in vehicles is any indication…” Gord laughed. “Okay, thank you for getting this ball rolling, Jake. We’ll have to get you in the force one of these days.”

  “Everything okay, Dee?” Jake came over to her as Gord turned to confer with Gail.

  His eyes had flecks of green in them, she noticed. “They treating you guys okay?” he asked with concern. “I mean, man, a cop shop. No fun.” He looked around the pleasant lounge uneasily. “Actually, this doesn’t look too bad.”

  Dee felt almost guilty that they weren’t in a cell or cuffed or in the process of demanding a lawyer or something. No visible marks of oppression.

  “No, they’re fine. They’ve actually been nice. The scary part is just that we’re sort of stuck here,” Dee said. “They can’t get a hold of my dad (I’ll tell you all about that later, Jake), and they don’t know what to do with us. Hey, thanks for trying to track down Auntie Pat.”

  “No problem. You sounded pretty stressed last time we talked, so I just thought, you know, somehow I could help. I guess I’ll just hang here until Pat calls or gets here or whatever. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Absolutely,” Dee said. Was that too quick, too loud, too needy? She was appalled to find tears stinging her eyes. She turned away, blinking furiously. It was just such a relief to have reinforcements, support, to be cared about, to be cared for.

  Eddie had been watching Jake curiously. “Is there grass inside that thing too?” he asked, pointing out the window at the van.

  “Like wall-to-wall carpet?” Jake laughed. “Not yet, but I wouldn’t put it past Norm. Want to have a look at it, Eddie?” He swung around to Gord and Gail. “We can do that, right?”

  Gail took them all outside so that Eddie could fully appreciate the craftsmanship of the Rolling Garden up close.

  Eddie trotted ahead of Gail, and Dee found herself walking beside Jake.

  “How’s Scout?” she asked, remembering the Siamese he was supposed to be looking after.

  Jake’s sunny face darkened. “Howled the whole friggin’ way down here. Rrrrrraaaaarrrr. Rrrrrraaaarrr. Like, eight million times. God.”

  “You brought him?”

  Jake shrugged. “Everyone else was away. I didn’t know how long I’d be. Couldn’t leave him alone. He’s sort of the reason I’m staying there…”

  “We
ll, he’s in a carrier, right? Some kind of kennel?”

  “He was in a carrier. I popped the door open when I parked, so he could stretch his legs. Use his litter. Thought it might shut him up. Was that a bad idea?” he asked quickly, seeing her face.

  “It’s just—Auntie Pat told me he sort of sprays when he’s mad…”

  “Like, what, spits?”

  “Like, pisses...”

  “Shit!” Jake said, breaking into a lanky jog, fumbling in his pocket for the keys.

  Eddie turned to Dee, his face alight. “That is the most hilarious car I ever saw!” he said, laughing. “It’s like a hill! Or a yard! A moving yard!”

  Jake unlocked the Garden and carefully opened the door a crack. The pungent, distinctive smell of cat pee hit them like a physical force.

  “Whoa, what’s that smell?” Eddie recoiled.

  “That smell is a nightmare cat from hell, Eddie,” said Jake, peering cautiously into the van. “Scout! Scout! Get over here, you. Here kitty, kitty, ki—”

  Scout bolted out of the Garden like a streak of gray lightning, darting and crouching in the parking lot, eyes huge and wild.

  “You effing little…” muttered Jake, lunging after him. Scout scrambled under a car.

  “Shoot,” Gail said cheerfully, “that’s my car. Hope the little bugger doesn’t crawl up into the engine.” They positioned themselves in a square around the car. Eddie sat right down on the pavement, peering under the car, talking softly. “You’re just scared, aren’t you, little buddy? It’s okay, it’s okay…gooood cat, you’re a gooood cat.”

  Jake grinned at Dee over the top of the car. “He’s actually not a good cat at all,” he whispered. “He’s a little shit!”

  Dee laughed. Chasing Scout is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. How pathetic is that?

  Eventually, with a low, long mrrrroow, Scout wandered out like all this was no big deal, his tail high and twitching. He rubbed his face against Eddie’s shoulder and purred as Eddie pulled him gently into his lap.

  “All right,” Gail said and sighed. “We should probably head back inside. Cat comes too, I guess. This is becoming quite the odd little party. Better bring his food and litter and a kennel if you have one. And”—she smiled at Jake—“I’d leave the doors open and air that weird sucker out. We’re pretty safe here.”