Last Chance for Paris

by Sylvia McNicoll

  Alone with my brother for a moment, I force myself to look at his uninjured side. That side looks almost normal, as if he were just sleeping.

  “Martin, Martin!” I call gently.

  Behind the uninjured eyelid, it looks as if his eye is moving.

  “Zanna.” A hoarse whisper, but his lips haven’t moved, have they?

  I don’t trust my ears.

  “Martin?” I whisper.

  His right eye flashes open but his iris floats around and doesn’t focus on me. His lips move but I can’t hear anything. I lean forward.

  “I saw…” His lip stretches—he can’t be smiling, can he? “Two bears.”

  “Oh, you!” I’d swat him but he looks in such rough shape. Instead, I feel tears slide down my face.

  The rumble of the ATV announces Tyler’s arrival. He scrambles out with a large, thick branch in his hand and a rope in the other.

  “Martin’s awake,” I tell him.

  “Mmm—might be better for this if he wasn’t. Can you distract him?

  I see him put the branch next to Martin’s leg.

  “So Martin, what happened?” I talk brightly to my brother, who seems out again anyway. “I mean, were you stunt-riding or what?”

  He opens his lips to answer but groans instead, then cries out sharply and slumps. Tyler winces.

  “Done. Okay, quick, while he’s out. On three, you grab his shoulders, and we’ll hoist him to the ATV. One…two…three.” Tyler scoops Martin up, one arm under his hips, the other under his legs for support.

  I climb backward into the backseat of the ATV, ignoring the hot flash of pain in my own ankle. I sit holding the top half of Martin on my lap. Tyler scrambles around and into the driver’s seat and we rumble off, Paris loping alongside. It doesn’t take long: ironically, in terms of distance, Martin has never been that far away.

  “Dad, Dad!” I call as the ATV pulls up to the cabin.

  “Oh my God, Zanna. Where the hell were you?”

  Dad runs onto the deck at the front of the cabin and pounds down the stairs two at a time.

  “We found Martin!”

  “What?” I’ve never seen him move as fast as he does loping toward us. “Thank God,” he says as he draws close, and then his breath catches when he sees the shape Martin’s in.

  “Martin, Martin.” His words come out in a rush. He brushes his hand gently over the top of my brother’s hair. “We’re going to have to get you to a hospital.” He talks to Tyler and me now. “Let’s move him to the truck, in the back where he can lie flat.”

  “I’ll get his comforter and pillow,” I suggest.

  “Let me,” Tyler answers. “I better take Paris into the cabin too.”

  I stay seated in the ATV, my brother heavy in my arms; still, I’m so glad to feel his weight and presence. It makes me feel like I’m doing something, anything, just helping in some small way. When Tyler gets back, he and Dad hoist Martin carefully into the truck. As I straighten and get out, my body sparks with pins and needles, as though all my nerve endings are awakening from a deep sleep.

  With my ankle flashing on and off with a dull ache, I position the pillow and tuck the comforter around Martin. Then I throw in my crutches and Tyler helps me into the back so that I can ride with my brother.

  “Right. Good luck.” Tyler looks uncomfortable about leaving, like he wants to do or say something more. “I’m going to head back in the Park truck and let everyone know what’s happening.”

  “Right, we’re off.” Dad climbs into the truck and pulls onto the road. I wave to Tyler as he drives off too.

  Heading to the Last Chance Hospital in the back with Martin, it’s a long, slow, bumpy ride and the sun is setting. It’s getting cooler. As I watch Martin’s reaction to every jolt, I sing softly because the silly words make me feel less scared for him. My baby left me for a bodybuilder. She didn’t want to live with a pipe welder. I’ve got the tools, he hangs around pools. I need to get a six-pack if I want my baby back. Oooooh!

  It makes him feel better too; I know, because he’s my twin. A couple of tears slide down my cheek as I wonder how I ever lived without him back at my mom’s apartment in Toronto. How can my mother live without the two of us?

  When we get to the tiny hospital, attendants rush Martin into Emergency on a stretcher while we sit on red vinyl chairs waiting and hoping for good news.

  Dad grabs a coffee and I sit flipping through magazines, the same issues I’ve flipped through in the dentist’s waiting room back home in Toronto.

  Back home, Toronto: a million miles away, a million years away.

  Finally a doctor comes out to talk to us. “We’ve sedated Martin and he’s resting comfortably, but we’re going to have to airlift him to Calgary. He has a concussion and his leg is badly broken. He’s going to need surgery and we can’t do that here.”

  “Do whatever you have to,” Dad answers.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve already made the call for the helicopter. But it will take a while. In the meantime, you could take care of the paperwork and maybe even go home for some rest.” The doctor leaves Dad with some forms.

  His leg is badly broken. I remember that white piece of bone poking through his jeans and feel queasy. “They’re not going to have to amputate, are they?” I ask Dad.

  “Let’s take this one step at a time, Zanna. He’s alive, and that’s better than what I imagined last night when I called your mother.”

  “What about Mom? When will she get here?”

  “Shoot, I better call her. She’ll want to know that we found Martin. Come on, let’s find a phone.”

  It only takes one call this time to reach Mom, but it’s about 2:00 A.M., Paris time. I can’t hear the relief in her voice—I mean, Dad’s the one on the phone with her. I can’t figure out whether Dad has woken her, or whether she’s been tossing and turning all night, hoping to hear from us.

  When he hangs up, I say, “So, when will she be here?”

  Dad smacks his forehead. “You know what? She didn’t say anything and I forgot to ask. Let’s call her tomorrow. We’ll be in Calgary anyway, so we can swing round to the airport and pick her up whenever she arrives.” What he says makes sense, but I’m disappointed. What I most want to do is to call her back right now right away. I want to tell her everything we’ve been through, to shake her up as much as we’ve been shaken up, to make her understand how close we’ve come to losing Martin. Just in case she doesn’t know.

  “First chance I get, no matter what it takes, I’m going to make sure we get a telephone line in the cabin,” Dad tells me next day as he tries for the fifth time to reach the hospital. “The damn satellite connection is so bad I can’t hear a thing when I get the operator.”

  “Why don’t we just stop in at the Park Office on our way to Calgary? We could ask Tyler to look after Paris while we’re at the hospital. Or will Cassandra and the guys do it?”

  “No, let’s ask Tyler. The crew needs to cover for me and keep up with the readings. Yes, let’s stop at the Park Office. That’s a great idea.”

  “I’ll let Paris out for a run first. Paris, here boy!” I head out to the front with him and onto the deck. In the distance, the lake shimmers with a million carats of sunshine.

  Paris looks up at me, almost as though he needs permission to run off. I stoop down to talk to him.

  “Paris, you saved Martin. There’s no doubt in my mind. Without you, we would never have found him.”

  Paris licks his lips and yips like he’s trying to answer back but can’t.

  “I’m sorry I put you in that wolf retreat.” I put my arms around him, gently so as not to hurt his neck wound, and he licks my face. “It won’t ever happen again. Trouble or not, you’re part of our family.” I hug and pat him again. “Now go for your run.”

  When Dad and I head for the truck, Paris hops in before we even realize he’s there. At the Park Office, Tyler’s dad doesn’t say anything when we walk in with the dog, but I do
.

  “Mr. Benson,” I say, holding on to Paris’s scruff.

  “I know you don’t allow animals in here. But Paris saved my brother’s life. Do you think Tyler could look after him while we’re in Calgary?”

  Mr. Benson smiles and crouches down to pat Paris. “As far as I’m concerned, Paris isn’t just some animal anymore. Are you, boy?” Paris wags his tail and licks Mr. Benson’s fingers, and Mr. Benson looks up at me with an even bigger grin. “Paris is a rescue dog. Or wolf. And he’s welcome here any time.”

  “Thank you. Is Tyler around? I’d like to talk to him.”

  “He’s across the street at his grandmother’s. He’ll be back in five minutes.”

  The shabby house, the lady with the walker— she’s his grandmother? There’s so much I don’t know about him. Even though it seems like I’ve known him a lifetime, it’s only been a few days.

  “Can we use your phone?” Dad asks. Mr. Benson motions him to the spare phone on the second desk.

  “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. I guess your mother will be up now,” Dad says, but he still has trouble reaching her. He tries the gallery and she picks up there. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. You’re not coming?”

  Not coming where? To Last Chance or Calgary? I wonder. I hear it in his voice. Dad finds Mom hard to believe. Not as much as I do, though. “Let me talk to her!” I screech at him.

  He hands me the receiver.

  “Hello, Mom.” I bite down on the anger and the tears I have stored up.

  “Hi, Zanna. How are you?”

  “Mom, Mom, it’s been awful.” I choke on the words; it’s so hard not to cry. “You should see Martin, he looks really bad. I thought he was dead.” She’s quiet at the other end. A long pause, and then all my disappointment and hurt solidifies into one question. “Why aren’t you coming?”

  “As I explained to your dad, there’s no point in me visiting when your brother will be stuck in bed. I want to visit when I can take him places and do things.”

  “He needs you right now when he’s sick.”

  “But the art show is still on.”

  “You’re not coming because of an art show?”

  “There are lots of buyers here. Zanna, this is how I make my living. I’m not like your dad—I don’t have tenure at some university…”

  “But you said you would come!”

  “Yes, when your brother went missing, in the heat of the moment, I thought I had to be there.

  Really, you and your dad have things in hand now. What reason is there for me to be there?”

  “Because you’re my mom and I need you.”

  “I’m sorry, Zanna. I need things too.”

  She’s a million miles away. I swallow hard. She’s just not going to come, And there’s nothing I can do to make her change her mind.

  “I’ll be there in September. We’ll take a big shopping trip in Toronto and then you can fly out to France and live with me there. Would you like that, Zanna?”

  A tear brands my cheek as it slides down into the corner of my mouth. I brush it away too late. Salted sadness flavors my mouth. “I can’t talk anymore, Mom. The connection is fading.” I don’t even say good-bye; there’s nothing good about it. I just slip the receiver back onto the cradle.

  CHAPTER 19

  STUPID HABIT. I check for e-mail knowing there’s nothing from Zane. You have no new mail, the mailer tells me. I’m right. Still, I can’t leave it that way. What if he read my note about Martin disappearing? I have to talk to him, if only to let him know my brother’s okay. I get up and hump-swing my way to the front to borrow the phone. “Dad, I need to call Toronto.”

  Mr. Benson tells me to dial a special number so there won’t be a long-distance charge.

  I still remember Zane’s number. I can’t believe I didn’t think to try him earlier. The phone rings again and again till his sister Imelda picks up.

  “Hi, it’s Zanna. Is Zane there?”

  “No, he’s not, actually. Where are you calling from?”

  “Alberta. Zane’s not answering my e-mails. Is your server down or something?”

  “Um…no.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “Yeah. He’s fine. Look, Zanna, I like you and well…Zane’s a moron. I have to tell you…he’s seeing someone else.”

  An unexpected punch to the stomach. I can’t breathe for a minute.

  Mom was right. How can he let her be right? How could he be the cause of so many fights and then just give up on us because it’s inconvenient?

  “Zanna, are you there?”

  “Yes. Could you tell him for me that we found Martin? He needs surgery on his leg but he’s alive. We thought maybe he’d drowned.”

  “Geez, that’s awful. I’m sorry.” She waits a minute and I hear a big breath. “Zanna, I’m sorry about Zane too. His new girlfriend’s a dork—nothing like you.”

  Why couldn’t he have e-mailed me? Why did he let me go on making an idiot of myself? My face feels like it’s on fire. I will it to cool down. “Listen, Imelda. Don’t worry about it. We broke up before I left, anyway. We were just going to stay friends.” A big lie that Zane could contradict if he wanted to. Still, right now, it makes me feel better. It’s what Mom had advised me to do when she drove me over to Zane’s that last time to say good-bye.

  Tyler walks in as I put the receiver down. His lips lift into an almost-smile, but then he sees my face. “What’s wrong? Is Martin okay?”

  “My mother was right.”

  “That was her on the line?”

  “No…. It was a friend. Never mind.” I try to shake the feeling away. “We came by because…I wanted to ask you…”

  He steps closer. “Sure.”

  “Whether you’d look after Paris while we’re at the hospital. In case we end up staying overnight and all…”

  “Yes. I said yes, didn’t I?” His words come out tense and clipped.

  “Actually, you said ‘sure’ when you didn’t know what I was asking.”

  Tyler shuts his eyes for a second and then looks to the side at his dad. He grabs my hands and tugs me away from the office area, away from Mr. Benson and Dad.

  “Zanna,” he whispers, “I would say yes to anything you ask me.” His eyes stare into mine, the color of the lake in front of the cabin. “Tell me you weren’t on the phone with your Toronto boyfriend.” My face still feels hot; it’s a dead giveaway.

  “Technically I wasn’t on the line with Zane so much as his sister.”

  Tyler drops my hands. “Come here, Paris. Come here, boy.” He snaps his fingers. He’s calling the dog but dismissing me. He’s disappointed.

  And he has a right to be. Haven’t I been kissing Tyler? Shouldn’t that have meant it was over between Zane and me? And at what moment pre- cisely did it end? Was it with that first brush of Tyler’s fingers against my ankle or with that last phone call? I’m confused too. I’ll allow myself time later to think about that. No time right now, no chance to smooth anything over; we’re in a hurry, anxious to be by Martin’s bed when he wakes up. Anxious to get news. I don’t allow myself to be anxious about one more thing, or person.

  Dad paces in the hall outside the waiting room. I hump-swing a lot slower, back and forth. Every minute slows down into an hour. My left ankle pulses with pain and I’m almost sure I can feel the scalpel as it cuts into my brother. Finally at about three in the afternoon, the doctor calls out Dad’s name. He’s smiling. It must be good news.

  He explains to us how badly Martin’s leg is broken and how he needed to insert pins. There will need to be another surgery to remove them later.

  “But that means he still has a leg, right?”

  “Two, same as before.”

  “Woo-hoo!” I cheer and high-five Dad.

  “He’s still groggy but you can go in and see him now. Room 213.” He points down the hall and Dad picks me and my crutches up so that he can run.

  I push the door open and he puts me down inside the room. Martin loo
ks so small and far away, swallowed in white sheets and bandages. His right leg hangs, white and huge from a pulley.

  I hobble to his side, my left leg still bandaged. I reach to hug him but stop, worrying that I will hurt him.

  “Like old times.” He points to my ankle. “I wreck my right side, you do the left.”

  The skinned knees, our broken arms: he remembers too. I smile.

  “Want to be the first to sign?” he asks, pointing to his cast.

  “I didn’t bring a pen, but sure. Let me see if someone can lend me something.” In the lounge next door, kids are watching TV and doing crafts. I saw them during my many pacings down that hall. I end up borrowing a whole set of markers.

  When I return to Martin’s side, he’s in the middle of a story. I don’t interrupt, even though I instantly know that I’m not just going to sign my name.

  Instead I begin to draw. First, the donkey-like ears… “By the time I finally got the engine going again, the fog had rolled in. I thought I could follow the trail home, but one of the tires slipped off. I panicked and gunned it. What a mistake! The ATV just flew.”

  I shade in the black and brown markings.

  “In that mist I could barely make out the water, but I jumped anyway. Figured it would be the softest landing. But I hit a lot of rocks—man that hurt—and I passed out.”

  With a white marker, I draw the top of the heart around where his eyes would be.

  “I think I would have drowned, but the water woke me up. I had to undo my shoe to get my foot loose from a rock.”

  Then I sketch in his strange yellow eyes. I work on them for a while, putting in the black pupils, trying to capture the fierceness, the loyalty.

  “The current pulled me a long way away from the ATV and when I finally climbed out, I think I passed out again. Paris woke me—Paris and a couple of bears.”

  I finish drawing and look up at my brother.

  “Paris scared the bears away, and then together we tried to make it home. I couldn’t go on and Paris helped me, nudged me, actually, toward that cave you found me in. I was so cold, but I held on to him for warmth.”