Smudge looked back at her again, and then said, On second thought maybe you’re right. By the looks of her I’d say she’s been to band camp a few times, and she looks French or maybe even Irish, saints preserve us.
Ben ignored her.
Spot lifted his head off Ben’s lap, looked around, and signed, If you two don’t quit I’m gonna barf on both of you. He had gotten a little green around the jowls when they cleared the breakwaters and the boat rolled slowly with the swells. It was a big boat but still rocked just a little in the stiff crosswind as it crawled across the bay. He plunked his head back down onto Ben’s lap with a groan.
Smudge stuck her tongue out at her brother and tapped Ben on the shoulder. She signed, Or, if you need to use the men’s room for some, you know, young man private time we can watch the stuff for you…for three minutes.
Ben fought to let that one go but successfully ignored her.
Smudge continued to stare at Ben.
Ben continued to stare into his tablet.
Smudge very slowly leaned in closer to him until her snout was right next to Ben’s ear. After a moment she exhaled heavily into it.
Ben did nothing.
She slowly yawned, and extended her tongue as she uncurled it noisily. She gave his ear a long slow lick as she looked back at the girl, who had seen it, and smiled.
Ben swatted her nose away.
Smudge huffed at him and rested her chin on his shoulder, looking back at the girl out of the corner of her eye.
She stared at the girl, who was staring back at her.
After a minute Smudge signed, I’d ride that into battle.
Ben flinched hard enough to shove Smudge’s chin off his shoulder, and he knocked Spot’s head off his lap in the process.
Spot growled at the pair of them and made a rude gesture before hopping down from the seat.
He stretched, and then walked around the corner of their row and straight down the aisle to the girl. He went right up to her and rested his chin on her knee, and wagged.
An hour later the pretty girl and Ben were seated at a small round table in a corner of the lounge near the windows. They had split a plate of chicken fingers and were laughing as they quietly compared French swear words to their English counterparts.
The pups were nearby on the carpeted floor playing with the girl’s eight year old brother, and eavesdropping. They had played about a hundred versions of shake, sit, and rollover. The kid wasn’t very creative but he was occupied and having fun.
The girl’s parents stayed near the front of the boat but wandered back every few minutes to check on their daughter and her cute, if a little odd, suitor. They made lame excuses about needing the bathroom or a beverage which caused the girl to roll her eyes and shoo them away.
Ben found her eye roll to be mesmerizing.
The next hour flew by and after the ferry docked they walked together to the terminal. Her parents had taken her younger brother with them to get the car, having reluctantly agreed to let her catch up with them in the parking lot after she threatened to murder both of them if they ruined her life, again.
Inside the lobby of the ferry terminal in Digby, Nova Scotia, they exchanged contacts and she stood dangerously close to Ben as they did so. She leaned in to make sure he spelled her name correctly as his thumbs struggled to type.
He could smell her hair.
And so could the pups who were standing in front of them, wagging. They could also hear Ben’s heart hammering in his chest.
Ben helped her with her coat.
After she zipped up she patted the pups, smiled, touched Ben’s sweating hand, and then said goodbye.
Ben and the pups watched her walk away.
She trotted through the glass doors and into the parking lot. The way she pulled her fingers through her long hair to keep it away from her face as the wind whipped it made him smile.
Before she disappeared into the rows of cars she shot him a final small wave.
And then she was gone.
“I’d ride that into battle,” Hamish said from right behind him.
Ben jumped a mile.
Chapter 19
Ben groaned and spun on the couch so his back was to the fire. He was in Hamish’s living room and sharing a big comforter with the pups who were napping on the floor next to the hearth. Smudge had her chin on her little stuffed chicken, and Spot had his head on his sister’s back.
Hamish’s old Alsatian was snoring loudly from her bed in the corner.
He walked carefully through the kitchen and paused behind the couch to look down at his grandnephew and his snoozing black dogs before he moved down the hallway. He talked quietly into his cell phone as he nudged his office door mostly closed with an elbow. He was trying not to spill his scotch and the small plate of ginger snaps balanced on top of it.
Being careful to minimize the protests from his old chair, he slowly reclined and put his socked feet up on his desk.
He said, “Alright, hold your wheesht lass, I’m sure you’re doing your best. They’re bawheeds, every last one of them. I wouldn’t have picked them but we’re stuck with them. Do the best you can and I’ll be there soon to help sort it out. How you getting on with the other two?”
As Hamish listened he watched the lights of a ship crawling away in the distance, leaving the Bay of Fundi for the Atlantic. His saltbox house had been a ship captain’s, and sat high up on a bluff above the shoreline. From this height he couldn’t see the white tops of the waves below, there was just the dark of the water meeting the dark of the sky at a sliver of black on the horizon. Along the black line a few lights struggled to poke through the snow from the shores of New Brunswick across the bay.
Hamish said, “Don’t mistake me, I’ve not seen him since the funeral and I love that he’s here. We’re just under the gun now with this current lot and when we get up there I’m going to be busier than a one armed pimp in a hoore skelping contest.”
He tapped on his laptop, pulling up the weather forecast as he said, “Fine, a one legged cat in a litterbox, is that better?”
What had been a stiff easterly breeze in the afternoon had turned into a gale after sundown, and now the gusts pounded up the cliffs and howled over the house. The light snow flew sideways outside Hamish’s office window, caught in the roving light from the lighthouse on the point.
He dragged the weather map to the north with the tip of his finger, stopping it over central Quebec.
“Maybe,” he said, “Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Jean says he’s gotten to be right brilliant lately and she’s pretty truthful about such things, but I don’t know. He’s always been a bit of a Nancy for my liking. His city parents spoiled him rotten. Still, he seems to have grown a foot and he did manage to pick up a minty on the ferry. Maybe he’s got more Walker in him than I credited him for.”
Hamish took a drink and nodded to himself as he bit a cookie. The report showed they should have good weather for the long drive north. He said, “You were wrong about Sholto, by the way. The old bitch barely pitched a fit when Ben’s dogs came strolling in like they owned the place. The wee curs seem smart enough, bigger than I would have thought based on Jeanie always calling them her pups. Truth be told they look solid for nonworking dogs.”
Hamish wiped crumbs off the keyboard and closed the laptop cover as he said, “The boy does handle them well, maybe you can find something to keep him busy with after all.”
Hamish took a long pull from his drink and said, “Tell him all about your sex life, that’ll keep the pain in the arse occupied for six seconds, and four of those will be him rolling on the pitch laughing. Speaking of depressing failures, when’s our next conference call?”
They chatted for a few more minutes and when they finished Hamish dropped the phone back into his sweater pocket. He leaned forward in his chair, downed his drink, and noticed one of Ben’s black pups watching him from the hallway.
“You needing to pish again wee girl?” Hamish aske
d.
Chapter 20
Hamish kicked the end of the couch for the third time in fifteen minutes. “Let’s go lad, drop you’re knob and forget her gob,” he said as he put on his tam, “We’ve got lots of road to chew on and you can dream about her in the truck.” Hamish’s heavy feet thumped away on the hardwood floor. He slid a stack of large plastic totes off the kitchen table and tapped open the back storm door with his boot.
As the door banged shut behind him Ben dangled his feet over the couch and rolled to a barely upright position.
Spot rounded the end of the couch, dragging Ben’s backpack. Come on Hef, he signed, He’s starting to get annoyed.
“What time is it?” Ben asked, squinting at the windows flanking the fireplace and seeing only black outside.
Four-fifteen, Spot signed.
“Jeez,” Ben said as he grabbed the blanket and let his head fall back onto the pillow.
Spot watched the back door as he unzipped the backpack and started pulling out a change of clothes for Ben. He said, Sis, little help here.
Smudge had been chatting with Hamish’s dog Sholto. They were laying back to back on the dog’s bed after having shared a snack and been out for a morning pee. Hamish had said Sholto was getting up there in years, which was obvious, but also that she’d been through a lot for a dog. She was apparently getting a little bit daft, and a lot bit ornery. The old army dog and Smudge were getting along famously.
Smudge got up and went over to Ben. She flipped his blanket onto the floor, grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him off the couch and over to Spot. She then returned to the dog bed and plopped down next to an amused, wagging Sholto.
Before Ben could protest Hamish yanked open the storm door and strode into the kitchen. Ben started to put on his socks and shot Smudge a dirty look.
“It’s alive,” Hamish said, “Grab some grub and give your fizzog a quick splash, we’re off in ten.” He grabbed another large box from the kitchen counter. Ben offered to help but Hamish just grumbled that he was almost done, and added every box was bigger than Ben anyway.
A few minutes later Ben was quickly drying his face and wolfing down a bowl of cereal. Through the screen door he watched Hamish continue to load the big v-ten pickup. The large maroon truck had double rear wheels under a wide flared fender. It also had a matching maroon top over the bed, four doors, and a full size rear passenger seat. The truck looked to be pretty new. Ben had expected Hamish to be a bit of a slob based on Mimi’s description but his house and the truck were pretty cool, and super clean. The truck had a new layer of road grime behind the tires but otherwise it was spotless and the interior was not cheap. It had leather seats, navigation in the dash, and all of the other bells and whistles.
As Ben rinsed his bowl in the sink he watched Hamish crossing from the garage into the circle of light at the back of the house carrying what looked to be a medium-sized engine. It was not as big as a car engine, but looked to be larger than a lawnmower. When he dropped it onto the tailgate of the truck the suspension creaked and the whole back end lowered a few inches.
Ben had forgotten how big his uncle really was. Hamish came to Mimi’s just about every year for a summer visit and Ben had always stared up at him like he was a tree. His dad was pretty tall, and Papa had been as well, but Hamish was bigger still and a lot wider. Seeing him toss the engine around Ben realized his uncle was truly a redwood of a man. With his tattoos, four inch long gray beard, and buzz cut he looked like a poster of a lumberjack. Ben’s mom said he was a handsome man. Mimi said in his ruttin’ days he had a lass in every port and two waiting in the lighthouse. When Kelcy said he looked like every hipster thinks they look, his dad added Hamish had been rocking that look since before those hipster’s fathers were able to grow fuzz.
Chapter 21
Ben raised his head only once during their drive east through Nova Scotia when they stopped for a quick bathroom break just outside of Halifax. The sky had just started to lighten and he nodded right off again before they pulled out of the gas station parking lot and headed north.
Hours passed while he slept. At some point they left Nova Scotia and crossed into New Brunswick, and then hugged the coast.
Ben eventually returned to the living and when Hamish saw his disoriented look he explained they had entered the Acadian region. He said it had originally been a French colony and was still thick with French speakers, and their odd culture. He also told Ben to keep his eyes peeled as it was also full of really easy girls.
Hamish’s weather report had been correct and the sun beat back the northern Atlantic’s spiteful January chill. By mid-morning it was warm, and the kilometers flew by in a blur of highway and quick stops for food and gas.
Hamish drove like someone was chasing him. Ben wondered if the truck only had an on and off switch. His uncle would go from a complete stop to break neck speed, and then back to a screeching halt. Still, they were making excellent time even if it meant the pups were toppled off the back seat every once in a while.
Ben followed their route frequently on his tablet using the satphone tether. He chatted some with the family and even sent a few pix and vids to friends and teachers. He got the sense most of his teachers were happy to have a break from him but his social studies teacher would only agree to him leaving school for three weeks if he promised to share some of the trip, including at least one video Q and A session with the class per week.
The pups were mostly content to chill on blankets in the back with Sholto. They had plenty of room and alternated between napping and checking out the smells and scenery. Ben hopped over the seat a few times to hang with them and chat briefly with Spot and Smudge when Hamish wasn’t paying attention.
The pups were also getting to know Sholto. They had full blown dog conversations in the back of the truck, and whenever they stopped the three of them trotted off, rubbing and bumping into one another. Ben would get a quick update from his pups as they climbed back into the truck but he didn’t need them to interpret Sholto was really taking a shine to Smudge. The old dog tended to lean on her when she slept, which was most of the time.
Ben could also tell his sensitive Smudge was worried about the old dog. Anytime someone in the Hogan-Walker house was even a little off Smudge was usually found lying on top of them.
Sholto seemed happy enough, but she did move slowly and was the last one out of the truck and the last one back in when they stopped.
When waiting for the dog Hamish would say, “Always at the coo’s tail, that one.”
He also said she had one paw on a banana peel and one in the grave, and everything was Sholto’s last thing. He would say things like, “C’mon Sholto, time for your last bloody truck ride,” or, “Enjoy your last biscuit Sholto” or, “Sholto, finish your last jobby and get your arse over here.” Ben and Spot thought that was hilarious, Smudge not so much.
Hamish and Ben hopscotched through several small towns, most with fishing fleets nestled among colorful houses in cliff-protected coves. Bouctouche, Loggerville, Bathurst, Tide Head, all offered a quick meal of lobster bake, fricot, or poutine rapees. Fricot was similar to Mimi’s stovies, a stew of potatoes and onions and whatever meat was available. Ben fell in love with the poutine rapees, a pork stuffed potato dumpling, which Hamish always had with a side of maple syrup.
At some point over the last three decades Hamish, Mimi and Papa, and even his Mom for a time had lived in the region. They said it reminded them of Scotland.
Ben was starting to experience the places he’d only heard about in the family’s best stories. Hamish was pretty quiet when he drove but Ben could get him to launch into a retelling of his favorite tales by simply starting them wrong. Hamish would cut him off with, “Bah! Your bum’s out the window lad, that’s what they told yeh? ‘Snot what happened at all. You see Duncan, your Papa, was getting his arse handed to him by a yocker of a sailor and...”
Hamish’s versions of the family stories, and the associated language, certainly we
ren’t Mimi approved.
Ben was riveted.
He was having an incredible time and it wasn’t only the stories and the sensory flood that comes with travelling through new and amazing places. He also met dozens of interesting people. It seemed Hamish knew everyone. His great uncle had driven the route from his Digby home to the Quebec ranch hundreds of times and had many friends along the way. Ben was beginning to understand that if you met a Walker once, you met them forever, especially Hamish.
Hamish also liked to eat frequently, and in great amounts. Every place they stopped ended in a chat with friends over food. Sometimes it was a picnic table, or a tailgate, or a boat’s gunwale.
Ben noticed Spot was studying Hamish as much as he was. He told Ben to watch carefully, there was real power in the sharing of food. He said to Ben, Come share a meal with a pack of coyotes if you want to feel that power in its primal form, and its effect is no different than that lobster roll Hamish just split in half and handed to you.
They ate often, and Hamish destroyed the inside of the car just as frequently, and loudly. Ben and the pups were thankful it was a warm day as they rode many miles with the windows cracked open. Sholto didn’t seem to notice the smell, in fact the pups confirmed Ben’s suspicions that she was responsible for more than a few of the vile affronts to their environment. She just did it silently.
Ben also noticed Hamish and his odd mix of friends all communicated mostly through insults. Their banter was a constant barrage of subtle and not-so-subtle abuse. Ben knew the Scots had raised cube-cracking to an art form centuries ago but he’d never seen such virtuoso performances in public. The French they met were pretty good at it, as were the aboriginal peoples and the Danes, but Hamish trumped them all, even other Scots. Ben noticed there were some women who gave him a run, however, and he realized flirting played a role in the ball busting as well. By the end of the day Ben fully understood the respect, deep connection, and love that can only come from telling someone their mom’s got balls and their dad loves it. Ben didn’t see how a mere compliment could ever compete.
The Glasgow Gray: Spot and Smudge - Book 2 Page 10