When I got back to the archives, I still had a half hour to wait. I found a bench and sat.
I pulled my cell from my jeans. I hadn’t turned it on all day. Four voicemails—all from Mom.
Uh-oh. This was not good news. Two were from last night, two from this morning. After all, I had hung up on her.
I dialed her office number.
“Blessings. First Church… how may I direct your call?”
“Mom, it’s me.”
I felt the heat across the universe that separated us.
“Jacob Hardy, if you ever hang up on me again….”
“I know, I know. Mom, I’m sorry. I was just so fu—” I stopped before I said it, but I doubted that would help—“so mad.” What was wrong with me? Was that any way to make her happy? “Wait, wait, wait—I apologize, Mom, to you and God.” I was careful to punch the and.
There was a pause.
“Well, okay… if you’re sincere, Jakie. You are sincere, aren’t you?”
“I swear.” I rolled my eyes. She was so crazy making. But I loved her. With all her flaws. Her multitude of flaws.
“So, are you still mad at your dad? You know, it was not my place to tell you his plans.” Her voice was cold.
“I understand. And we’re cool now. He loves his job. If he wants to move to Halifax, it’s okay with me. It’s an amazing town. In fact, right now, I’m sitting on the Dalhousie University campus. Dad says they have a great basketball program.”
“Jacob.” Mom’s tone was deliberate, a made-up mind. Either she and Dad had already discussed this possibility, or she’d thought of it on her own. “You’re not going to school in Canada. I won’t hear of it.”
“So it’s all right for Dad to move here, but I can’t?” I yanked her chain a little.
“He doesn’t concern me anymore, but I don’t know what I’d do if you were so far away from home.” The tiny quiver in her voice affected me. As much as I sometimes wanted to get away from her, I didn’t want to break her big, beautiful heart to do it. It’s tough growing up.
“Well, Mom, you can quit worrying. I don’t know anything about this school, and there are at least five others closer to home that I’d rather go to.” I knew that would appease her. I didn’t have to tell her that I really, really liked what I had seen of Dalhousie. I could deal with her when and if I ever decided to go to school there.
“Good… then it’s settled.” I could hear triumph in her voice. I decided to let her have her moment. Arguing about where I went to school was for another time.
“I saw an interesting Titanic grave yesterday.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think you know the name…. Jacob Hardy.”
I paused for her coughing fit, and after she stopped, I said, “Don’t worry, Mom. I kinda like that you two named me after him.”
“Well, I’m relieved. I had my reservations about it when you were born, saddling you with a dead stranger’s name. But your dad was so adamant. And when he put forth his case, it seemed like a nice thing to do. And he was so happy with the idea, and you know I would have done anything for your dad in those days.” Her voice turned dark with the last phrase.
“Breathe. It’s okay. Really, I’m cool with it.”
“I want you to know that I wanted to tell you sooner, but he’s the Titanic person in this family. I decided to leave that revelation up to him. And then with the divorce and his moving and all, I guess it just got away from him. You’re not mad are you?”
“Quit spazzing out. Everything’s fine. I’m not mad at either one of you. I like that you guys named me after Jacob. Okay?”
“Well, if that’s how you feel—”
I cut her off. I’d had enough of feelings. “I’ve been researching Jacob Hardy all morning. I haven’t found out much, but I do have a promising lead on more info.”
“Wonderful. I’m glad you’re enjoying your trip.”
Dad pulled up just then.
“Gotta run, Mom. Dad just got back. We’ve got exploring to do.”
“I love you, Jakie.”
“Love you too.”
I ended the call, sprinted to the SUV, opened the passenger door, and hopped in.
“Dad, you won’t believe this. Not in a million years. I know where Jake’s buddy lived. And it’s here in Halifax. Can we go there?”
His eyes lit up. “Amazing, Jake-O. And nothing could keep us from going there. We’ll have a snack first, though. That way, you can tell me everything you know. I have a Halifax street map. We can look up the address while we eat.”
He steered us to the Halifax Public Gardens. As he parked he said, “The guidebook says there is a little coffee shop right here in the gardens that serves incredible sandwiches. The desserts are the thing, here, though—besides the coffee, of course. You game?”
Dad and his sweet tooth. When I was a little kid, Mom kept candy, cookies, and that kind of stuff away from me. In her protective mother mode, she said all that sugar wasn’t good for me. But I didn’t mind because I knew that I could always count on there being a treasure trove of them in Dad’s office.
“Sure.”
We had a fantastic treat, and with stomachs stuffed full of cranberry walnut white chocolate cookies, we set out for 4422 Comeau Street. We wound through several residential streets before we came to a major intersection. Dad hung a left, and I started looking for numbers on buildings. A lot of the old houses—two and three story wooden structures that had to have been built almost a hundred years ago—had been turned into businesses.
I saw 4420.
“It should be the next one.”
There was a gap, then I saw 4426.
“Whoa! That says 4426. Where’d 4422 go?”
Dad backed up.
Between 4420 and 4426 was a huge parking lot.
Chapter 8
MY DISGUSTED sigh must have been really loud, because Dad said, “Hey, I wonder if Canada still has phone books. If so, they’d have one at the hotel. You might find some of your Charley Robinson’s relatives.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed at him. “Dad, how can you run a modern hotel and still be stuck in the twentieth century? Maps? Phone books? I’d be willing to bet there’s no such thing as a Halifax phone book. Google, Dad. That’s how we children of the new age do it.”
“Yeah, yeah, smarty-pants. Mock your old dad, but my mama used to send me to the phone book all the time to find numbers. So, let me rephrase. I’d bet you could google Robinson, Halifax and maybe find some of his relatives. Do I sound more relevant, now?”
I laughed again. “Yeah, you’re more in tune now. But….” I shook my head. “I might uncover a bunch of Robinsons. Am I gonna call each and every one?”
“You never know. There might be only a few of them. I don’t think Robinson’s a very common name in the States. I doubt that there’ll be many in Halifax, either.”
Well, he was wrong. I was googling for hours. Who knew that every Robinson in England had decided to come to Canada at one time or another? And they must have rutted like rabbits. And, I knew, not everybody shows up on the internet, so Charley Robinson was likely to remain a giant mystery.
I was more depressed than ever. Here I found myself—or at least some long ago facsimile of myself—and I went nowhere trying to uncover the 411. Finding Jacob Hardy of Portsmouth, England, was sort of like finding myself. Here was a guy my age who’d just picked up stakes and moved to a totally different world. And, in another couple of years, I would be doing almost the same thing, going off to college and sort of restarting my life. Would I sink like Jacob did? Or would I be able to get through it all and come out the man I wanted to be? And where did Mal fit in all this? Would she remain my best friend? Or would I leave her behind? Did Jacob have a girlfriend he left behind? What happened to her, if she existed? I guess I wanted to know everything I could find out about the 1912 Jacob Hardy so I could learn the good things and avoid the pitfalls of his life. One thing was sure. I wasn�
��t worried about drowning in an iceberg disaster. The Titanic debacle had pretty much solved that problem.
“Jake-O, my man.” The grin on Dad’s face was pasted there to cheer me up. “Tomorrow, we visit the Titanic exhibit. There is bound to be something in the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic that will point you in the right direction.”
I smiled.
WE PARKED the SUV in a public lot right next to the museum. The building overlooked the harbor—what a view. Awesome. Blue water and sailboats on one side, the city of Halifax, tall buildings stepped on hills, on the other.
After paying our admission, we set out for the exhibit. But the Titanic was not the only focus of this museum. About half the space was dedicated to the Halifax Explosion. Two ships collided in Halifax Harbour, thanks to two stubborn captains who refused to move out of each other’s way. The blast they caused killed countless people and destroyed most of the area. This was 1917—only five years after the Titanic sinking. Can you imagine? First the people of Halifax had to deal with taking care of the dead from the unsinkable ship. Then five years later, they were faced with the most destructive man-made explosion up to that time. It blows the mind—those poor people.
As we strolled through the Explosion displays, I looked over at Dad. Once again his eyes were misty. I had always known he was a softy, but this new, “ready to cry at the drop of a hat” Dad was throwing me for a loop. I’d never thought of him as a wimpy guy, so I found his sentimentality endearing—a word Mom liked to use when she met a really nice person.
“So many dead. Fathers, mothers, children.” His eyes pierced my heart. In that look, I knew he was trying to say something to me, something hard to say.
Before he could break down entirely, I dragged him out of there into the larger exhibit room.
“Jake, about the move….” I couldn’t stand that look he was giving me. I should have told him outright his moving was cool with me, but I was having a hard time finding the words. As much as I was finally okay with it, it still hurt that he hadn’t seemed to consider my feelings when he made his decision. But now, looking at him, I was thinking maybe he was rethinking his decision. Seeing those dead kids in that exhibit really got to him. I knew, though, that this move was good for him. His being asked to come here was a big honor, and he would be right in the middle of the thing he loved the most in this world—after me, of course. He made it quite clear that I was first in his life, Titanic be damned! If only I could remember that. And make him see how much he meant to me, wherever he chose to live. I made up my mind we would have a talk that night.
“Not now. Later. It’s Titanic time!” I gave him a goofy smile and pushed him into the Titanic extravaganza. There were blowup photos of the ship; there were glass cases housing artifacts; there were stories of the passengers and crew; there was even an actual deck chair. I snapped a pic of Dad, a huge photo of the deck in the background, “lounging” on his favorite ship. He made me take about five shots, just so he’d have a choice. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I expected that come Christmas time, I’d see that picture on his card.
It wasn’t a huge exhibit, but there was plenty to keep Dad busy. He lingered, reading every single word. And after we watched the film about the picking up of the dead, Dad went back to the beginning.
I’d had it, though. There was absolutely no information on either Jacob Hardy or Charley Robinson—or at least none that I could use. There was a listing of all crew members. I found their names and Charley’s address in Portsmouth, but after all these years, I doubt that those would be of any use. Probably two more parking lots.
I wandered into the gift shop. It was tiny, packed with books and things. I wanted to believe that I would find Jake and Charley in there somewhere, but, believe me, I didn’t hold out much hope.
There were books on marine life, on early Halifax settlers, on the Explosion. Then I turned to see a rack dedicated to the Titanic. I pulled each book, looking for any clue that might lead me to more info about either Jake or Charley.
Nothing.
As expected this was a total disappointment. I noticed a box of toffee candies on another shelf. I’m a sucker for toffee, and it had been a few hours since breakfast, so I was starving. I grabbed the box and headed for the checkout.
The girl rang me up. I grabbed the candy, left the gift shop, and found a bench in the foyer where I could sit and enjoy my treat.
I sat down next to a squirming kid being corralled by a mother who looked like she’d had enough of the Titanic, the Explosion, the Maritime Museum, and Halifax.
Winking at the kid and getting a giant smile from him in response, I began to tear open my candy box.
“Don’t eat that!” Dad’s voice echoed through the open space.
What? Was he suddenly the candy police?
I looked up to see him bounding toward me.
“Jake-O, you’ll spoil your lunch. And I’ve got a little Italian place all picked out. I made reservations. You’ll love it. The staff at the hotel all raved about it.”
I reluctantly stuffed my candy into my shirt pocket, promising myself to devour it later, and I stood.
“Okay, guy, how about some spaghetti? Or cacciatore… or pizza… or lasagna… or—I’m starving, if you get my drift.”
Chapter 9
DAD LED the way as we climbed the hill up to Barrington Street. It was a good thing he made reservations because the closer we got to Barrington, the more people there were milling about.
The crowd was getting huge, and we had to wind our way through it just to get to the restaurant. I had no idea what was going on, but the masses of people were certainly happy. Then I noticed the rainbow flags—some being waved, some being worn. Oh no. This whole trip? First Philly, now Halifax. Gay people were stalking me. I guessed that was something I would face my entire life. But I’d made my choice. I was not going to succumb. But who knows what would happen. I couldn’t see myself being out there like these people surrounding me, but life can take funny turns.
We didn’t talk along the way. There was too much chaos to be heard. Finally we went into a place called Giammatti’s. The door closed behind us, and Dad told the hostess his name. She ushered us past shelves of wine bottles and checkered cloth tables, then seated us in front of a picture window overlooking the street.
“Good thing I called ahead, huh?”
“Yeah. What’s going on out there anyway? Don’t tell me. Gay Pride—Halifax style?” Not wanting to set him off on his freedom rant again, I made a conscious effort to keep the sarcasm in my head and out of my voice.
“You got it. The parade’ll be coming along in about half an hour.”
I groaned. I’d only been gay for about a year. Yeah, you’re gay your whole life. But I only figured out I was last year. I was in the locker room, like usual, and I felt a stirring. That couldn’t be happening to me. I quickly covered up. When it started happening outside the locker room, in the hallways, in the mall, I got worried. I looked up spontaneous erections. There were medical reasons, but they didn’t seem to apply to me. I kept reading, searching for an answer. Eventually I read that such a thing is normal in teenage boys and that just seeing an appealing girl could trigger it. I never looked at girls—not in that way. And there were no girls in our locker room. I thought back to when these things began. A new guy joined the team that day. I remembered looking at him and thinking that I wished I were that good-looking. Then I skipped to the other times, other erections. With each stiffy memory came the memory of meeting or walking past or stopping to stare at a guy. This could not be happening to me. The team would not accept this at all. You can’t be naked in a locker room and be turned on by your fellow team members. Mom would pray the gay out of me. And Dad. I was his son, his only son. It was then and there I made up my mind. I could not, would not be gay.
So why oh why, with all that on my shoulders, did this trip keep coming back to the gay thing? I was supposed to be on vacation. V-a-c-a-t-i-o-n. Same root as vacate,
which means you left. Left to go to another place, left your troubles behind. But the gay blood coursing through my veins wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute. It was following me, stalking me, mocking me.
The waiter came to get our drink order. Dad ordered a beer.
The guy kept his eyes on Dad as he said, “And for your…?” He paused like he was digging for information.
“My son.”
“I’ll have a Coke,” I said.
“I’ll get those drinks for you right away.” A grin as wide as the Rio Grande across his face, he lightly dragged his fingers across Dad’s shoulder as he left. He never did look at me.
Dad had opened the menu and was studying it. I couldn’t believe he was ignoring that guy and what he’d done.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Jake-O?”
“Didn’t that bother you?” That guy gave me the creeps. I didn’t know if I thought it weird that he touched Dad like that or I was afraid he’d touch me and all would be revealed in some magical, mystical way.
“What?”
“That guy. He was flirting with you.”
“Huh? Nah. I think he was kissing up to the man with the wallet.”
“No. That was flirting. Didn’t you see the way he eyed you? Surely you felt his hand on your shoulder.” My skin crawled just saying it. I had to deal with my being gay 24-7, but the thought of someone thinking Dad was gay really galled me. How dare that waiter? Ballsy. “Putting the moves on you, Dad. And he shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Come on, son. You’re sounding like Pastor ‘Love and Tolerance’ Stillwater. The jerk.”
“It’s Stillmore. But I agree, he can be a jerk.”
“Stillwater, Stillmore? Who cares? Let’s just have a nice lunch. I’m sure the waiter didn’t mean anything.” He buried his head again in the menu.
We’re all sexual people. God knows I knew that, all too well. I’d made a year of sexual suppression, so I knew about being horny. But I couldn’t believe that waiter would so brazenly hit on my Dad right in front of me. Or was I wishing he’d hit on me? I was a very confused gay boy.
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