“Madi’s my mentor,” Ali said.
Jordan winced and waited for Helena to bring up the same concerns she’d had earlier this week about the uncaring and greedy nature of corporations. But Helena simply gave her a professional smile.
“Yes, it is good to meet you. I’ve heard it has been a successful partnership.” She pushed her chair back and looked over her shoulder as if checking for someone. She nodded once to whoever it was and turned back to the group. “It’s nice to meet you. I think I will head out and get some work done. I just wanted to see Madigan’s performance. I’m happy I did.”
Helena left then, the noise of the returning crowd covering the awkwardness of her exit.
“Did I mess up?” Ali said, coming around the table and taking her original seat.
“No, not at all,” Cay answered. “That’s Helena. Most comfortable talking about the homeless and the failings of social services. Least comfortable talking about…anything else really.”
Jordan gave a short laugh. “Very true. She’s incredibly dedicated.”
“As are the two of you, obviously,” Ali said gently.
Cay and Jordan smiled at each other. “Christ on a cod boat, we try,” Cay said.
“God, I’ve missed Maritime speak,” Ali said, laughing. She passed around the fresh drinks, then raised her glass. “To friends. And home. And success.”
That lump lodged in Jordan’s throat again as she raised her glass with Ali and Cay.
The house lights dimmed, and Jordan retreated into the solitude of darkness as the next poet took the stage. Her head and heart rebounded with warmth and worry, love and connection, pride and fear. She realized she’d missed half the performer’s poem and forced herself to listen again. As the young poet took their applause and left the stage, Jordan felt a light touch at her elbow. Madi was crouching down by the table. Her pale face looked flushed, her eyes bright as she still rode the high of her performance.
“You’re all here!” Madi whispered. “Fucking aces. What did you think?” Before anyone could respond, Madi waved them away. “Don’t tell me. You’re here and you were crying and I think you liked it.” Madi closed her eyes and seemed to take a deep breath. She looked so vulnerable in that moment, talking herself into believing they loved her. Madi opened her eyes as the MC came on stage to introduce the next poet. “I have to go. But I’ll see you around. Bye.”
And she was gone again, all darkness and light, shadow and blinding sun. The complexities of Madigan Battiste.
Jordan half listened to the final poets, allowing herself to recognize her exhaustion from the day as the words fell around her, pushing to be heard and felt. When the final poet had closed with a fisted salute to the sky, Jordan felt nearly bruised. She’d left other poetry slams feeling like this. It was both risk and reward.
The house lights came back on, the audience blinking back into the real world.
“I’ve never experienced anything like that,” Ali said.
“It’s powerful, isn’t it?” Cay said as she stood and put on her long, wool sweater that wrapped like a cape.
Ali and Jordan stood as well. “Will we see Madi again?” Ali said.
Jordan and Cay looked at each other. “No, likely not tonight. Tomorrow.”
The three women followed the crowd out of the bar into the cold night air of the city street. Jordan and Ali walked Cay around the block to where her car was parked.
“I am happy we experienced this together, my friend,” Cay said as she gave Jordan a hug. “And I’m happy you were here as well,” Cay said to Ali. “You are part of Madi’s story now.”
Ali looked taken aback both at Cay’s statement and the hug that followed it.
“Thank you,” Ali said. “I really do value that. I’ve never met anyone like Madi.”
Jordan and Cay exchanged grins. “Neither have we,” Jordan said.
Cay smiled and then sighed. “Madi is a soul that was meant to be young. But her soul was weathered and chafed and crushed until her newness disappeared. There is nothing as sad as a soul turned old before it’s meant to.”
Tears again down the back of Jordan’s throat. This night was nearly too much.
“You’re a poet yourself, Cay,” Jordan said, stepping in for one more hug. “I wonder where she gets it from.”
Cay laughed and wiped away fresh tears.
“Enough. Go. Be well.”
Once Cay had driven off with a honk of her horn and a wave out the window, Jordan and Ali looked at each other.
“Walk me home?” Ali said.
Jordan smiled. “I’d love to.”
They turned toward the waterfront, angling down and across the hill to Ali’s hotel. Jordan pushed her hands into her pockets, thinking how very much she’d like to take Ali’s hands in hers and walk through the city, just like they used to.
“You walked me home from school sometimes,” Ali said, apparently thinking similar thoughts. “When I didn’t have practice and you weren’t heading straight to the gym.”
“Which was most of the time,” Jordan said.
“True. Jesus, we were ripped back then.”
Jordan laughed. “And never tired.”
“Except when Ms. Laurens was back together with her girlfriend. Then she made our lives hell.”
Jordan laughed as she remembered their gym teacher, a former hockey player who was always fighting with her girlfriend and spent most of their gym classes in the office either crying or yelling on the phone. As a result, most of their gym classes were self-directed. But when Ms. Laurens was happy, she was a gym teacher who pushed her students to their very limits.
“You talked to me for the first time in gym class,” Jordan said.
“I did,” Ali said with a smile. “You were showing off your abs. Upside down.”
“I was doing crunches on the bar,” Jordan clarified. “My shirt wouldn’t stay tucked in.”
“Mm-hmm. You were making half the class envious. And sending at least half that many into lustful fantasies.” Ali nudged Jordan in the ribs with her elbow, and Jordan stumbled a few steps.
“Hey, I was just trying to follow the workout routine on the board. I was the new kid, remember?”
“I remember,” Ali said quietly. “New and angry.”
Jordan had been angry. Steven dead, Jake a new dad, her mom sober but shaky. After a final fight with her father, everyone agreed some time away would be best. Jordan was lucky Constable Mike and his wife had taken her in. She hadn’t felt lucky at the time.
“Seems like so long ago,” Jordan said.
“I remember talking to you while you were still upside down on that bar. I remember demanding you help me do the workout.” Ali laughed. “I couldn’t decide if I was acting on attraction or envy.”
“I think envy was the true motivator. You’re a wee bit competitive.”
“True.”
They were quiet as they left the busier main strip of downtown. They passed closed-up shops displaying tartans, outdoor gear, and used books. The silence stretched until Jordan wanted to ask if Ali was okay. If she’d said something she shouldn’t, if the trip back in time had caused more hurt than happiness. Then Jordan felt Ali take her hand, with a warmth and a strength and a connection so new and so achingly familiar that Jordan’s heart rocketed around in her chest. She looked at Ali, her eyes bright in the glow of the streetlights. Ali was smiling.
“This okay?”
Too many questions layered in one, an unintentional trap. Jordan answered the only way she could.
“Yes.”
They were on a side street less than a block from Ali’s hotel, surrounded by apartment buildings and municipal garages and empty lots. A lone figure walked up the hill toward them. Jordan had just registered his presence when she heard and felt footsteps behind them. She immediately stepped into the empty street, not wanting to be trapped against the stone wall of the condo beside them. The man approaching them did the same. Jordan looked quickly over h
er shoulder and saw two more behind them, angling out to block their retreat back up the street. All of them wore dark clothing, and all were hooded.
“Jordan?”
Jordan had Ali’s hand in a death grip. She loosened it slightly. “Get ready to run.”
Jordan had lived on the streets of Halifax, and she’d been rolled more than once. She’d fought back every time. But it had been a long time since she was in this position. She wasn’t ready for a street fight, not with Ali beside her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ali said, dropping Jordan’s hand. Of course Ali thought she could fight. Stubborn.
Jordan stopped in the middle of the street, right in the centre of the streetlights. They were highly visible, and it was still early enough she could count on some traffic coming by. A police cruiser would be even better.
“Just a message, Jordan. You and your girlfriend don’t need to look so scared.”
Jordan said nothing. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice. It was rough, like he was a smoker. His clothes were nondescript, and he kept the light angled so most of his face was in shadow.
“Just lay low, stop talking to the police, and reap the benefits of the movement. Stay out of the way, that’s all you have to do.”
He stepped closer and Jordan and Ali took a step backwards until she felt hands holding them there.
“Fuck off, all of you,” Jordan said, shaking the hands off her shoulders. When she heard one of the guys behind her laugh and felt his grip tighten, she smashed an elbow back, catching him in the gut. His breath rushed out as he doubled over.
“Bitch,” the other said, grabbing Ali.
In a move so fast Jordan wasn’t even really sure what she was seeing, Ali trapped the man’s hand over her shoulder, crouched down, and threw him over her head onto his back on the street. Jordan, distracted by the throw, barely registered the fist heading for her stomach, but she had just enough time to spin away from the powerful but not well-aimed punch. It glanced off her side as a car turned down the street behind them, lighting up this bizarre scene in the glow of its headlights. The guys scattered, the man Ali had laid out on the street scrambling to his feet and disappearing into the empty lot.
Jordan grabbed Ali’s hand again and pulled her back toward the sidewalk.
“You okay? Hurt?” Jordan said. Her heart pounded, and she was breathing hard. So was Ali.
“No. Just shaken up. And pissed. You hurt?”
“Barely touched me.” Jordan could feel the muscles in her side clench. Nothing seemed too damaged. Ali was pissed but not hurt, that’s all that mattered.
“You ladies okay?”
The car had pulled over with its four-way flashers on. A middle-aged man with a bushy beard and a vaporizer in his hand leaned out the passenger window.
“We’re okay, thanks. Your arrival was well-timed, though.”
“Can I call someone for you? Give you a ride?”
Jordan waved away his offer. “We’re not too far from where we need to go. But thanks.”
The man raised his vaporizer in a salute. “You two take care. And keep kicking ass.”
Ali gave a short laugh as the car carried on down the hill. “The dichotomies of Halifax. Maritime hospitality and street thugs in the same minute.”
Ali sounded rattled. Jordan took her hand and tugged gently. “Come on. I’m going to call Rachel as we walk.”
Jordan awkwardly pulled out her phone. Texting with her left hand was a pain in the ass, but she refused to let Ali go. She sent a short text, starting with the fact that she and Ali were fine. Rachel’s answer was immediate. Call the police, I’m coming over.
“Rachel says to call the police,” Jordan said.
“Obviously,” Ali muttered. She pulled her hand away. Jordan wondered what she’d done wrong.
“I want to make sure Cay and Madi are okay. I want to text them first.”
“You do that. I’ll call the police.”
Adrenaline still pumped its way through Jordan’s body. Her heart rate was too high, and she needed to breathe and calm. They were off the side street, in sight of people and lights and the hotel. The fight had been a brief moment, threats and anger and the edges of violence. All seemingly purposeful. All thwarted.
Jordan texted Cay and Madi the same message: You safe? Neither of them would be particularly concerned to receive that text from Jordan. They both knew she worried. Cay’s answer was immediate; she was home and in her pyjamas. Nothing from Madi, which wasn’t really surprising.
The wide stone steps, tall glass doors, and overlit brilliance of the hotel entrance was a jarring but welcome respite from the dark street.
“They’re sending someone to the hotel,” Ali said as she hung up. “Guess I should warn the front desk.”
Jordan watched Ali walk to the front desk and give a brief report to the manager, whose eyes widened as he anxiously asked questions. Ali answered them calmly, indicated Jordan over her shoulder, and then ended the conversation.
“I don’t think I made his night,” Ali said. She wouldn’t quite meet Jordan’s eyes. She looked down the hallway toward the loud hotel bar. “Want a drink?”
Concern wormed its way through Jordan’s belly.
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself. I’m going to grab something.”
Jordan sat on one of the oddly shaped leather couches in the lobby. The light and warmth of the hotel had been inviting a moment ago, but now the bright space felt oppressive. Jordan wanted to hide out, make herself a smaller target, retreat from the threat. She breathed. This was not a fight. Danger was not immediate. The police were on their way. Rachel had her back. Her family was safe. And Ali? She would figure out what was going on with Ali.
Ali walked back into the lobby carrying two steaming mugs. She handed one to Jordan and sat.
“Decaf coffee is shit, but it seemed like the better choice. Okay, fine. Mine’s an Irish coffee but whatever. That was messed up.”
Still rattled, then. Jordan gratefully wrapped her hand around the warm mug. The adrenaline had left her body, leaving her tired and cold. Ali must be feeling the same way.
“Thanks, this is perfect.”
Ali nodded and sipped her coffee, staring at the glass coffee table in front of them.
“So…you know self-defense?”
Ali finally looked at Jordan. The distance receded just a fraction as her expression softened. “I dated a woman in my senior year who taught self-defense classes. The relationship lasted less than six months, but I really liked the class. Even moved on to judo for a couple of years.” Ali stared down into her milky coffee. Jordan could smell the Baileys. “But then life happened. Work was too busy to keep up the judo.”
“You obviously remembered enough. That was an impressive move.”
“Yeah,” Ali said thoughtfully. “I’ve practiced that move a hundred times. It was really weird to use it for real.”
Ali still wasn’t entirely present, and Jordan wondered where she was. With the woman who taught her the course? Kitted out for judo practice on soft mats? Or still back on the street with someone’s hands on her neck, ready to hurt her?
Jordan nudged Ali gently with her knee. Ali looked up, eyes haunted. “Play it out in your head. Remember we chased them off. Remember we’re safe. That’s the only ending here. Okay?”
Ali nodded and was about to speak when Rachel walked in with a uniformed officer.
“Jordan, hey. You’re okay?” Rachel gave her a quick hug. Jordan nodded, and Rachel turned to Ali. “Hi, again. How about you? Are you okay?”
Ali stood with squared shoulders. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Stiff and polite. Jordan guessed they were seeing Ali’s boardroom demeanour. She was all toughness and control, self-assured even in the face of crisis.
The officer introduced herself as Constable Lewis, and the four of them sat in the uncomfortable chairs. Ali and Jordan answered questions while the officer took notes, an
d Rachel sat listening intently and interjecting occasionally. Jordan tried to ignore the stares of the bar patrons and other hotel guests. She hated being a spectacle.
“Is there anything else you think might be relevant?” Constable Lewis said after they’d recounted their night.
Jordan and Ali looked at each other for reference, then both turned back to the officer and shook their heads.
“Okay, then. We have your contact information, and an officer will be calling in the next couple of days to follow up.”
“I’ll be out of town middle of the week,” Ali said suddenly. “But available by phone.”
This was news to Jordan. The disappointment didn’t sit comfortably, but Ali did not owe Jordan her schedule.
Constable Lewis took a note and checked with Rachel before taking her leave.
“I’m worried you were targeted, Jordan,” Rachel said once the three of them were alone.
Jordan was, too. Especially because she was with Ali. And especially because she hadn’t heard back from Madi. Who else was being targeted?
“If this is a protest, some sort of…” Jordan searched for the right word and heard the rough voice of the man on the street. “Movement, an underground movement. I don’t think I’m a target. The threat was for me to stay quiet and stay out of the way. Like this is going to benefit me in some way.”
Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know. I see that, too. But this warning turned violent pretty quickly. Just be safe, okay? Be smart about where you go on your own.” Rachel turned to Ali, who had been quiet. “And you, too. It sounds like you kicked some ass tonight, but we’d like you to stay safe while you’re visiting.”
Visiting. Going out of town. Violence on the streets. Any connection Jordan had been feeling was fading fast. Had they really been holding hands an hour ago? It was already a fragmented memory.
“Yes, thank you, Constable Shreve. I will be careful.”
Rachel glanced at Jordan. “Need a ride home?”
Jordan turned to Ali. She wanted to stay, to walk Ali up to her room. She wanted to feel Ali’s arms around her, to hold on to her and give comfort. To receive it.
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