Hush

by Jay Lang

  “Sasquatches do exist, but not on the island,” Tim argues. “They’ve only been spotted up the Fraser Valley, like in Harrison Hot Springs or towns around there.”

  “I’m not buying that. They could have easily swam across from the mainland and ended up here.”

  Tim leans in front of me, raising his voice. “You seriously can’t believe that a Sasquatch could swim all that way.”

  I can’t help it. I have to say something. “Maybe it rode the Loch Ness Monster over.”

  Neither of them laughs. Hank swerves around a pothole and a small grey case slides off the dash and lands on my lap. “What’s this?” I ask Tim.

  He glances down. “It’s my insulin case.”

  “It’s not a good thing to have sliding around, is it?”

  “I need to have it in front of me, or I’ll forget it. It’s Hank’s truck.” He looks at me, then at my bag. I sigh and stuff the case inside. Men need purses more than women do-I swear to God.

  We pull into an old townhouse complex. The once white structures are old and stained from time and neglect. Hank pulls up in front of the end unit and gets out while Tim and I sit and wait.

  I feel a little bad about poking fun at them. “Thanks again, Tim. For coming to my rescue.”

  “No problem.” He smiles at me. “Thanks for covering my ass at work. You have special plans with the lady tonight?”

  “I hope so. She’s coming back from Vancouver today.”

  He gives me a quizzical look. “I don’t see how she pulled that off.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hank and I went to town this morning for breakfast at Molly’s Inn. We saw Annie there.”

  Now it’s me giving him a quizzical look. “No. That’s not right. It can’t be.”

  “It sure looked like her. She was with some dark-haired guy a few tables over. I waved, but she didn’t recognize me, I guess. She left soon after. It was odd.”

  Stunned, I stare at him. I’m trying to do the math in my head.

  It’s impossible. How early does he start drinking?

  “Is something wrong?” he asks.

  “She had to drive all the way from downtown Vancouver to Horseshoe Bay, then probably had to wait forever in line because of the weekend traffic. There’s no way she’d be getting on a ferry before noon, and that wouldn’t put her into Nanaimo until 2:00pm.”

  Tim shrugs. “Well, if Annie is the same girl that you brought to our summer barbeque and last year’s Christmas party, that was her. Seemed different, though. Not as friendly.”

  There’s no point in arguing with him. I might as well just write his words off as babbling from a drunk. He’d met her twice, months ago and months apart.

  Then again, it’s hard for me to believe anyone could forget her face.

  The thought of Annie not being where she said she was—the thought of her with an unknown man—sends pain through me, and I rub my face hard. Tim reaches under the seat and pulls out a silver flask, which he offers to me. I shake my head, and he takes a huge swig himself. When he exhales, the pungent odor of alcohol fills the cab. I can only imagine what the cops would think if we’re pulled over. We’d all be searched and it would probably take hours.

  At that moment, Hank opens the truck door and gets in. “We have to meet my cousin at the shop he where he works downtown. He doesn’t have anything to fix a tire here.”

  I feel a wave of irritation. Had he not called his cousin beforehand? It’s seven o’clock—I should have been on the boat by now. The last thing I want is to wait until the 11PM ferry, and now I’m starting to get worried about making that.

  I shake that thought away. I’ll make it. I have to.

  On the long drive back to Nanaimo, Tim and Hank resume their earlier debate over Sasquatch, making the trip borderline unbearable. Finally, we arrive at a warehouse-type shop in an industrial section of downtown. Hank’s cousin takes my tire and works on it for a good half hour while Tim and I stand against the building outside and wait. I keep checking my phone for the time and any messages. Annie hasn’t sent anything. She expects me home soon.

  I imagine what she must be doing. Lighting candles, scattering petals, filling glasses with wine—she’s into that kind of thing. I’m lucky as hell.

  My mind drifts back to what Tim said. I’m thinking he probably did see someone that looks a lot like Annie, but it would’ve been physically impossible for her to be at that restaurant this morning. She was still at Sandy’s—at least, her phone was. She wouldn’t have left Vancouver without it.

  Thinking of this reminds me of that phone call with Sandy, the shushing and the name, Raj. I feel my gut tense up again. I focus on the noises in the garage, hoping they’ll distract me, but all I can think about is how fucking long it’s taking.

  It’s pitch black by the time we reach my truck. Tim holds a small flashlight and Hank and I work together to put the tire on. I shake their hands and quickly get into my truck, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders as the truck roars to life.

  I decide to call Annie before I leave. She’s probably wondering why I haven’t walked through the door yet.

  She answers on the first ring. “Hi, babe.”

  The sound of her sweet voice makes the stressful tire fiasco leave my mind. “My Annie. How are you?” I hear rock music in the background. Setting the mood for me.

  “I’m great. I thought you’d be home by now. You’re not going to believe what’s happening here.”

  “I know. I had to work late and then got a flat tire, if you can believe that. Anyways, I’m mobile again, thanks to Tim, and I’m on my way to the terminal.” I realise what she’d just said. “Wait, something is going on there? Oh, and before I forget, who the hell is Raj?”

  There’s a pause. “Sweetie, I gotta go. I’ll text you in a minute. Love you.” The line clicks.

  What the hell was that? I think that’s the first time in the two years we’ve been together that she’s cut off one of our calls. A bit insulted, I redial her and put it on speaker. I chuck the phone on the passenger seat before putting the truck in gear and continuing down the road.

  This time when she’s answers, she’s talking to someone and then turns her attention to my call. “Jade. Sorry, I just can’t talk right now.”

  “Why? What’s going on? Who’s in the background?” Raj? I want to say, or scream.

  “Denny and Robbie.”

  My anger, which had been bubbling high, turns to shock. “What?”

  “They showed up a while ago. You called right when Robbie was rummaging in the cupboard for a beer glass. I had to run and help him before he broke something.” She laughs—delicate and relaxed.

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Don’t get excited. Everything is fine. Denny brought his boat over because he has some papers for you to sign. He apologized to me for the last time he was here. He knows he was being a jerk. He’s acting really normal, Jade. You would be impressed.”

  I’m so upset, I can barely make words come out of my mouth. “Annie, please, either you leave or he has to, right now. He’s dangerous, no matter how nice you think he’s being.”

  “Oh, stop. You underestimate me. I can handle this situation. Everything has been really calm and….” She stops and talks to someone in the room.

  The next voice I hear is Denny’s. “Jade, where the hell are you? I need you to sign some papers.”

  “Why are you there when I’m not? Gather your friend and get the hell out of there.”

  “What’s your problem? We’re just having a few beers. What, afraid of your girlfriend’s having a little fun?”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I’m screaming now.

  The phone clicks a few times, and I think he’s hung up on me, but then Annie’s voice comes back on. “Jade, why are you yelling? I told you, it’s fine.”

  “Fine?” Was she blind? Or stupid? I want to remind her of the last time they had been in the cottage. H
ow Denny had choked me and pushed himself on Annie. I can’t believe I even need to bring it up. In fact, I’m having trouble even saying the words.

  “Yes, Jade. It’s not a big deal. Trust me.”

  Without meaning to, I let out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me, Annie?”

  There’s a pause. Then Annie speaks, and there’s a note of coldness in her words. “Get home soon, okay? I have to go.”

  Pulling over to the side of the road, I turn off the engine and grab my phone from the seat. With my heart racing as fast as my mind, I quickly redial her. The automated message comes on immediately.

  I feel the panic rising. I place the phone in the cubby and look at my watch. It’s 10:45. The last ferry leaves in fifteen minutes. I’m too far away from the terminal, but I’ve got to try.

  The tall trees reach high up to the small strip of night sky. My foot is heavy on the pedal, the truck fighting to stay on the winding road.

  My mind is filled with worst case scenarios. All of them in the same room. Annie, small and trusting. Denny forever a hairsbreadth from exploding. I can only pray that he'll take his rage out on the cottage and not my girl. Why the hell doesn’t he take his medication?

  Then I remember what Annie had said. He’s acting really normal. I wipe a line of sweat from my lip as I consider the impossibility; that he’s actually taking his pills. It’s hard for me to believe, but then I think of Robbie—how he’d coaxed Denny out of the house the other day. Maybe Robbie was managing to convince him, the way my father had.

  Then I remember the last thing Denny had said. Afraid of your girlfriend having a little fun?

  I press my foot harder, almost to the floor. The limit is 60 kph. The speedometer hits 110.

  Finally, I can see the lights from the terminal. Relief washes over me. I’m going to make it. I whip around the last corner, almost on two wheels as I pull up to the ferry booth. I smile at the grey-haired lady behind the window, my heart pounding as if I had run instead of driven. “You would not believe the trouble it took to get me here,” I tell her, handing her cash.

  Just then the foghorn sounds, and for the first time I look out into the ferry lanes. There’s no one here but me and a couple of service trucks.

  I glance at the clock. 11:05pm.

  Chapter Five

  I’m sitting in the first traffic lane, watching the lucky bastards on the ferry get smaller on the bay. My cell is in my hand. I’ve tried calling Annie three times. It went straight to voicemail, not even ringing, as if she were on another call. Or her phone was off.

  I have no idea how I’ll get through the night, but I have no option. Unless the Loch Ness Monster pokes its head out of the water and offers me a ride, I’m stuck here until 6:45 in the morning. I’m waiting for over six hours for a ferry ride that takes twenty minutes.

  I can’t sit still anymore. I decide to get out of the truck, check on my recently fixed tire and look in the back for my phone charger. I don’t want to risk my phone dying. I make sure I have the keys in my hand before closing the door—it would be just my luck to lock them in the cab.

  Just as I kneel next to the tire, I hear the tapping of paws, and I look up to see a golden lab bounding towards me from across the lanes. He’s moving fast with me in his sights, but he’s not growling and his head isn’t down.

  He reaches me, out of breath, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I reach out and pet his soft head. “Hello, big guy. Where’s your family?” He has on a red harness with no leash and no collar. “Did you make a break from somewhere? You silly boy.” He licks my hand and then sits down. His eyes stare happily at me.

  I look around for his master, but there’s no one in sight. In a way, I’m grateful. At least I’ll have someone to talk to. Someone to distract me.

  The tire is holding air. I stand with a breath of relief, then go back to the cab and rummage through my back seat, digging out my phone charger and the paper bag with the lunch in it that I didn’t get to eat. When I close the back door, I see that the dog is sitting there, his full attention on the bag. “You don’t like peanut butter sandwiches, do you?” I rustle the bag and he sits up straight and lets out a bark. He’s such a beautiful animal. I’m sure whoever owns him is searching for him.

  The moment I open the driver’s door he jumps in and sits on the passenger’s seat, his eyes still on the paper bag in my hand. Typical dog—cupboard love. I climb in and close the door, then unwrap the sandwich and hold it out in front of me. Immediately a furry, giant jaw snags the entire thing, gone in one gulp.

  “Dude, what the hell? Did you even chew that?”

  He looks at me, unfazed, and then stares at the brown bag for more.

  “That was crazy. You’re going to get a gut ache. You’re like a trash can with feet.” I take my thermos lid and fill it with water from my bottle and hold it out for him. He slurps and splashes it everywhere in his attempts to get a drink. I’m not sure how much he actually took in, but at least his tongue is wet so that’s got to help some.

  I take an apple from the bag and hold it out. He takes a quick sniff and snorts, then lies down. I plug in my cell phone, clean the apple on my shirt and lean back in the seat. I’m happy he’s here with me, If I start to panic, the dog will feel it—animals always pick up on bad energy. I breathe in slowly and then exhale before biting into the fruit.

  As I’m chewing, it hits me. The rankest, most putrid odor I ever remember smelling. It’s rotten fish and roadkill, all rolled into one. I can’t even swallow the apple. I check the bottom of my shoes to see if I stepped in something sinister, but they’re clean. Gagging, I turn the auxiliary on and undo all the windows. Then I look over at my fuzzy passenger, who is resting his head on his paws and watching me.

  “You’re the only new thing here. It didn’t smell before you hopped in. You farted, didn’t you?” There’s a look of high achievement on his face; no shame, no regret. “That was stage five rank, Mr. Stinky. Thanks for sharing.”

  I reach out and pet his head, hoping that my touch doesn’t make him relax more and release more blessings. I toss my apple out of the window and grab the deck of smokes, then put it down again when I consider second hand smoke. A couple of minutes pass and the dog starts to snore. I’m not sure if it’s the cadence of the sound he’s making or the fact that I’m not alone, but I feel myself relax. I close my eyes.

  “Hey, Miss.” My eyes snap open. A blond-haired guy in a reflective vest is standing at my window, shining a flashlight in my face.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, trying to collect my bearings.

  “Is that your dog?”

  “Huh? Yes. I mean, no. Why?”

  “We received a call from a lady on Gabriola that her pet took off when the last ferry was loading last night.”

  “Oh, yeah. This is probably him, then. Can you stop pointing that light at me?” He lowers the flashlight and I blink, trying to get rid of the dark spots. “The dog ran up to me after the last sailing had left. I assumed someone would be looking for him.”

  “Well, in forty-five minutes they should be here on the first ferry. They’ll be grateful he’s okay.”

  I tell him that the dog can stay in the truck until the ferry docks. He thanks me and walks away, the flashlight bobbing down the lane. The moment he’s gone I grab my phone to check for missed texts or calls from Annie. There aren’t any.

  I tell myself that this is good. She would’ve tried to get a hold of me if there was a problem, wouldn’t she? I want to try calling her, but I don’t want to wake her—she’s grumpy all day if she doesn’t sleep long enough. This is the reason I tell myself, but the truth is, I am afraid—for several reasons—of hearing it click to voicemail.

  Stinky sits up with a snort, then stands on the seat and licks me right on the mouth. I grab my smokes and take him out for a run and a pee. Time passes quickly as the dog runs around the empty lot, pissing on everything that’s sticking out of the ground.

  Just as we’re about to
get back in the truck, the BC Ferries worker walks up. “Okay, I radioed ahead, and I’ll meet the dog’s owner on the passenger deck. I’ll walk him to the ramp now and wait.”

  Bummer. I was kind of getting used to him. I bend down and rub his head, and the man grabs Stinky’s harness and leads him away.

  When I get back into the truck, I look down at my work pants. Now, along with the general grime of the hatchery, I’m also covered in dog hair. Ah well. It was worth it. Annie will get a kick out of this story. She’ll probably feel disappointed that I wasn’t able to bring the dog home. I smile at the thought.

  The lanes for the ferry traffic are filling up now. People pull up holding Tim Horton’s or McDonald’s coffees. A corner of the sky is now a beautiful pink.

  Taking of swig of day-old, lukewarm coffee from my thermos, I watch the ferry in the distance get closer. Ten minutes later, the ferry docks and foot passengers make their way up the wharf. Commuters and Islanders wearing comfortable pants and thin sweaters, some carrying backpacks, walk in the passenger lane towards the terminal.

  I hear a distant bark, then I see Stinky weaving through the legs of the passengers. He jumps ecstatically on a middle-aged woman, who just manages not to fall on her backside as he tries to lick her face.

  The sight of the dog and woman flashes a memory in my head, one that I haven’t thought of in years. I was eight and my father was working on our cottage on Gabriola. He had been away from home for two long weeks. My mom was bringing supplies to him from home and I went along. We were close then, my dad and me. I remember missing him.

  As my mother and I waited in the ferry line-up, we watched the foot passengers get off. Among them was a tall, brown-haired, attractive man. My dad. I had gotten out of the car and ran towards him, despite my mother’s screams for me to get back in the car. My dad’s eyes met mine, and he ran too. I leapt into his arms; I remember being light-headed as he swung me around.

  I feel wetness on my cheeks. Finally. There they were.

  I remember feeling my heart break when I’d realized the love he’d had in his eyes was gone. I was still that little girl inside, confused and needing her daddy. I tried everything. I went to church, wore dresses I felt ridiculous in, and had my hair and nails done at the salons Mom took me too. Nothing worked. Then, I went a different route. I was so full of pain, I tried hurting myself to feel something other than rejection. One day while my parents were out, I took a knife from the kitchen drawer and carried it to my room. I sat on my bed and slowly pushed the knife blade into my leg, watching as beads of blood trickled from my fresh wound and onto my white sheets. The pain only lasted for a few minutes but while it was hurting, I focussed on my outside pain and not how badly I was hurting inside. Cutting became somewhat of a ritual for me. Whenever my heart was aching, I’d go to my room and drag the knife along my legs. One night during dinner, my father had made jokes about me being gay. I went to my room and got out the knife. This time, I pushed a little too hard on the blade, slicing through a vein on my thigh. There was a huge gash and I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I called for my mom to come to my room. As soon as she saw my leg, she called the ambulance. After hours at the hospital, I ended up getting ten stitches. The drive home with my parents was unbearable. My father kept telling me how I embarrassed him by cutting myself. My mother didn’t say a word, as usual. To this day, I still have the scar on my leg.