Three Little Words

by Harvey Sarah N.

  Ain’t it good to know you’ve got a friend.

  You’ve got a friend.

  By the time he stops singing, Fariza is asleep in his arms. He is about to stand up and carry her to her room, when he hears someone clapping.

  “Trust you to know all the words to that dumb hippie song. What are you—sixty?” Wain says.

  Sid brushes past him, taking care not to bump Fariza against the door frame. “Shut up, Wain,” he says. He climbs the stairs and tucks Fariza into her bed, nestling Fred next to her under the duvet. When he goes back downstairs, Wain has disappeared. Megan is in the kitchen, wiping the counters.

  “Caleb says he can take you and Wain out on the Caprice today. Elizabeth and Fariza and I are having lunch with Irena and Chloe. Where is Fariza anyway?”

  “She was tired, so I put her back to bed. You know how crabby she can be if she doesn’t get enough sleep.”

  Megan nods. “You look as if you could use a bit more shut-eye yourself, buddy. Everything okay?”

  The weight of Fariza’s story is suffocating him, but all he says is, “Yeah, I didn’t sleep very well last night. I don’t feel much like going out on the boat. Will Caleb mind?”

  “You know how rare it is for Caleb to get a day off this time of year,” she says. “He really wants to do this. He thinks it might help.”

  “Help what?”

  “Help you and Wain figure out your relationship.”

  “I already figured it out. We share some DNA. That’s it.”

  “You know there’s more to it than that,” she says.

  “Not if I don’t want there to be. He’s a jerk.”

  “Yes, he is,” Megan says. “But not all the time.” She folds the dishrag and hangs it from the faucet. “So do this for Elizabeth.”

  “For Elizabeth?”

  “She thinks you’re good for Wain.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Wain thinks I’m a loser. No, wait, he’s upgraded me to a loser hippie. And I think he’s a psycho. I can’t wait for him to leave.”

  “And Elizabeth?”

  “I’ll visit her. She can come back here.”

  “Her life is in Victoria, Sid. Yours is here. Wain is the bridge. Think about it.”

  “Yeah, a bridge I’d like to jump off.”

  “Sid.” Megan’s voice has a note of rebuke in it.

  “Okay, okay,” he says. “But I’m going for a bike ride first. Tell Caleb I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Caleb honks the horn, and Sid lugs a cooler down the front steps to the van. No way is Wain riding shotgun this time. The front seat is covered in an old beach towel and the backseat is buried under a crab trap. The van smells as if someone has set up a brewery in a fish-packing plant. Orange float vests are piled on top of coolers filled with empty bottles. Tangled ropes snake around yellow deck boots stuffed with rolled-up charts.

  It’s always like this when Caleb gets back from a charter. He just throws everything in the back of the van and sorts it out after he takes the clients to the pub for one last beer.

  Sid heaves the cooler into the back, moving aside a pail with a dead fish in it.

  “Can I chuck this?” he says, holding up the pail.

  Caleb turns around, peers into the bucket and grimaces. “Forgot about that one. Let’s dump it at the wharf.”

  Sid climbs into the front seat and slams the door as Wain comes down the front stairs. He glares at Sid and yanks the crab trap off the backseat.

  “It reeks in here,” he says.

  “Welcome to my world,” Caleb says with a smile.

  When they get to the boat, Caleb hands them both orange flotation vests. Sid puts his on without argument. He knows the rules.

  “Life jackets are for pussies,” Wain says.

  Caleb slips his arms into a vest. “So I must be a pussy,” he says. “Better a pussy in a life jacket than a drowned pussy, I always say. You want to go or not?”

  Wain zips up his vest as Sid and Caleb prepare to leave the dock.

  “Spent much time around boats, Wain?” Caleb asks.

  “A bit,” Wain says.

  “Rowboats,” Sid mutters.

  “First and only rule is this,” Caleb continues. “The captain is always right.”

  Wain snickers and salutes. Caleb raises an eyebrow at him. “Cast off then, sailor. Let’s get this party started.”

  They pull away from the wharf, heading for the strait. As they pass the islet in the mouth of the cove, Sid says, “I’m gonna catch some zees. Wake me up for lunch.”

  Caleb nods. “We’re going to head up to the Narrows, take a look at Ripple Rock—Elizabeth wants some pictures, even though there’s nothing much to see—and then duck in behind Maud Island.”

  “Sounds good,” Sid says. He climbs down into the galley and makes his way to the bow of the boat. He opens a door with a small hand-painted sign: Sid’s Space. The triangular stateroom is both tiny and tidy. He reaches into a small hammock that serves as a bedside table, extracts a piece of Juicy Fruit gum and lies down on the bunk, snapping his gum and listening to the growl of the engine and the slap of water against the hull of the boat. He often falls asleep when he is out on the Caprice, and after a nap on board he always feels rejuvenated, as if under the influence of a powerful yet beneficial drug.

  When he closes his eyes, he dreams that he and Devi are snorkeling inside a reef in some tropical paradise. The water is warm and clear and full of fish that seem to have no fear of the strange, clumsy creatures in goggles and fins. A huge school of fish shaped like enormous darning needles surrounds him, and for a moment he panics, afraid that he will be pierced and that his blood will draw the sharks that lurk beyond the reef. He uses his rubber fins to propel himself toward the beach, and when he looks back, Devi is gone. He swims back out to where the needle fish had swarmed and finds nothing—no sign that Devi had been there five minutes ago, swimming with the clown fish and laughing at Sid’s cowardice. Sid screams Devi’s name, but there is no reply. He rips off his snorkel and mask and dives into the silence of the reef, scattering a school of tiny yellow fish and disturbing a small octopus whose tentacles brush his arm as he swims by. A green sea turtle swims toward him, impossibly graceful in its huge shell. It nudges him with its extraterrestrial head and speaks to him. “Wake up,” it says. “We’re here.” For once, Sid is glad to hear Wain’s voice.

  They are anchored behind Maud Island; Caleb has put up the cockpit table and opened the cooler. “Help yourselves, boys,” he says, grabbing a sandwich and a Coke. “We’ll row to shore after lunch. See what’s what.”

  Sid takes a bite of a turkey sandwich. A single gull circles the boat, waiting for scraps.

  “Sid, you should tell Wain how the Caprice got her name.”

  Sid knows Caleb is trying to make him interact with Wain. He doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t want to upset Caleb.

  “Aye aye, Captain,” Sid says. “So, Megan is obsessed with this book called The Curve of Time. It’s about some woman who took all her kids—she had, like, six of them, I think, and a dog—up and down the coast in her boat. It was called the Caprice. She was always sending her kids off in the dinghy to play on some remote beach while she cooked dinner or repaired the engine.”

  Caleb takes up the story. “No life jackets, ever. Drinking from streams. Running away from bears. Climbing moss-covered cliffs looking for huckleberries. Shooting some of the most dangerous rapids on the coast. It’s a wonder they survived. They even took artifacts from Indian villages. It was years ago—a different time—but it still makes me cringe to think about those kids crawling around in abandoned burial boxes.

  “A few years ago, Megan decided it would be fun to recreate some of the original Caprice’s voyages. You know, take a bunch of local kids, spend the summer on the water. Sort of like a mini Outward Bound. This was before I had the charter business, when I was still working in town. She studied the charts until she knew them inside out and backward and she practicall
y memorized the whole book. Remember that time she took you, Sid?”

  Sid takes a bite of a cookie. Peanut-butter chocolate-chip. His favorite. “Yeah, I remember. It was a nightmare,” he says. “I hid in my bunk most of the time, hoping that a big storm would wash the other three kids overboard. I was only ten. They were a lot older and they thought I was a freak. They liked to piss on the skylight over my bunk. Especially if it was open. Their idea of a good time was lighting up a joint when they thought Megan wasn’t looking and throwing pop cans at seagulls.”

  “Yeah, but Sid got his revenge,” Caleb says, tapping the back of Sid’s wrist with his can of Coke. “Megan was pretty angry at him,” he says, turning to Wain, “but those kids were jerks.”

  “So what did you do?” Wain asks. He has been unusually quiet since they anchored, and he’s only picked at his food. Sid wonders if he is seasick. He hopes so.

  “I hijacked the Caprice,” Sid says simply. “We were anchored in Teakerne Arm and Megan sent the guys to shore in the dinghy one afternoon—told them how to find the little lake. I could tell she was pretty sick of them too. They didn’t like her cooking, they complained about sleeping in bunks, they hated not having TV and Internet access. As soon as she saw they were safely landed, she went to have a nap. I watched them leave the beach and then I slipped over the railing and swam to shore. I was a good swimmer, even then. I rowed the dinghy back to the boat, pulled up the anchor, started the engine and chugged away, all without waking Megan up.

  “I had to stand on a crab trap to see over the wheel. After about an hour Megan woke up. You should have seen the look on her face!” Sid opens his eyes very wide and makes a perfect O with his mouth. “Man, she was pissed! She grabbed the wheel, turned us around and opened up the throttle. It was dark when we got back to the beach and those guys were freaking out. I mean really freaking out. Sobbing, calling for their mommies, bargaining with God. Megan made me row in to get them. I had to promise to tell them what I’d done. I thought they’d kill me, but they were so glad to be rescued they didn’t do a thing. Never even threw a pop can at my head. We went home the next morning, and they never told anyone what happened. I guess they were afraid I’d tell someone what pussies they were. Gave them a whole new respect for freaks.”

  “No kidding,” Wain says, just before he leans over the side of the boat and pukes.

  By All Means

  Wain spends the rest of the trip lying in one of the bunks, puking into a bucket.

  “Not much of a sailor, is he?” Caleb remarks.

  “Not much opportunity, I guess,” Sid says. “Other than rowboats and BC Ferries.” He’s feeling a little sorry for Wain, whose moans are pathetic. “Almost there,” he yells over the engine noise.

  When they get to the wharf, he helps Caleb get the Caprice safely docked before he goes below to rescue Wain, who is sitting up, his head in his hands.

  “Ready to go?” Sid says.

  Wain nods and stands up, grabbing Sid’s arm to keep from falling.

  “This sucks,” he says as he climbs up the stairs and flops like a dead fish into the cockpit.

  Sid tries not to laugh as Wain crawls over to a stanchion and pulls himself onto the deck, where he peers down at the space between the boat and the wharf. The water glistens with oil. The fumes from a nearby outboard motor make him gag.

  Sid jumps off the boat and Wain yelps. “Don’t do that!”

  “Do what?” Sid asks.

  “Make the boat rock.”

  Sid laughs. “You coming?”

  “In a minute,” Wain says. He vomits into the oily water, straightens up and extends his hand to Sid, who helps him off the boat without comment. It’s the first time Wain has touched him without intent to cause pain. As soon as he is safely on shore, Wain climbs into the back of the van and curls himself into a ball. Sid empties the fish bucket and places it next to Wain. When they get to the house, Wain runs, doubled over, up the stairs and into the bathroom.

  Megan comes out of the War Room and shuts the door behind her. “Fariza’s asleep on the couch. She had a rough day. What’s wrong with Wain?”

  “Turns out Wain gets seasick,” Sid says. “What’s up with Fariza?”

  “She wanted to show me something after you left, but she wouldn’t say what it was. She just kept saying It’s gone. It’s gone. But I couldn’t help her find it, because I didn’t know what I was looking for and she wouldn’t tell me. She’s been sitting at the window, crying, all afternoon, waiting for you to come back. I finally got her to lie down and she went to sleep. Did you have fun?”

  “Yeah. It was okay except for Wain getting seasick. I told him about ditching those guys at Teakerne Arm. And lunch was good.”

  “Thanks, Sid,” Megan says. “When Fariza wakes up, maybe you can help her solve the mystery of the missing—whatever it is.”

  “Sure,” Sid says, although it’s no mystery to him. Fariza must be looking for her notebook, which she left on the dining-room table after she read it to Sid.

  The field of suspects is small. Very small.

  Dinner is a quiet meal. Elizabeth is at Irena’s. For all her talk of wanting to relax, Elizabeth clearly prefers to be busy. In Irena she has found, if not a soul mate, then at least a playmate. Today they made jam; tonight they are going to have dinner with a pack of Irena’s cronies, who call themselves the Pink Panthers. No one is quite sure why. Elizabeth has been made an honorary member. Sid wonders if Chloe helped make the jam or if she was out with her friends all day. Maybe they’re catching a movie in town tonight or making a bonfire on the beach, roasting marshmallows, drinking beer. He doesn’t like hanging out with her friends, but he still wishes he was with her rather than sitting with Megan and Caleb and a silent Fariza. Wain is still going back and forth from his room to the bathroom. Sid will have to wait to ask him what he did with Fariza’s notebook.

  The next morning when Sid gets up, Elizabeth is sitting in the War Room, talking on the phone. She is hunched over, with her back to the door. Her voice is low, but Sid can make out some of the words. Hospital. Wain. Medication. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out: Devi is back.

  Megan confirms his suspicions. “She wants to leave right after breakfast. Wain doesn’t know yet. I suggested that they stay a day or two longer, give Devi a chance to stabilize, but she’s adamant. I can understand that—Devi’s her daughter—but Wain needs time to adjust. I told her she could leave him here for a while. Maybe until school starts.”

  “Leave him here? Why? Devi’s his mom. He should be with her.”

  “And she can’t look after him right now. That’s pretty clear. We’ve got room. And time.”

  Sid opens his mouth to object, but Megan cuts him off. “That’s what we do, Sid. You know that.”

  “But this is different,” he says. “You know it is.”

  “Different how? Because he’s your brother? I get that. I do. But it’s all the more reason to help him. Your grandmother can’t look after him—she needs to be with Devi. And Phil clearly isn’t prepared to take Wain on, and I can’t say I blame him. Would you rather Wain went home and got into real trouble?”

  Sid shakes his head. He knows he’s not going to win this argument. The best he can hope for is that Wain will refuse to stay.

  Elizabeth comes out of the War Room, her hair loose around her shoulders. She appears to have shrunk, or maybe it’s an illusion created by the fact that she is wearing one of Caleb’s old fleece jackets over her long white nightgown. She manages a weak smile. “Excuse my ensemble. I came down to answer the phone and I got so cold I grabbed the first thing I could find. And I have a terrible headache. I should have known better than to stay out so late with those old girls,” she says. “The Gray Matter Granny couldn’t begin to keep up.”

  “Stay another day at least,” Megan says. “Devi’s in the hospital, right?”

  Elizabeth nods. “Phil says she was at the house when he came back from Vancouver. She was in her studio, sm
ashing her work with a hammer. He says she’s skin and bones, and very depressed. He took her to the hospital and she was admitted to the psych ward. She’s been there before. They’ve started the lithium.” Tears trickle down her cheeks. “My sweet girl. She hates lithium, but it’s the only thing that works.”

  Megan puts her arm around the older woman and leads her into the kitchen.

  Sid follows them and starts making toast for everybody.

  “Should I call Wain?” he asks when he’s buttered the last slice and put the toast on the table with a jar of peanut butter and a dish of the jam Irena and Elizabeth made the day before. “And Fariza?”

  “Let them sleep,” Megan says. “They need it. Fariza is upset about losing something,” she explains to Elizabeth. “Some days are better than others. I was so encouraged when she started to talk, but she still has a long way to go.”

  “I know what she’s lost,” Sid says, “and I’m pretty sure where to find it.” He doesn’t want to accuse Wain—he just wants to get the notebook back before Wain leaves. Then things can return to normal. Even as he thinks it, he knows it’s not possible. The minute Phil arrived on their doorstep, normal took a hike. Headed for the hills. Said, “Hasta la vista, baby. Sayonara.” A picture forms in Sid’s mind of Billy, poor sad Billy, trudging up the side of a mountain. The caption says Farewell to Normaltown. Goodbye, Billy. Hello, Sid.

  “I’m not going.” Wain is sitting at the kitchen table in a T-shirt and boxers, a piece of jam-laden toast halfway to his mouth. “You can’t make me.”

  Sid watches the other adults at the table consider Wain’s statement. Wain is big for his age, and strong. No doubt Caleb could force him into Elizabeth’s car, but Caleb has already left with another charter. The idea of Megan and Elizabeth wrangling Wain into the car makes Sid giggle. Could they even pick him up? He doubts it.

  “What’s so funny, man?” Wain growls.

  “Nothing,” Sid says, but the image is playing in his head like a scene from a lame horror movie: Elizabeth dragging Wain by the arms, Megan clutching his feet, Wain twisting in their grip, gnashing his teeth and screaming. The Mommies’ Revenge. He laughs out loud and Megan frowns at him. It’s clearly not a good morning for humor.