“Hello, goils. What took you so long?”
“A lineup.” Darcy hands him his Blizzard.
“I was just telling Lynne here about our workout routine. Turns out Lynne would like to jog with us.”
“Dad, we’ve only jogged once, like, today.”
“It’s a start. And the more the merrier, I say. Maybe Harriet will join us.”
“I don’t jog.”
“Why not, Ranger? Running’s a lifesaver. I had a friend made it to the provincial finals. Guess what happened?”
“He lost,” Harriet says.
“He got rear-ended, smashed his head into the windshield and went blind.”
“That’s tragic,” Lynne says.
“Here’s the thing. I knew he’d die if he quit running. So while he was recovering, I joined a running club and trained to be a guide.”
“Say what?” Dee asks.
“I learned to guide blind runners. You run beside them and match their stride. They’re the star, right, you just keep them in the lane, guide them through the curves. It’s their race. They have to make the finish line—you just have to keep up.”
“That’s so amazing.” Lynne crosses her legs again. “I mean, that you would do that for a friend.” Harriet can tell she likes Buck. She imagines Lynne breaking the news to Gennedy, ordering him to pack his bags and get out. “I had no idea blind runners have guides,” her mother says. “But it makes perfect sense. I mean, if running is your life and you go blind, you have to keep running.”
“So, is it like a freak show, or what?” Darcy spoons some of Buck’s Blizzard. “Do they, like, bump into each other? Like, they don’t race with normal people, right?”
“There’s races for all kinds of disabled athletes, Dee. If you love a sport you can’t just give it up.”
“I used to love track and field,” Lynne says. “I still miss it.”
“Let me guess.” Buck points at her. “The long jump.”
“How did you know that?”
“Your legs.” They both look at her legs and Lynne blushes. Gran was right, she’s still got the gams. And Buck hasn’t even seen her in decent pumps.
“But,” Lynne says, “how do you guide them? I mean, you can’t run arm in arm.”
“It’s a rope tether you wrap around your hand. Here.” He takes Lynne’s hand and holds his wrist against hers. “You just touch lightly. You’re running in sync and the blind guy’s got to feel your arm. You sense each other’s movements through your arms. Try it, move your arm with mine.” Buck and Lynne move their touching arms up and down.
“That’s so beautiful,” Lynne says. Darcy and Harriet exchange looks.
“Here’s what’s happening,” Dee says. “Me and H are going to chill at the picnic tables.” The grown-ups continue to move their arms together in slo-mo. It is a sight to behold. Grandpa Archie used to say this if a Blue Jay hit a home run—which rarely happened—but when it did, Archie would sit back in his La-Z-Boy and say, “That is a sight to behold.”
Skateboarders are doing dumbass stunts in the parking lot, flipping boards and swearing every time they screw up. “The blond’s cute,” Darcy observes, arranging her butt cheeks on the picnic table. Harriet wishes Darcy would stop staring at boys. It’s embarrassing. She tries to look preoccupied with her Choco Cherry Love Blizzard.
“So Buck’s definitely into her,” Dee says. “He’ll probably try to get her into the fuckmobile.”
“Not if he thinks it’s true love. He won’t want to rush it.”
“Says you with the wealth of experience.”
“He knows she’s with the derp.”
“It’s the hitched ones that want quickies because they’ve got to pick up their kids from karate and shit.”
“Well, my mom doesn’t want a quickie. It’s going to be different with her.”
Dee pulls out her stolen lipstick and glides it over her lips. “The blond’s checking me out.”
“No he isn’t.”
“Skinny guys like big women.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Okay. Here’s the bad news. Buck gave Nina crabs.”
“She doesn’t like seafood?”
“Not sea crabs. The little black things that, like, cling to your pubes and lay eggs and itch like crazy. She was going ape shit scratching. Meanwhile my aunt was in town and slept in Nina’s bed, so she got crabs. The two crazy bitches kept cussing and scratching and smearing crab poison all over their pooters and armpits. They stuffed sheets and underwear and anything else that might be contaminated into garbage bags. A week later, Nina starts scratching all over again. The pharmacist tells her the larvae can hatch up to seven days after the actual crabs are dead.”
Harriet considers the consequences of her mother getting crabs. If she gives them to Gennedy, he’d find out she’d screwed around. This might make Gennedy leave. “Does he have crabs now?”
“Sadly I am not privy to that information.” Still staring at the skateboarders, Dee leans back against the picnic table and crosses her plump legs. “What a time to be alive. Oh my god there’s that Caitlin whore.”
“Where?”
“Leaning on my dad’s truck.”
“Does she know it’s your dad’s?”
“Fuck no. She just wants the skateboarders to notice her.” The Caitlin whore sucks on a cigarette, fanning the smoke like it’s somebody else’s. “I’ll wait till she sees me then I’ll put a hurt on her ass.”
It seems to Harriet that Caitlin is already looking right at them, and snickering to her friends who are also wearing short shorts and flip-flops. Caitlin is the only one smoking, which is why it’s weird she keeps fanning the smoke like it’s bugging her. The cute skateboarder rolls up to her and takes a drag from her cigarette.
“Slut,” Darcy says. “I can’t even look at her she’s such a skank.”
The cute skateboarder and Caitlin share the smoke until she grinds the butt into the tarmac with her flip-flop.
“She’s coming over here,” Harriet says.
“Fuck my life.”
“We could run inside.”
“Are you kidding me? This is our turf, girl.” Darcy pretends to be fascinated by the Dairy Queen sign but Harriet studies Caitlin, who is the kind of girl Harriet plans to impersonate for the Greyhound bus drivers. She might even steal some of Lynne’s smokes, and—before getting on the bus—suck on one and fan the smoke at the same time.
“Hey, Darcy,” Caitlin says. Her gum-chewing associates slouch on either side of her. “What are you up to this summer?”
Darcy, disturbingly timid, mutters, “Not much.”
“We’re going to horse camp and are, like, amped to the max.”
“Totally,” the associates chime.
“I’m allergic to horses,” Darcy says. Harriet waits for her to put a hurt on Caitlin’s ass.
“Really?” Caitlin says. “Well, there’s pills for that. Emmy takes them and they get her high. Right, Em?”
“The non-drowsy kind. It’s kind of like taking speed.”
“Who’s your little friend?” Caitlin asks. Feeling the spotlight on her, Harriet becomes hyper aware of Irwin’s vomit on her jeans.
“I’m her babysitter,” Darcy says. Harriet, flabbergasted by this lie but afraid to call her on it because Dee might get mad and blow the deal with Buck, drinks the melted ice cream in her Blizzard, hiding her wounded expression behind the big plastic cup.
“Too bad you couldn’t make it to my party,” Caitlin says. “It was awesome. I posted a bunch of pics if you want to check it out. It was a blast.”
“Best party ever,” Emmy says.
“Totally,” the other associate agrees. Harriet waits for Darcy to say she wasn’t invited, but she just scrapes the inside of her empty Blizzard cup with
her spoon.
“Gotta run,” Caitlin says. “Text me.”
Harriet waits for Darcy to tell her she has texted her, and that Caitlin hasn’t replied. But all Dee says is “Sure.”
Caitlin and her associates meet up with the skateboarders and schlep into the DQ.
“She said she had to run,” Harriet says. “She’s not running.” Darcy pulls the wedgie out of her shorts.
Harriet tosses her empty plastic cup into the trash. “I thought you said you were going to put a hurt on her ass.”
“It’s all in the timing, H. The timing wasn’t right. I’ll get her back.” This is like an adult, saying one thing and doing something completely different.
Harriet walks briskly into the DQ and prods Caitlin. “She’s not my babysitter, and you didn’t invite her to your party, and you never return her texts. You’re a lying sack of shit and if you lie to her again, I will jump your ass.” Caitlin flushes a colour Harriet wants to paint later—crimson with a hint of moss.
“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” the cute skateboarder demands.
“My dad’s a cop. You better watch what you smoke, you finger-popping asshole.” A circle of hostility forms around Harriet, and she fears she will have to resort to a life-or-death fighting style to defend herself, but suddenly Buck is taking her hand.
“She’s right,” he says. “You’re lucky I’m off-duty. I could make things real uncomfortable for you losers. So watch your backs. I never forget a face. Come on, honey.”
Harriet flips the bird at the cute skateboarder. “Later, skater.”
Buck doesn’t release her hand even when they’re in the parking lot. His grip feels warm, strong and trustworthy, and she thinks she’s falling in love with him.
Fourteen
Lynne doesn’t say anything driving home. She turns on the radio and hums to Whitney Houston belting “I Will Always Love You,” a song from a movie starring an actor Lynne crushed on until he went bald. Not wanting to appear too interested in the Buck connection, Harriet doesn’t ask questions. They’re meeting up with him and Dee for a run tomorrow, which is a major step forward. Lynne drops Harriet outside the Shangrila with instructions to go straight to the apartment and check on Irwin. But Mr. Fishberg sidles up to her, asking if he can touch her tetas, and Mrs. Rumph, in her lawn chair, with her ferret climbing all over her, shakes a flabby arm at Harriet. “I require some shut mouth from you, young lady. My son told me how you talk.”
“Do you know how your son talks?”
“You’re just jealous because Mrs. Schidt likes him better than you.”
“I don’t give a fifth of a fuck about Mrs. Schidt.”
“Jealousy is poisonous, Harry,” Mr. Shotlander cautions, shaking a pebble from his orthotic shoe.
Mr. Zilberschmuck taps cigarette ash into the flower bed. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be jealous of Gerhardt, Shotlander.”
“Who says I’m jealous of Gerhardt?” Mr. Shotlander shoves his foot back into his shoe.
Harriet has heard them argue about Gerhardt before because he’s seventy-six and has a thirty-eight-year-old trophy wife. Mr. Shotlander thinks she’s a gold digger but Mr. Zilberschmuck believes Celestia is the autumnal romance Gerhardt deserves after being a bush pilot in Australia for fifty years.
Mr. Shotlander trails Harriet into the lobby. “We’re having Seniors’ Reading Night tomorrow. Can we count on you for bevies?”
Mr. Chubak stops peeling an orange to feel around in his corduroys. “I got a couple of toonies here, Harry, do you think you could call those nice folks in India for me about the phone bill? I know they mean well but I can’t understand a word they’re saying.” He looks at his watch. “It’s daytime over there.”
“Sure.” Harriet takes the toonies.
“Now hold your horses,” Mr. Shotlander says. “You’ll call India for that rascal but you won’t take a look at my dang computer?”
“He doesn’t snitch on me.” She presses the elevator button. “Let’s go, Mr. Chubak.”
When she’s old, she wants to be like Mr. Chubak with an apartment full of tropical plants that never die. He decided doors made the apartment feel cramped, and replaced them with beaded curtains. He hangs glass prisms in his windows that create light shows on his walls. Mr. Chubak never married because he says he would never do that to a person. He worked as a social worker in the Arctic, fighting the fallout from what he called the Great White Invasion. “The white man,” he explained, “is the scourge of the Earth.” He has photos of the Arctic tundra and icebergs all over his apartment. When Harriet gets a job at the bank she plans to spend her vacation pay visiting the Arctic to paint icebergs and seals. Mr. Chubak ate seals to make friends with the Inuit. He says you have to make friends with them or you won’t learn anything about the North. The seals taste fishy. Harriet plans to eat whatever it takes to make friends with the Inuit. She wants them to teach her how to carve soapstone.
Mr. Chubak hands her his phone bill. “Ask them why I’d want someone leaving a message with silicon Sally when they can just call me back.”
Harriet dials up the Customer Retention department and demands they reverse the charges on an answering service promotion Mr. Chubak did not agree to. Faced with resistance, she becomes aggressive with the Indian on the phone and demands to speak to his supervisor. After twenty minutes another Indian comes on the line that turns out to be just another service rep. Harriet gets even more belligerent while demanding to speak to a supervisor. Mr. Chubak shakes his fists, cheering her on. “Go get ’em, Harry.” After another twenty minutes a supervisor comes on, and Harriet lets loose about how Bell takes advantage of seniors, pressuring them to accept offers they don’t fully understand. The Indian, sounding weary, agrees to reverse the charges.
“Way to go, Harry. Remind me to nominate you for prime minister. Would you care for cookies and OJ?”
“Yes please.” She looks at the photos on the wall of Mr. Chubak’s grandparents. They lived in the Ukraine and jumped into the freezing river every New Year’s to cleanse themselves of the old year. “They took it a day at a time in those days,” Mr. Chubak told her. “It was just plain survival they were interested in. If they had a pig they were happy. Especially after my father bought a freezer and they could store pork all winter. They had a party to show everybody in the village the freezer. Next thing you know they were storing everybody else’s pig. That’s just the kind of people they were. Sharing came natural to them. You had to look out for everybody. Not like these days.”
He hands her a juice box and arranges Chips Ahoy! cookies on a plate. Harriet takes one and points to a photo of a young soldier. “You’ve never told me who that is.”
“Because it’s a sad story. That’s Oskar, my uncle. The war messed him up real bad, what with shell shock and all that. But he made it through. Four days after the war ended, he stepped on an unexploded mine. Blew him to bits.”
Harriet doesn’t see what’s so sad about stepping on a bomb you didn’t know was there if you’re messed up real bad. Ka-boom, your suffering’s over—you didn’t see it coming—and you might come back as a bird or a deep-sea creature.
Mr. Chubak stares at the photo, shaking his head. “My grandmother never got over it. ‘There’s justice for you,’ she’d say. She even quit going to church. See that?” He points to a picture of a tiny boy in a grey suit. “That’s me in the itchiest get-up ever made. My grandma had a loom and was always weaving cloth that would rip your skin off. Whenever we visited, my mother made me wear it to make my grandmother happy.” He pokes the straw into his juice box.
“Did it make her happy?”
“Nothing made her happy after Oskar got blown up.”
“So why’d do you have to wear it if it didn’t make her happy?”
“Why do we have to do anything? Because it’s expected.”
“I don’t
do things because it’s expected.”
“No, well, Harry, that’s because you’re a special snowflake.”
The phone rings. It’s Mr. Shotlander tracking her down. Mr. Chubak covers the mouthpiece. “You’ve got him over a barrel, Harry. He says he’s got a fiver for you. Do I tell him you’re on your way?”
Before checking Mr. Shotlander’s cables, Harriet demands the fiver. After he hands it to her, she orders Mr. Zilberschmuck off the couch because the outlet is behind it. He is drinking Jack Daniel’s and fingering a cigarillo. When he’s indoors and can’t smoke, he drinks JD. They’re still arguing about Gerhardt.
“You’re talking about a guy the girls were crazy about,” Mr. Shotlander says.
“Unlike yourself. As I said, you’re jealous.”
Harriet points to the computer. “It was on hibernate.”
“It was what?”
“You put it on hibernate instead of sleep. When you put it on hibernate you have to press the power button for at least four seconds to get it to start up again.”
“Since when do computers hibernate?” Mr. Shotlander rips open a bag of barbecue chips and eats several. “I’m telling you, life was a lot simpler before all this techno nonsense.”
“It can still be simple,” Harriet says. “Just don’t complicate it by doing dumbass things like clicking hibernate or snitching on me.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” Mr. Zilberschmuck pours more whiskey.
She listens outside her apartment, hoping to hear her mother and Gennedy arguing because Lynne’s giving him his marching orders. Gran was always threatening to give Archie his marching orders. Harriet can’t hear anything and opens the door quietly, intending to sneak to her room.
“Where the hell have you been, young lady?” Gennedy demands in a hoarse whisper because Lynne and Irwin are asleep on the couch.
“I had to fix Mr. Shotlander’s computer, and call Bell for Mr. Chubak.”
On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light Page 18
